Letters to Hank

Chapter Ten

"I'll see you next week," Hazel said as she pressed a kiss to James's little button nose. He reached for her again; this time, she had to gently tug his tiny hands away. "You be good for Daddy."

"Have fun, Hazey." Alfred kissed her on the lips, his finger resting lightly beneath her chin. "Come back to me, okay?" He winked.

"I will. Make sure Hank doesn't go too far. He can't manage too much on his own." She gripped her suitcase tighter and pinched her son's cheek.

"Henry will be fine."

There they were again, that flat tone and those blank eyes. Hazel clenched her teeth, taking a breath to bicker Alfred's remark. "I just don't understand your opposition to him. He's my—" A loud train horn blasted through the air, the concrete floors of Union Station trembling below. Hazel shook her head, her heart pounding in her throat. "Just... do your best to get along with him, alright? Do it for me." She smiled and nodded, pleased with her choice of words. "I love you all more than anything. I'll see you soon."

The busy train station's thick air clouded Hazel's lungs and beaded sweat on her brow. Her hair, though tied back, sprouted from her bun and curled around her ears. After getting her ticket, Hazel sat on a bench in the shade, catching her breath and trying to cool off. The glass panels overhead made the building a greenhouse filled with the aroma of body odor, train steam, oil, and cheap, greasy food. The smells all together made Hazel's stomach churn.

The train whistle blew, calling all passengers to flock aboard. Everyone went running—mothers dragging their children behind, men prodding their sons, husbands and wives with linked arms. Hazel winced as people nudged into her with their damp arms and stepped on her toes with their heavy boots. She was, for once in her whole life, utterly insignificant.

And she knew it.

She had always been the center of attention, needed by someone. She was a mother of a son that was dependent on her. She was the sister of an invalid. The wife of a quiet and humble man. But there in that train station, she mattered to no one but herself. And she hated it. Everyone around her went on with their lives as if nothing was different. As if it was simply another day in Saint Louis's Union Station.

It took ten minutes for Hazel to find her seat in the air-conditioned car. She settled in and stared out the window, noting each of the faces that passed her by. Her heart sank as a young man dressed in his U.S. Navy uniform kissed his pregnant wife goodbye. She knew the scene all too well. Saying goodbye, wondering if your loved one will make it home, seeing them once again as a fraction of who they once were.

The young navy man found a seat across from Hazel and sat with a smile. "Morning, Ma'am." He tipped his hat, his eyes shimmering.

"Is that your wife?" Hazel glanced at the young woman outside.

His smile doubled in size. "Yes, Ma'am. We've been married just over a year now. Ain't she something?"

Hazel choked down a sob. This new father may never return home to his child, she thought. As the young man sat expectantly—excitedly—across from her, Hazel clenched her teeth. He was leaving his wife and child for the country. Was it nobility or foolishness?

The train didn't head toward Quebec until forty-five minutes after its original schedule. Hazel and the young man made small talk, though Hazel's voice was caught in her throat most of the time. After a while, she dozed off to sleep until Chicago's towers loomed overhead.

"This is my stop," the young man said. "Mighty fine talking to you, Ma'am."

Hazel forced a smile. "You as well."

He tipped his cap once more, ducked out of the car, and quickly disappeared into the station. Once again, Hazel was alone. Independent. Terrified.

Hank always knew what to do. He could make anyone laugh hard enough until their sides ached. He always made something out of nothing. Well, before the war, that is. After the war, he embraced his solitude and became a man secluded to himself.

As the train set off again, Hazel busied herself with an itinerary concerning her trip to Canada. She had never ventured to the country before; it was new territory Hazel Kroyer was yet to discover. Eventually, she fell asleep again as the sun began sinking below the horizon. She dreamt of the war and the young woman with a baby at her breast, hovering over her husband's casket.

***

Hazel sat on the hotel room bed, the world silent around her. Quebec had greeted her kindly though she hated the idea of being alone in the big city. Her friends wouldn't arrive until Tuesday which meant she had all of Sunday and Monday to explore Canada by herself. She studied a pamphlet with attractions on the cover and decided that seeing the Notre-Dame de Québec Basilica-Cathedral would occupy her Sunday. Before settling into bed, she pulled out a blank postcard and began writing with a blue ink pen.

Dear Hank,

Just arrived in Quebec. Have a lovely room and no partner. The train from St. Louis left 45 min. late. Had to wait for passengers from another train. It was so hot I felt like passing out in Union Station. I feel OK now, though. I met a young man headed off to the navy. I hope he makes it home to his wife and baby.

Love, Hazel

Setting the postcard on the nightstand, Hazel flicked off the lights and lost herself to a night of deep sleep in the cold, hollow hotel room.