Chapter 12

They were perched side-by-side, hips touching, on the wooden swing that hung from chains on the Miller's front porch. They were holding hands and, Sammy noted, Millie's hands were damp as well as soft. She was breathing rapidly, her chest rising and falling beneath her overblouse. She looked at him, blinked and licked her lips nervously.

"Your letters were wonderful," Sammy said. "But I lost most of them when somebody took my pack."

"It doesn't matter," the girl answered, glancing at him and then looking away and sniffing. "It doesn't matter." She was having trouble controlling her breathing.

She had kissed him and hugged him in the doorway, and now her mind was in turmoil, like one of those funny movies that jumped all around. She had rehearsed a speech for him, had it all ready, even practiced while she brushed her hair, looking into her mirror and trying not to blink.

"That was the worst part, missing you," Sammy said, turning toward her, yearning for another kiss. It wasn't really the worst part, his memory reminded him.

She shook her head, bobbling her corkscrew curls. "We read about the gas and everything. It must have been awful."

"Mostly it was just the mud, mud and cooties. We were training and waiting most of the time." In his mind, Sammy saw a man's arm, a ring on one finger, come twisting toward him like a piece of tossed firewood. "But we did have some bad days, and a lot of men, a lot of them were killed, you know. Or wounded. Or the flu later, that was terrible."

Millie nodded.

"After a week or two, they pulled us back. And then it was over. So it wasn't so bad, except for waiting to come home." And the lice said his memory.

She nodded again.

"What have you been doing?" He smiled at her soft face.

"Well," she said, lifting her chin, "I think I wrote you, I finished school and got my certificate, and I've been rolling bandages, down at the women's club." She smiled briefly and ducked her head.

"Been out riding lately?" asked Sammy, trying to keep his voice calm. "What's-his-name still got that Apperson?"

"Oh yes, Charlie's car is still the fastest around, and he can take the Hyattstown hill without shifting gears."

"Sounds like you're becoming an expert," said Sammy, feeling a worm of worry in his gut.

Millie smiled and wiggled, rubbing their thighs together, kicking out her feet and making the swing move.

"You remember," Sammy said, squeezing her hand, "back before we shipped out, we talked about getting married, at least you did." He licked his lips and looked straight ahead as his stomach gurgled. He gritted his teeth, hoping he wouldn't fart.

Millie swallowed and blinked. She nodded once and looked away. Sammy's heart fibrillated oddly, and he felt beads of sweat pop out on his forehead and upper lip.

"Well, I was wondering if..." Oh oh, thought Sammy, looking at the girl's stricken face, I put my foot in it, something's wrong.

Millie shook her head. "Oh, that was so long ago, eons. I was just being silly, the war and everything. It was a joke." She gave him a sickly smile and then looked away.

"Uh huh, I understand, but Millie, I think I would like to marry you, I mean when I get a job and all." Sammy surprised himself when he blurted that out even though it had been whirling through his mind as he rode out to visit the girl on the familiar old mare, stretching seldom-used tendons. "I mean I thought about you every day over there, every day, every night too." He pushed those spurting memories away.

Now he looked at her unhappiness and quickly said, "Oh, you don't have to answer me right away."

She shook her curly head. "No, no, a lot of things have changed. I mean, it's been a year, more like two years, hasn't it. Billy Clagget's sweet on me, real sweet, and I like him a lot, Sammy. We've been seeing each other, understand? My father likes him, too."

"Gee, he's old as my brother, isn't he?"

"What difference does that make? He's nice." She moved as far away from him as she could, wiggling her buttocks sideways, her voice higher. She let go of his hand.

"OK, but will you go out with me, maybe to a dance, or I don't know, a picnic, a picture show." Sammy felt a pang he labeled desperation. He wiped his lips on his wrist and swallowed.

"Not this week. Billy's taking me to a ball in Annapolis and a parade at the Naval Academy."

"You're spending the night over there?" Sammy asked, barely keeping his voice from breaking.

"It's a real nice place, used to be somebody's big house back in the olden days. My folks gave me permission, so there. You don't have to look at me like that."

"Ah Millie," Sammy managed, standing, eager now to be away, to be anywhere else. "I hope you have a good time. Maybe next week."

"Maybe," the girl said, getting the swing in motion and looking aside, refusing to even sniff until he turned away and hurried down the wooden steps.

On his way home, Sammy stopped by the store and drew himself a beer. He sat at a sticky table and looked out the dirty window toward his family's home. His great uncle hobbled across the room and dropped into the chair next to him. Sammy could smell him without turning around.

"What do you think about this prohibition business?" Sammy asked.

"Aw shit," said his uncle, looking for a place to spit and then shifting his cud to the other cheek, "it's them damn women that want's the vote, it's all their fugging fault."

"Still, it might pass, that's what I read, the Volstead Act it's called." Sammy drank half his beer.