“There is nothing like returning to a place that remains unchanged to find the ways in which you yourself have altered.”

Nelson Mandela

April 1954

Sweet Grove, Texas

“Here comes the train, here it comes, Beth!” Leroy ran back to the small group, waiting anxiously on the platform. The baby began to cry, and Laura bounced her soothingly

“Good job, son,” Max called. The boy had needed a job after they were informed the train was running late. He’d kept busy, ear to the ground, playing Indian tracker and listening for the vibration of the train on the tracks.

Laura’s stomach twisted. What if he had changed? What if he was no longer her Joey? Max said men often came back from war different: grown up, cynical, their dreams shattered. Would her husband be relieved to be home? Indifferent or angry?

“Let me take Lizzie,” her mother said. “I think you’ll be busy in a moment.”

Joey stepped onto the platform, the sun glinting off his silver buttons and looking so handsome in his uniform. There were lines on his face that had not been there before. When he smiled, crow’s feet framed his eyes and a slight crease appeared below each cheek. But when their eyes locked, the love was there, undimmed.

“Joey, oh Joey.” She ran then, ran with all the fear and hope and longing she’d kept inside the past year. Throwing herself in his arms, he picked her up and held her tight. His face, buried in her neck, was warm and wet. His tears or hers? She laughed and cried and swiped at her face until his lips were on hers, and all thought was gone. Oh, Joey. My Joey. You came home to me. It echoed in her brain over and over.

“Laura Beth, my sweet Laura Beth,” he whispered, his voice low as it caught, then he claimed her lips again.

She heard the muffled sounds of their family behind them. Pushing gently away, Laura nodded her head at the group. “I think it’s their turn now.”

He smiled over her head, and it was the cue Leroy had been waiting for. He did a rocket launch into his big brother’s arms. “You look old, Joe. I do, too. Don’t you think? Beth said I’ve grown a bushel and a peck since you left.”

He set the boy back on the ground and looked him over. “Why I do believe you’ve aged a year or so.” He ruffled Leroy’s hair and looked at his father. “Pa?”

Max clutched his oldest son in a tight embrace, slapping his back several times as if to reassure himself Joe was really home. “So happy to see you back, son. I told your mama to watch over you.”

“She did a real good job. A few scratches but nothing fatal, and no matching limp.” He gave the group a crooked smile. “What I wouldn’t give for some ribs and a cold Lone Star right now.”

“And how about some of my homemade potato salad?” Shirley stepped up, holding Lizzie. She gave him a one-armed hug and then handed over the baby, who had somehow fallen asleep. “Meet your daughter.”

Wonder passed over his face. “So much prettier than the photograph,” he murmured and rubbed her chin with a finger. “Hi Lizzie, I’m your daddy. I’ve been gone for awhile, but I’m here to stay now.” He kissed her soft, pink cheek, and then looked at Laura’s father.

“Mr. Walters,” he said formally, and put out one hand while he balanced his daughter. “Good to see you, sir.”

“Glenn, please,” his father-in-law responded. “It’s an honor to be part of this homecoming, Joe.” His eyes held the unspoken apology, and Laura knew there would be a private talk in the near future.

“Well, let’s get this party started,” yelled Leroy. “Pa’s had that meat soakin’ all morning, and Beth squeezed lemons for lemonade, and I have a new football.”

Laura closed her eyes and said a silent prayer of thanks as she took Lizzie back into her arms. There was nothing like being surrounded by family. Her life had tipped upside down for a while, but everything was right again. Her world was once again secure.

* * *

June, 1954

Sweet Grove

“NO-O-O-O!”

Laura sat up in the bed, her heart pounding. Her mind went to the crib. The baby! But Lizzie snored softly. Her husband thrashed and rolled, the moonlight slanting through the shades, illuminating his pale, sweaty face.

“Joey, wake up. Wake up, it’s the dream again.” She pulled on his arm then got on her knees and shook both shoulders. His eyes popped open, wide and unseeing. His arms flew up, knocking her backwards against the pillows.

She watched as the rise and fall of his chest slowed, and the panting eased. Now he looked back at her as she leaned against the headboard, recognition in his eyes. “I’m sorry.” He held out his arms.

Laura slid next to him, her cheek against his slick, cold skin. He had her in a death grip, his lids closed now as she stroked his face. “I’m here, hon. You’re home, you’re home.” He silently nodded, and she continued her soothing strokes until his breathing steadied, and he snored softly.

Her husband had been home more than a month. In the light of day, all appeared normal. He joked, worked at the shop, played with his brother and daughter, and made love to her every night like a starved man. But when he closed his eyes, the haunting began. The nightmares that racked his body had decreased but still terrified both of them with their ferocity. The helplessness, as she watched the horror on his face and the pain in those unseeing eyes, ripped her heart in two.

In a few hours, the sun slanted across the crib—a new day. Lizzie stirred, spurring Laura into motion. She kissed Joey’s cheek and climbed out of bed. Sunday. How she loved Sundays. Hamburgers, spicy baked beans, guacamole, and whatever dessert Mom would grace them with today. The backyard had become her haven over the past year, and with Joey home it seemed more like heaven. She shuffled down the hall in her robe and slippers.

The aroma of brewing coffee floated from the kitchen. Laura smiled, knowing Max would be waiting for their morning talk. The ritual had begun when she was pregnant, and she wanted to know everything about Joey as a child. Max had shared so much with her. How he met Dixie, the birth of Joey, the arguments when he enlisted. She knew about his injury and homecoming and the blessing of Leroy, fourteen years after the doctor had told them it was impossible. “Our reward for keeping faith,” Dixie had always told him.

Max often spoke his own brand of philosophy over the rim of a cup. “Sometimes you’re fortunate enough to cross paths with an extraordinary person. A person who changes your life or completes you. Dixie completed me. I knew I could do anything with that woman by my side.” Max’s eyes went misty, a melancholy smile on his lips. “I think you are that person for Joe.”

She had balked at that. “I’m just a small town girl in love with the boy next door.”

“You are the glue that has held our family together. Don’t ever underestimate yourself, girl. There’s more strength in you than half the soldiers I’ve known.”

Today, Max had a grin on his face as he held out his hands for his granddaughter. “So I fixed up this puffy bolster for little Lizzie’s high chair.” Max had pulled Leroy’s high chair out of the garage, stripped and painted it white and yellow. He set her in the wooden seat while Laura put the tray on. Max pulled out a small rectangular pillow and fit it behind and around Lizzie. She gurgled and pounded on the tray while he adjusted it.

“There, that will keep her sitting up straight. We want the little chicken comfortable.” He chucked her chin and went to the cupboard, pulling out the Beechnut oatmeal and putting water on to boil. “I’ll start her breakfast if you’ll start ours.”

“Deal,” she said, laughing at Lizzie as she squealed and demanded Papa’s attention with his finger gripped in her hand. “She looks stronger, don’t you think?”

Max opened his mouth to speak then only nodded.

“Max, don’t you think so? It’s the coughing that worries me.” The baby seemed to cough more when she ate. They had thinned the cereal, hoping that would help. “Look at her beating up that stuffed elephant.”

“She sure does have some good arms on her,” Max agreed. “But Shirley said by nine months she should be rolling over and sitting up by herself. Maybe with the coughing, it wouldn’t hurt to take her to the doctor.”

Anger flared in her chest, and Laura tamped it down. “She’s fine. She’s our perfect little girl, aren’t you?” Lizzie’s dark eyes squinted as she giggled and hiccupped, clapping her hands. “But I suppose I could make an appointment.”

Later that week, Joey took the afternoon off and drove them to Doc Peters office. “He was our doctor when we were kids,” Laura told told Lizzie as they drove down Main Street. “He says he’s retiring next year.”

“He says that every year. He is pretty much retired except for check-ups for the little ones.” Joey gave both girls a side-glance. “He still likes to flirt with the young moms.”

Mrs. Peters greeted them in the entry of the house. “Come on in, he’s in his office. And isn’t she growing?”

They entered the paneled room, dwarfed by a huge mahogany desk with two leather chairs facing it. Dr. Peters sat in a larger leather chair that swiveled as he turned to greet them. A small exam table hid in the corner behind a screen.

“Well, isn’t this nice? The whole family.” The older man came forward, his dark eyes glinting with humor, his hand extended to shake Joe’s. He pinched Lizzie’s cheek and gave Laura a kiss on the forehead. His silver goatee tickled her nose. “How are the folks?”

They both answered “Fine” and sat down in front of his desk. Laura launched right in. “Mom says she should be sitting up. Kids develop at their own speed, right? I’m more concerned that she coughs when she eats sometimes.”

“Hold your horses. Let’s take her over to the exam table and get a look at her first.” The doctor went through the usual motions of a physical, then stood her up, laid her on her belly and back, moved her arms and legs around. He made little noises that had Laura holding her breath. “What’s wrong?”

“Let’s go sit down and we’ll talk.”

Once the baby was dressed, they sat in front of the desk again. “I have to agree with Shirley on her mobility. I’d like to see her sitting up and even trying to crawl. Does she roll over?”

“Not really,” answered Joe. “She tries once in a while.”

“It’s my fault,” Laura blurted out, hating the panic in her voice. “I hold her all the time. I need to give her more opportunity—”

“This is not a blaming session,” Dr. Peters intervened. “It has to do with muscle strength. Has she had a fever at all? Been off, even just a bit?”

They both shook their heads. Laura swallowed. “You’re not thinking polio?”

“I wouldn’t rule anything out. But if she hasn’t been sick at all, I doubt it. It’s the lack of muscle tone that concerns me. Her chest is also congested, which could be why she’s coughing.” He tapped his chin. “Let me write you a prescription for that cough, then continue to work on standing her up and rolling over. Come back in a month, and we’ll see how she’s doing then. I want to keep an eye on this little one.”