Mrs. Macready took a slip of paper out of her pocket, handed it to me, and said, “You might as well get used to that, Private Muldoon. That’s her number. She asked me to give it to you if you came by.”
I opened the paper an’ memorized the number there in a heartbeat, all the while trying not to look like a kid at Christmas. “Thank you, ma’am. And if you don’t mind me sayin’ so, I hope to see you again soon.”
“I hope so too, Private Muldoon. My oldest boy is living in Europe now, and the younger one got married to a girl from New Jersey.” She shook her head like she didn’t know how that had happened. “It would be nice to see another man around the house.”
“If it ain’t intruding…there’s no Mr. Macready?”
“Oh, there is.” She said it kinda airy and light with a steel belt running below, an’ I thought maybe Annie’s apple didn’t fall far from the tree. I also thought I knew when to not ask any more questions, nodded like I understood, an’ kept my damned mouth shut, even when a cold touch ran up the back of my neck. Something seemed wrong about her answer, but I couldn’t put my finger on it. Anyway, Mrs. Macready got a crinkly-eyed look like I’d done good, and brushed her hands on her skirt again. “Care to come in for a glass of lemonade, Private Muldoon?”
I was done being a fool. “I’d love to, ma’am.”
The inside of the Macready house wasn’t as plain as the outside. Tidy rooms and regular furniture, but the pictures on the walls were something else. I stopped to look at one, a painted waterfall with gold mist risin’ up in the shape of some kinda bird, and smiled. “Looks like magic. Somewhere you’ve been?”
“I’m not certain I’d want to visit somewhere that birds were made of mist and born out of waterfalls. My husband did that painting, and all the others. He’s very artistic. The children inherited my pragmatic streak.” She guided me into the kitchen without giving me much chance to see the other paintings, except the one that was on the wall in there. Like the waterfall, it was misty, but this one was all silvers an’ greys muting far-off greenery. There were horse riders heading away from the viewer, deeper into the painting. I got no sense of urgency from ‘em. They seemed content somehow, even though I couldn’t see any of their faces. The fella leading ‘em was on a big grey stallion, and a slender kid rode a yellow mare beside him. Most of the others were indistinct, but I could just about see the dents their horses’ hooves left in the shining soft misty path.
An icy shiver ran right down my spine, like somebody’d walked over my grave, and a whisper came up at the back of my mind: that ain’t right, it said. I knew Annie’s Pop. Nice fella, but nothing artsy about him. No way he did these paintings. Something ain’t right here. I shivered harder and shook my head, chasing the thought away.
Mrs. Macready glanced at the painting and shook her head. “It does that to everyone, but somehow it’s my favorite. That’s why it’s in the kitchen, where I can see it. I’ve always thought it seemed like a path to Heaven, somehow. He calls it “The Road Home”.”
“Sure is leadin’ to another place. Peaceful, though, not like…” I stopped talking before I started suggesting her husband was painting pictures of Hell, an’ said, “I like it too,” instead. Mrs. Macready poured me some lemonade and we stood together studying the painting her husband had done. More I looked the more I saw, hints of more folks in the misty shadows, until it started to seem like I was riding with the hunters myself. After a while I gave myself another shake and stepped back. “Draws you in, doesn’t it?”
“It does. Anne’s favorite is one of ravens, but it’s in her bedroom, so I won’t show it to you. The boys have taken their favorites with them, of course. Do you do anything artistic, Private Muldoon?”
“Play the saxophone a bit,” I admitted. “That’s about it.”
Mrs. Macready said, “Anne likes music,” like it was asking about my prospects.
I started lining ‘em up in my mind, then quit when they seemed kinda bleak. The idea of dying in Korea wasn’t much more than somebody else’s nightmare, but any soldier signing up for service had to know someplace inside of him that he might not get out of it alive. That wasn’t somethin’ I wanted to think about, standin’ next to Annie Macready’s mother in their pretty kitchen. “Yeah? Guess I gotta try playing her a song or two, then. Maybe you’ll tell me what kinda flowers she likes, too.”
“Daisies. I tell her they’re a weed, but she says no, Mom, they’re resilient. They grow where nothing else wants to. She’s always thought that way. I expect it’s part of what’s driving her toward being a nurse. I worked during the war,” Mrs. Macready said thoughtfully. “I was happy to come home again, but I think it gave Anne ideas.”
“My Ma worked, too, but she wasn’t so happy to come home again. Guess it takes all types. Guess it gave me some ideas too, maybe.”
She lifted an eyebrow, inviting me to keep talking. “Well, it’s like this, ma’am. I’m in the military for the next four years, and I’m planning to finish college after that, on the GI bill. Way I see it, that’s six years a girl’s either gotta wait for me or move on. I sure like the idea of a girl who’s got enough of her own things going on that she could wait an’ move on at the same time.”
“And had you thought all of that out before you met Anne?”
“No, ma’am, but she’s sure got me thinking now. A guy’s gotta have somethin’ to pin his hopes on.”
She smiled an’ gave me a look that I thought prob’ly said Kids. Always in a hurry, but I couldn’t argue ‘bout it, either. It felt important to be chasing after Annie right now, like I might never get the chance again, an’ that my whole life might turn out different if I didn’t. So I thanked Mrs. Macready for the lemonade an’ bowed out, sayin, “Reckon I got a phone call to make, and some daisies to send.”
“I hope to see you again, Private Muldoon. It’s been a pleasure.” She walked me to the door, waved me down the drive, an’ I went back to the barracks to spend every last dime I’d made that week buying daisies.
Annie was wearing one in her hair when I saw her again on Saturday, an’ every time I saw her again for the next four months. At dances, at movies, for walks in the park, an’ if she wasn’t wearing one I found one for her. I reckon she talked more than I did during those walks, telling me about school and what she was learning, while all I had to talk about was guns and drills and being bored outta my head. Bored was all right, though, ‘cause bored meant I was still in Monterey and not shipping out to Korea. ‘sides, corny as it sounded, I couldn’t be that bored counting the hours ‘til I saw her again.
We knew it was coming before they announced it, ‘cause we saw the next leave window was five days long. Long enough for all the boys to head home an’ say their goodbyes and then get themselves back the post. Knowing it was coming didn’t make it a damned bit easier, and neither did Annie looking more beautiful than ever at the dance that night. There were names for alla the bits and pieces of her style, but I didn’t know ‘em. I just knew she was beautiful, an’ I was the luckiest guy in the world.
Lotta other guys thought so too, one after another of ‘em cutting in to ask her to dance. I mostly stood back and watched, a glass of punch in one hand and the other in my pocket, feeling the velvet box there while I watched my girl dance. She made ‘em all look good, an’ she smiled at me every time they turned her my way. Not much else to ask for, not as far as I was concerned.