silver candelabra. Two candelabras!”
Louise said, “I’m going to make a pie for dinner every day; Michael loves pie more than just about anything. I’ll make all different kinds. And I’ll always have fresh flowers on the table, even if it’s just one little blossom. One flower can make such a big difference!”
“I’m not putting anything on the table,” Kitty said. “We’re going to go out to dinner every night. And then to a club for drinks and dancing.”
“That would get old,” Louise said, and Tish and Kitty answered together, “No it wouldn’t!”
It was quiet, then, both girls writing their letters, Louise lost in thought, Tish with the tip of her tongue sticking out as she labored away. Kitty was having a hard time thinking of something else to say: for heaven’s sake, she’d just seen Julian that morning. She could talk about plans for their married life once she had the ring on her finger, but that hadn’t happened yet. She’d already told him about Louise and Michael, which he probably knew anyway, since he and Michael were such good friends. What else was there to write about? What they’d had for dinner? She certainly didn’t think she should mention Alan Betterman. She wrote,
I guess you’ll be plenty busy, but I sure hope you’ll have time to write now and then.
Then, shyly, she added,
honey.
She sat back in her chair and regarded the word on the page. Maybe it was wrong. Maybe
hon
would be better. Or some newfangled word of endearment: Julian was always up on the latest slang. Last time they were trying to have some private time at her house, Julian had told Billy, “Go climb up your thumb, wouldja?”
Kitty stared at her letter, and decided to leave
honey
in. It would look worse to scratch it out. Then she wrote,
Say, I know this is awfully short, but Louise is calling me to help her with some crazy thing. Remember me in your dreams, as I will you.
She’d write a longer letter later, after something had happened.
Tish licked an envelope, sealed it, and set it aside, then put the letter she’d answered back in its packet tied with red ribbon. She had three different colors for the men she was currently writing: red for Roy Letterman from Oakland, California; yellow for Bill Carson from Bayonne, New Jersey; and blue for her favorite, Donald Erickson from Madison, Wisconsin. She’d had pink for Whitey Nelson from New York City, but the letters from him had recently stopped. No one wanted to think why. At least Tish’s last letter to him had not come back marked DECEASED. Yet.
“You guys?” Tish said. “Do you ever wonder…Do you think there’s any danger that we’ll get attacked?”
Louise sighed. “Who knows?”
“Because I have a plan,” Tish said. “If we get attacked, we put a line of red nail polish across our throats like blood and play dead. I have the polish under the bed; it’s all ready in case we need it. Becky gave it to me, that girl who sits behind me in school. She has two bottles under her bed. She’s going to pour it all over her forehead like she shot herself.”
Kitty and Louise exchanged glances, and then Louise spoke reassuringly. “That’s a good plan, Tish. But I don’t think we’ll need it. I think we’ll win the war, and the boys will come home. It’s all going to be over soon.”
Silence but for the sound of the radio in the parlor, and then Tish opened another letter and laughed. “Listen to what this guy said:
‘I hope I didn’t embarrass you, praising your charms this way. Or make you mad! If I did, don’t be sore, it’s just with a puss like mine, I thought the only woman I’d hear from would be my mom. I’m the luckiest man in my company, everyone agrees.’
See that?” She smiled at her sisters, then read the lines again, silently this time, but with her lips moving.
“Guess you’re a good knitter after all, Tish,” Louise said. And then she got them all more hot water and lemon, and they worked quietly until