A Star for Mrs. Blake Read Free Page A

to keep close to her chest as long as possible; prolong the warmth and softness before it bolted off like one of her black cats. Just then, the steamy room was filled with daylight. Everyone looked up in surprise. The big door had been slid open and the town postmaster, Eli Grimble, stood in the wide space. He’d come on his horse and sleigh, and the stomping of the thick-coated animal and the ringing of its harness were like silent pictures as the clanking of the machinery overtook all other sounds.
    Mr. Healy strode up and shook his hand, expecting a bundle of mail, but Eli Grimble kept peering into the dimness and gesturing until he sighted Cora Blake. No doubt he found her easily. She had been staring right at him as if with some kind of second sense. After a moment Mr. Healy motioned that she step forward and the eyes of all the other packers followed. Now she was outside in the cold fresh air and the drifts of snow were tinged with sunset.
    “Went by your house—” Eli began.
    “What’s wrong? Are the children all right?”
    “Yes, not to worry, your niece said you were out here, so I thought to come. You have a letter. From the U.S. government.”
    He held out an official envelope with her name neatly typed.
    “The government? Whatever for?”
    Mr. Healy leaned over her shoulder. “Paid your taxes, Mrs. Blake?”
    “Of course I paid my taxes!” Cora said.
    When she realized the letter was from the War Department she had an unnerving sensation, as if the ground was tilting under her feet. It was just the same as thirteen years ago, when the envelope had contained a handwritten note in pencil from someone named Harris in the Adjunct General’s Office saying that Samuel Blake, her only child, had been killed in action in Montfaucon, France. The letter had been delivered by Eli Grimble, with this same horse and a two-wheeled buggy. There’d been no snow yet, as it was October, near the end of the war. Eli Grimble had come all the way out to Tide’s End Farm to deliver the news, along with the minister and Doc Newcomb.
    “What’s going on?” Mr. Healy asked.
    The postmaster shrugged. “Seems important.”
    Cora tore the envelope open and made them wait while she took her time reading it. Then she read it again, just to be sure. Finally she looked up from the letter and smiled broadly, maybe the first time she’d ever looked happy in that place.
    “I won’t be needing work this spring, Mr. Healy.”
    “Pleased to know that, Mrs. Blake. Meanwhile, you got plenty of work today,” he said, and walked toward the factory.
    “Don’t you care to know the reason why?”
    Eli Grimble leaned close. “You can tell
me
,” he offered, the biggest gossip in town.
    “Mr. Healy!” she called with exuberance she’d never dared before.
    “What?”
    “There’s a
reason
why.”
    The boss dug his boots into the slush and turned with exaggerated patience.
    “I guess you’re going to tell me whether I like it or not. All right. Why?”
    “I’m going on a trip.”
    A group of curious packers had gathered in the doorway. Cora said it loud enough that all of them could hear. Especially Essie Jordan.
    “I’m going to Paris,” she announced. “On an ocean liner. First-class.”

March
    There was never any question in Cora’s mind that she would be on that boat. The War Department had pledged to send any mother or widow whose loved one was killed in military service during the war and buried overseas on a pilgrimage to visit their graves in the American cemeteries in Europe. How could she not stand up and be counted? No matter what the hardship might be in leaving the island, it was the right thing to do. She had a duty to Sammy as well as to the country. She knew it, clear as day.
    The decision had come a lot easier than the wrenching choice she’d been forced to make thirteen years before, when her grief was still fresh—whether to have Sammy’s body shipped back home or permanently interred in France.