The sun broke through the low clouds beating back the morning haze. The end of August was always her favorite time of the year. The New England weather cooled August much quicker than most other parts of the country. She preferred it that way, not one for the hot summer months. She was more of a winter girl, a winter girl waiting for her soldier to come home, her lover, her new husband.
Kathleen McGuiness was flush with a new life. She had married her sweetheart, the only boy, the only man she ever loved. It was a hurried affair but she didn’t mind. There were much larger issues in the world; the war, the rationing and the hardship. But she was a girl to stand on her own two feet. Her family had known hardship before, having fought through the depression when she was just a child. She chuckled at the notion, not much more than a child still, her mother had thought the day she married Willy McGuiness.
Her thoughts ambled back to the day of their wedding. The small church on Main Street across from the seawall in the heart of Camden looked as perfect as any girl could imagine. Its white facade had withstood the pounding weather for over seventy years. It had seen the celebrations of baptisms and christenings, weddings and its share of funerals many of those fishermen, their lives lost to the brutal Atlantic.
She hummed a tune that was a favorite, the melody light but haunting, the words soft and poetic as her fingers danced across the white ribbon as she flipped the last loop and tied the bow. The paper was a crisp blue and adorned with angel’s wings. Her heart raced as she realized it would be Willy’s first Christmas present from his wife. The melody of ‘Ave Maria’ echoed through her thoughts as she remembered words to a song she dearly loved and knew the days and nights would be long as she awaited the first Christmas with her husband.
She felt the warmth of the morning sun as it lit the entrance to the hallway through the open screen door. It would be a wonderful day it seemed but the sounds of the street were slightly louder than she cared to hear this early. She laid the small package on the hallway stand, the extra bit of weight making it rock forward. She would need to even the legs out sometime, or perhaps move it to a better spot.
The idling engine sounds so close to her door were annoying. She peered out as she neared the screen and slipped the hook up out of its ring. She paused as her eyes fell to an olive-green vehicle stopped on her side of the street, one house away. Two men dressed in army uniforms stood on the sidewalk looking down at a piece of paper then up again at the houses. Her heart fluttered as she took a deep breath. “They’re not in front of my house,” she thought. Kathleen pushed gently against the wooden frame and stepped out onto the porch, the worn wood creaking beneath her feet. The single white star painted on the door seemed faded. As she looked toward them their eyes rose in unison and came squarely to rest on her.
Their first steps came her way and her heart sank into the depths of hell itself. Her face streamed with tears immediately as they neared; she knew at once they had come for her. As they began the walk up the sidewalk her legs could no longer support her and she slumped to the porch. Her cries of torment echoed down the street as she clutched the front of her yellow dress and brought nearly all passersby to a halt. Everyone knew what it meant, knew the heartache that came with the message. The first soldier reached her and placed his hands on her head, his knee bending as he came down to meet her.
“My child.” His rosary slipped out of his pocket and fell onto the porch. Captain Michael Meyer, an army chaplain and a Catholic priest had done this what seemed a thousand times, yet he could never get used to it. “God holds him now in the palm of his hands”.
Her sobbing continued until she had nothing left to offer, her tears exhausted, her dress now torn from a nail poking up from the planks. A trickle of blood ran down her leg and stuck her stockings to her skin. Captain Meyer slid his arms down about her shoulders and held her in a gentle embrace. Her head came to rest against his chest as the last of the tears left their mark on her skin.
“Ma’am?” the second soldier offered, “are you Kathleen McGuiness?”
“Lieutenant!” Captain Meyer’s tone was curt. “Not now.”
“Captain, we need to be sure.” Lt. Brandon Walker took no notice of the rebuff. They had done this many times together and he knew the captain’s heart was in the right place, but he had been wrong once. It was a difficult moment. Captain Meyer nodded in agreement, his eyes downcast.
“Kathleen?”
“Yes.” She choked back the words, fighting the tears she wished now not to show.
Captain Meyer’s eyes lit with a loving fire. His faith was strong and his will unshakable to his duties. He had seen others give this information to a grieving new widow and simply walk away. He vowed he would never do that, not to one who suffered so.
“How,” she paused, choking back the words.
“It’s all in the letter, but I don’t like doing it that way.” Captain Meyer reached up to Lt. Walker and retrieved the official notice. “He was fighting in a little French town called Mortain just south of the channel. It’s in Normandy. They were surprised by a counter assault from German tanks.” He took a deep breath, holding it ever-so-slightly. “I’m sorry.”