were late for school for the first time ever. Nancy and Carol came home from their
school – Central High School, just a few blocks away – just in time to kiss their
father goodbye. I did not ask if they were cutting classes or had school closed
early; it did not seem to matter.
Father exchanged salutes with Lieutenant Bozell and with Brian, then headed straight
for the streetcar line without coming back into the house. He said to me, ‘You know
where I’m going, and why. I’ll be back when you see me.’
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I agreed that I knew. Father had been increasingly restless ever since his request
for active duty had been turned down.
I turned everything over to Nancy and went back to bed… for, the second time, as I
had impressed Father as baby watcher earlier, so that Brian and I could go back to
bed after breakfast; we both guessed that this would be der Tag.
But this time I went to bed just to cry.
About three I got up and Nancy served me tea and milk and toast; I ate some of it.
While I was fiddling with it, Father returned home in the most towering rage I had
ever seen him in. He offered no explanation. Nancy told him that Mr Bronson had
called and had asked for him… and that brought it out of him in a flood.
I think `poltroon’ was the mildest term that he used about Mr Bronson. `Pro-German
traitor’ may have been the bitterest. He did not use profanity, just words of rage
and disappointment.
I had great trouble believing it. Mr Bronson a coward? Pro German? But Father was
detailed in his account and broken hearted in his response. In my own confused grief
– my beloved country, my beloved husband, my secret lover, all the same day – I had
to force myself to remember that Father was hit just as hard. His brother’s boy – or
was Tbeodore Bronson his own son? Father had hinted at the possibility.
I went back to bed, cried some more, then lay there, dry eyed; with this triple ache
in my heart.
Father tapped on my door. ‘Daughter?’
`Yes, Father?’
`Mr Bronson is on the telephone, asking for you.’
‘I don’t want to talk to him! Must I?’
‘Certainly not. Is there anything you wish me to say to him?,
‘Tell him… not to call me. Not to come here. Not to speak to any of my children…
now or ever.’
‘I’ll tell him. With a few words for myself, too. Maureen, his sheer gall amazes
me.’
About six Carol brought me a tray. I ate some of it. Then Justin and Eleanor came to
see me and I cried on my big sister and they consoled me. Later – I don’t know the
time but it was after dark. Eight-thirty? Nine? I roused at some commotion
downstairs. Shortly my father came up, tapped on the door.
`Maureen? Mr Bronson is here.’
‘What?’
`May I come in? I have something to show you.’
I didn’t want to let Father in; I hadn’t cleaned up and I was afraid Father would
notice. But… Mr Bronson here? Here? After what Father had said to him? ‘Yes,
Father, come in.’
He showed me a piece of paper. I read it; it was a carbon copy of an Army enlistment
form… which stated that `Bronson, Theodore’ was enlisted at the rank of Private in
the National Army of the United States.
`Father, is this some sort of bad joke?’
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`No. He’s here. That’s authentic. He did it.’
I got out of bed. `Father, will you start me a tub? I’ll be down quickly.’
`Certainly.’
He went into my bath; I peeled off my gown, went in after him, thanked him. I didn’t
realise that I was naked in front of him until he looked at me and looked away. ‘Ask
Nancy to serve him something, please. Is Nancy still up?’
`Everyone is up. Get into that tub, dear; we’ll wait for you.’