With one elbow propped on the table, Meridee studied Hattie over the rim of her cup. “Let’s cut to the chase. Mr. A. is the Kreger boy, the one you’ve carried a torch for all your life, correct?”
Hattie squirmed. “If I’m not mistaken, he finally likes me. But I’m concerned I’ve merely piqued his interest. On the other hand, there’s another gentleman who genuinely cares about me.”
“But how do you feel about him?”
She had asked herself that same question, at least, a dozen times. “I don’t know him well enough to make that determination, which means the Christmas furlough is an opportunity to deepen our friendship.”
“Or shove him out of the running.” After a sympathetic smile, Meridee patted Hattie’s forearm.
“Perhaps.”
“But if Arno is truly falling for you, you may ruin your chances with him by spending time with the other soldier. And your father despises Arno, another wrinkle to iron.” Meridee nodded with enthusiasm. “You’re in a quandary alright.”
“I haven’t the foggiest idea why Daddy dislikes Arno so much. Back in the day, Arno picked plenty of fights, but he’s matured since then.” Best not to mention Barrett’s warning that Arno’s rebellious theme continued at camp.
“From my experience, the best way to find out why a person dislikes someone is to ask, but are you prepared to hear your father’s answer?”
Footsteps thumped on the stairs, and Hattie placed a warning finger against her lips before Daddy swept into the room. His glances roamed between his daughter and the widow. If he was surprised by Meridee’s presence, he didn’t show it.
“You got a question for me, Button?” Daddy replaced his stale toothpick with a fresher version from a canister next to the cook stove.
Meridee nodded her encouragement. “Go ahead, dear. Here’s your chance.”
After a fortifying breath, Hattie plunged forward. “Why-why do you … hate … asparagus?” She groaned inside and kicked herself for not raising the proper question, the one that truly mattered.
Daddy gripped the back of a kitchen chair and shuffled his toothpick to the side of his mouth. “I guess I’m not much for green vegetables. You either like ’em, or you don’t. It’s like you and peas.”
“I see.” Hattie tapped at a pearl.
“That’s it?” Daddy asked. “That’s your big question?”
Hattie screwed up her courage for attempt number two. “There is one other thing I’m curious about.” She gulped. “Why do you hate Arno Kreger?”
In the room’s unsettling quiet, only the kitchen clock ticked until Daddy cleared his throat. “Hate is an ugly word.”
With an upward tilt of her chin, she stared into her father’s eyes, same brown shade as hers. “I couldn’t agree more.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
* * *
A bone-chilling wind stroked Arno’s neck. He turned up his overcoat collar, then stuffed his hands inside his pockets. Temperatures, lingering between raw and frigid, had formed a thin glaze that crunched beneath their boots. “It feels cold enough to snow.”
“And I feel mad enough to spit smoke.” Karl hunched his shoulders against the chill. “For the life of me, I can’t believe some of the fellas who’ve made corporal. If you ask me, those who slide the best, skate in.”
“They’re slippery suckers.” The two shared a commiserating smile. Another round of promotions and another failure for Arno, Karl too.
Between the icy air and a rumored measles quarantine, not many roamed the quiet side street between the Y.M.C.A. and the barracks. The hearse had crawled down the road twice last night. A troubling sign the illness was spreading. Arno had suffered the ailment as a boy.
“Why don’t they base promotions on what we’ve learned?” Arno shivered.
He’d memorized his drill manual—bayonet maneuvers, hand grenade detail, trench warfare, first aid, military courtesy, and everything in-between but still no promotion. With each passing day, he hoped for the recognition, if for no other reason than to write Father with the update.
“I hate it when a corporal barks an order for something he could easily do himself.” Karl coughed, stopping until the hacking ended. “All you can say is ‘Yes, sir’ and then snap to it.”
Arno couldn’t agree more, but the army played by its own rules and the sooner he and Karl accepted the new way of life, the easier the transition. At least, that’s what Arno told himself. “What job did you pull for tonight?”
“I’ll put it this way,” Karl bumped a shoulder against Arno’s and whispered, “if I peel one more spud, I may go AWOL.”
He laughed at Karl’s often-repeated joke. “I’m not standing guard until midnight, but I’ll watch for fence hoppers.”
“Nah, it’s too cold tonight. I’ll wait until it warms up a little.”
Sleet pinged against the barrack’s tin roof as they entered. The busy room droned. A ring of men hung close to an arm-wrestling match in the dormitory’s far corner. Others dealt cards in groups of four or lounged on cots, sleeping or reading. Someone picked at a banjo.
Alongside Karl’s bunk, Arno released a low whistle, admiring the mail scattered across the bed. “Nice haul.”
“Ain’t it though!”
Arno reached his bed and found two letters—one from Hattie and the other from Father. He shed his outer garments before sitting near the heat register. He nudged the chair closer to the warmth and then ripped open Hattie’s envelope.
A snapshot fluttered onto his lap. Perched in the lowest crook of an apple tree, she mugged for the camera, sporting a familiar dress and a sweet smile. A ribbon tied back her hair, with a few wispy curls twisting in a breeze.
Emotion clogged his thoughts until he flipped over her likeness to regain composure. How had a simple photograph unnerved him? With a deep breath, he unfolded the sheet of stationery.
December 17, 1917
Dear Arno,
Your family must be thrilled about your upcoming furlough home. No doubt, Christmas wouldn’t be the same without you.
The photograph is an old one, but I thought you might like it just the same.
The Brigade is progressing nicely. We’re holding a special function at the opera house in January. While the kissing booth idea held merit, we’ve chosen a box social instead. The gals expect me to sing during the program, making it my first performance on the venue’s stage. Of course, I’m nervous, but I fully intend to persevere. I wish you could attend and bid on my basket. If so, I’d prepare your favorite dishes.
Hope all is well in Little Rock, and they’re not working you too awfully hard. Most days, you’ll find me nuzzled somewhere with a book in my lap. Mind you, I’m not neglecting my chores, but everything slows down during the winter months. You know how that works.
I’m thrilled to learn you love our three exchanges, whether they be little, medium-sized, or large admissions. This time, mine are doozies.
Regarding your upcoming furlough, I’m eager to see you. However, Barrett also intends to visit Split Falls during the same period. That complicates matters, doesn’t it?