Island Of Sweet Pies And Soldiers: A powerful story of loss and love. Sara Ackerman

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СКАЧАТЬ with Takeo. Jean took one look at all the soldiers milling about and a light bulb flashed on.

      “These boys need some home-baked love,” she had said and then continued, “We’ll make them pies and end up with change in our pockets and a whole new set of handsome friends. And we will be doing something important in the war effort.”

      “You’re serious, aren’t you?” Violet had questioned.

      “Somehow having Zach here has made me feel more protective of these soldiers. Instead of a big horde of smelly men in uniforms, I see them like brothers, sons, husbands,” Jean had said.

      “I suppose it might not be a bad idea. But we’d need to work on boosting our gas rations.”

      Jean had stood with her hands on her hips. “Of course it will work. Boosting morale, fattening them up. In my eyes, comfort food is better than any pill.”

      “Well, I guess it’s settled, then.”

      Zach now slapped his forehead and fell back. “Fellas, once you taste a Jean Quinlan apple pie, you may just want to up and marry her. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

      Jean’s cheeks reddened, but she loved this kind of thing. “Oh please! No apple here, but we’ll have Okinawan sweet potato or chocolate honeycomb.”

      Tommy’s nostrils flared and he stiffened. “You ladies selling Jap pies to the soldiers?”

      “The potatoes aren’t Japanese,” Violet said. “They come straight from our garden, and I get the starters from Mr. Otake, who has lived here for a hundred years or more.”

      “That may be the case, but you ought to rethink what you call your pies if you want to sell any,” Tommy said.

      “Mr. O’Brien, I see your point, but let’s get one thing straight. Here in Hawaii, there are far more Japanese than haole. And as far as any of us are concerned, most of them are just as loyal to America as you or me. These are not the same people we are fighting,” Violet said, feeling her cheeks burn.

      His voice was taut. “Ma’am, I’m afraid we may have to agree to disagree.”

      Jean gave her a halting look, and then trained it on Tommy. “Let’s talk about something else, please? Remember we have a young lady in our midst.”

      That was how they learned Tommy O’Brien was from a big family in New York, and he was a Yankee to the bone. Also, given the chance, he would talk himself to death. Halfway through his monologue, Violet left to check on the creamed corn and beef stew. Ella followed.

      “Are you going to show Zach your new butterfly watercolor?” Violet said.

      Ella shrugged and fiddled with one of the scabs on her arm.

      “I could use your help filling up these glasses with water.” It appeared they had consumed enough alcohol already, and she kept the beer in the icebox.

      A few moments later, the volume on the radio shot up. It was Bing Crosby, only now he had company. “Swinging on a Star” also happened to be Ella’s favorite song, and she knew every word. She pushed the kitchen door open just a sliver and peeked out.

      “It’s the dark-haired one,” she whispered.

      Violet came over for a look. Parker was leaning up against the radio and snapping his fingers. His moves were fluid, but there was nothing fluid about his voice. It was like sandpaper on a chalkboard. On the next verse, Tommy and Zach both joined in. How could this be happening? The house had become a concert hall for drunken soldiers, and yet she couldn’t draw her eyes away. The way they were singing with every ounce of heart made her dense with longing.

      When the song ended, Parker caught Ella’s eye and winked. She jumped back. Then he nodded at Violet. She felt her cheeks flush, and she let the door close.

      “They’re funny,” Ella volunteered.

      “I think we’re going to like them.”

      * * *

      Before supper, they bowed their heads and Jean gave God an extrastrong thank-you for bringing her brother to town. Even after scarfing down the peanuts and dried fish, the men tore into the food as though this was their last chance to eat. The table was drowning under mounds of beef stew, creamed corn and white rice. Violet sat at the head of the table with Parker to her left and Ella to her right.

      “So, Ella, have you ever been to a zoo?” Parker asked.

      Ella glanced up at him as if deciding if he was worthy of an answer. She looked to Violet, who answered for her. “We don’t have a zoo here, and Ella’s never been to the mainland.”

      “I used to work in a zoo,” he said, again to Ella. “We had lions and monkeys, crocodiles, even hippos. And I learned a thing or two about animals while I was there. I could look over your hen if you’d like, after dinner.”

      Ella brightened.

      Violet wondered at their good fortune. “That would be nice. Thank you. How did you get involved in a zoo?”

      It was easy to forget that the soldiers had lives back home before this whole war started up. That they had left education, careers and families to come here. Inside those uniforms you could find the same measure of love, fear and hope as in anyone else. Often more.

      “I’ve wanted to be a vet as long as I can remember. Left the ranch up north for school in San Diego, and I was halfway through premed when the war broke out.”

      “Well, I’ll be,” Jean said.

      Jean had been caught up in conversation with Zach and Tommy on the other end of the table, but now turned her eyes on Parker. It had only been a matter of time. Jean would flirt with the Pope given the opportunity. Violet felt a lump of jealousy form just below her ribs. What on earth?

      Parker continued, still focusing on Ella and Violet. “I was the lucky one that got the buckets of slop ready for the animals. That’s about all you want to hear, trust me.”

      Jean flashed her most irresistible smile, dimples and all. “Tell us more about home. Do you have a family waiting for you?”

      “My folks and my little sis, Alice. And then there’s Bella.”

      Jean wilted. “She your sweetheart?”

      He wore no ring.

      “My dog. Black as midnight and truer than the Bible,” he said, grinning.

      His smile was straight across, with only the sides turning up. He had olive skin that was too dark to be from the sun and smooth like a baby’s bottom. Then there were the broad shoulders and tapered waist. All things considered, he had the kind of looks that could only lead to heartache. And no doubt he knew it.

      “Surely you must have a woman back home?” Jean persisted. Lord, she could be pushy.

      “When I first enlisted, I was with the Paramarines. It was a tough unit to get in with, but they had a rule you couldn’t be married,” he said.

      Tommy laughed. “Sergeant Stone, married?” СКАЧАТЬ