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Cadence

1942

I could barely look as Peter held out his hand to the major.

“Pleased to meet you, Major Gilbert,” Peter said, in a passable Midwestern accent. “I’m cousin Donald. Lindquist.”

Major Gilbert shook his hand. “Cadence didn’t mention you.”

Peter smiled and jammed his hands in his pockets. “Cousin twice removed. Here to help with the farm now that Tom’s off serving.”

It was hard to breathe. Did Gil suspect? I glanced at his face. If he did, he was a good actor.

“Are you considering joining up?” Gil asked.

Peter frowned. “Astigmatism, gosh darn it.”

“Tough luck.” Gil waved in the direction of the Army base. “I’m just up at Peaked Hill.”

Peter assumed the stance men take when they chat with like-minded fellows, feet spread wide, arms folded across the chest. “For Pete’s sake, are you? Go Army.”

The major smiled. “That’s American football, but yes.”

“I prefer soccer myself,” Peter said, apparently enjoying his role. “Played as a kid back in Minnesota.”

“Indoors, no doubt.”

“Oh, no. You’ve never heard of snow soccer? It’s a hoot, I’ll tell ya. You’ll be able to play it soon here. Gets cold as the north woods on this island come November.”

The more he spoke, he got the Minnesota accent down, elongating his a ’s and o ’s.

“What position do you play?” the major asked.

“Forward mostly. We went to the state championship when I was in middle school.”

“Really?” Gil asked, looking impressed.

“Pride of the Twin Cities.”

Gil stepped closer to Peter. “We’re having a little game up at the base this weekend. Against the Navy chaps. Maybe you’d like to play for us?”

A fresh spike of fear ran through me, and I looked at Bess. Of course Peter had to beg off immediately.

Peter glanced at me. “Oh, no, I’m pretty dang out of shape. Not like you all.”

“Farmwork is great conditioning. And you’re welcome to join our morning workouts. We run right by here every day.” Gil turned to Gram. “Assuming you don’t mind, Mrs. Smith?”

Gram busied herself at the stove. “We do have to get the upper field plowed.”

“Navy won last time.” Gil turned back to Peter. “There’s a trophy involved, and we’re quite interested in nicking it back, you see. Word is Navy’s got a ringer, and we could use one, too.”

“I’m not sure I’m feeling up to it after working the fields,” Peter said.

“How about we see how you are tomorrow?”

Gil didn’t seem to suspect Peter, but he was opening up a whole new occasion for disaster.

“You bet,” Peter said.

“Right, then.” Gil sent him a little salute. “I’ll be in touch soon. Good meeting you, Donald.”

Gil started to leave, then addressed the rest of us. “The general public is not invited to the match, but we’d certainly make an exception for you all if you’d like to attend to cheer on your cousin. If he’s feeling up to it, that is.”

And make sure he doesn’t reveal his true roots with a slip of his German tongue. I sent him a little wave. “Certainly, Major. Gil. Thanks for the invitation.”

“I’ll have one of my men come round and check tomorrow morning,” he said.

I just smiled and said goodbye to Major Gilbert. Would the nightmare ever end?

“That was a disaster,” I said after he drove off.

Bess stepped to Peter’s side. “Maybe it would be safer to start calling you Donald.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t go,” Peter said. “But, you know, I’m going a bit stir-crazy upstairs. I would like to get out.”

I pressed my fingers to my temples. “You will not be going to a soccer game with half of the U.S. military playing. What if you slip and someone hears your real accent? They might ask for your papers. You can’t even get on the base without an ID card.”

“I understand. I will not go up there tomorrow.”

Peter went upstairs, and Bess and I helped Gram start supper.

I could barely think as we peeled potatoes at the sink. Were we all just cursed somehow? One minute I seemed to be making headway with Peter and the farm, the next he was almost dragged into a public soccer game.

“We need to get him on his way, and soon, Gram, once he plows the upper field. He’s practically healed now.”

“He has no identification,” Bess said.

“We can make him an identity card, best we can, and send him off to Minnesota. We’ll give him a little money for a train.” I carried the potatoes to the stove. “We need to get your hospital appointment made, Gram. And actually finish a book. I’m looking forward to a normal life again, aren’t you?”

Bess stepped to the window, drew the curtain aside, and peered out. “Good God.”

“What is it, dear?” Gram asked from the stove.

Bess turned from the window. “Normal won’t be happening anytime soon, Cadence. Better get over here and look.”