“Are you implying me?” Barrett removed his hat to drag his hand through cropped black hair.
“I wouldn’t dream of it.” Lena’s laughter rang loud and bold, same as church bells.
“I know what to do with a couple of crackpots. Ladies, if you’ll excuse me.” After winking at Hattie, Barrett bowed and then beelined toward the interruption.
“He’s cute, but I don’t know, fussy. However, his accent is divine.” Lena propped a hand on her hip while the soldier darted toward the action.
“Perhaps bowing is customary in the South.”
“I think not.”
Hattie rolled her eyes and cocked her arm before loading and cradling a half-dozen socks. They’d knitted far more footwear than necessary over the last three weeks, but Lena had insisted. “Let’s go warm some tootsies.”
“And find you an adorable suitor—I mean soldier—to write to. Someone more to your liking than Mr. Fussy Pants.”
Two seconds ago, Lena had implied Barrett rivaled the best of the beautiful. “I like him fine.” Perhaps Hattie would write the man the second she returned home, and the following day, and the one after that.
“Nah, you don’t.”
She sighed, weary of Lena’s know-it-all opinions. “Why don’t we concentrate on our task, handing out socks? That’s all.”
Lena fiddled with her lemony-yellow hat with a rolled brim until Hattie lent a hand to tilt it to a picture-perfect angle. Then the girls separated to deliver their stockpiled footwear.
Nervous laughter blended with enthusiastic shouts and chatter, drowning the more intimate conversations teemed with goodbyes. Hattie suspected most of the exiting men considered boot camp an adventure. Plenty had yapped about plans to whoop the Kaiser’s backside in no time. She prayed the boasts twisted into reality.
Arno milled alongside his family, but his eyes trailed Hattie until Lena snaked her arm around his waist. After a sniffle, Mother sopped tears with a handkerchief.
“Mind yourself.” Max Kreger stuffed his hand into his trouser pocket, emphasizing the no-need-for-a-handshake message. His other hand clutched a whittled cane.
“Yes, sir.”
“You’re a Kreger. It’s time you wore the name with pride.”
Father, wounded while rescuing a family trapped in a burning house, had earned admiration for his bravery and a carved walking stick for his damaged leg. Although he touted worthy advice, it presented a predicament—how to fight a German enemy and, at the same time, bear a German name.
“I’ll try my best.” Someday he’d make his father proud or, probably, die in the effort.
Father mumbled something unintelligible.
Arno caught two words—not enough. He gritted his teeth. The minute the war ended, he’d buy a few acres of his own to farm, get out from under Father’s thumb.
Sunshine lit the tears on Mother’s face. She nudged her husband aside. “I’ll pray for you morning and night, son. I already lost one boy. I can’t abide losing another.”
Oliver’s earnest face appeared before Arno blinked his kid brother aside and embraced the woman who’d loved him first and without conditions. She smelled like a lilac bush, and he tugged her close, whispering words to fade her worries. “I promise to return.”
“It’s not your say-so.” She hiccupped, and he tightened his grip.
They swayed, rocking to a silent rhythm before a final whispered goodbye. Arno held her at arm’s length and offered a reassuring smile, but it flickered and failed.
“Let the boy go, Gen.” Father’s firm voice drew glances from bystanders.
Arno cringed.
With a final pat to his sleeve, Mother stepped aside and laced her fingers.
Lena, never burdened by public opinion, stretched to kiss him on both cheeks. “That’s how they do it in Europe. Don’t be a dolt while you’re over there.” She tugged his ear toward her mouth. “Behave yourself.” No doubt, he’d miss her most of all.
With his trunk snug on his shoulder, Arno maneuvered through the crowd. A short line of soldiers lingered near the train’s entrance. Searching for his buddy Karl, he swung right and almost rammed Hattie, who sidestepped to avoid the collision.
“Close call,” she said as her bright smile wilted.
“You need to watch your step.” Why was it so fun to tease her? In many ways, she reminded him of the china doll still propped on Lena’s pinewood chest of drawers—brown eyes, cocoa brown hair that curled, and ivory skin. Although both pretty enough, the doll and Hattie, only one had stolen his heart long ago.
But he’d never tell her. He couldn’t.
“I believe you almost trampled me.”
He grinned, nodding toward her armful of socks. “Gonna pass me a pair or horde the entire batch?”
“Of course, we knitted these for you.” She raised her armful. “Not only you—all the soldiers. The proverb inside is a good one.”
“Aren’t they all good?” His grin grew, pulling him back to an easier time when friendships were only one-layer deep. He reached for her gift and caught the fresh scent of soap as if she’d scrubbed her skin minutes ago.
Her eyes darted from the train to Arno. “Isn’t it time to board? You don’t want to start your army life in trouble.”
A muscle pulsated in his cheek, drumming to the cadence of Hattie’s lecture. “How sweet of you to worry about my welfare. Wait a minute, do you still like me?”
Her face flamed, but she raised her chin, pinning him to the ground with her stare. “For Lena’s sake, you better come back in one piece.”
When he crossed his heart with a fingertip, her smile reappeared. For years, that simple childhood action had guaranteed they’d never break each other’s promises. In his eyes, that crossing of the heart carried the same weight today. Do you want me to come back too?
Another man approached, the same fellow who’d bent Hattie’s ear minutes before. “Is this man disturbing you?” The citified stranger wrinkled his forehead.
“Barrett, this is Arno, Lena’s brother. Arno, Barrett.” Although she spoke to the intruder, her eyes remained fixed on Arno. “We’re saying goodbye.”
The two men shook hands. Barrett’s palm was as soft as pudding, not callused like most men who worked to put food on the table.
“Now, that makes perfect sense. You claimed you didn’t have a beau.” With a hearty slap, Barrett thumped Arno’s back. “You know how the mind jumps to conclusions.” He turned to Hattie. “You never answered my question. Will you write to me?”
She flashed a not-so-tomboyish smile and rested her hand on the man’s showy jacket sleeve. “It would be my pleasure.”
“Kreger.” Barrett touched his hat brim with two fingers before luring Hattie away.
The train’s whistle blared, signaling the end of his old life and the beginning of something fresh. Still, Arno remained rooted, watching the departing couple until the crowd swallowed them.
Over the years, he’d looked at Hattie from a slew of angles. But never this one.
CHAPTER TWO
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