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15
Peggy
JULY 1946
The letters and pictures from Jimmy’s Army buddies started arriving in the mail. Mrs. Barnett and I read them together every day as we sat at her kitchen table and drank coffee. Some of the letters made us cry. “Is this too hard for you, Mrs.B.?” I asked.
She pulled a hankie from her apron pocket and wiped her eyes. “It is hard. But at the same time, it helps to hear how much good Jimmy did during the war. How much he meant to all of these men. It’s just that... I want my son back.”
“I know. We all do.”
I chose portions of three letters that I wanted to read to him when I visited on Sunday, and hoped he would read the others himself. I had purchased a photograph album when I got my roll of film developed, and I stayed up late on Saturday night to create a scrapbook, using little black corners to hold the pictures in place and writing captions on the black pages with white ink.
It was raining when I woke up on Sunday morning, and that gave me an idea. After church, I knocked on the door of Pop’s office where Joe was sleeping. I hated to wake him, but I figured he owed me for all the times he woke me up with his nightmares. Buster solved the problem by squeezing past me through the door and licking Joe’s face. Joe groaned and wiped his cheek, then opened his eyes as I grabbed Buster’s collar and pulled him away.
“I’m sorry for waking you up, Joe, but—”
“What time is it?” He sounded groggy. The office smelled terrible, with the combined stench of Donna’s cigarettes and Joe’s sweat and alcohol. It was hot in the office, and Joe had been sleeping in his clothes.
“It’s past noon. Listen, I’m going to visit Jimmy today and I need your help. I know it’s hard for you to go back to the hospital, but you won’t have to go inside. I promise.”
He sat up and ran his fingers through his dark hair, then scratched the shadow of dark stubble on his face. “What do you need me to do?”
“I want to take Buster to visit Jimmy again. He was so happy to see Buster the last time, remember? Anyway, it’s raining today, so I’m hoping that none of the orderlies will want to go outside. I’ll take Jimmy out to one of the benches with an umbrella. Meanwhile, you can sneak around the long way with Buster. Hopefully, no one will see us.”
I made coffee while Joe shaved and changed his clothes and swallowed some aspirin. I listened to the sound of the wipers swishing and Joe’s gentle snores as I drove, all the while doubting myself. Was I doing the right thing? Was I really helping Jimmy? Or would reliving the war through his friends’ letters make matters worse?
We both stayed in the car on the ferry ride across the Hudson, the river as gray as the sky, the mountains hidden in the mist. I clipped Buster’s leash to his collar when we arrived and went inside the hospital alone. Joe knew what to do.
“Jimmy, it’s me, Peggety,” I said when I found him. “I need you to come outside with me. Joe and I have a surprise for you. You remember Joe, don’t you?” He didn’t reply, but he allowed me to take his arm and lead him toward the rear doors.
I chose the bench farthest from the door and laid my plastic raincoat on it before we sat down. For some reason, I felt nervous as I waited for Joe and Buster. They eventually came along, and as soon as Buster spotted Jimmy, he strained against the leash to run to him. Joe limped as fast as he could to keep up. Buster planted his wet front paws on Jimmy’s chest and licked his face like a lollipop, his tail wagging enthusiastically. Jimmy didn’t laugh this time, but he wore a faint smile as he encircled the wet dog with his arms. Buster finally settled against Jimmy’s legs with his head in his lap. Joe and I sat down beside him, our backs to the door, our umbrellas open to hide Buster from view. Jimmy stroked the dog’s head as I opened the album.
“I brought some pictures to show you. I took them myself with the camera your parents gave me for graduation. Look, the mountains are so majestic, aren’t they? And here are some pictures of the horses out at Blue Fence Farms. I love it out there this time of year when the new foals are grazing with their mothers.” Jimmy was looking down at the page, but whether or not he was seeing anything, I couldn’t tell. I waited a few more moments before turning the page. Next were pictures of his house and the clinic, his mother’s zinnias and petunias growing along the front porch. The mountains looked like a stage backdrop behind the house. “We’re looking forward to having you home again. We miss you, Jimmy.”
He closed his eyes and his hand stilled on Buster’s head. I turned the page.
“These next pictures are of some of your friends. I took this one of Chaplain Bill outside his church in Connecticut. And remember Frank Cishek? He came to see you last week? Joe and I went to visit him in Milford on the Fourth of July. And here’s Joe with his motorcycle. And Joe with Buster.”
“I’ve been working at the garage for Peggy’s dad,” Joe said. “Trying to earn some gas money. Hey, her pop knows an awful lot about fixing cars, let me tell you.”
“Chaplain Bill and your mother and I wrote to some of your buddies who live farther away and asked them to send you their greetings,” I said, turning the page. “They sent you these pictures of themselves and their families, along with letters to tell you what they’re up to. Steve Thompson sent this picture.”
“Remember him?” Joe asked. “The guy who was always whistling, especially when he was nervous? We used to tell him to shut up or the Nazis would hear him.”
I saw Jimmy nod slightly and took that as an encouraging sign. “I’ll read part of Steve’s letter to you:
“I’m back home with my wife now and my little daughter, who I got to see again, thanks to you. I was away for so long that she didn’t remember me. Anita and I have another baby on the way... I owe you my life, Jim. I’m still trying to forget the war, and with Anita’s help, I’m slowly doing that. I hope we’ll all be able to leave the war behind for good, one of these days, but in the meantime, if you do think back on those days, remember me and all the other men who are still able to enjoy life because of you.”
I glanced at Jimmy and didn’t see a reaction. I waited a moment, then pointed to the next photograph. “Chuck Lawson wrote to you, too.”
“Hey, wasn’t he the mooch who was always bumming cigarettes from everyone?” Joe asked. Jimmy stared at the picture and nodded.
“Anyway, here’s what Chuck said:
“We went through the very worst together, Jim. I’ll never forget you and the others because I’ll never be as close to another group of buddies as I was to all of you guys. I have you and Frank to thank for getting me off the field after I was hit by sniper fire. You are true heroes. They tell me you’re feeling pretty low, and I admit that I was, too, for about a year after I was wounded. There are still a lot of things I can’t talk about. But life gets better, Jim—I promise. The war will always be with us, but the farther forward you go from it, the smaller it will seem in the rearview mirror.”
Jimmy shifted on the bench as if the stone was starting to feel uncomfortable. I could tell he was growing agitated, and I hurried on. “I saved this letter for last,” I told him, “because I thought his advice was really good. It’s from Dave Moyers.
