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

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       Chapter Ten

      Violet

      Back in Badger, Minnesota, Violet’s family had always gone to church, even in the bitter freeze of winter, when it was risky to breathe outside. They would bundle in worn-out blankets and extra layers of wool socks, and trudge to the church in the middle of town. “Acceptance, deliverance, repentance,” the minister had drilled into them. But understanding those words was another matter altogether. As a girl, Violet had thought acceptance meant standing on the stage and getting your award for having the biggest goat or the fattest pig, not making the best of a situation gone wrong. Later she learned it was not an easy thing to master.

      Despite the new routine of Japanese school, which seemed to be going well, and the night with the soldiers, Ella still ate less than a squirrel and picked her freckles until they formed angry red mounds. Sometimes Violet wanted to tear her own hair out, unable to protect her daughter from invisible grief, but that pesky word acceptance kept rearing up in her head. Maybe now was the time to revisit what acceptance really meant.

      Maybe acceptance meant moving forward with what you had.

      Violet first met Herman in a church. He was sitting in the front row, shoulders tight with shudders, trying to hold it together, which was hard to do when your sixteen-year-old brother was lying dead from pneumonia, a by-product of the dust storms, people said. Herman was the older one who had come back from Hawaii for the funeral. She wasn’t even sure where Hawaii was, but she liked the sound of the word. It sounded sweet and warm and green.

      Her mother insisted she come, knowing there would be men there. The sooner Violet found a man, the sooner she could get out of the house. Violet ended up in the kitchen helping clean up, when Herman walked in. Without a word, he rolled up his sleeves and picked up a towel. They stood side by side at the sink, she washing, he drying. After the tenth plate, she broke the silence.

      “Is that where the pineapples come from?”

      For the first time, she saw the hint of a smile. “Hawaii is a lot more than pineapples. But don’t tell anyone.”

      “Like what?”

      “Well, for one thing, it only snows on the very top of the mountains, which are tall. You could wear a dress all year there.”

      She thought she had misheard. “Be serious.”

      “Scout’s honor. The place is paradise. They weren’t lying.”

      “Who’s they?”

      “The education corps that brought me out there. I’m a teacher, but soon to be principal.”

      Herman didn’t say it in a boastful way, but she was impressed nonetheless. He could be only four or five years older than she was, at the most. His manner was sparse, and she wasn’t sure if it was his nature, or because he was sad about his brother. If she wasn’t mistaken, his arm had gotten so close to hers that soon they would be touching. They talked until her mother came in to tell her their time was up.

      It was the first funeral that Violet hadn’t wanted to leave.

      Herman took her to dinner the following night, and the night after. But he was returning to Hawaii the next week. What was the point? Still, Violet enjoyed his company, and the distraction he provided from going home in the evenings to her mother and Mr. Smudge and her stepbrothers, who fought constantly. Herman got her considering that there might be life outside Minnesota. They spent the week together, walking in the fields behind town, holding hands and stealing kisses. He told her stories of natives riding canoes down the face of waves and of the white-sand beaches with palm trees and fresh coconuts. It sounded magical.

      Two weeks after his departure, an envelope arrived in the mail holding something stiff and colorful. Violet’s heart tap-danced on her ribs. A ticket on the SS Lurline. To Honolulu.

      Herman had written a note:

      Dearest Violet,

      Should you wish to see for yourself, I would be most honored.

      Yours, Herman.

      PS: Remember that winter is on its way and what I said about wearing dresses all year round.

      She smiled at his reference. There were so many reasons not to go. Another two years of college. The town newspaper job, even if it only involved sitting in meetings, taking shorthand and not getting paid. Of greater concern would be leaving Lady, her faithful collie-dog, and her lovely hens.

      Her mother was another matter. Every so often, Violet would see glimpses of the way she used to be. Bright-eyed and full of song. She sang to the cows, to the family of sparrows that flew in and out of the barn, to the wheat crops when harvest time arrived. That was before Violet’s dad up and left them under the guise of finding work, before they moved in with Mr. Smudge, the town butcher, who had lost his own wife and had two sons of his own. For the first time, СКАЧАТЬ