We Are All Welcome Here Part 18

At a stoplight, Kitty pointed to the spring dresses in the window of Marshall Field's. "Look how boxy sleeves are getting," she said, and Louise snapped back, "Jeez! How can you even think about that now?"

Kitty fell silent, but in her head, she started the Mills Brothers singing "Paper Doll." You couldn't think about those boys and where they were going. You had to think about something else. Louise began to weep again, and the driver reached back over the seat to give her his handkerchief, frayed at the edges but clean and neatly folded. "Dry your eyes now, darlin'; he'll be back before you know it," the man said. He was Irish, as they were.

Louise cried harder, but through her tears she said, "Thank you very much. I'll wash it and iron it and send it right back to you." The Heaney girls were nothing if not polite-their mother made sure of that. The Dreamy girls, the sisters were called, for their considerable beauty; and their mother seemed to feel it was her duty to prevent their good looks from going to their heads. You didn't want to be caught lingering before a mirror when Margaret Heaney was anywhere nearby. "Well, now," she'd say, her arms crossed. "Don't we find ourselves a fascination." And then she'd suggest that if you had so much time on your hands, you might find a way to make yourself useful, and if you couldn't think of something to do, she'd be glad to help you. Rugs didn't beat themselves, you know, there was that. The refrigerator needed defrosting, the bathroom and kitchen floors had to be scrubbed.

But their mother was also proud of them. And she not infrequently remarked on how the beauty found in all her children-the dimples, the long lashes, the thick, l.u.s.trous hair, the clear skin-didn't come from no nowhere. Whereupon their father would inflate his chest, stick his thumbs under his suspenders, and say, "'Tis true! And no need to look any farther for the source!"

"You're going to give yourself a headache with all that crying," Kitty told her sister, and Louise said, "I don't care! I want want a headache!" Indeed, Michael's mother lay at home on her living room sofa with a sick headache, a cold rag across her forehead, a throw-up bucket at her side-she'd been unable to come to the station, and Michael had told his father to stay home and take care of her. Julian's parents had not come to the station, either. They'd said they wanted to give Kitty and Julian that time alone, but Kitty knew that, although they were proud of their only son, their hearts were broken at his leave-taking. They needed to keep their good-byes-and their anguish-private. Kitty turned to stare out the window again. Louise really ought to look at the beautiful things in the store windows: the hats lodged nestlike on the mannequins' heads; the red open-toed shoes with the ankle straps. Or she ought to think about what she might say in her letter to Michael that night. They had agreed they would write to their men every night until they were safely back home: they'd put each other's hair up and get into their pajamas and then sit at the kitchen table and write at least two pages, every night, no matter what. Tish was already writing to three men she'd met at USO dances. a headache!" Indeed, Michael's mother lay at home on her living room sofa with a sick headache, a cold rag across her forehead, a throw-up bucket at her side-she'd been unable to come to the station, and Michael had told his father to stay home and take care of her. Julian's parents had not come to the station, either. They'd said they wanted to give Kitty and Julian that time alone, but Kitty knew that, although they were proud of their only son, their hearts were broken at his leave-taking. They needed to keep their good-byes-and their anguish-private. Kitty turned to stare out the window again. Louise really ought to look at the beautiful things in the store windows: the hats lodged nestlike on the mannequins' heads; the red open-toed shoes with the ankle straps. Or she ought to think about what she might say in her letter to Michael that night. They had agreed they would write to their men every night until they were safely back home: they'd put each other's hair up and get into their pajamas and then sit at the kitchen table and write at least two pages, every night, no matter what. Tish was already writing to three men she'd met at USO dances.

Kitty snuck a look at her still-weeping sister. What weakness of character! Louise needed to stop thinking about herself. She could think about her job as a teacher's aide, or her friends, or their three little brothers, only eight, eleven, and thirteen but out almost every day with their wagon, collecting for the metal drive. They got a penny a pound, and they'd raised more money for war bonds than any other kids in their Chicago neighborhood-they'd even had their picture in the newspaper. It didn't do any good for Louise to carry on this way. It didn't help Michael or even herself. But then Kitty's throat caught, and she reached over to embrace her sister, and she began to cry, too. Julian with the sun in his hair, saying good-bye, perhaps forever.

"Ah, now, girls," the cabbie said. "Get hold of yourselves, won't you. We'll take care of them j.a.ps in short order, don't you doubt it! And then wait and see if I'm not the very one taking you all home again! And won't we be celebratin'! You keep my handkerchief; I'll collect it from you on that far happier occasion."

"Germans," Louise said, her voice m.u.f.fled by the handkerchief.

"What's that, now?" the cabbie asked.

"Mine will be fighting the n.a.z.is n.a.z.is!" she wailed.

"Well, I meant them, too!" the cabbie said. "Germans, Italians, j.a.panese. What d'ya think any of them scoundrels can do against our fine boys?" He looked into the rearview mirror at the girls, and Kitty saw the worry in his blue eyes, the doubt. It came to her to say, "My boyfriend will be fighting the j.a.ps." But it didn't seem to make much difference, really. She and Louise stopped crying, but they held hands the rest of the way home.

ELIZABETH BERG is the author of fifteen novels, including the is the author of fifteen novels, including the New York Times New York Times bestsellers bestsellers The Art of Mending, Say When, True to Form, Never Change, The Art of Mending, Say When, True to Form, Never Change, and and Open House, Open House, which was an Oprah's Book Club selection in 2000. which was an Oprah's Book Club selection in 2000. Durable Goods Durable Goods and and Joy School Joy School were selected as ALA Best Books of the Year, and were selected as ALA Best Books of the Year, and Talk Before Sleep Talk Before Sleep was short-listed for the ABBY Award in 1996. The winner of the 1997 New England Booksellers Award for her work, she is also the author of a nonfiction work, was short-listed for the ABBY Award in 1996. The winner of the 1997 New England Booksellers Award for her work, she is also the author of a nonfiction work, Escaping into the Open: The Art of Writing True. Escaping into the Open: The Art of Writing True. She lives in Chicago. She lives in Chicago.

Also by Elizabeth Berg

The Handmaid and the CarpenterThe Year of PleasuresThe Art of MendingSay WhenTrue to FormOrdinary Life: StoriesNever ChangeOpen HouseEscaping into the Open: The Art of Writing TrueUntil the Real Thing Comes AlongWhat We KeepJoy SchoolThe Pull of the MoonRange of MotionTalk Before SleepDurable GoodsFamily Traditions

Praise for We Are All Welcome Here "Valuable lessons about love, honor and the real meaning of family...[a] charming tale of a girl growing to realize just how much she is her mother's daughter."

-The New York Times Book Review "[Berg's] inner poetry and eloquence never falter.... She leaves us just enough room to draw from our own well of tears."

-The Boston Globe "Put away your bookmarks. You won't need them. We Are All Welcome Here We Are All Welcome Here grabs you on page 1 and never lets go." grabs you on page 1 and never lets go."

-Fort Worth Star-Telegram Star-Telegram "Deftly told, this tale turns on a painful, liberating transition that allows each character to come wholly and appealingly alive on the page."

-People (starred review) (starred review) "[Berg] handles her material well.... In the charming and idealistic world Berg creates, there's room for a little magic."

-Chicago Tribune "Paige, Diana and Peacie are the kind of characters you'd like to have over for sweet tea and a glide on the porch swing."

-USA Today "Welcome not only highlights the extraordinary power that a mother-paralyzed or not-has over her daughter, but offers a unique perspective on polio's cruel legacy." not only highlights the extraordinary power that a mother-paralyzed or not-has over her daughter, but offers a unique perspective on polio's cruel legacy."

-Entertainment Weekly "Berg finely draws all the characters in this story of acceptance, love, sacrifice and generosity of heart. It's the story of the struggle for freedom and the ties that bind. And, if the end seems like a fairy-tale ending, well that's just fine."

-Milwaukee Journal Sentinel "A warm, satisfying read."

-The Charlotte Observer "Berg's latest novel of ordinary women made extraordinary by a steely n.o.bility covers a lot of territory...and her signature gifts for depicting strong women and writing pointed dialog are as acute as ever."

-Library Journal "[A] carefully calibrated domestic drama."

-Publishers Weekly "The prolific Berg pulls out all the stops in this family story.... There's a lot of bang for the buck here."

-Booklist "[Berg's] work of fiction, We Are All Welcome Here, We Are All Welcome Here, is as compelling as the truth.... [A] vivid portrait of a mother-daughter relationship." is as compelling as the truth.... [A] vivid portrait of a mother-daughter relationship."

-The Columbus Dispatch "A quietly keyed story reminiscent in places of To Kill a Mockingbird. To Kill a Mockingbird."

-BookPage "It couldn't be sweeter."

-Deseret Morning News (Salt Lake City) (Salt Lake City)