He waited until he was drafted. They both knew that he had to go. Every man who was physically able would be called. But he had a wife and a young child. How could he leave them? Who would take care of them? How would they manage?
He worked at every job that he could find – delivering groceries, shoveling sidewalks, cleaning out coal bins, building fences, repairing barns – anything to bring home a few more dollars to put away for them.
His wife was frightened. She went through each day’s chores with her mind divided between fear of what might happen to him and pride that “her man” was going to “fight for freedom”.
The little girl knew nothing of these struggles. She was loved, held, cuddled, fed, and sheltered from any pain or worry. She was less than a year old. What could she know of these things?
The night before he left, he spent time playing with the little girl. He lay on the floor, holding her above him, bringing her to his chest, making her giggle with excitement. He was so strong, and his hands made her feel safe. She dropped her head towards the man; he put his hands to his face and the woman picked her up. She was placed in her bed, and did not see the man again.
The next morning an older woman took her from her bed, dressed her and fed her. She told her that her mommy would be back soon. When the other woman returned, she was crying. She picked up the little girl and held her tightly, pressing her face into the girl’s neck. Her tears fell on the girl’s dress.
Each day the woman showed the little girl a picture of the man.
“This is daddy. He had to go away, but he’ll be back as soon as he can.”
The days went on and on. Daily routines returned to normal except now there was no man who picked up the little girl and played with her. She watched her mother work in the kitchen and at the sewing machine. She sat on the floor, playing with a can of colored buttons. Sorting them into piles according to color, she spent her time.
Another woman came to live with them. Ration books were joined together. A “Victory Garden” was planted. The man’s brother brought a small pig for the woman. All food scraps now became meals for the pig. Nothing was wasted. The man’s father brought half a dozen chickens and bags of chicken feed. In his broken English, he told the woman, “So the little girl can have eggs.” He had never been able to pronounce her name. He gave the little girl a tin cup full of feed and showed her how to spread it for the hens. She was not allowed to get near the pig. It was now taller than she was.
Letters started to arrive. The letters always made the woman cry, but then she would show the little girl the picture of the man. “This is your daddy. He’ll be home soon. He misses us so much.”
One day when the weather had turned cold, two men came with buckets and knives. The little girl had to stay in the house. She watched the men through a window as they built a fire and placed a metal washtub over it. Buckets of water were pumped and poured into the tub. Soon it was hard to tell the difference between the smoke from the fire and the steam from the boiling water.
One of the men kept putting wood on the fire while the other sharpened the knives. Suddenly, one of them turned and saw the little girl watching him from the long window in the dining room.
“Get that child away from there,” he shouted.
The woman ran to the house and roughly picked her up. “What did I do wrong?” the little girl wondered. She was taken upstairs and placed in her crib. It wasn’t her regular naptime! Soon she heard screaming from the backyard. “Is my mother hurt?” she thought. The screaming became louder. The little girl was crying, calling for her mother. The other woman came into the room to comfort her. “Your mother is OK. Don’t worry. You can come downstairs now.”
The screaming stopped as suddenly as if a radio had been shut off. The girl was taken to the kitchen where both women began stirring large pots of something on the stove. The kitchen smelled wonderful.
That evening there was fresh meat for supper. The woman cut it into small pieces for the little girl. It was so good!
The days wore on, one after another. Letters from the man did not come as often, and when they did come, they had black marks through some of the words. The woman still cried when she read them, “If only we know where…” She did not show the little girl the man’s picture as often now.
More than two years passed. The woman was crying again, but it sounded different this time. “He’s coming home, he’s really coming home!”
A frenzy of housecleaning began. Rugs were hung on the clothesline and the little girl was told to hit them with a big stick with wires on the end. The dust made her cough, but she kept hitting the rugs. She wanted to show the woman that she could “work” too!
Then one day, the man’s brother drove up to the house. The woman got into the car and left with him. The little girl stayed with the other woman. “Your mother will be home soon. She has a surprise for you.”
A few hours later, the car returned. The woman and a man stepped out of the car. He was much thinner than when he had left, and he walked with a slight limp.
“Let me go in first,” said the woman. “It’s been more than two years. I don’t know if she’ll remember you.”
“Someone is here to see you”, the woman said. The little girl looked past her mother. The man slowly entered the room. He did not approach the girl, but stood just inside the door. He took something off his head that looked like a brown envelope. He squatted down carefully, looking at the girl, still not saying a word. Tears ran down his cheeks as he looked at her. “Hello, Sharon,” he said quietly.
The little girl looked him over carefully, then her eyes lit up, and a smile broke across her face like sunshine.
“DADDY!” she shouted, and ran into the safe, loving embrace of the man’s strong arms.
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