The Way to LA
Jame Rada, Jr.
4: A Walkabout
Bill Freeze opened his eyes, then closed them and rolled over when he remembered it was Sunday. It was the one day a week the Railroad Diner was closed. The trains still rumbled and rattled as they stopped at and left the Thurmont station of the Western Maryland Railway, but this was one day of the week when those sounds didn’t dictate his schedule.
He still woke up early, but often, he would relax in bed and read a book until breakfast.
He threw the sheet off of him and stretched the kinks out of his muscles, then he just lay there and let his thoughts drift. With nothing in particular to think about, his thoughts seemed to come back to Celine no matter how much he tried to think about something else. Bill wanted to be able to help her, even though she didn’t seem to want his help.
He finally got up when he heard movement in other rooms of the house. He dressed hurriedly and rushed downstairs to start cooking breakfast. It was something he did on Sundays to give his mother a break from all the cooking she did throughout the week. His cooking skills were passable, but they didn’t need to be great. Giving his mother a break was the important thing, and she seemed to appreciate the effort if not the results.
He lit two stove burners with a match and set the griddle over the burners so that it would heat up. He also threw a spoonful of butter on the griddle to melt. He grabbed a bowl and a wooden spoon and started mixing some pancake batter with blueberries. He was pouring out the batter when Celine came down the stairs.
Her brunette hair was pinned up in a bun on the top of her head to keep it out of her face and the food when she cooked. She also wore a simple work dress. Since she worked in the kitchen, only going out into the restaurant dining room to bus tables, she didn’t dress to impress anyone.
“Where is your mother?” Celine asked in French, which was all she spoke. She had been left stranded at the train station, trying to make her way to her in-laws in California. Bill had helped her out and given her a place to stay. He had written to her in-laws, but hadn’t received a reply yet, which he thought was unusual. He hoped Celine hadn’t gotten the address wrong or the Winfreys might never receive the letter.
He could think of worse things than having her stay with his family, but Celine was a war bride. Her new family must be wondering where she was.
“Mom’s still in bed. She’ll get up in a little while to eat and go to church,” Bill replied in French. Bill was one of the few people in Thurmont who spoke French, so he was also one of the few people with whom Celine could communicate.
Bill wasn’t sure why he could speak it so well. He’d always had a way with languages. He’d picked up German from an old farmer who would stop in the restaurant when he came to town. Unfortunately, the last time Bill had had seen Karl Bauer was months ago. Since America had entered the war in Europe, Karl’s trips to Thurmont were done rarely and quickly. He had told Bill that he didn’t like the way people looked at him when he was in town.
“I am American,” he’d said. “My parents came from Germany, but I was born in Thurmont.”
It was just one more reason that Bill prayed for the end of the war.
As for Celine, he had wanted to stay mad at her for calling him a coward yesterday, but it wasn’t in his nature, not staying mad nor cowardice. Also, she had spoken up for him when she didn’t have to. Life was too short to stay angry.
The Freezes attended St. John’s Lutheran Church. His parents had always been dedicated churchgoers. Bill had started to drift away until the war started. Now, it seemed more important than ever to attend nowadays and pray for all the doughboys from Thurmont to return home safely. It was doubtful all of them would survive the war, but if his prayers would help keep God’s attention on even one of them when they most needed it, it was worth it. It was something he could do to help the war effort.
“Should I go, too?” Celine asked as she started setting the table for breakfast.
Bill shrugged. “That’s up to you.”
“Sometimes I wonder if God is there anymore,” Celine said quietly, almost as if talking to herself. “How could he let this war happen?”
Bill flipped the pancakes over. Then he turned and said, “I used to think that, but God never promised anyone an easy life since Adam and Eve were kicked out of the garden, and they brought that on themselves.”
“But how can he watch all that death if he loves us?”
“Because he’s seen it all. People are born. They grow old, and they die. Part of the deal that Jesus made when we first came here was that we would be able to choose. If you force someone to be good, how do you know they are? So we can choose our paths. Some of us make good choices, some poor. Most of us make a mix of it and hope the good outweighs the bad. However, when we make bad choices, heck, sometimes when we make good ones, there are consequences. Your husband made a choice to join the army and fight in Europe. Meeting you was a good consequence. Having to shoot and possibly kill other people, that’s a bad choice.”
Celine just stared at him. Bill slid some golden brown pancakes onto a plate. Then he poured more batter on the griddle.
He looked up and saw Celine staring at him. “What?”
“How could I have thought you were a coward?” She shook her head. “You understand this craziness.”
Bill felt himself blushing. “I wouldn’t say that.”
She walked over and put a hand on each of his cheeks. “I’m sorry for what I said yesterday. I was frustrated, and I took it out on you. Forgive me.”
Bill looked into her blue eyes and thought they might be tearing up. He smiled. “Of course.”
The morning passed pleasantly. The Freezes ate breakfast and then walked to morning services at St. John’s Lutheran Church on Church Street in town near the downtown square. It was a brick building constructed in 1858 of stone and brick. It was easily identified by the 30-foot-tall tower on top of the front gable. It wasn’t as impressive as the historic churches in Paris, but Bill hoped Celine would appreciate it.
Dr. A. R. Wentz led the service. The church’s normal pastor, Rev. W. C. Waltemyer, had joined the Army to serve as a chaplain overseas during the war. He was officially on a leave of absence that every member prayed he would return from.
Celine couldn’t understand the sermon, so Bill whispered a summary of what was said to her. Once the service concluded, Bill took Celine over to Louisa Kerrigan, a middle-aged woman who always wore her fanciest dress from France to church, but never in Thurmont High School where she taught.
“Mrs. Kerrigan, this is Celine Winfrey,” Bill said, motioning to Celine. “She’s staying with us until her family can get here to help her get to California.”
“Hello, Celine.”
Bill held up a hand. “She only speaks French, which is why I wanted her to meet you.”
Mrs. Kerringan smiled. “Bon jour, Celine. J’espère que vous profitez bien de votre séjour à Thurmont.”
Celine’s eyes widened. “You speak French?” she said in her native tongue.
Mrs. Kerrigan nodded and continued speaking in French. “Who do you think taught it to Bill? He was a student of mine at the high school.”
Celine clapped her hands together and smiled. “Oh, this is wonderful.”
Bill said, “I thought you might like to be able to speak with someone other than me all the time. I’m just going to walk outside and sit on the steps. Why don’t you two talk for a little while?”
Celine asked, “Are you sure? Mrs. Kerrigan doesn’t even know me.”
Mrs. Kerringan said, “Yes, we’ll be fine. Let’s sit down and talk.”
Bill watched them start talking quickly as they sat in one of the pews. He smiled and walked outside. It was a pleasant day. The sun was out and the air was warm, but not so warm that he started sweating in his suit. He tilted his head back and just soaked up the warmth.
It was another 15 minutes before the pair came out of the church, laughing as if they were old friends and speaking without worrying about the odd looks people were giving them because they were speaking a foreign language.
Bill stood up. “I hope you had fun.” Then he turned to Mrs. Kerrigan and said, “Thank you for speaking with her.”
“It was my pleasure, Bill. She’s a delight, and I’m always glad for an opportunity to practice my French. If she was going to be in town much longer, I would have her come in and speak to my class.”
Mrs. Kerrigan hugged Celine and said, “Make sure you write us when you get to California and let us know how you like it.”
As Bill and Celine walked home, they took time to look in the shop window and made small talk. Then a car backfired.
Celine jumped and spun to look in the direction of the car. She reached for something at her hip that wasn’t there.
“It’s OK, Celine,” Bill said, grabbing her by the shoulders and turning her so she was looking at him. “It was just a car backfiring. It’s all right.”
She was breathing hard, and her eyes were wide. What did she have to endure while working with the Resistance in France?
Her gaze focused, and she closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “I’m sorry. It’s all right. No harm done. Let’s get you home.”
They started walking again. Bill hoped that once they were inside the house, she would relax.
“What did you want to be before the war started?” he asked suddenly.
“What?”
“Watching you jump reminded me that you were in the Resistance, but that made me think about what your plans were before the war.”
“I wanted to dance with the ballet.”
“You’re a dancer?”
“I haven’t danced in a couple of years, other than when I was trying to lure a Hun into the woods.”
That ended that conversation because he knew what happened to those soldiers whom she lured into the woods. They met other members of the Resistance and didn’t leave. Better to think of her as a ballerina. That’s who she really was. That was who she had wanted to be.
