Heart of Devotion. N.J. Perez

did not get a letter this week,” Mr. McSwain said.

      “I got one on Tuesday,” I said. I reached into the large pocket on the front of my dress and took out the newspaper clipping. Opening it, I handed it to Mr. McSwain. His face beamed with pride, and tears welled up within his eyes. Nodding, he looked over at Mrs. McSwain and showed her the photo.

      “Oh, thank Jesus!” she said. Passing the clipping around the table, his sisters and brother were thrilled at the photo of Mac. I informed them that Mac was now in Australia for rest and refit with his company. I was just about to inform them of his furlough request when I bit my tongue.

      “We knew he would make master sergeant!” Mr. McSwain said. I nodded enthusiastically. What if Mac does not get his furlough—that would devastate them! No—I had better wait before telling them until I get further confirmation from Mac. Of course, it might be that his letter informing me it had been approved might not arrive until after he was already here in person. Then it would be a grand surprise for us all!

      I couldn’t wait to get home to finish my letter. Father was asleep in bed, and Mother was darning some of his socks in the living room as she sat on the big Queen Anne Chair adjacent to the large bay window looking out onto the side yard of our neighbor’s property. I peeked my head in from the hallway. “Myrtle made such a fabulous dinner complete with all of the fixings! Mrs. McSwain is much better—she was up and about and in quite good spirits! They all said to send you and Father their regards, and that they can’t wait for us to get together for Sunday dinner sometime soon!”

      Mother nodded without looking up from her sewing. “It’s good she is well again. The ladies at church were growing quite worried and had begun wondering if our prayers for her healing were being heard or not.”

      “Well, they were heard, thanks be to God! I am just going to finish my schoolwork for tomorrow before getting settled in for the night.”

      “Go ahead, dear. I imagine I will be up another hour or so with mending garments!”

      “Oh—Mother! Make sure you get enough sleep and don’t work yourself to death!”

      “I will, dear, don’t you worry.”

      I went in my room and shut the door. After changing into my most comfortable bedtime gown, I sat at my desk and went to retrieve my half-finished letter to Mac from beneath my math book. To my shock and surprise, it was not there! I quickly shuffled one book at a time from the pile. Finally, three books down, beneath my business textbook, I found it. I would have sworn I had placed it beneath my math book! Had somebody found my letter, and worse, perhaps read it? Mother? For a moment, I felt so angry that I was about to go out into the living room and ask her directly if she had gone through my personal belongings. However, I remembered my promise to Mac and to myself that I would be patient with my parent’s concern over my affairs, and so I took a deep breath and reread, from Mother’s perspective, what I had written.

      Halfway through, I knew with certainty that she would have had a fit if she had read it! I knew she would worry about my account with the lady accuser earlier, and most likely with all my endearments to Mac himself. Thinking about when I had arrived home, I recalled Mother had kept her eyes down onto her sewing, perhaps so as not to have given herself away. My mind started twisting in all directions at once. I remembered to calm myself and to breathe deeply. What could I do? So she would know about that terrible lady and her accusations. I did nothing wrong! I shook my head and decided my best course of action was to just forget about it for now and to finish writing my thoughts to Mac. I could not wait to tell him his mother was feeling well again! I picked up my pen and shared with my love just how wonderful a meal his sister had prepared. I let him know how well everybody had treated me the entire evening, and then I told him that his mother was much stronger and in good spirits once again. Finally, I finished by writing that I could not wait for the days to pass so that we could be together again, and that once he was home, he would never be able to get rid of me no matter what happened! I professed my love for him and told him to be careful and to be sweet as usual and to never forget I was his one and only girl.

      I retrieved a fresh envelope from my desk drawer and addressed it appropriately, and then I folded the page in perfect thirds. Reopening it as usual, I then took the small bottle of Mac’s favorite rose perfume from another drawer. Aiming the cap toward the top of my letter, I squeezed the red plunger three times. Just to make sure, I sniffed the letter, and the aroma was just right. I then remembered to look carefully at the top of the page where one or two of my tears had fallen earlier, and I thought you could just see the outline of where the moisture had dried. I was happy for that and, rather quickly, I picked up my pen and went to the bottom of the page. I wrote one last line: Mac, I am sorry about the tears on this letter.

      The next morning, I made a swift departure for the mailbox on my way to school, and dropping my letter into the box, I felt assured that my sweet would understand me and would love me all the more for my struggles away from him. The days went ever so slowly thereafter. Even though only a week later, it felt to me that an entire month had passed, and yet here it was already, April the first, and I was beyond myself with anticipation. Mac might be home at any time. Each morning, I made sure to wear my finest dresses and shoes and to amply perfume myself with his favorite scent. Everyone at school told me I had a glow about me, and I felt prettier than I ever had. The air seemed light and clean, and I smiled easily going about my day. My Mac would be here, and we would go for a walk at the park, then a soda at the diner, and everyone would see how much in love we were. They would know the utility of my waiting all this time for my love because they would see how handsome he was and how much of a gentleman he was, and they would see for themselves then and know with certainty that we were truly meant to be with one another forever.

      Then on Friday, a letter came in the mail. It was from Mac, and I tore it open right out on the sidewalk. After his extraordinary and endearing love greetings, I read and then reread five times the sentence which began the second paragraph—You must excuse me, darling. I did all I could do to get my furlough. The Army simply can’t let go of any of us at this point.

      My eyes burned with my tears, and I clasped the letter in my right hand as my arm came down to my side. I marched inside the house and fell onto my bed face-first with a thud. If I was a cursing woman, I had a few choice words to shout—not at Mac, but at this evil and endless war and those despicable madmen who had initiated it. I cried myself to sleep without eating any dinner, and Mother and Father had left me alone, which I appreciated greatly. The next day, I had trouble getting up, but finally I gave myself the incentive of going to the record shop, which I finally did manage to get to at 12:30 p.m., and after searching for something suitable, I decided upon Bing Cosby’s newest album. I came home and listened to it from start to finish four times straight through. Getting back into my normal routine was still difficult over the next few days, and although they were just being supportive, it crushed me every time one of my friends tried cheering me up. I couldn’t stand it any longer, and I wrote Mac to assure him how much I loved and missed him, and that he must write me as soon as he could.

      The summer was long, hot, and quite lonely. I spent my time down by the creek and trying to avoid the attentions of Thomas and Beck. Lilly, Margie, and I did a lot of reading and baking to keep Margie’s mind off Chester’s impending draft into the army. He finally shipped out in August, and the three of us cried the rest of the day. There had been occasional and sometimes even frequent reports from neighboring communities of soldiers’ families being notified of their beloved son’s, uncle’s, or father’s deaths in battles. It came in a smattering—several here and there, followed by a period of calm, and then more nerve-wracking reports would suddenly come, descending upon us like a rapid machine gun firing. The band had several performances in front of large crowds around town, and I suppose that was okay by me because at least it diverted my attention from worry. I couldn’t wait for the cooler weather, and finally, by the following fall, my spirits were soaring again as the Allies seemed very close to victory on all fronts, and war would be over soon.

      Beck seemed angry with me during the first few weeks of the new term. He had dodged me, and when I smiled in a friendly way at him as we passed each other in the hall, he kept on turning his eyes in order to avoid me. I noticed also that he