I said.
“Me, too,” said Sam.
Sarge hollered, “You want us to burn in hell, boy?”
“Course not, sir!”
“Cause you know drinking’s a sin.”
We all had plenty of reasons to hate crackers but Sarge hated them more than all of us put together. Word was he had a sister who was raped by a bunch of white boys in Tuscaloosa, that’s where he was from.
“Please!” begged the soldier. “Just let me in!”
“Get lost, cracker!”
Reckon that soldier died that day. Reckon I should’ve felt bad about it but I didn’t. I was so worn out it was hard to feel much of anything.
I didn’t talk about none of that when I wrote home. Even if the censors would’ve let it through, I didn’t want to fret Mama and Daddy. Instead I told them what snow felt like and how nice the locals were treating us (leaving out a few details about the French girls). I told them about the funny food they had over there and the glittery dress Lena Horne wore when she came and sang to us at the USO. Daddy wrote back with news from home: The skeeters were bad this year. Ruel and Marlon had grown two whole inches. Lilly May sang a solo in church. The mule got into the cockleburs again.
Mississippi felt far, far away.
LAURA
D ECEMBER 7, 1941, changed everything for all of us. Within a few days of the attack on Pearl Harbor, Jamie and both of my brothers had enlisted. Teddy stayed with the Engineers, Pearce joined the Marines and Jamie signed up for pilot training with the Air Corps. He wanted to be an ace, but the Army had other plans for him. They made him a bomber pilot, teaching him to fly the giant B-24s called Liberators. He trained for two years before leaving for England. My brothers were already overseas by then, Teddy in France and Pearce in the Pacific.
I stayed in Memphis, worrying about them all, while Henry traveled around the South building bases and airfields for the Army. He remained a civilian; as a wounded veteran of the Great War he was exempt from the draft, for which I was grateful. I didn’t mind his absences once I got used to them. I soon realized they made me more interesting to him when he was home. Besides, I had Amanda Leigh for company, and then Isabelle in February of ’43. The two of them were as different as they could be. Amanda was Henry’s child: quiet,serious-minded, self-contained. Isabelle was something else altogether. From the day she was born she wanted to be held all of the time and would start wailing as soon as I laid her in her crib. Her demanding nature exasperated Henry, but for me her sweetness more than made up for it.
I was bewitched by both of them, and by the beauty of ordinary life, which went on despite the war and seemed all the more precious because of it. When I wasn’t changing diapers and weeding my victory garden, I was rolling bandages and sewing for the Red Cross. My sisters, cousins and I organized drives for scrap metal and for silk and nylon stockings, which the Army turned into powder bags. It was a frightening and sorrowful time, but it was also exhilarating. For the first time in our lives, we had a purpose greater than ourselves.
Our family was luckier than many. I lost two cousins and an uncle, but my brothers survived. Pearce was wounded in the thigh and sent home before the fighting turned savage in the Pacific, and Teddy returned safe and sound in the fall of ’45. Jamie lost a finger to frostbite but was otherwise unharmed. He didn’t come home after he was discharged, but stayed in Europe—to travel, he said, and see the place from the ground for a change. This baffled Henry, who was convinced there was something wrong with him, something he wasn’t telling us about. Jamie’s letters were breezy and carefree, full of witty descriptions of the places he’d seen and the people he’d met. Henry thought they had a forced quality, but I didn’t see it. I thought it was natural Jamie would want to enjoy his freedom after four years of being told where to
“Me, too,” said Sam.
Sarge hollered, “You want us to burn in hell, boy?”
“Course not, sir!”
“Cause you know drinking’s a sin.”
We all had plenty of reasons to hate crackers but Sarge hated them more than all of us put together. Word was he had a sister who was raped by a bunch of white boys in Tuscaloosa, that’s where he was from.
“Please!” begged the soldier. “Just let me in!”
“Get lost, cracker!”
Reckon that soldier died that day. Reckon I should’ve felt bad about it but I didn’t. I was so worn out it was hard to feel much of anything.
I didn’t talk about none of that when I wrote home. Even if the censors would’ve let it through, I didn’t want to fret Mama and Daddy. Instead I told them what snow felt like and how nice the locals were treating us (leaving out a few details about the French girls). I told them about the funny food they had over there and the glittery dress Lena Horne wore when she came and sang to us at the USO. Daddy wrote back with news from home: The skeeters were bad this year. Ruel and Marlon had grown two whole inches. Lilly May sang a solo in church. The mule got into the cockleburs again.
Mississippi felt far, far away.
LAURA
D ECEMBER 7, 1941, changed everything for all of us. Within a few days of the attack on Pearl Harbor, Jamie and both of my brothers had enlisted. Teddy stayed with the Engineers, Pearce joined the Marines and Jamie signed up for pilot training with the Air Corps. He wanted to be an ace, but the Army had other plans for him. They made him a bomber pilot, teaching him to fly the giant B-24s called Liberators. He trained for two years before leaving for England. My brothers were already overseas by then, Teddy in France and Pearce in the Pacific.
I stayed in Memphis, worrying about them all, while Henry traveled around the South building bases and airfields for the Army. He remained a civilian; as a wounded veteran of the Great War he was exempt from the draft, for which I was grateful. I didn’t mind his absences once I got used to them. I soon realized they made me more interesting to him when he was home. Besides, I had Amanda Leigh for company, and then Isabelle in February of ’43. The two of them were as different as they could be. Amanda was Henry’s child: quiet,serious-minded, self-contained. Isabelle was something else altogether. From the day she was born she wanted to be held all of the time and would start wailing as soon as I laid her in her crib. Her demanding nature exasperated Henry, but for me her sweetness more than made up for it.
I was bewitched by both of them, and by the beauty of ordinary life, which went on despite the war and seemed all the more precious because of it. When I wasn’t changing diapers and weeding my victory garden, I was rolling bandages and sewing for the Red Cross. My sisters, cousins and I organized drives for scrap metal and for silk and nylon stockings, which the Army turned into powder bags. It was a frightening and sorrowful time, but it was also exhilarating. For the first time in our lives, we had a purpose greater than ourselves.
Our family was luckier than many. I lost two cousins and an uncle, but my brothers survived. Pearce was wounded in the thigh and sent home before the fighting turned savage in the Pacific, and Teddy returned safe and sound in the fall of ’45. Jamie lost a finger to frostbite but was otherwise unharmed. He didn’t come home after he was discharged, but stayed in Europe—to travel, he said, and see the place from the ground for a change. This baffled Henry, who was convinced there was something wrong with him, something he wasn’t telling us about. Jamie’s letters were breezy and carefree, full of witty descriptions of the places he’d seen and the people he’d met. Henry thought they had a forced quality, but I didn’t see it. I thought it was natural Jamie would want to enjoy his freedom after four years of being told where to
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