One giant stumbling block between you and me is Daddy. Recently, I asked him why. He hemmed and hawed and then recited your history of fighting. Although news to me, he also partially blames you for Jeb’s gun accident. What exactly occurred back then, or should I ask my brother? It’s a mystery, at least from where I’m sitting. Daddy alluded to a third reason but chose to keep the particulars a secret. No doubt, it stems from the family feud between your father and mine. Why is that whole business secretive?
Finally, thanks to Meridee Moss’s strong negotiation tactics, Daddy agreed to allow our continued letter exchanges, but he has a stipulation. Every month we write one another, I’m required to date a boy from back home. It’s his opinion that I’ll find somebody new and lose interest in you. The entire notion is absurd, but I’ll pay the price if it means we’re allowed to grow our friendship.
Sorry to report this development. If you decide it’s too much of a bother, I’ll be disappointed but understand. But if you still want to meet during your furlough, I’d like that. I’m ready to skate circles around you.
As always,
Hattie
Arno crumpled the letter while digesting the news. Was she worth the trouble of more suitors and a meddling father? He felt a tug toward yes. But he had no business pursuing her when he couldn’t offer her a future, at least not the type that included a house full of noisy children.
Arno returned to his footlocker, kicking the corner, not once or twice but until his toe throbbed. His day stunk like skunk family reunion, and he’d not yet opened Father’s envelope.
Shouts from the arm-wrestling fans snared his attention until Karl dumped an armful of goodies onto Arno’s bed.
“This is your take. I’m splitting my mail fifty-fifty with you.”
“It’s my lucky day, isn’t it?” Although Arno appreciated the windfall, he couldn’t shake Hattie’s troubling message about dating more men, plenty of more men.
An orange, taffy, picked nuts, sugar cookies, peppermint candy, a necktie, and a Popular Mechanics magazine sprawled across his cot. “There’s also a foxy photograph from Sadie Parker, but I’m not about to rip her picture down the middle.” Karl laughed, but his guffaw soon switched to a drawn-out series of coughs.
“Gonna make it, buddy, or should I fetch the medic?”
“I can’t lick this lousy cough. Otherwise, I’m more than fine.” Karl drew a handkerchief across his mouth. “What did you get in the mail? I’m ready for my fair share.” When Karl cupped his hands, Arno forked over Hattie’s balled letter. “What’s this?”
Arno grunted. “Mail from Hattie.”
“No, thank you.” Karl tossed the crinkled stationery over his shoulder. “What else you got, anything smelling like food and tasting like your ma’s cooking?”
“Father wrote for the first time. I haven’t read it yet.”
With a sigh, Karl flopped onto the edge of Arno’s bed, brushing aside his handouts. His raised eyebrows said more than a dozen words.
Arno sucked in a deep lungful of air. “Hattie’s pa forbids her from writing me unless she dates a series of local men.”
With a hand on his belly, Karl howled, driving home Arno’s theory—Chester’s plan was crazy. “Thinking she’ll fall for someone better. No offense.”
“None taken. Plus, Jordane is headed to Split Falls on furlough, the same time as us.”
The shouting escalated across the room. Arno tossed Father’s unopened envelope onto his bed. “Ready to blow off steam?”
“Not in the least, but I’m willing to root for my best pal.” He stood and stretched. “My way is less work.”
CW held court at the arm-wrestling table. Arno and Karl, along with the rest of the audience, watched three challengers lose in rapid succession.
Karl raised a brow, and Arno nodded in agreement. CW possessed the strength of two average-sized men or perhaps three scrawny ones. But was he starting to tire? A film covered the soldier’s flushed skin, glinting in the electric light. The space stank of sweat.
“Come on, you poor suckers,” CW hollered loud enough to wake those who napped. “Who’s next?” For a minute, nobody accepted the bait.
Without fanfare, Arno claimed the empty seat, situated his right elbow on the small round table, and then clasped CW’s clammy hand.
CW threw back his head and howled. “You made my day, German boy. Every donkey thinks itself worthy of standing with the king’s horses.”
“That’s mighty philosophical.” Arno eyed his opponent, picturing the man’s disappointed face after his upcoming loss. “Which critter are you?”
“We’re about to find out.”
Another soldier, a mediator, grasped the competitors’ hands, ensuring neither started with an unfair advantage. “On your mark, get set, go!”
Although Arno failed to match CW’s size, he rivaled the soldier’s stamina and strength. Neither offered an inch. Sweat formed, and he fought the urge to wipe it away. If he won, he’d silence the poor excuse of a soldier once and for all. Time ticked, yet Arno’s power flourished. Slowly, like a calf’s first cautious step, Arno inched CW’s hand toward a victory.
“Had … enough?” CW’s stale breath swept Arno’s face.
The thought of slamming his foe’s meaty fist against the wooden table kept Arno going. Then he would label himself the king’s horse, making CW the—
“Listen to this.” Someone hollered with a tone of urgency.
Although interest piqued, Arno concentrated on his task, growing in importance with each drop of sweat. The way CW’s hand shook, Arno’s hope to pocket a win inched closer, tasting as sweet as a butterscotch candy.
“The army just issued a quarantine,” the message-bearer said. “It’s official. All leaves are off until further notice.”
The packed room whirred with the shattering news.
Hattie. Without seeing her in person, he’d never gain a proper footing to court the girl. But was that his true objective—courtship with Hattie Waltz? For a brief moment, he squeezed his eyes shut. Her pa would never allow it.
The second Arno’s grip lessened, CW slammed it against the table.
“You loser, Kreger!” After a fist smack against his chest, CW jumped to his feet, jarring the table. “Who’s next?”
Nobody answered. Karl doubled over and hacked for a long spell.
“Go to the medic.” With a shove against the table, Arno rose, and pushed his way through the knotted soldiers, hurrying toward his bunk.
“It’s better than your chore,” Karl said, a few steps behind.
Arno swiveled around, arching a brow. He’d pulled guard duty, but his shift didn’t start for hours. “What?”
“Breaking Hattie’s heart.”
Did he hold that influence over the girl? Not likely. “Perhaps they’ll call off the quarantine in a day or two, and we’ll still make it home for Christmas.”
Frankie strolled past. “Don’t count on it. I heard the shutdown is to last a week or longer. Hope we don’t cry if Santy Claus fails to track us down in Arkansas.”
Arno lacked a reply and continued to his cot, while reality settled into his pores. His new destination—Disappointment Street, not Split Falls. With a sigh, he opened Father’s envelope.