“When you reach the end of your rope, tie a knot in it and hang on.”

Franklin D. Roosevelt

October 3, 1953

Sweet Grove, Texas

“Max! Max, wake up. It’s time.” She shook her father-in-law’s shoulder. He rolled over, blinking his eyes. “I need you to get the car and take me to the hospital.”

He shot out of the bed like one of Leroy’s toy rockets. Grabbing a pair of jeans, he hopped on one foot, missed the opening, and fell against the dresser. “Here we go, here we go,” he said over and over in a panicked voice. “What do you need me to do?”

“Brush your teeth, comb your hair, and get the car. We’ll pick up Mom on our way.” She walked to the door and paused, trying not to giggle as he dressed over his pajamas. “And take a deep a breath before you turn purple.”

Laura waited until she was back in her bedroom then sat down heavily on a chair. She clutched her stomach and panted as another wave of pain went through her belly and her lower back. She could do this. If Joey could survive in Korea, she could give birth to their baby. Women did it every day, and her mother would be with her.

The war was officially over, but Joey’s infantry was completing their tour of duty. He wouldn’t see his first born until he or she was at least six months old. If that was their family’s biggest sacrifice for this war, it would be a small price to pay.

Max knocked and babbled something unintelligible. She grinned at his flustered appearance as he opened the door. “Mrs. Avery just took Leroy. Are you ready?”

“If you help me out of this chair,” she said with a grunt. “I’m feeling a bit like a stranded whale right now.”

Max rushed over, stubbed his toe on the bed post, and yipped in pain. He hopped up and down, rubbing his socked foot. “Dang it, I knew I forgot something. I’ll get my shoes and be right back.”

Eight hours later, Laura Beth held an exquisite little girl in her arms. Elizabeth Dixie McCall was a six-pound bundle of perfection. They had decided a girl would be named after Glenn’s mother. And with a little scheming (from the pastor of First Street Church, no less), her father was about to meet his first grandchild.

The pastor had suggested Shirley ride to the hospital with the McCalls, and then have her husband pick her up. He would have no choice but to see the baby.

“He has scars from being an orphan and doesn’t want Laura Beth or the baby to go through what he did,” the clergyman had reasoned. “I think he will realize, when he sees his grandchild, that they will both suffer from his continued obstinance. Love will bring him around.”

Max appeared at the door, peeking his head inside. “Can Grandpa come in?” He held his hat, pulling back and forth on the brim with both hands.

“Of course.” Laura rearranged the blanket, kissing the little chin. “Lizzie, say hello to Papa Max.”

“Why, she looks just like you. You did a real good job, sweetheart.” Max shuffled uncomfortably in the small room after handing back the baby. He hated hospitals after losing Dixie. “I’d better go pick up Leroy before he drives Mrs. Avery batty. I’ll bring him by tomorrow.”

He kissed her forehead, and as he closed the door, they could hear him mumbling to the ceiling.

“Is he still talking to his dead wife?” Shirley asked, concern in her eyes.

“Yes, but not in a crazy way. More like we would talk to a pet—or ourselves. Do you know he visits her every Sunday morning with a white rose? Says he has to fill her in on the weekly happenings.” She shook her head, a sad smile turning her lips. “I think it’s habit. He talked things over with her for so long, it gives him comfort. He loved that woman so much.”

“He’s a good man.” Dixie looked at her watch. “Your father will be here shortly. I’ll keep an eye out. When I see him coming, I’ll duck back in here, so he can’t collect me and run.”

“This sounds like some crazy movie scheme. But if it works…”

Laura had just finished feeding Lizzie when her mother strolled in. “He’s coming,” she whispered.

When she looked up to see her father in the doorway, tears burned her eyes. She had only seen him in passing—at a red light, leaving a store or his office—in months. He looked older, the lines in his face deeper. The irritation left his eyes when they landed on her and the baby. Instead, regret etched his face, making him seem so forlorn, standing there by himself.

“Hello, Daddy.” Her voice trembled.

He nodded his head and stepped into the room.

“Glenn, meet your granddaughter.” Shirley pulled on his arm until he was next to the bed. “And say hello to your daughter.”

“A little girl, huh?” His husky voice belied his tone. “What did you name her?”

“Elizabeth Dixie McCall.” Laura waited for his reaction. Her heart went out to him as emotions washed over his face.

The silence was broken by a teeny hiccup then they all talked at once.

“Is she all right?” her father asked with concern.

“Oh, she needs a burp,” said her mother.

“She spit up. Oh, it smells!” gasped Laura.

And then they were a family again, laughing together. “Can I hug my little girl?”

Laura nodded and held up the baby. He shook his head. “I’ll take her next. I want to hug my little girl.” Her mom took Lizzie, and her father sat on the edge of the bed and gathered her in his arms. His hug was so tight, she could barely breathe.

“I’m so sorry, sweetheart. So sorry. Can you forgive a grumpy, stubborn old man?” He leaned back and swiped at his eyes with the palms of his hands. “I backed myself into a corner with my pride and didn’t know how to get out. I was so afraid you would end up a widow. And then when I heard you were pregnant, the child might not ever know his father…”

She hugged him again, tears of relief spilling down her cheeks. “I’ve missed you so much, Daddy.”

“I love you to the moon and back,” he whispered in her ear. “To the moon and back, my baby girl.”

Elizabeth let out a wail, letting everyone know she wanted to be the center of attention. “Now let me see my beautiful granddaughter.”

* * *

December, 1953

South Korean

Joe tossed in his sleep, the rough wool blanket coiled around his legs as he kicked to free himself. His head moved and back and forth. He mumbled unintelligible sounds and cried out occasionally.

The wheels hit another rut, jarring his bones and splashing a muddy slime across the jeep. Joe swiped at his eyes and adjusted his helmet. His partner, Butch, sat dozing in the passenger seat. The fighting had lasted five days, and no one had slept much. One more sweep to make sure they hadn’t missed anyone. The clouds and thick mist blurred his vision as he peered into the ditches and slowed along a line of scrub. He thought he saw a fence in the distance but wasn’t sure.

He turned the jeep off the road, and as he drew closer, a dark image clung to the barbed wire. Bile rose in his throat. A body dangled in the cable, face down, arms and legs twisted as if he’d struggled violently to free himself. His helmet straps dangled in the whipping wind. Joe threw the clutch and left the motor running.

“Butch, wake up. Found another one.” He heard a grunt and the plop of boots hitting the mud. The click of the rifle told him Butch scoped the area while Joe tried to untangle the body.

He grabbed an arm and pulled the body around, seeing the gut wound that must have killed the man. As he tried to pick the barbs from his face, the soldier’s eyes opened.

“Son-of-a—” Joe’s hands flew up as if in surrender, and he took two steps back. The soldier spun face down again. “He’s alive. This one’s alive.”

He started talking to combat the shock in his gut. “We gotcha, soldier. We gotcha.” He turned him over again, this time hoping the eyes still had life. “What’s your name?”

“Fffred,” he croaked.

“This will hurt Fred, but we have to get you out of this wire.” Joe looked over his shoulder. “C’mon Butch. I need some help.”

A hand grabbed his jacket and pulled him down with surprising force. “Don’t let,”—the soldier coughed then gasped for air—“me die. I can’t…die.”

“i won’t, Fred. I gotcha.” He looked over his shoulder. “Butch, did you hear me?”

His partner was looking at something on the ground. He kicked at it, and the earth exploded in slow motion. Debris, rifle, and helmet sprayed over them as the earth shook. A rifle landed near Joe’s foot. He turned back to Fred. The soldier’s eyes were wide open and unblinking. His mouth hung open, blood dripping from the side.

“NOOOOO!”

Joe sat up, his t-shirt damp with a cold sweat. He blinked, his chest heaving as he struggled for air. He hadn’t had that dream in a month, had hoped it was gone. But his mind told him that scene would haunt him until the day he died. He understood why soldiers held their tongues and didn’t talk much about their experiences. And Joe only had a taste of what some had lived through.

He reached for his photo of Laura Beth, holding it to his chest like an antidote for his racing heart. Until both feet were safely on Texan soil, he didn’t feel safe. They patrolled the countryside and hills, informing civilians and soldiers that the war was over. Snipers were still a daily occurrence, and he heard stories of men dying the day before they shipped home. Leaning on his elbow, he reached for his jacket and fumbled in the pocket for her letter.

Carefully, Joe unfolded the paper. He rubbed his finger across the tiny lock of dark hair, tied in a knot and taped to the bottom of the page. The creases in the letter were so worn, he was afraid it might rip. Too many times opening and closing, reading and rereading. But it got him through. Some guys drank, others smoked weed, Joey had his letters and this knot of hair.

My dearest Joey,

We have a daughter. A beautiful, perfect, loud, and demanding daughter. Elizabeth Dixie McCall burst into the world on October 3 at 1:17 in the afternoon. She has your dark hair and coffee eyes and my heart-shaped face and small ears. (Yes, I was a little worried she’d have your adorable Dumbo ears.) No one can look at her without falling madly in love.

My father came to the hospital the day she was born. He took one look at her and melted. He comes with Mom now every Sunday for dinner. Leroy is starting to warm up to him. Daddy says he will wait until he can see you in person for apologies. Mom sends her love, and your dad is enclosing another page of jokes and crossword puzzles.

I love you, Joey. I am counting the days before we are together again. It’s been less than a year but feels like a lifetime. I swear when I told you I loved you, the stars whispered back last night. But maybe it was Lizzie, sighing in her sleep. Come home to me soon, darling.

Your loving wife,

Laura Beth

P.S. Lizzie sends butterfly kisses to her daddy.

Joe continued to rub the small lock of his daughter’s hair until he fell asleep. This time he dreamt of Sweet Grove and backyard barbecues with a baby on his knee.