Waiting to Believe Page 2

  “Guess selling bomb shelters wasn’t on your list, huh?”

  Kenneth grinned, taking a sip of the icy drink. “Nope, not bomb shelters. Not Edsels, either.” Greg returned the grin. Kenneth eased into a chair and began the story of his career pursuit. He was pleased to have a listener.

  After some time, he got up and crossed to a kitchen cupboard. Taking down a bottle of vodka, he poured liberally into his lemonade. He glanced over at Greg, the bottle still in his hand, then placed it back in the cupboard.

  “Banking’s more than the movement of money. It’s about how a community functions. And there’s so much to choose from in banking.”

  Greg raised an eyebrow.

  Kenneth settled back into his chair, looking down into his glass as he spoke. “I think the idea of being a loan officer was what captured my attention first. When I was starting out, loans were the major source of revenue for most banks.” He took a swallow. “I saw a future for myself almost right away.”

  Greg leaned his elbows on the table. “And you were right?”

  “I was right. But a bank’s only as good as its people, and I knew I’d be good.”

  Kacey appeared in the kitchen doorway. “I thought I heard your voice!” She smiled at Greg. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

  “My fault,” Kenneth admitted. “But I got some work out of him.”

  Kacey mussed Greg’s hair. “Doesn’t look like you’re working real hard now!” While grabbing her sweater, she pulled Greg from the chair, “C’mon, My Fair Lady starts in half an hour.”

  Kenneth walked them to the back door. “To be continued, Greg!” he promised.

  Sitting beside Greg in his old Ford pickup, Kacey watched his hand turn the key in the ignition. Something about that simple movement created a twinge deep within her. The act itself was simply a connection made between electrical forces. But for Kacey, it became sensual. She placed a hand on Greg’s knee. “Let’s not go to the movie.”

  Greg smiled and started down the driveway, flicking on the right turn signal as they approached the road. The truck built up a thick trail of dust as they moved toward their private spot at the edge of the neighboring woods.

  It was just ten minutes away, but it was hidden from sight. They called it their glen. Greg maneuvered slowly down the narrow, rutted road only they knew. Shrubs and low-hanging branches brushed against the truck. Finally it rolled to a stop in a small clearing. Oaks, maples, and birch provided a canopy. Wild daisies, Queen Anne’s lace, and Indian paintbrush popped up in the long grass that shimmered in the breeze. Kacey and Greg sprang from the truck, laughing.

  Greg pulled a blanket from behind the seat. “I’ve learned never to leave home without this thing!”

  Kacey feigned indignation. “So that’s the kind of guy you are!”

  “Hey, you’ve been the only girl for me ever since I saw you throw Gerald a curveball!”

  They dropped onto the blanket. He took her in his arms, burying his face in her neck. His hands stroked her hair, her back. She reached her arms around him and held tightly, her eyes closed. Neither spoke.

  Gently he pushed her back, lowered himself till he rested first on his side and then on top of her. She shifted slightly under his weight. His mouth moved slowly over her face, and as he came to her lips, he moaned. She felt the urgency within her own body tightening her hold across his broad back, wanting to create a seamless joining with him.

  Lifting himself enough to fumble with the buttons on her shirt, he undid them with one hand, pulling up her bra to reveal, for the first time, her bare breasts. Kacey’s eyes opened with a start. She gasped as he put his face between the two small, innocent mounds. Instinctively, she reached to push him away, struggling to sit up. “Greg, no!” She pulled her bra back down and with trembling hands, buttoned her shirt.

  Sweat matted his hairline, the nape of his neck. The moment had been both overwhelming and unbearable. “Kacey,” he groaned, “don’t stop me now.” Both were sitting upright, a tangle of arms and legs. He dropped his head to rest against her shoulder.

  She shuddered, struggling to regain her composure. Her body, too, had responded in a way she had never experienced. She had felt the wetness seep from her at his touch, but when she spoke, her voice was calm. “No, we can’t do this. I’m not ready.”

  Greg plunged his hands through his damp curls. “You are ready!”

  Kacey saw his pain. Resting her hand on his cheek, she whispered, “C’mon. Let’s just hold each other.”

  He looked into her face, so open to him, so honest, and he knew she was right. Without speaking, they both lay back down—Greg on his side, Kacey on her back. He stroked her cheek gently. The fire was gone. “Okay for now, Kace, but some day even you won’t be able to stop.”

  4

  Rose folded the cardigan sweater, smiling shyly at her oldest daughter. Annie had grown tall and willowy. Her thick black hair had a wild wave to it that was difficult to tame. Appropriate, Rose thought. Annie was like that. She bore a striking resemblance to her father and matched him in self-confidence. “Annie, Annie, you still seem too young to be going off to college!”

  “Eighteen’s not so young, Mom. You did it, and you were only a couple years older than me when you married Dad.” Annie tried to be tender with her mother. It didn’t come easily, but she could afford to be generous now that she would be free.

  She had chosen Our Lady of Lourdes College, a small Illinois school with a reputation for turning out scholars. Best of all, Annie thought, it was too far away to come home on weekends.

  Rose picked up a stack of underwear, moving it from one spot on the bed to another. “Well, I’ll miss you. We’ve had our spats and all, but you’re a good girl, Annie. I really will miss you.”

  “Oh, you’ve still got Kacey. She’s the one you rely on, anyway.” Rose’s mouth turned downward, almost in a pout.

  Before she could speak, Kenneth burst through the door, carrying three pieces of luggage. “Here’s your going-away present, honey! I don’t want you going off to college with your clothes in a paper sack, the way I did!” Hugs and smiles. And tears.

  Annie lifted the large Samsonsite, running her hand over its smooth, hard finish. “Thanks, Dad,” she said quietly, and then surprised herself by adding, “I’ll make you proud.”

  “You already have, Annie.” He held out the smallest piece to her, letting his hand linger on hers for just a moment as she took it from him.

  Kenneth and Rose drove home from Illinois in silence. Their first child, off to college. The September sun beat down hot on the car as it sped along Highway 94. Kenneth glanced over at Rose, who stared out the window. “One down, five to go,” he finally said.

  “Mmm,” Rose acknowledged. Then, after a moment, “Maybe Kacey won’t leave home. Maybe she’ll just stay.”

  Kenneth’s head snapped around to look at her. “Stay? Are you crazy? What would ever make you think she won’t go to college?”

  Rose continued to stare out at the fields. “Oh, I don’t know. She doesn’t talk much about what she wants.”

  “I’ll grant you that,” Kenneth said, “but she’s thinking. She’s always thinking. Just keeping it inside till the time comes.”

  “Greg’s starting to think about college.” Kenneth glanced at Kacey for a reaction. “S’pose you talk about that, though.” Father and daughter were bent under the hood of the station wagon. “Hand me that wrench,” he said. Kacey laid the tool in his hand. “You got this now? See how it’s done?”

  “Dad! I know how to change a spark plug!”

  Kenneth stood upright and looked at her quizzically. “Since when do you take that tone?”

  “Sorry,” Kacey said but couldn’t resist adding, “I just feel you’re after me all the time to talk about my plans.”

  Kenneth wiped his greasy hands on the rag from his hip p
ocket. “Well, you’re going to be a senior in another week. What’s wrong with asking you about your plans?”

  “Nothing! There’s nothing wrong with it. I just don’t know what to tell you. I don’t know what my plans are! I don’t have any plans!” Kacey threw up her arms, then folded them across her chest.

  “I don’t understand how that can be, Kathryn. You should be applying to colleges. You’ve got to make plans, or you won’t get in anywhere!” No response. “For God’s sake, girl! You must have a glimmer of what you want to be—a teacher? Librarian? A mechanic?”

  Tears sprang from Kacey’s eyes. “No! I don’t know! I’ll tell you when I know!”

  A dumbfounded father stood in the shadow of the garage, watching his best and brightest stalk away. He slammed down the hood. The spark plug wrench jumped off the fender and clattered to the ground. “Jesus!” he exclaimed to the air.

  Bridget thought the meatballs had a scummy look to them as she passed the bowl to Maureen. Maureen dipped the serving spoon down into the thick mixture. “Yuck,” she exclaimed. “Who made this?”

  “I did!” Kacey responded. “Don’t eat ’em if you don’t want to. Makes no difference to me.” She grabbed the steaming bowl, ladling a generous portion onto her plate before passing it to Kenneth. Kenneth took the bowl, glanced down at it, and passed it to Rose without serving himself.

  “What are you so crabby about?” Bridget asked Kacey. “Couldn’t figure out how to change that spark plug?”

  “I can change five spark plugs before you can count to ten! Drop it!” Tension lowered itself like a fog over the supper table.

  Finally ten-year-old Joseph broke the silence. “Gerald’s crazy!”

  “Yeah? So what’s your point?” Thirteen-year-old Maureen seemed to be the only one to take notice.

  Unfazed, Joseph continued. “Him and the Freeman kids take turns crawling underneath the railroad cars at the Hanson Creek crossing!” He waited for the impact.

  “He and the Freemans,” Maureen corrected.

  “No, it should be the Freemans and he,” Bridget stepped in.

  “Well, gosh, I just think he could get killed.” Joseph looked around the table innocently.

  “True enough, young man,” Kacey said. “And if he does, that’ll teach him a lesson, won’t it?”

  Gerald snickered. Kenneth glared at him but did not speak. Rose left the table and headed for the liquor cabinet. She poured Jameson into a glass, wondering what she was missing in all this. “Kenneth?” she asked as she dropped ice cubes into her glass. “Do you know what they’re talking about?”

  Kenneth frowned and pushed his chair back. Rising, he turned from the table. “No, I don’t. I don’t seem to know what’s going on with any of our children anymore.” He slammed the kitchen door as he went out.

  Kacey began clearing the table while the others scattered. “It’s the flour! Okay?” she yelled. “It was just too much flour! No one’s gonna die of it!”

  “It’s official!” Greg announced as soon as Kacey climbed into the pickup. “I sent off my applications to Notre Dame, St. John’s, and Loyola.”

  “Pretty one-sided in your search, aren’t you? Gonna be a priest?”

  “Good God!” he laughed, reaching out his arm to squeeze her shoulder. “No, I just think they’re the best schools! What about you?”

  Kacey shot him a look accompanied by a groan, but he wasn’t to be dissuaded. “No, really. You haven’t said a thing about your applications.”

  “Oh, Greg, now you sound just like Dad! I’m being bullied every day to ‘declare my intentions!’ But I don’t know what my intentions are!”

  “Oh, I can’t believe something’s not running around in your head.”

  “I’ve still got the whole year, Greg! I’ll get it figured out.”

  Greg glanced at Kacey. “Can’t you talk to me about it?”

  She softened. “It would make sense, wouldn’t it? That I could talk to you. But I don’t think I can—yet.”

  Greg gave her shoulder another tender squeeze. “Meet me in the glen tonight.”

  “I’d better not,” she said. “I’ve got homework.”

  “Are you kidding? Since when has homework stopped you?”

  Kacey shrugged away from his hand. “I’d rather not, okay? Just let me be.”

  Greg understood it was time to back away. He switched on the radio. Patsy Cline was beginning her lament, “Crazy.” Cranking up the volume, he gunned the engine and moved out.

  Believing she would change her mind, Greg waited at the glen that night, but Kacey didn’t appear.

  With each passing week of her senior year, Kacey knew she was being drawn closer to a decision. Wordless anxieties mounted, and more and more she sought time by herself, scrambling to make sense of what seemed unimaginable.

  Still, there were sweet moments with Greg, swaying to “Moon River.” There was both tension and comfort being held in his arms.

  5

  Kenneth was a man of rituals. His childhood memories of Christmas on the farm became the framework for Christmas celebrations in his and Rose’s home. So, the Christmas tree could not be cut down until the first week in Advent, and it had to be snowing when the eight Doyles tramped into their woods to do the cutting.

  As the children grew and it became more difficult to pull everyone together, he refused to yield—until the winter of 1961. For the first time, the Doyles numbered only seven as they fought their way through knee-deep drifts in pursuit of the perfect tree.

  “It just doesn’t feel right to be cutting the tree without Annie,” Maureen complained.

  Rose struggled to keep up, calling, “We couldn’t wait till she gets home! The tree’s got to go up. She’ll understand.”

  “Her finals will be over this week,” Kacey grumbled. The cold air pulled the breath from her lungs. It was hard to talk and trudge at the same time.

  Gerald leaped ahead. “Besides, it’s snowing now! Now’s the time to get it!” He scooped up a fistful of snow and hurled it at Kacey.

  Kenneth stopped and pointed. He had found the tree. “Gerald, Joseph! Dig out some of that snow around the trunk. Who’s got the saw?” He stood back. “She’s a beauty!” Hands on his hips, he watched his children swing into action. But wistfulness crept over him. The first year one child was missing. His mind went to Kacey. Where would she be next year?

  The balsam stood seven-feet tall, and its fullness covered the two living room windows. Kenneth strung the lights. One by one, the ornaments were hung. A hodgepodge of memories of Christmases past. The Ray Conniff Singers serenaded them from the stereo.

  “Where’s Greg?” Bridget asked. “I thought he’d be here tonight.”

  Kacey was hanging a velvet cardinal on an upper bough. She wrinkled her nose ever so slightly. “He’s home pouting. We had a little fight last night.”

  “Just because he’s mad at you, that’s no reason for him not to come!” Joseph declared. “Everything’s more fun when he’s here!”

  Kacey reached into the box for another ornament. A glass replica of Christmas ribbon candy. “Well, you’ll just have to live with it. Contrary to what you think, he’s not perfect, Joseph! He can be a real brat!”

  Rose stood back, holding an ornament in her hand. “Hush, Kacey! Don’t talk about Greg that way!”

  Kacey scowled at her mother. “Sometimes I need a little breathing room.”

  Maureen and Bridget gave each other raised eyebrow glances. Something was up with Kacey. Rose, uncomfortable with even a hint of tension, called, “Time for tinsel!” She tossed a handful high into the boughs. At last, the tree was finished.

  Kenneth looked at his watch. Ten o’clock. “Turn off the music, kids!” he called. “It’s time for the news.” He switched on the television, and a blurred image snapped onto the screen. James Davis: the first
US soldier to be killed in Vietnam. Ambushed, west of Saigon.

  Kenneth sat down heavily in his chair. “Mother of God! Now it begins!” he exclaimed.

  Maureen looked at her father. “What begins?”

  Kenneth replied in a tight voice, “The government can call them military advisors, but I’m telling you, we’ll be in a war before we celebrate another Christmas.”

  So ended 1961.

  “Can you just believe it?” Greg couldn’t contain his excitement. He sat on the edge of the davenport. The final seconds of the 1962 Rose Bowl game were ticking away. All the Doyles sat huddled around the big black-and-white console television, watching as their Minnesota Gophers defeated UCLA.

  Greg and Gerald leaped to their feet. Kacey laughed, reaching out to hug them both. Even Rose caught the excitement and gave Kenneth a squeeze. What a great afternoon!

  Kenneth stood up, clapping Greg on the shoulder. “I told you you should apply to the U! A couple of years, and it could be you on that field!” Greg was dear to Kenneth’s heart. Greg grinned back. Kenneth motioned him to follow as he headed for the kitchen. ““C’mon. I think you’re old enough to celebrate with a beer!”

  Still, on this raucous, high-flying afternoon, Kenneth felt a chill, a dampening of his spirit as his thoughts drifted to James Davis, the first dead soldier. “Have a Grain Belt, my boy!” he said, thrusting an amber bottle at Greg.

  6

  Sister Mary Evangeline watched as Kacey gathered her sheet music from the choir room. “I’m so pleased you have the lead in the senior play, Kathryn Clare! You’ll make a fine Becky Thatcher!”

  The music teacher was Kacey’s favorite. Mary Evangeline was in her late sixties. Her coif encased a plump, round, wrinkled face, but her smile was quick and endearing.