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Cadence

1942

I hurried into the cottage and found Bess and Briar sitting on chairs in the living room, a Coast Guard lieutenant on the sofa, his white uniform hat and a leather case next to him. There was another officer standing near the door, outside.

“Why didn’t you call me?” I asked no one in particular, pulsing with jagged, aching fear. He was here about Tom, of course. They didn’t take an officer from his duties to chat. Why did they send the Coast Guard when there was a whole camp of Army men right up the hill?

“He just got here,” Briar said, with a haunted look I’d never seen on her. All at once I wanted my mother.

Briar introduced me and I sat on the sofa next to the lieutenant, folded my hands in my lap, and floated in that gauzy place between hope and reality, running through the options. The lieutenant could be here to tell us Tom is missing. Or wounded. Why did they send someone so young? I glanced up at the ceiling. Is Peter down in the boathouse or upstairs listening to it all?

I stood. “Would you like a molasses cookie, Lieutenant? My Gram made them.”

“No, thank you—”

“We have some scones, too, but those are a bit stale now, I’m afraid. You must be hungry, though, all the way from Woods Hole.”

He looked up at me. “You may want to sit down, Miss Smith.”

I walked to the kitchen and back. “My brother, Tom, considered your branch of the service before he became an Army Ranger.”

Briar reached for my hand. “Come sit, Cade.”

“Not that the Coast Guard is inferior, not at all, but his friends were going to the Army.”

“For God’s sake, just sit down, Cadence,” Bess said, her face drained of all color.

“Yes, of course.” I sat. “Go ahead, Lieutenant.”

“The commandant of the U.S. Army has entrusted me to express his deep regret that Thomas Smith”—

Bess made a frantic little wave. “Please don’t say it.”

—“was killed in action in Dieppe, France, on August nineteenth. The commandant extends his deepest sympathy to you and your family in your loss.”

He handed me a certificate from his case, and I read aloud, “ Missing in action and presumed dead. Died in the service of his country. ”

Bess bent over and let out a sob. “Oh, no.”

The horror of it hung in the room. I sat there, numb, and could not even cry. None of it seemed real.

“So, there’s no body?” Briar asked.

The lieutenant gathered his things and prepared to leave. “We will be in touch with a follow-up appointment to discuss the details.”

Tom was dead. I tried to poke myself with the thought to make it seem real. Thank God our parents weren’t here to see it. And Gram. But I would have to tell her.

“Wait,” Briar said. “You’re leaving ?” She nodded toward us. “If this were your family, would you leave them this way? With no details? You need to tell us more.”

I brought the certificate to Bess and tried to console her, but she pushed me away.

Briar stood. “Not that you Coasties will ever be in danger, safe here in happy land. A hard day of condolence calls and it’s back to the barracks for some poker, am I right?”

“ Briar, ” I said.

He sat up straighter. Apparently, the Coast Guard handbook didn’t offer guidance on a grieving family that didn’t accept the scripted message.

Tears stung my eyes as Briar fought on. It was hard to accept such brutal news, but Briar, the original doubting Thomas, would not go easily without definite proof. I had my doubts, as well, but her desperate denials only made it harder on all of us, especially Bess.

The lieutenant stood. “There’s a number on the back of the certificate in case you have more questions.”

“Did he suffer?” Bess asked, her face puffy and tearstained. “Tommy?”

“No, ma’am.” The lieutenant stepped out of the door, into the sunshine, and walked back to his car with his fellow officer. Mission completed.

Briar wrapped her arms across her waist. “I don’t understand. How can they just assume he’s dead?”

“Leave it for now, Briar,” I said, sinking deeper into despair. Only two Rangers had died. Why did Tom have to be one of them?

Tom would want us to tell Gram gently. How could I even speak those words? Our Tom didn’t make it. That would almost be worse than hearing the news myself.

“Until we have his body, we shouldn’t even tell Gram,” Briar said.

“Sometimes you have to accept things, Briar,” I said.

“Not this,” Briar said. “Never. Tom would want us to find the truth.”

I heard steps in the kitchen, and Peter appeared at the doorway. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Thanks,” I said, wishing he’d stayed upstairs. I could barely look at him.

“I can tell you what I think is the truth,” he said quietly.

“Please,” Briar said.

He exhaled. “Clearly the raid was a failed operation.”

“So you’re the expert?” I asked, stepping next to him.

“I’m sure the Germans would have returned intense fire, and the regiment probably had to leave him behind.”

I examined Peter’s German face, his square jaw and blue eyes. He was a part of the machine that caused Tom’s death.

“You know what?” I raised my hand, and he didn’t even flinch as I landed a slap, hard, across his face. “I wish it had been you instead of Tom.” I paused, happy to see the red patch blooming on his cheek. “How’s that for truth?”

Peter looked at me like he was about to say something, then slowly climbed the stairs.

Briar turned to me. “It’s not his fault.”

My hand buzzed with the slap, so satisfying, and I itched to do it again. “Really? He’s one of them, like it or not.”

“How can you be so unfeeling?” Briar asked. “Accept it so easily?”

I faced Briar. “Don’t you dare tell me how I feel, you spoiled brat. I loved Tom more than you can ever know.”

Bess stood, unsteady on her feet. “Stop it! Both of you. We have to stay together.”

I went to the phone. “I’ll call Pastor Harshfield to arrange the service, and Briar and I will go tell Gram. And you’d both better make sure Peter stays upstairs. Things could actually get worse.”

—

The Martha’s Vineyard Beach and Book Club took up the front pew of the Chilmark Methodist Church for Tom’s service. Full attendance for once, I thought. Tom, always a good audience, would have laughed at that.

Briar and I sat on either side of Gram, each of us holding one of her hands; she’d been sprung from the hospital for two hours only, on strict orders from Dr. Nickerson. We all sang Tom’s favorite hymn, “Christ the Lord Is Risen Today,” which was usually sung only on Easter, but an exception was made. Pastor Harshfield had made an exception for Scout, too. She lay at Gram’s feet, head resting on the kneeler, perhaps knowing how much Gram needed her. The pastor told stories about Tom as a child and how, years before, he’d helped our father hang the new bell in the church steeple, a gift from the Odd Fellows of Oak Bluffs.

My thoughts collided. There was no casket. No body to bury. There was a chance Tom was still out there somewhere, but it was almost more painful to hold out hope. A dull buzz of despair coursed through me. I was tired of being strong, slogging through suffering with that New England stiff upper lip.

All cried out, I tried to remember the good days with Tom. Catching eels through the ice on Quitsa Pond. The time he left the heart bracelet under my pillow for my sixteenth birthday. I’d worn it that day as an homage to Tom, and I ran one finger along it. So much for good luck. It felt strange to not have Tom here with us. He always sat on the end of the pew so he could jump up to help with the offering, holding the rectangular basket by the long handle, shaming everyone to donate, jingling it when he passed it by his friends.

I turned and checked the crowd. The church was packed, with many of the soldiers from Peaked Hill, all Gram’s church ladies, and almost everyone from town. Tyson Schmidt was there, looking good in his uniform, sitting with Shelby Parker in a back pew. Worrying he might be going off to meet a similar fate?

But there was no sign of Major Gilbert.

Tonight would be the new moon, and if Peter was right, someone would be paddling out to meet a U-boat off our coast. I checked the crowd for possible spies and immediately felt ridiculous. I’d known most of the people in that community my whole life. None of them would betray their country.

At the reception line after the service, Gram sat in a chair and shook hands with guests, and I helped her recall names. “I can’t remember from the latch to the door these days, I’m afraid,” she would say if she couldn’t put a name to a face.

Tyson Schmidt, his face tear-streaked, greeted Briar in line. Tom’s friend. Tom had taught Tyson to sail. I tried to picture him as a spy. With his baby face and earnest way, not to mention the uniform, it seemed doubtful.

Briar came to me. “Captain McManus is here. I just want you to know that he was at the house yesterday. Probably wants to come back.”

I greeted more guests until the front church doors opened and Gil hurried in from outside. He pressed his warm hand in mine. “I’m sorry to be so late, Cadence.”

How good it was to see him. “Gil.” I held on to his hand. He looked tired.

He leaned closer. “I couldn’t get away from a meeting, and I’m sorry to ask this of you, but could we speak privately after this is over, perhaps back at your house?”

“Of course,” I said, and he left as quickly as he’d come.

What was that about? It seemed like a positive thing, but one never knew with the major.

Captain McManus approached me soon after, murmuring platitudes. “I’d like to come by the hospital, if I could, and talk with you and your grandmother.”

“Talk about what, Captain?”

“Your sister. There have been some irregularities and—”

“ Really, Captain? This is my brother’s funeral and you’re here to do business?”

“I have a job to do.”

“Perhaps look for someone a little more mature to stalk. Why are you going after a troubled sixteen-year-old girl who grew up without a mother?”

“You may not know what she’s been up to.”

“ Captain. Look around you. We are grieving. My grandmother has a lung condition, which they haven’t yet figured out how to treat, and she just lost her grandson who meant the world to her and to all of us, so if you don’t back off, I will ask Chief Leo to have you removed.”

He had the decency to look chastened. “Another time, then.”

He walked off and I greeted the next well-wisher in line. I could barely think, going through the motions of interacting with the guests, everything tumbling down on me. No matter how I stalled, no matter how well we hid Peter, McManus would find him. That’s what he did for a living, and despite the crusty exterior, he was probably really good at it. Why had we been so stupid, keeping Peter? Letting him kick a soccer ball around Peaked Hill? Were those Navy guys on to him? It was time to send him on his way. He’d helped with the farm, but what was the point of that anymore?

A dreadful sucking feeling weighed me down. Tom would not be coming home to us. He would never see Bess again. Or their child. He would never see his Burbanks harvested. It seemed selfish to think of it, but I’d never have the money to go to New York, to send money home to help Gram. At least Mrs. Stanhope wasn’t there, lowering the boom, but that loomed over me, as well.

My gaze wandered to Briar there in line, doing her best to greet family friends and neighbors. She was so young and brilliant and would probably end up in juvenile detention somewhere for all of this. Maybe she was just too smart. Bess stood next to her, doing her rich-girl I-can-talk-to-anyone thing. Would she have her baby in prison? And Putnam would never hire a felon.

I exhaled. I had to compose myself and think straight. If you can’t move heaven, then just raise hell. We didn’t have Tom, but soon we’d have his child to raise. We would need to get Peter out of our house sooner than planned. He’d require an identity card and some money and he’d be on his way to Minneapolis. We just needed another meeting of the book club.