Back to Yesterday (22 page)

Levi held up his hand. “We only did what you would have done, Charles. No need to thank us.”

“My parents raised me to give thanks and so I will. I will never forget either of you.” I looked down at the boy, his brown eyes glistening. Kneeling down in front of him, I held out my arms for a hug. He attached himself to me, his tears falling and landing on my shoulder.

“Will I ever see you again?” he asked.

“I sure hope so.”

“I overheard you and Papa talking about fuel and that you may not have enough to make it all the way to Oxford. Is that true?”

I closed my eyes wishing Maikel hadn’t heard that. “I’m sure it’ll be fine. Your father and I were just thinking out loud and listing possible scenarios. Don’t worry. I’ve survived worse things than running out of fuel.” I laughed, hoping to ease his concerns. The truth was it was a very real possibility, but there were other variables I was more concerned with than fuel. Not wanting to revisit those scenarios, I stood back up and said goodbye to Levi.

“I’ll always consider you my friend, Levi. Thank you again for everything.”

Levi’s strict stoicism faded, his voice wobbling when he said, “Friends, yes, always friends.” We hugged and I climbed inside the plane.

I made all of my preparations and promptly started the engine. Exhaust sputtered out as the propellers spun to life and her noisy idle put a smile on my face. Man, I had missed that beautiful sound. Though, the vibration I had feared stole the smile I wore. I gritted my teeth and swore, the noise of the engine drowning out my words.

Damn it – damn it – DAMN IT!

I was at the crossroads. Take the chance to fly and risk being shook out of the sky, or stay grounded and risk the Nazis finding me here, which would endanger the lives of Levi and Maikel.

I wouldn’t risk their lives so I would risk mine instead.

I looked over and saw the smile on Maikel’s face. He had told me one evening that when he grew up he wanted to be a pilot just like me. I hoped that he would never have to fight in a war, although I did want him to get his wish to fly. I gave him a thumbs-up, not letting on that I was in grave danger, and moved forward a few feet, turned her around to face the other direction, and ran up the engine. The vibration shook me so hard my teeth clanked together. I waved to my friends one last time.

I drew in a breath, held it a few seconds before releasing it, and once again I prayed.

Lord, if You’re listening, please help me get home.

I moved forward, accelerating quickly, bumping along Levi’s field until the tail lifted and the bumping was replaced by the feel of air underneath.

Flying once again.

Only this time…I, Charles Edward Hudson, who’d never feared flying before, was afraid to fly this plane.

~ Natalie Taylor

Come to This

T
he first night after Charlie left, I’d curled into a fetal position on my bed, crying in sobs that broke, rattled, and shook, letting out the desperation I’d felt, my mind imagining the worst.

War.

Charlie was going back to war.

The unthinkable could happen and the thought became more than a thought. It became this tangible thing that I could taste on my tongue, burning my throat, souring my stomach, forcing bile to surge upward until I was running to the bathroom. I dropped to my knees and bent my head over the toilet. I heaved and heaved and heaved. But the thought remained. It clung to me like static. No matter how many times I tried to flick it off it stayed. No matter how many times I tried to extract it from my body it lingered.

Soft hands brushed back my hair and my mother held me while I begged for this to all be over.

“I want him to come b-back!” I cried.

“I know, dear. I know. Have faith in him, my love. He’ll be back.”

I whispered prayers for Charlie’s safety and I clung to hope and wished on stars. Grieving like a widow, I begged for God to bring him back to me and pleaded like a child that He would grant me this
one
request.

For hours I did this, lying on the bathroom floor, begging, asking, hoping, and praying. I was cut open, deep, down to the bone, and the unthinkable thought was the salt in my wounds that made my flesh burn and my soul howl in agony.

The next day I forced myself to get up and walk to work. Every step felt like a mammoth climb uphill, and by the time I made it to the café, I stood in the doorway, achy and sore and fighting to breathe. The bell above the door jingled and every eye looked my way. It was unusually crowded for this time of day. I had hoped for a moment to pull myself together before facing the world but there would be no such moment for me.

Standing at the entrance, I was hungry for air that was too heavy and too thick, like trying to breathe through a straw. I reached for the back of an empty booth and leaned into it.

“Sophie,” Elizabeth said, clutching my face. “Breathe, sweetie. You need to breathe.”

“It hurts.”

“What hurts? Tell me.”

“
I
hurt.”

I couldn’t survive this. War was the unknown and the unknown was a gaping hole of nothingness. I couldn’t see my future. I couldn’t even see five minutes in front of me. I knew nothing. All I knew was that Charlie was my life and my life was somewhere
unknown
, across the ocean, on another continent, and I was here, fighting to breathe without him.

Then someone touched my shoulder and placed an envelope in my hand. For a long minute I stared at it, trying to dissect what I was holding. Nothing made sense to me. Then another letter was slipped into my hand. Customers of mine that I saw on a daily basis were lining up in front of me. Each time they gave me their letter, they would kiss my cheek and say, “From Charlie.” They all had the same story.
Charlie wrote this for you and asked that I deliver it today.

I stumbled into an empty seat, a quivering pile of bones and not much else. I looked down at my hands. Fifteen letters were given to me by fifteen customers. I set them all on the table, trying to come to process it.

Elizabeth sat across from me, her voice a velvet blanket, soothing and comforting. “Charlie wanted you to read this one first.” She placed another letter in my hands. I didn’t hesitate to open it. I ran my finger underneath the lip, lifting the seal, and prepared myself for what he had to say.

Dear Sophie,

The very first day we met, I went home and wrote you a letter. There was so much stuff swimming around in my head that I had to get it down on paper. I didn’t want to forget a thing. I put it away in a drawer, and as time went by I wrote more and more. Judging by the stack of letters, I felt a lot and thought a lot.

I even had to get a bigger drawer.

In the beginning, the letters were just for me, a cathartic way to express the fluttering in my soul whenever I was around you.

Now, I want you to know how much my heart thought of you.

This is me, Sophie McCormick, completely open, naked, and bare to the bones. You have my thoughts. You have my heart. You have my soul.

You had me at the beginning.

And I’ll be yours to the end.

Charlie

I folded the letter, held it to my heart, and closed my eyes.

I love you. I love you, I love you, I love you.

A man knelt in front of me, and I had to look away. He looked too much like Charlie and my poor heart crumbled at the sight of him.

“Sophie, honey,” Elizabeth said. “I’d like for you to meet someone.”

“Sophie,” the man said, “I’m Charlie’s father and I’m–”

My hands fell from my face and I dove into him, hugging him tightly, nearly tipping him over on his haunches. He braced himself and hugged me back. He was the closest thing in the whole world to Charlie because they were a part of each other, and I needed to feel the closeness. It should have been awkward, me hugging him this way, but it didn’t feel awkward at all. It felt less debilitating, less stifling to be in his atmosphere.

He held me like a father would hold a child. “Shhh,” he said. “It’ll be all right. Everything will be all right.”

“W-what are you doing here?”

“I’m here because my son asked me to come. He said you would need me, so here I am. At your service.”

I didn’t know how long I cried on his shoulder. It could have been minutes, hours, or even days. Time became nothing but a black hole, a void, something that slipped through my fingers. I repeated the words I’d said to my mother. “I want him to come back. I f-feel like I’m dying.”

People huddled around, watching us, drying their own tears. I grabbed a napkin off the table and wiped my runny nose, embarrassed that at our first introduction I had almost knocked him down.

“This must be how I greet all Hudson men,” I said, laughing at myself. It was reminiscent of when I’d met Charlie.

“How do you mean?”

“The first time I met your son I plowed into him, knocked him right off his feet.” I shrugged. “I guess I like to leave an impression.”

Mr. Hudson chuckled, and I found his laugh lines to be endearing, chiseled in deep grooves along both sides of his mouth. He handed me a clean napkin. “Well, you’re definitely unforgettable.” His eyes softened and he regarded me with worry. “You okay, hon?”

I shook my head, my chin quivering. “No.”

He wiped a tear from my cheek with his thumb. “He’ll be back. You have to believe. He wouldn’t want you this upset.”

“I know. I just need a minute to be sad.”

He looked at Elizabeth. He had the same coffee-colored eyes as Charlie and I battled with wanting to look at them and not wanting to look at them. “Mind if I take Sophie for a walk? Let her catch her breath?”

“Of course. Take all the time you need.” Elizabeth pulled me into her arms. “I love you. We all love you. Come back when you’re ready.”

Henry, my boss, stepped in front of me. “Take the day, Sophie. Don’t worry about this place. It’ll be here when you get back.”

Mr. Hudson and I walked along the same path that Charlie and I always took. When we got to the bench at the halfway point, we sat down. I looked up and thought…
I am as blue as the sky.
I closed my eyes, wondering how long I was going to feel this way.

“You’re the first girl Charles has ever talked about. He wrote to me a couple of months ago. Told me that he’d met someone. You know what he said?”

“What?”

“He told me…
She is what I love most about myself.
”
Mr. Hudson looked down, studying the ground. “When he was little and even as he got older that was what I always said about his mother.” He flashed a boyish grin and brought his eyes up to mine. “He stole my line.”

I smiled. “It’s a great line.”

We talked and chatted in between moments of stillness. After he walked me home, we had dinner with my parents, and when he was ready to leave, he placed a letter in my hand, kissed my cheek, and said, “From Charlie.”

“From Charlie,” I whispered.

I waited until the world was quiet until I opened the envelope Charlie’s father had given me and began to read…