"Does Ruth have any family left here?"

"No, she only had a mother. She never knew her father; he left before she was born. Iris, her mother, died, soon after we got married. I often thought things might have worked out differently if her mother had lived. If she had known William. Iris had a way of...helping Ruth remain steady...and when she died, Ruth lost that anchor."

Dare I ask him one more question? I just had to. "You never heard from Ruth again?"

He took another deep breath and exhaled. "The last I heard from Ruth was when I received a package of signed divorce papers her lawyer in Phoenix sent to me. I sent them back to the lawyer, signed in return, just as she wanted. I don't even know where she is." He paused and gazed at the crackling fire. "Or with whom."

We sat in silence for a long moment. Then I said, "Do you remember the first chess game we played? When I told you about my father? And you said you were sorry. Now I'm the one who is sorry."

"Louisa, don't you despise those n.a.z.is who killed your father?"

"I realized I could not have hatred and Christ living in my heart. One would have to go; they couldn't exist together. I chose Christ."

He stood up and walked over to the fireplace, putting one hand on the mantel. "You make it sound so easy."

"It's not. I think forgiving someone who doesn't even care if you forgive them is the hardest thing in the world. There are many mornings when I wake up and the bitterness has seeped back into my soul like a toxin. Then I have to start all over again to re-forgive the n.a.z.is in Germany. Only with G.o.d's help am I able to do so."

I watched him for a while. I could tell he was lost in his memories, so I stood up to say good night.

"Louisa?" He kept his head down. "Pray for me?"

"Of course."

William and I were in the library one afternoon when I recognized someone whom I had seen a few times before. At first, I thought she was a child, head bowed earnestly over a picture book, but when I watched her more carefully, I realized she was a young woman.

Tiny, delicate, yet she already looked world-weary. Like the times I had seen her before, she sat alone in a corner in the children's area, looking intently at picture books. Obviously, she was hoping to go unnoticed, but her hair made her hard to ignore. Bright red curls. As William settled into his routine of gathering books, I went over to her.

She didn't notice me, but I heard her sounding out words. "Go g-e-t the b-b-a-ll," she whispered to herself, her finger running along the simple text.

"h.e.l.lo." Without meaning to, I startled her.

She looked up at me and quickly started to pack up to leave.

"Don't leave. I wanted to introduce myself. I'm Louisa." I held out my hand to her.

She looked at me as if she had never known been offered a hand before. Then, without looking at my eyes, she shook it. Her hand felt so fragile, like it might break if I squeezed too hard.

"What's your name?" I asked.

"Glenda."

"It looks as if you're teaching yourself to read. That's hard work."

Again, she lowered her eyes. Her cheeks began to turn pink.

"Please don't be embarra.s.sed. I think it's wonderful! In fact, I wondered if I could help you. William and I-that's William over there-come here nearly every day at this time."

"No. Thank you for the offer, ma'am. That's not necessary."

"Actually, Glenda, you'd be doing me a favor. William is deaf, so I'm working on ways to teach him to read. If I could help you, too, then you'd be giving me some practice. I could really use the practice. I'm new at this."

That strategy worked. The three of us sat in the corner and went over a few picture books with simple vocabulary. For William, I said the words and had him repeat them back to me. For Glenda, I helped her sound them out. William watched us carefully, noticing the differences. I wondered how long it would be before he was reading. His mind was like a dry sponge, thirsty for water.

Glenda glanced at the library clock and got up to leave. "Thank you, Miss Louisa."

"Glenda, we'll be here tomorrow. Same time, same place."

She gave a quick nod as a small smile crossed her face.

William and I stayed a little longer before going up to the desk to check out our books.

Usually friendly, Miss Bentley, the librarian, had her lips pressed tightly together. "Do you know who that girl is, Louisa?" she whispered disapprovingly.

I knew.

"Her name is Glenda, Miss Bentley, and she's learning to read. Isn't that a wonderful accomplishment? For anyone?" I used a tone of voice borrowed from Robert. It meant: end of discussion.

It became a habit for Glenda, William, and me to meet a few times each week. Glenda made slow but determined progress. One morning, as William ran off to find books, I asked Glenda about her future. I knew she had some plan, but I didn't want to ask her much about her current life. I didn't want to know too much about it.

"I am going to learn to read, and someday I am going to get out of this town and make somethin' of myself," she announced.

"I know you will, Glenda," I told her, meaning it.

"I never meant to be....doing the kind of work I've been doing."

"Of course not," I said.

"My sister and I, we lived out on a farm with our father until he died. Then my sister had a baby, and her boyfriend run out on her, and we had lots of doctor bills to pay. I borrowed some money from the bank, but then I couldn't pay it back. We had a bad year on the farm. The bank took the farm. So Mick at the Tavern, he told me he knew a way I could pay off our bills."

"Where's your sister now?"

Her face grew somber. "She pa.s.sed on. Got a bad fever one winter. She was always a little sickly." Then she brightened. "But I got her little boy in a home in Douglas. I paid a family to take him in. They're good folk. The man is a preacher. When Mr. Mueller told me that, I knew they'd be the right folk to take care of my boy. But I'm gonna get him back soon."

Herr Mueller?

"Glenda, did you say Herr Mueller helped you find this family?"

"Yes ma'am. He said he knew about this preacher and his wife, living over there in Douglas, no kids of their own. I even got to meet them. Real good folk, Miss Louisa."

"Do you remember their names? The minister's name?"

"Yes ma'am, I do. His name is Sid Carter. I send him extra money as often as I can spare it. For my nephew."

"And what did you say your nephew's name was?"

"Tommy. He's about ten-years-old now."

"When did you last see Tommy?"

"Well, Pastor Carter, he don't let me see him. He thinks it would be too hard on him." Her voice trailed off.

Suddenly Herr Mueller's voice bellowed throughout the quiet library. "Frulein Louisa! Get that monster away from me!"

I jumped up and ran to find William. He had climbed up onto a bookshelf and was shooting spitwads through a straw at Herr Mueller through the openings between the books. I pulled William down and apologized profusely to Herr Mueller, who was frantically batting his hair to yank out little white b.a.l.l.s of spitwads.

I looked around to find Glenda to finish our conversation, but she had vanished. I asked Miss Bentley if she had seen where Glenda had gone, but she told me "no" and that I shouldn't know, either.

There were moments, like this one, when Miss Bentley seemed eerily similar to Miss Gordon. And one was quite enough.

A few days before Thanksgiving, Rosita came rushing up the porch and rapped on the door. Miss Gordon opened it as Rosita burst through the door and found me in the kitchen, putting away groceries. "Louisa! I have found just the right boyfriend for you!" she interrupted breathlessly, eyes shining with excitement.

"Oh Rosita, please don't do this." I dreaded these conversations with Rosita. She just would not leave this subject alone. She insisted I needed a boyfriend no matter how many times I told her otherwise.

"No! This time, you will thank me. He wears a uniform, Louisa! He is so handsome. He is visiting his relatives for Thanksgiving, and he wants to meet you! I told him all about you!"

I put the iceberg lettuce in the icebox. "Rosita, I told you that I don't want to find an American boyfriend. Please stop hunting men for me."

"Louisa, trust me. He is so handsome that he looks like...a movie star. He is coming to take you on an afternoon drive this very day! So be ready at four o'clock! And wear something bright!" Her face scrunched up with worry. She didn't think much of my fashion sense. She said I had none. "Something pretty. Okay? I have to get back to my Esmeralda. Don't forget! Four o'clock. And you will thank me!" She scurried out the door before I could object any further.

Miss Gordon came into the kitchen from the parlor, one eyebrow raised.

"Did you hear that? How dare she!"

"Well, if it's any consolation, he does look like a movie star. A little like Gary Cooper. I saw him this morning at the market. He's a flight instructor over at Falcon Field near Phoenix. He's a nephew of the Johnsons. They're very proud of him."

"But I don't want to go somewhere with a complete stranger. What will we talk about?"

"Since when have you ever been at a loss for words?" was her dry response.

I looked at the clock and realized I had better get prepared for this "blind date" as Miss Gordon called it. I didn't have much to choose from, but I picked out a lace collared shirt I liked and an old blue flowered skirt of Rosita's I had altered to fit. A little before four o'clock, I came down the stairs and asked Miss Gordon if I looked all right.

"Oh, stop acting as if you're heading to the electric chair. It's just a few hours with a lonely soldier."

At four o'clock on the dot, there was a knock at the door. I froze. "I don't even know his name."

"It's Stuart," said Miss Gordon. "Stuart Johnson. Now go. Open the door before he changes his mind and leaves."

I went to the door and opened it. And then I smiled. There stood an extremely good-looking young man wearing a well-loved leather flight instructor's jacket. He had sun-tanned skin, blond-streaked hair, a broad jaw, and deep set eyes. I decided I should be more opened minded to Rosita's suggestions. "h.e.l.lo. You must be Stuart. I am Louisa."

"h.e.l.lo, Louisa. Rosita didn't lie. She said you were the prettiest girl west of Texas. Call me Stu. Everyone does. Shall we go?"

Just as we walked down the porch to the car, Robert and William walked up to the parsonage. I introduced them to Stuart but found I couldn't quite look either Robert or William directly in the eye.

How ridiculous, I thought. It's just an afternoon drive. That's all.

Stuart headed out of town, seeming to know his destination.

"Where are we going?"

"Thought we'd go sparking. Ever been sparking before?" he asked.

"No. It sounds like fun," I said. "So, Stuart, tell me about your time in the Air Force."

"Stu, darlin'. Folks call me Stu."

"Will you be sent overseas soon? With the Air Force?"

He gave a short laugh. "No, darlin'. I'm a mechanic who works for the Army Air Force. I got my mechanics' license a while back and started working for Southwest Airlines before the war. Then they needed flight instructors over there at Falcon Field, so I went to work for the military. Don't plan to leave anytime soon, neither."

"Why is that?"

"Well, it's my ticket to stay out of the war. It means I can defer my draft. I don't have to fight. I can stay right there up near Phoenix and sit things out."

Pardon me? What kind of able-bodied young man could live with himself by avoiding the draft during a World War? True, Robert had been issued a draft deferment, too, but that was because he was the sole provider and guardian for a deaf child. I knew, from Miss Gordon, that he had agonized over that decision. Stuart seemed proud to have found a way to avoid his duty.

"My job is to train those British pilots how to fly. See now, the Brits aren't very good at this flying business, so we've been training 'em for a while out in the desert. The desert at night with no moon, that is just about as black as anything can get. Most of our accidents happen at night. Flyers become disoriented, and some fly straight into the ground. And ya want to know something else about those Brits? Those big fur collars on their flight jackets that they're so darn proud of-well, they burn like a torch."

Now I was getting more than a little irritated. I did not appreciate hearing such derogatory remarks about the British pilots. Just the opposite, I felt a great deal of appreciation for the British military and their sacrifices to fight n.a.z.ism.

Our blind date began a rapid downhill descent.

Stuart parked the car up on a mesa, a flat table area overlooking a valley. "Now that there is called a tortilla flat. See how the rocks are piled up like tortillas?"

I looked to the right to see where he was pointing, and before I looked back, he had slid over to my side of the car. I moved over to the door as far as I could, but that only encouraged him to move closer to me. He slid one arm behind my head and reached over to kiss me. I pressed one hand firmly against his chest and asked, "Stuart, would you mind explaining to me exactly what sparking is?"

In half the time it took to drive out to Tortilla Flats, we were back home. I stood on the porch and watched Stuart's car zoom angrily away house after dropping me off. As I walked into the house, everyone was in the kitchen eating dinner. Without a word, I got a plate and filled it up at the counter, sat down at my place, offered a silent prayer, and began to eat. Just as Miss Gordon opened up her mouth to ask about my date, I interrupted her. "I'd rather not talk about it."

She and Robert exchanged an amused look. "Well, that's a first," she said crisply.

William glared at me, then pushed back his chair, and stomped upstairs to his room.

After dinner, Rosita knocked on the door, timidly this time. "I saw him drop you off. I saw his car rush away. No good date?"

I closed the door behind me. "It was terrible, Rosita. He didn't plan to take me for a drive! He wanted to 'spark'. Do you know what 'spark' means? Well, now I do." I glowered at her. "And another thing, Rosita, he's avoiding the draft! Can you imagine? And he talked only about himself the entire time!"

Rosita sighed and shrugged her shoulders. "Louisa, you are too picky. There's something wrong with every man I find out for you. Too old, too young, talks too much, talks too little. Most men only talk about themselves, you know."

"Not all men."

"Who, then?"

"Well, Ramon, for one. And Robert doesn't talk about himself very much. It's hard work to get him to talk about himself."

"That is because he is a priest, Louisa," she said knowingly.