Catholic Children’s Home Brooklyn, New York March 1964 “Denny,” Saraid whispered to her brother, “What are we going to do?” She looked at her older brother with fear in her eyes. At eighteen, Denny was nearly three years older than she was, and when school ended on the last day of May, he would graduate not only from high school, but also from the Catholic Children’s Home that had been their home for the last two years. In his hand, a crumbled envelope contained his draft notice. “It doesn’t mean anything, yet, Sar,” he told her, his voice confident, although his emerald green held more than a hint of apprehension. It’s just my qualification. 1-a. We knew it; I’m perfectly healthy.” “But they’re supposed to go oldest first, Donghail,” she protested, calling him by his Irish name. “You aren’t even half through eighteen, yet.” “And I haven’t been drafted yet, either,” he pointed out. “But things are heating up over there, and so they’re looking for men without, well, without connections.” “You have us,” she told him. “You’re responsible for Liam and me. They can’t have you!” Her brother shook his head, his shock of dark red hair flopping on his forehead. “Not in the eyes of the government, Sar. To them, the Church is responsible for you and Liam, not me. I’m unattached.” He must have seen her rebuttal coming, for he dodged it. “So, to answer you, I’m going to work at the garage and finish school. You didn’t study all those hours to graduate early for nothing. It was for this. You’re going to turn sixteen in a few months and start the nursing program at St. Mary’s, just like planned. And we’ll keep looking out for Liam the best we can.” He tipped her chin up, forcing her to look at him. “Then, when you finish, and we both are providing, we take Liam and we go out on our own again. See? Just as we’ve planned.” “I can’t start at St. Mary’s until September,” she reminded him. “I’m not old enough, yet.” “So, you keep working at Murphy’s Diner. Ol’ Paddy likes you well enough. You know he wants you to work all summer. That’s money in the bank, Saraid-me-lass. And every penny we save…” “…is a penny closer to the goal,” she finished for him. “Very well, brother mine. I’ll try not to worry.” “Thank you,” he said, hugging her tightly. “Now let’s see Liam safely to sleep, and I’ll tell you about the guy Mike hired today. I like him.” “Oooo,” she teased, forcing a smile. “You’re making friends.” Her brother rubbed her head with his knuckles. “I’m a charming and friendly guy,” he told her, taking her hand and leading her down the hall. “Now this new lad, his name’s Tim. He got here last summer, and there’s a story there, I can tell.” “How can you tell?” she asked, shaking her head. “Are the angels speaking to you, now?” “No angels,” he teased back, “just my superior detecting skills. This Tim, he couldn’t seem to make up his mind as to his name. And, he lives not too far from here—with an elderly aunty—but he has an accent. Lad has a southern accent, here in New York, and he rides on a motorcycle. Looks very hoodish, but he speaks like a good guy. So, you see, there’s a story there, and I intend to ferret it out.” “You and your ferreting,” she scoffed as they reached the nursery wing. “That insatiable lump of curiosity, Denny, is going to get you into trouble. Curiosity killed the cat, you know.” So, I hear,” he said, opening the door to their baby brother’s ward, “But satisfaction brought it back.” June 1, 1964 She was trying not to cry, but it was hard. With Liam’s hand clutched tightly in hers, she walked next to Denny as he carried his battered suitcase down the street. “Are you sure?” she asked for what had to have been the three thousandth time. “Positive,” he assured her in the same calm voice he’d used in his three thousand answers. “Timmy’s aunt has room, and she’s not charging me much. I’m less than ten blocks from you and Liam, and it’s better than a bus ticket to some potential job.” “But you don’t really know them.” “I know enough,” he insisted. “Look, I have to go somewhere, right?” She nodded. “I don’t want to go work on some farm in Albany—not when I’ve got a good job here. I’ve been working with Tim for the last couple of months. He’s a good guy. You know that, you’ve met him at school.” “I’ve never spoken to him,” she corrected, but had to concede, “He does seem nice. Quiet, though.” “That’s what makes us a good pair,” Denny joked. “He doesn’t talk, and I never stop. Ah! Here we are.” She looked up at the three-level brownstone. It looked…respectable. Leaning against the door was a tall, slender young man in a blue t-shirt and jeans. He smiled when he saw them, brushing back his dark hair with on hand and extending the other. “Glad to see you, Den. This the whole family, then? I’m Tim. Tim Mangan. I’ve seen you around.” “Saraid,” she said, taking the proffered hand. It was warm and he shook her hand with a surprisingly gentle touch. “Sore-ed?” he repeated, and she nodded. “That’s a pretty name.” His eyes were blue, she realized, a deep, navy blue, so dark they almost appeared black until you were close enough to really see them. Right now, they were staring into hers, waiting. “Oh,” she said, withdrawing her hand and trying not to blush, “thank you.” Licking her suddenly dry lips, she added, “This is our little brother, Liam. Liam, this is Tim.” Tim dropped to one knee and held out his hand for the little boy to shake. “I’m very pleased to meet you, Liam. Is that short for William?” The boy nodded. “I had a friend named William in my old home, but we all called him Billy.” Liam shook his head. “I don’t like being called Billy.” “Well, of course you wouldn’t,” Tim agreed. “It isn’t your name.” He chucked the boy under his chin, making him giggle. “Now why don’t you all come inside? You can help Denny unpack and get settled, and then I’ll introduce you to Aunt Tillie. I’d almost bet she’s made cookies.” “Cookies?” Liam asked, a grin on his face as he excitedly bounced on the balls of his feet. “Saraid, can I have a cookie?” “May I,” she corrected automatically, “and if you are offered, you certainly may. Just remember your manners, please.” “I will.” Liam placed his hand in Tim’s and followed him inside. Saraid followed, and as Denny dropped in line behind her, he whispered, “See? I told you he was a nice guy.” Inside, they were met by a set of stairs to the immediate right. Tim walked past them to another door. “There are tenants upstairs,” he told Liam, “but we live here.” “Here” was very nice. The door opened into an apartment that was cozy and welcoming. Saraid took in the soft walls, warm wood and comfortable furnishings. “The kitchen is over there,” Tim said, gesturing, “and Aunt Tillie has her room over there.” He turned and led them down a hallway whose walls were covered in framed pictures. “My room is here,” he said, “and this one is yours, Den.” He opened a door, showing a good -sized room complete with a closet, a bed and a chest of drawers. “The bathroom is at the end of the hall,” he pointed out. “Why don’t you unpack while I go find Aunt Tillie? Just come on out to the living room when you’re done.” With those words, he was gone. “This is where you’re gonna live, Denny?” Liam asked, his green eyes wide. “Yup,” Denny answered, giving the boy a grin. “What do you think?” “It’s beautiful,” he answered. “Can Saraid and I live here, too?” “I’m afraid not, Liam-me-lad. Not yet,” he answered, catching Saraid’s eye. “But hopefully, in another year or two, Saraid and I will be able to afford a place like this, and then we’re all going to live together. Just be patient, okay little brother?” Liam nodded, climbing up onto the bed. Denny turned to Saraid and asked, “What do you think, sis?” “I think you’re lucky,” she admitted. “I think you made a good choice.” “I do, too,” he said, giving her a huge smile and an equally big hug. “Now help me unpack my meager belongings and let me introduce you to Tim’s Aunt Tillie. I think you’re really going to like her.” August 18, 1964 New York Saraid wiped down the table as soon as the customers departed, clearing the leftover silverware and paper napkins easily as she swept her damp rag over the laminated top. The white bow tying back her hair fluttered as she did her job, every motion precise and controlled. She greeted Michelle as she came in the door and headed to the kitchen. She only had an hour left on her shift before Michelle took over, and although she was glad the diner was winding down from the lunch rush, at least the steady stream of customers had distracted her from her biggest current worry: Denny’s draft notice had arrived. He’d told her on Saturday. She and Liam had joined him to celebrate Tim’s eighteenth birthday. Miss Tillie, as she asked Saraid, Liam and Denny to call her, had prepared a feast of pot roast, potatoes and carrots, with fresh baked rolls and a lemon chiffon cake that Denny swore was made by angels. It was after the birthday song and during the cake that Denny had pulled her aside to share his news. It had been a brilliant plan on his part, she had to admit. There was no way she could break down at a party. It would be unforgivably rude. Instead, she had taken a moment to hold her older brother tight, then she had blinked back her tears, put on a happy face and returned to the party. If she had been exceptionally quiet for the rest of the celebration, it had, apparently not been noticed by the others. It wasn’t until Denny had walked them home, she had seen Liam safely to his bed, and was tucked into her own that she allowed her emotions to surface and her tears to fall. Depositing her items in the dishpan, she turned as the door chime dinged. Tim stood in the doorway, his face solemn. She smiled at him, and he waved. “Sit anywhere,” she called out, scooping up fresh silver. He slid into a booth and she hurried over to set the table and take his order. “Are you okay, Tim?” she asked, noticing the look on his face. “Yes. No. I… I’m feeling a little down, I guess.” He looked around the empty diner. “Can you sit down and talk with me for a while, Saraid?” She bit her lip and shook her head. “I’m still on shift,” she said, “but I’m off in an hour, if you want to wait.” “I’d like that.” He smiled, showing a dimple at the right corner of his mouth. “In that case, could I have a slice of pie and a root beer, please?” “Apple, banana cream, or chocolate?” “Apple, please. Is a la mode possible?” “It is. I’ll be right out with your order.” She gave him a smile and headed back to the kitchen. That boy made a slice of pie last for forty minutes. Saraid helped two more customers and filled all of the salt and pepper shakers while Tim ate. Finally, the clock struck four and she took off her apron and hung her name pin on the cork bulletin board. Punching her time clock, she called out, “I’ll see you tomorrow Mr. Murphy.” “Eight o’clock, lass! Be safe.” The older man called back from his place behind the big grill. “I will,” she promised, putting her apron in the laundry hamper. As she stepped out of the kitchen, Tim stood and held out his hand. She felt Michelle’s eyes on her, and blushed as she placed her hand in his. “Where should we go?” he asked, as he held the door for her. “There’s a place, down near the pier,” she told him. “I like to go there when I need to think.” “That sounds perfect,” he said. “Lead the way.” She did, feeling a little self- conscious walking down the street holding his hand, although his touch was gentle, and her hand just seemed to fit perfectly in his. Finally, they reached the pier, and she cut off to the left, leading him down to a patch of green just below. “Here,” she said, lowering herself to the grass and waiting while he did the same. “See, it’s quiet down here, but you still get the same view of the river and the city.” “It’s nice. Peaceful.” He leaned back on his elbows, his fingers still maintaining contact with hers. “I can see why you like it. Thank you for sharing it with me.” “You looked like you needed some peace.” She chanced a sidelong glance at him. “What’s wrong, Tim?” He was silent for a few minutes, just looking at the water and stroking her hand. Finally, when she had just about given up, he spoke, his voice quiet. “I joined the Army today.” She turned on him, eyes wide, and he continued. “Denny and I both did. We decided…I know…I know he got his notice, and with things heating up in Vietnam, I’ll be getting mine soon. This way, we have a few more choices.” “Enlistees have to serve more time, don’t they?” she asked, a combination of anger and despair rising up inside her. “Three years instead of two,” Tim admitted, “But the difference is choices. Everyone says we’ll have ground troops over there within the year. Draftees will spend maybe sixteen weeks in training and then ship out. Enlistees have more options: A lot more options, like language training or medical corpsman or telecommunications or even airborne school. Denny and I are both smart. We can pass the tests.” He looked at her, his dark blue eyes pleading. “This way, we can stay together, look out for each other. I don’t want to go to war, and neither does your brother, but it’s bound to happen. We just graduated. We don’t really have family, and there isn’t money for college. At least this way, we can fight together instead of alone.” He looked away. “Den asked me to tell you. I think he’s afraid.” Tears. She couldn’t control them. They welled up and rolled down her cheeks. Tim just looked at her, his expression inscrutable. Denny would be panicking at the tears, telling her to stop. Not Tim. As her tears fell harder, she felt her shoulders begin to shake with her sorrow and suddenly Tim’s arms were around her and her head was buried against his chest, and she fit perfectly. It felt so right. He just held her, silent and strong, one hand rubbing her back until finally, her tears slowed and stopped. Pulling herself away, she gazed up into his fathomless navy eyes. “I should be furious with you,” she said. “But how can I be? How can I be angry when you’re trying to do the smart thing—no matter how stupid I think it is? It isn’t fair, you know. It isn’t fair that boys like you and Denny don’t have the choices the rich boys do. I hate that you two are going to have to go and fight. I hate it. But I’m glad that you’ll be together. Denny, he’s too impulsive, too curious. You’ll watch out for him, won’t you?” “I’ll do my best, Saraid,” he told her. He looked at the ground. “You know, I don’t have anyone but Aunt Tillie to, you know, write to. I don’t want to write stuff that might make her worry. Do you think I could, maybe write to you sometimes?” “Of course. I’ll write to both of you, every day if you like.” Saraid placed her hand on his knee. He covered her hand with his own. “Every week or so would be fine,” he said. “Thank you.” Her heart fluttered. “When will you have to go?” she asked. “Induction is in two weeks,” he said. “Then it’s off to either Georgia or California.” “So soon?” “The sooner we go, the sooner we’ll be done,” he pointed out. “If you don’t die.” Saraid wanted the words back as soon as they left her mouth. “I’m sorry. I just…I’m frightened for both of you.” “I’m scared, too,” he admitted. “I’ve never…I’ve shot a gun, you know. I used to go hunting with my friends back in Florida, but I’ve never shot at a person before. I don’t know if I can. I don’t know anything about fighting a war.” He laughed a little bitterly. “I’ve spent most of my life on the being beaten side, not the beating side.” “I’m sorry about that, Timmy,” she said, the endearment coming naturally to her. “Denny’s always said you had a story. If you ever want to talk about it…” She raised her hand to stroke his cheek, her voice trailing off. “Thanks,” he said softly. “Someday I may take you up on that offer, but right now there’s something else I’d like.” “What?” “This,” he whispered, pressing his lips to hers. It was her first kiss, and his mouth was so soft, yet strong. Shyly, she returned his kiss, moving her lips against his. “Wow!” he said as they pulled away, “That was better than I thought.” Saraid felt the heat moving up her face. “You’ve thought about kissing me?” she asked. “Every day since I first met you,” he admitted. “You’re so very beautiful, Saraid. There’s something about you that just draws me.” “Are you sure you’ve never kissed the Blarney Stone, Timothy?” she asked, trying to hide her confusion and the sudden rush of pleasure his flattery had brought her. “I don’t even know if I’m actually Irish,” he confessed, twirling a dark red curl that had escaped from the ribbon that held it. “But that’s a story for another time. All I know is that I’ve dreamed of kissing you, Saraid: Kissing you, holding your hand in mine, and dancing with you under the starry night sky. Those are my dreams.” “I’m not a fast girl, Tim,” she warned him. “I know.” He took her hand in his, his thumb rubbing circles on her palm. “I would never take advantage of you, Saraid. I respect you far too much for that. I just want you to know how I feel, before I have to leave.” He looked at her with eyes brimming with honesty. “But right now, Saraid, right now I really want to kiss you again.” She pondered the question for a moment. Feeling her face begin to flush, she answered, “I think I’d like that, too, Timmy, but then I need to get home to Liam.” He didn’t wait for her to change her mind. He leaned in again, claiming her lips with his. This time he was a little more forceful, his tongue darting out to touch her lips. She parted them slightly, letting his tongue slip just inside, flicking at her lips. She sighed, leaning closer to him, her arms winding around his neck, her hands entwining his soft, dark hair. Silently, and with what she thought was a gleam of regret in his eyes, he ended the kiss, turning away from her and rising to his feet. He extended his hand, helping her to stand. And then, without a word, he took her arm and led her back toward the Children’s Home. Standing on the steps, Tim kissed her once more, this time little more than a chaste brush of his lips against hers that left her longing for more. Her feet barely touched the ground as she entered the building and nearly floated to her ward. September 19th, 1964 Dear Saraid, We arrived safely at Fort Ord. The flight into San Francisco was a little bumpy but really cool for Den and me, since neither of us had ever been on a plane before. The weather here is nice, not muggy like New York and Florida. Doing our physical training is rough, but not as much as it would be if the weather was worse. I guess that’s something to be grateful, right? There are twenty recruits in our group. Den and I are lucky that our D.I—that means drill instructor—let us choose our battle buddies. Which is good and bad. Good because we’re partnered together, but bad because your brother and his mouth are continuously getting him in trouble, and because I’m his “buddy”, you guessed it. Trouble times two. It’s a good thing we’re both in good shape, otherwise the extra push–ups and running would be killing us. Still, I think the D.I. is almost happy with the way we handle all the crap he throws at us. One thing I’ve learned, but Denny hasn’t, is to keep my mouth shut. All that seems to matter here is following orders and keeping quiet. I don’t think we’re supposed to think, just do. Which is hard. I spent most of my life trying to plan my next move—mostly to stay out of my pa’s way. By far the hardest thing for me, though, has been inspection. Clothes have to be folded just so, shoes shined, bed tight. Denny, on the other hand, sails right through this part. He says it’s because he is the product of a Catholic orphanage. I’m getting there, though. I’ve got to go, as it’s almost time for evening muster. Yippee, right? Give Liam a head rub for me and think about the kiss I wish I could give you. Tim Saraid folded the letter and hugged it to her chest before putting it in the shoebox she kept under her bed. Three other letters were in the box, two of them from Tim. She was glad he wrote to her—heaven knew communication from Denny was sporadic at best. Besides, his letters made her feel warm inside, and helped take the edge off of her fear and loneliness. Tomorrow, she would write to both of her boys. Right now, it was time to read Liam a story and tuck him in for the night. April 1965 St. Mary’s Hospital Nursing program was intense, but every long hour, every blister on her feet, every eye blurring study session and mind-numbing lecture, every snarl and pinch from Sister Carmen Alice brought her one step closer to the goal: Her nursing diploma. The student nurses were unpaid and thoroughly overworked, but Saraid worked hard. She knew she was lucky. The extra schooling she’d been given by the sisters had made it possible for her to graduate high school and gain early admission into the program. Tuition was minimal and paid for by the generosity of the diocese. Working at it year-round, Saraid would have her Nursing Diploma by the time her peers graduated from high school. After that, she could work as a graduate nurse until she was able to sit for the nursing boards. She kept her goal in sight, living for those quiet moments she spent with Liam, Miss Tillie, and the letters that came regularly from Tim, and less so from Denny. She passed the time in classes, letters and dreams. March 25, 1966 Dearest Saraid, Day 282. Yesterday was a rough one. We lost two guys, and Lieutenant G. rotated out. The new C.O. arrived on the next milk run. He’s fresh and shiny, so we’ll see. Jungle rot continues. It’s barely spring and the temperatures are near 100 with more humidity than New York in August. It reminds me of Florida, but not in a good way. Denny’s hanging in, but his feet could qualify as a weapon. Sometimes, when it gets to be too much, I think of those days with you. Sitting on that patch of grass down by the river, your hand in mine, the smell of your hair and the touch of your lips. You bring me a sense of peace in this crazy place. There are days when I second-guess our decision to add the extra six months to this tour. Then I remember those thirty days of extra leave I get at the end. I want to spend them all with you. You’ll be done with your nursing diploma by then, and maybe we can talk about the future. Our future. Together. I’ve got that picture of you and Liam tucked away. One of the guys saw it and joked that I had a pretty wife and a cute kid. I kinda liked that idea. I know you and Denny have plans, but maybe I can be a part of them. What do you think? Don’t answer that, yet. I know I should hold off until we’re together again before I lay that kind of stuff on you, but sometimes the thoughts roll out before I can stop them. I can’t say much, but I hear something might be brewing. If so, I might not be able to write for a while. Don’t worry, though. I’ll write when I can. You can still write though. I live for your letters. Any touch of home is wonderful, but there’s something special about yours. I love Aunt Tillie but hearing from you makes my day a little brighter. I need to go now. Take care of yourself, Saraid. Don’t let Sister Carmen get you down. You’re so close, and I know that you’re going to be an amazing nurse. After all, you’re an amazing girl. Give Liam a knuckle rub for me, and imagine me sitting here in the jungle, wishing I were down by the river holding you in my arms instead of this rifle. Love, Tim Saraid read the last line for the third time and smiled in the dim light. It had been more than nine months since she had seen Tim. He and Denny had been home for six days before they had shipped out for Vietnam. Since then, she’d written him at least once each week and savored the letters he sent almost as often. Through the letters, he had shared more about himself, his rough upbringing, and his hopes for the future. Each letter made him ever more dear to her heart, as did the tokens he sent for Liam; a knock-knock joke, a foreign coin, a bottle cap with Vietnamese characters, and a small sketch of a water buffalo. She didn’t know if it was possible to fall in love with a boy through his letters, but she was pretty sure that was what she was doing. With a sigh, she folded the letter and held it briefly against her heart before tucking it into the shoebox beneath her bed. It was her second shoebox, the other one filled and tied with blue ribbon; a ribbon she often untied so she could reread the missives. Tomorrow would bring another busy day. She slid beneath the sheets, listening to the even breathing of the other girls. Closing her eyes, she thought of a handsome soldier dreaming of her. Author Notes: Thank you so much to Mary N (Dianafan) for the read through and the AMAZING Irish graphics. I gave you virtually no time, and you worked a miracle for me. I am ever grateful and adoring of your talents. I am grateful to Jix for giving me a space to write—and not write. I have been blocked for the last several months. Life, you know. The stories are starting to make their presence known again, but they aren’t exactly flowing yet. Hence my frantic S.O.S. to lovely MaryN. Mostly, I am grateful for the friendships and support I have received over the last 14 years as an Author, and the 5 years before as a member. This is truly a magical place. Blessings. Tim What If...? Traveling Soldier

Catholic Children’s Home

Brooklyn, New York

March 1964

“Denny,” Saraid whispered to her brother, “What are we going to do?” She looked at her older brother with fear in her eyes. At eighteen, Denny was nearly three years older than she was, and when school ended on the last day of May, he would graduate not only from high school, but also from the Catholic Children’s Home that had been their home for the last two years. In his hand, a crumbled envelope contained his draft notice.

“It doesn’t mean anything, yet, Sar,” he told her, his voice confident, although his emerald green held more than a hint of apprehension. It’s just my qualification. 1-a. We knew it; I’m perfectly healthy.”

“But they’re supposed to go oldest first, Donghail,” she protested, calling him by his Irish name. “You aren’t even half through eighteen, yet.”

“And I haven’t been drafted yet, either,” he pointed out. “But things are heating up over there, and so they’re looking for men without, well, without connections.”

“You have us,” she told him. “You’re responsible for Liam and me. They can’t have you!”

Her brother shook his head, his shock of dark red hair flopping on his forehead. “Not in the eyes of the government, Sar. To them, the Church is responsible for you and Liam, not me. I’m unattached.” He must have seen her rebuttal coming, for he dodged it. “So, to answer you, I’m going to work at the garage and finish school. You didn’t study all those hours to graduate early for nothing. It was for this. You’re going to turn sixteen in a few months and start the nursing program at St. Mary’s, just like planned. And we’ll keep looking out for Liam the best we can.” He tipped her chin up, forcing her to look at him. “Then, when you finish, and we both are providing, we take Liam and we go out on our own again. See? Just as we’ve planned.”

“I can’t start at St. Mary’s until September,” she reminded him. “I’m not old enough, yet.”

“So, you keep working at Murphy’s Diner. Ol’ Paddy likes you well enough. You know he wants you to work all summer. That’s money in the bank, Saraid-me-lass. And every penny we save…”

“…is a penny closer to the goal,” she finished for him. “Very well, brother mine. I’ll try not to worry.”

“Thank you,” he said, hugging her tightly. “Now let’s see Liam safely to sleep, and I’ll tell you about the guy Mike hired today. I like him.”

“Oooo,” she teased, forcing a smile. “You’re making friends.”

Her brother rubbed her head with his knuckles. “I’m a charming and friendly guy,” he told her, taking her hand and leading her down the hall. “Now this new lad, his name’s Tim. He got here last summer, and there’s a story there, I can tell.”

“How can you tell?” she asked, shaking her head. “Are the angels speaking to you, now?”

“No angels,” he teased back, “just my superior detecting skills. This Tim, he couldn’t seem to make up his mind as to his name. And, he lives not too far from here—with an elderly aunty—but he has an accent. Lad has a southern accent, here in New York, and he rides on a motorcycle. Looks very hoodish, but he speaks like a good guy. So, you see, there’s a story there, and I intend to ferret it out.”

“You and your ferreting,” she scoffed as they reached the nursery wing. “That insatiable lump of curiosity, Denny, is going to get you into trouble. Curiosity killed the cat, you know.”

So, I hear,” he said, opening the door to their baby brother’s ward, “But satisfaction brought it back.”

June 1, 1964

She was trying not to cry, but it was hard. With Liam’s hand clutched tightly in hers, she walked next to Denny as he carried his battered suitcase down the street. “Are you sure?” she asked for what had to have been the three thousandth time.

“Positive,” he assured her in the same calm voice he’d used in his three thousand answers. “Timmy’s aunt has room, and she’s not charging me much. I’m less than ten blocks from you and Liam, and it’s better than a bus ticket to some potential job.”

“But you don’t really know them.”

“I know enough,” he insisted. “Look, I have to go somewhere, right?” She nodded. “I don’t want to go work on some farm in Albany—not when I’ve got a good job here. I’ve been working with Tim for the last couple of months. He’s a good guy. You know that, you’ve met him at school.”

“I’ve never spoken to him,” she corrected, but had to concede, “He does seem nice. Quiet, though.”

“That’s what makes us a good pair,” Denny joked. “He doesn’t talk, and I never stop. Ah! Here we are.”

She looked up at the three-level brownstone. It looked…respectable. Leaning against the door was a tall, slender young man in a blue t-shirt and jeans. He smiled when he saw them, brushing back his dark hair with on hand and extending the other.

“Glad to see you, Den. This the whole family, then? I’m Tim. Tim Mangan. I’ve seen you around.”

“Saraid,” she said, taking the proffered hand. It was warm and he shook her hand with a surprisingly gentle touch.

“Sore-ed?” he repeated, and she nodded. “That’s a pretty name.”

His eyes were blue, she realized, a deep, navy blue, so dark they almost appeared black until you were close enough to really see them. Right now, they were staring into hers, waiting. “Oh,” she said, withdrawing her hand and trying not to blush, “thank you.” Licking her suddenly dry lips, she added, “This is our little brother, Liam. Liam, this is Tim.”

Tim dropped to one knee and held out his hand for the little boy to shake. “I’m very pleased to meet you, Liam. Is that short for William?” The boy nodded. “I had a friend named William in my old home, but we all called him Billy.”

Liam shook his head. “I don’t like being called Billy.”

“Well, of course you wouldn’t,” Tim agreed. “It isn’t your name.” He chucked the boy under his chin, making him giggle. “Now why don’t you all come inside? You can help Denny unpack and get settled, and then I’ll introduce you to Aunt Tillie. I’d almost bet she’s made cookies.”

“Cookies?” Liam asked, a grin on his face as he excitedly bounced on the balls of his feet. “Saraid, can I have a cookie?”

“May I,” she corrected automatically, “and if you are offered, you certainly may. Just remember your manners, please.”

“I will.” Liam placed his hand in Tim’s and followed him inside.

Saraid followed, and as Denny dropped in line behind her, he whispered, “See? I told you he was a nice guy.”

Inside, they were met by a set of stairs to the immediate right. Tim walked past them to another door. “There are tenants upstairs,” he told Liam, “but we live here.” “Here” was very nice. The door opened into an apartment that was cozy and welcoming. Saraid took in the soft walls, warm wood and comfortable furnishings. “The kitchen is over there,” Tim said, gesturing, “and Aunt Tillie has her room over there.” He turned and led them down a hallway whose walls were covered in framed pictures. “My room is here,” he said, “and this one is yours, Den.” He opened a door, showing a good -sized room complete with a closet, a bed and a chest of drawers. “The bathroom is at the end of the hall,” he pointed out. “Why don’t you unpack while I go find Aunt Tillie? Just come on out to the living room when you’re done.” With those words, he was gone.

“This is where you’re gonna live, Denny?” Liam asked, his green eyes wide.

“Yup,” Denny answered, giving the boy a grin. “What do you think?”

“It’s beautiful,” he answered. “Can Saraid and I live here, too?”

“I’m afraid not, Liam-me-lad. Not yet,” he answered, catching Saraid’s eye. “But hopefully, in another year or two, Saraid and I will be able to afford a place like this, and then we’re all going to live together. Just be patient, okay little brother?”

Liam nodded, climbing up onto the bed. Denny turned to Saraid and asked, “What do you think, sis?”

“I think you’re lucky,” she admitted. “I think you made a good choice.”

“I do, too,” he said, giving her a huge smile and an equally big hug. “Now help me unpack my meager belongings and let me introduce you to Tim’s Aunt Tillie. I think you’re really going to like her.”

August 18, 1964

New York

Saraid wiped down the table as soon as the customers departed, clearing the leftover silverware and paper napkins easily as she swept her damp rag over the laminated top. The white bow tying back her hair fluttered as she did her job, every motion precise and controlled. She greeted Michelle as she came in the door and headed to the kitchen. She only had an hour left on her shift before Michelle took over, and although she was glad the diner was winding down from the lunch rush, at least the steady stream of customers had distracted her from her biggest current worry: Denny’s draft notice had arrived.

He’d told her on Saturday. She and Liam had joined him to celebrate Tim’s eighteenth birthday. Miss Tillie, as she asked Saraid, Liam and Denny to call her, had prepared a feast of pot roast, potatoes and carrots, with fresh baked rolls and a lemon chiffon cake that Denny swore was made by angels. It was after the birthday song and during the cake that Denny had pulled her aside to share his news.

It had been a brilliant plan on his part, she had to admit. There was no way she could break down at a party. It would be unforgivably rude. Instead, she had taken a moment to hold her older brother tight, then she had blinked back her tears, put on a happy face and returned to the party. If she had been exceptionally quiet for the rest of the celebration, it had, apparently not been noticed by the others. It wasn’t until Denny had walked them home, she had seen Liam safely to his bed, and was tucked into her own that she allowed her emotions to surface and her tears to fall.

Depositing her items in the dishpan, she turned as the door chime dinged. Tim stood in the doorway, his face solemn. She smiled at him, and he waved. “Sit anywhere,” she called out, scooping up fresh silver. He slid into a booth and she hurried over to set the table and take his order. “Are you okay, Tim?” she asked, noticing the look on his face.

“Yes. No. I… I’m feeling a little down, I guess.” He looked around the empty diner. “Can you sit down and talk with me for a while, Saraid?”

She bit her lip and shook her head. “I’m still on shift,” she said, “but I’m off in an hour, if you want to wait.”

“I’d like that.” He smiled, showing a dimple at the right corner of his mouth. “In that case, could I have a slice of pie and a root beer, please?”

“Apple, banana cream, or chocolate?”

“Apple, please. Is a la mode possible?”

“It is. I’ll be right out with your order.” She gave him a smile and headed back to the kitchen.

That boy made a slice of pie last for forty minutes. Saraid helped two more customers and filled all of the salt and pepper shakers while Tim ate. Finally, the clock struck four and she took off her apron and hung her name pin on the cork bulletin board. Punching her time clock, she called out, “I’ll see you tomorrow Mr. Murphy.”

“Eight o’clock, lass! Be safe.” The older man called back from his place behind the big grill.

“I will,” she promised, putting her apron in the laundry hamper. As she stepped out of the kitchen, Tim stood and held out his hand. She felt Michelle’s eyes on her, and blushed as she placed her hand in his.

“Where should we go?” he asked, as he held the door for her.

“There’s a place, down near the pier,” she told him. “I like to go there when I need to think.”

“That sounds perfect,” he said. “Lead the way.”

She did, feeling a little self- conscious walking down the street holding his hand, although his touch was gentle, and her hand just seemed to fit perfectly in his. Finally, they reached the pier, and she cut off to the left, leading him down to a patch of green just below. “Here,” she said, lowering herself to the grass and waiting while he did the same. “See, it’s quiet down here, but you still get the same view of the river and the city.”

“It’s nice. Peaceful.” He leaned back on his elbows, his fingers still maintaining contact with hers. “I can see why you like it. Thank you for sharing it with me.”

“You looked like you needed some peace.” She chanced a sidelong glance at him. “What’s wrong, Tim?”

He was silent for a few minutes, just looking at the water and stroking her hand. Finally, when she had just about given up, he spoke, his voice quiet. “I joined the Army today.” She turned on him, eyes wide, and he continued. “Denny and I both did. We decided…I know…I know he got his notice, and with things heating up in Vietnam, I’ll be getting mine soon. This way, we have a few more choices.”

“Enlistees have to serve more time, don’t they?” she asked, a combination of anger and despair rising up inside her.

“Three years instead of two,” Tim admitted, “But the difference is choices. Everyone says we’ll have ground troops over there within the year. Draftees will spend maybe sixteen weeks in training and then ship out. Enlistees have more options: A lot more options, like language training or medical corpsman or telecommunications or even airborne school. Denny and I are both smart. We can pass the tests.” He looked at her, his dark blue eyes pleading. “This way, we can stay together, look out for each other. I don’t want to go to war, and neither does your brother, but it’s bound to happen. We just graduated. We don’t really have family, and there isn’t money for college. At least this way, we can fight together instead of alone.” He looked away. “Den asked me to tell you. I think he’s afraid.”

Tears. She couldn’t control them. They welled up and rolled down her cheeks.

Tim just looked at her, his expression inscrutable. Denny would be panicking at the tears, telling her to stop. Not Tim. As her tears fell harder, she felt her shoulders begin to shake with her sorrow and suddenly Tim’s arms were around her and her head was buried against his chest, and she fit perfectly. It felt so right. He just held her, silent and strong, one hand rubbing her back until finally, her tears slowed and stopped. Pulling herself away, she gazed up into his fathomless navy eyes. “I should be furious with you,” she said. “But how can I be? How can I be angry when you’re trying to do the smart thing—no matter how stupid I think it is? It isn’t fair, you know. It isn’t fair that boys like you and Denny don’t have the choices the rich boys do. I hate that you two are going to have to go and fight. I hate it. But I’m glad that you’ll be together. Denny, he’s too impulsive, too curious. You’ll watch out for him, won’t you?”

“I’ll do my best, Saraid,” he told her. He looked at the ground. “You know, I don’t have anyone but Aunt Tillie to, you know, write to. I don’t want to write stuff that might make her worry. Do you think I could, maybe write to you sometimes?”

“Of course. I’ll write to both of you, every day if you like.” Saraid placed her hand on his knee.

He covered her hand with his own. “Every week or so would be fine,” he said. “Thank you.”

Her heart fluttered. “When will you have to go?” she asked.

“Induction is in two weeks,” he said. “Then it’s off to either Georgia or California.”

“So soon?”

“The sooner we go, the sooner we’ll be done,” he pointed out.

“If you don’t die.” Saraid wanted the words back as soon as they left her mouth. “I’m sorry. I just…I’m frightened for both of you.”

“I’m scared, too,” he admitted. “I’ve never…I’ve shot a gun, you know. I used to go hunting with my friends back in Florida, but I’ve never shot at a person before. I don’t know if I can. I don’t know anything about fighting a war.” He laughed a little bitterly. “I’ve spent most of my life on the being beaten side, not the beating side.”

“I’m sorry about that, Timmy,” she said, the endearment coming naturally to her. “Denny’s always said you had a story. If you ever want to talk about it…” She raised her hand to stroke his cheek, her voice trailing off.

“Thanks,” he said softly. “Someday I may take you up on that offer, but right now there’s something else I’d like.”

“What?”

“This,” he whispered, pressing his lips to hers. It was her first kiss, and his mouth was so soft, yet strong. Shyly, she returned his kiss, moving her lips against his. “Wow!” he said as they pulled away, “That was better than I thought.”

Saraid felt the heat moving up her face. “You’ve thought about kissing me?” she asked.

“Every day since I first met you,” he admitted. “You’re so very beautiful, Saraid. There’s something about you that just draws me.”

“Are you sure you’ve never kissed the Blarney Stone, Timothy?” she asked, trying to hide her confusion and the sudden rush of pleasure his flattery had brought her.

“I don’t even know if I’m actually Irish,” he confessed, twirling a dark red curl that had escaped from the ribbon that held it. “But that’s a story for another time. All I know is that I’ve dreamed of kissing you, Saraid: Kissing you, holding your hand in mine, and dancing with you under the starry night sky. Those are my dreams.”

“I’m not a fast girl, Tim,” she warned him.

“I know.” He took her hand in his, his thumb rubbing circles on her palm. “I would never take advantage of you, Saraid. I respect you far too much for that. I just want you to know how I feel, before I have to leave.” He looked at her with eyes brimming with honesty. “But right now, Saraid, right now I really want to kiss you again.”

She pondered the question for a moment. Feeling her face begin to flush, she answered, “I think I’d like that, too, Timmy, but then I need to get home to Liam.”

He didn’t wait for her to change her mind. He leaned in again, claiming her lips with his. This time he was a little more forceful, his tongue darting out to touch her lips. She parted them slightly, letting his tongue slip just inside, flicking at her lips. She sighed, leaning closer to him, her arms winding around his neck, her hands entwining his soft, dark hair.

Silently, and with what she thought was a gleam of regret in his eyes, he ended the kiss, turning away from her and rising to his feet. He extended his hand, helping her to stand. And then, without a word, he took her arm and led her back toward the Children’s Home. Standing on the steps, Tim kissed her once more, this time little more than a chaste brush of his lips against hers that left her longing for more. Her feet barely touched the ground as she entered the building and nearly floated to her ward.

September 19th, 1964

Dear Saraid,

We arrived safely at Fort Ord. The flight into San Francisco was a little bumpy but really cool for Den and me, since neither of us had ever been on a plane before. The weather here is nice, not muggy like New York and Florida. Doing our physical training is rough, but not as much as it would be if the weather was worse. I guess that’s something to be grateful, right?

There are twenty recruits in our group. Den and I are lucky that our D.I—that means drill instructor—let us choose our battle buddies. Which is good and bad. Good because we’re partnered together, but bad because your brother and his mouth are continuously getting him in trouble, and because I’m his “buddy”, you guessed it. Trouble times two. It’s a good thing we’re both in good shape, otherwise the extra push–ups and running would be killing us. Still, I think the D.I. is almost happy with the way we handle all the crap he throws at us.

One thing I’ve learned, but Denny hasn’t, is to keep my mouth shut. All that seems to matter here is following orders and keeping quiet. I don’t think we’re supposed to think, just do. Which is hard. I spent most of my life trying to plan my next move—mostly to stay out of my pa’s way. By far the hardest thing for me, though, has been inspection. Clothes have to be folded just so, shoes shined, bed tight. Denny, on the other hand, sails right through this part. He says it’s because he is the product of a Catholic orphanage. I’m getting there, though.

I’ve got to go, as it’s almost time for evening muster. Yippee, right?

Give Liam a head rub for me and think about the kiss I wish I could give you.

Tim

Saraid folded the letter and hugged it to her chest before putting it in the shoebox she kept under her bed. Three other letters were in the box, two of them from Tim. She was glad he wrote to her—heaven knew communication from Denny was sporadic at best. Besides, his letters made her feel warm inside, and helped take the edge off of her fear and loneliness. Tomorrow, she would write to both of her boys. Right now, it was time to read Liam a story and tuck him in for the night.

April 1965

St. Mary’s Hospital Nursing program was intense, but every long hour, every blister on her feet, every eye blurring study session and mind-numbing lecture, every snarl and pinch from Sister Carmen Alice brought her one step closer to the goal: Her nursing diploma.

The student nurses were unpaid and thoroughly overworked, but Saraid worked hard. She knew she was lucky. The extra schooling she’d been given by the sisters had made it possible for her to graduate high school and gain early admission into the program. Tuition was minimal and paid for by the generosity of the diocese. Working at it year-round, Saraid would have her Nursing Diploma by the time her peers graduated from high school. After that, she could work as a graduate nurse until she was able to sit for the nursing boards.

She kept her goal in sight, living for those quiet moments she spent with Liam, Miss Tillie, and the letters that came regularly from Tim, and less so from Denny.

She passed the time in classes, letters and dreams.

March 25, 1966

Dearest Saraid,

Day 282.

Yesterday was a rough one. We lost two guys, and Lieutenant G. rotated out. The new C.O. arrived on the next milk run. He’s fresh and shiny, so we’ll see.

Jungle rot continues. It’s barely spring and the temperatures are near 100 with more humidity than New York in August. It reminds me of Florida, but not in a good way. Denny’s hanging in, but his feet could qualify as a weapon. Sometimes, when it gets to be too much, I think of those days with you. Sitting on that patch of grass down by the river, your hand in mine, the smell of your hair and the touch of your lips. You bring me a sense of peace in this crazy place. There are days when I second-guess our decision to add the extra six months to this tour. Then I remember those thirty days of extra leave I get at the end. I want to spend them all with you. You’ll be done with your nursing diploma by then, and maybe we can talk about the future. Our future. Together. I’ve got that picture of you and Liam tucked away.

One of the guys saw it and joked that I had a pretty wife and a cute kid. I kinda liked that idea. I know you and Denny have plans, but maybe I can be a part of them. What do you think?

Don’t answer that, yet. I know I should hold off until we’re together again before I lay that kind of stuff on you, but sometimes the thoughts roll out before I can stop them.

I can’t say much, but I hear something might be brewing. If so, I might not be able to write for a while. Don’t worry, though. I’ll write when I can.

You can still write though. I live for your letters. Any touch of home is wonderful, but there’s something special about yours. I love Aunt Tillie but hearing from you makes my day a little brighter.

I need to go now. Take care of yourself, Saraid. Don’t let Sister Carmen get you down. You’re so close, and I know that you’re going to be an amazing nurse. After all, you’re an amazing girl. Give Liam a knuckle rub for me, and imagine me sitting here in the jungle, wishing I were down by the river holding you in my arms instead of this rifle.

Love,

Tim

Saraid read the last line for the third time and smiled in the dim light. It had been more than nine months since she had seen Tim. He and Denny had been home for six days before they had shipped out for Vietnam. Since then, she’d written him at least once each week and savored the letters he sent almost as often. Through the letters, he had shared more about himself, his rough upbringing, and his hopes for the future. Each letter made him ever more dear to her heart, as did the tokens he sent for Liam; a knock-knock joke, a foreign coin, a bottle cap with Vietnamese characters, and a small sketch of a water buffalo. She didn’t know if it was possible to fall in love with a boy through his letters, but she was pretty sure that was what she was doing.

With a sigh, she folded the letter and held it briefly against her heart before tucking it into the shoebox beneath her bed. It was her second shoebox, the other one filled and tied with blue ribbon; a ribbon she often untied so she could reread the missives. Tomorrow would bring another busy day. She slid beneath the sheets, listening to the even breathing of the other girls. Closing her eyes, she thought of a handsome soldier dreaming of her.

Author Notes:

Thank you so much to Mary N (Dianafan) for the read through and the AMAZING Irish graphics. I gave you virtually no time, and you worked a miracle for me. I am ever grateful and adoring of your talents.

I am grateful to Jix for giving me a space to write—and not write. I have been blocked for the last several months. Life, you know. The stories are starting to make their presence known again, but they aren’t exactly flowing yet. Hence my frantic S.O.S. to lovely MaryN.

Mostly, I am grateful for the friendships and support I have received over the last 14 years as an Author, and the 5 years before as a member. This is truly a magical place. Blessings.

Tim

What If...?

Traveling Soldier