Chapter Two - Unnamed LMS VII Novel

A/N: Thank you for checking out Chapter Two! This one was fun to write. If you have any advice or critiques on balancing dialogue and description especially, that would be greatly appreciated. However, as always, any and all comments are welcomed! I post weekly updates of this story here.

“What’s in your hand?”

Eduard held up the crumpled paper bag.

“This?”

“Yeah,” Stan’s youngest son said in Czech, pointing his wooden sword at the man. “What is it?”

“A special drink for adults.”

“I’m 18!”

“I fear that won’t do it, bud.”

The child stomped his foot, but nevertheless returned to combatting imaginary soldiers, forgetting his frustrations. His toys were strewn across the brick house’s compact front yard. Besides a crooked blue shutter that swung upside down from the second-floor window, the weathered home had survived the unkind decade.

Eduard climbed onto the covered porch and knocked on the front door. To his right, a mattress and thin blanket covered the floor, ready for nightfall. A blue star hanging from a banner in the window completed the scene.

“You must be Eduard!” A woman of fifty greeted him in her mother tongue. “Come in, come in, please. Let me take your hat.”

He did as he was told. A black and white springer spaniel jumped on his legs as soon as its owner had turned around. Underneath her feet, the hardwood floor was ruined with scratches.

“Oh, Lala, get down,” the woman muttered as she pulled the dog away. “Pay her no mind. She’s a hunter, so she likes new scents.”

Stan appeared as his wife shooed Lala down the hallway towards the kitchen. His bloodied cotton shirt had been replaced with a burgundy sweater vest and white dress shirt.

“What do we have here?” He said in lieu of a greeting.

Eduard hastily unwrapped the brown paper to reveal the bottle beneath. It was the same color as Stan’s vest.

The woman took the bottle from him and examined the label in the light. “You shouldn’t have. We’ll have this with dinner.” 

She excused herself to the kitchen, leaving the two knockers in the entryway.

“I see you have met the wife, Agnes. Quite the looker, isn’t she?” Stan asked with his eyebrows raised. He gripped a cigar between his yellowing teeth.

“I’m not sure I want to answer that.”

The older man patted Eduard on the back with two reverberating thuds.

“Good answer, boy,” he chuckled. Cinders fell in clumps onto the rug. “Now, let me introduce you to the rest of the family.”

Stan and Agnes had raised seven children in the three-bedroom home that Stan’s parents had bought new thirty years prior. Francis, the second oldest, was twenty-four and fresh out of Creighton’s dentistry program. Then came Ann who worked behind the perfume counter at Lane Drugs. Two sons, Christopher and Theo, followed within a year of each other. Green-eyed Katherine was next and had just started high school at Notre Dame Academy. Little Anton was born seven years later—-their “miracle” baby.

Eduard knew of Stan’s oldest son already; it was his job that he had taken all those months ago. Leo had joined the Marines days after Pearl Harbor, and was in his final weeks of training in California.

“So, Ed,” Francis began as he smoothed a cloth napkin on his lap. His sisters and mother placed dish after dish of steaming food on the table in front of the men.

“Yes?”

“Dad said that you used to be a farmer.”

“I am one, yes.”

“Do you go back home often?” Katherine asked as she passed her father a plate of potato pancakes. Eduard wiped away the pool of drool that had escaped his mouth.

“Every other weekend. I’m leaving first thing in the morning to head home, actually.”

“Hopefully not too early,” Christopher said.

Theo snickered. “Unless you’re too beat.”

“Boys, enough,” Stan commanded. The room brimming with diners went silent. He cleared his throat. “Now, let’s pray.”

They gave their thanks with their heads bowed and hands folded over their plates. Even Lala sat reverently at attention at the foot of Anton’s chair. As the Latin words swirled over his head, Eduard snuck furtive glances across the table. Ann’s wavy black hair framed her face like a work of fine art. Her navy sweater hugged her chest without exhibiting it to the world. 

When the prayer finished, Eduard took a swig of the wine Mrs. Meyerovich had given him weeks ago. Sweet.

“How do you like working with dad, Eduard?” Ann said as she cut her fish. “Is it survivable?”

“Oh, hush,” Mrs. Hlas chastised her eldest daughter.

Eduard shrugged. “He’s alright. Perfectly tolerable.”

“You hear that, dad?” Theo exclaimed as she chewed. “You’re ‘tolerable.’”

Stan huffed and pointed his knife at his coworker.

“You’ll pay for that.”

Everyone laughed. Little Anton slipped a piece of potato to the beggar under his seat.

The conversation ebbed and flowed between matters of life and living, all capped with a hearty round of laughter. On the farm, dinnertime talk had been limited to the day’s labor and the next day’s struggles. Education had seldom been discussed, whether because of Mary and Eduard’s success in it or his father’s lack of it, Eduard did not know. It was only through the Wassons’ tales of their children’s escapades could he envision lives like the Hlas’.

As the group scarfed down the last of their meals, the topic shifted to baseball, which every Hlas had played for years.

“Francis pitched eighteen innings once,” Mrs. Hlas explained. She poured herself another full glass of wine.

“You may have seen it in the paper,” Stan added, leaning to wrap his arm around his prized son. “His photo covered a fourth of the first page of the sport’s section. A whole fourth.”

His wife nodded along. “The clipping is in an album behind you.” She pointed to a stack of binders in the china cabinet behind Eduard. “We can show you.”

“No, no, mother. Ed doesn’t need to see it,” Francis said. He gesticulated with his fork. “We lost the game 4-3 in the end.”

“All my sons are pitchers and catchers,” Stan boasted. To him, being proficient in both positions trumped the Nobel Prize.

“I play third base,” Eduard blurted out before another person could respond. “Sometimes catcher.”

“Really?” Katherine said with her eyebrows raised. ”I thought my brothers were the only tall players forced to be catcher.”

“What team do you play for?” Christopher asked.

“I play softball for Brown Park Service.”

Francis’s fork clanged against the porcelain plate. His arms were open wide with incredulousness. 

“I never knew you played. Father, why didn’t you bring him here sooner?”

“He never told me he was a catcher.”

“Have you ever thought about playing professionally?” Ann asked. “You could go to St. Louis. They have a lot of Catholics there.”

“Or New York with the Dodgers.”

“Francis was drafted by the Dodgers,” Anton beamed. “He stole Pee Wee Reese’s jock strap.”

The table laughed again. It was Eduard’s turn to be shocked.

“Really?”

“Really,” Francis muttered. The passion had gone from his voice. He checked his watch.

“He almost played in a game for them,” Theo said. A grin was plastered across his face, one that Francis did not share.

Eduard could not help himself. “Why are you here, then?”

It was Mrs. Hlas who answered for her son. Her face was stern as she looked into Eduard’s eyes.

“Because there’s no money in baseball.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Eduard watched as Francis mouthed his mother’s explanation. He stared at the empty plate in front of him with a blank expression.

“Now I’m a dentist,” he mumbled.

“Who still plays almost every other day,” his mother scoffed.

No one tried to salvage the conversation. Instead, Francis stood and collected everyone’s plates to wash. Katherine followed suit until all that was left was the tablecloth and candles.

“You should start playing baseball for Assumption,” Christopher said as the sound of the faucet filled the room.

“All the Czechs do,” Theo echoed.

“I might if I stay in town.”

Through the archway, Eduard watched as Francis and Katherine scrubbed each dish clean. They were huddled together in front of the sink, whispering to each other with barely three inches between them. Soft clinks emanated from the room as they slotted each plate into the drying rack.

“We’re sorry about that scene, Eduard,” Mrs. Hlas spoke for herself and her family. “Francis is still sour over the whole situation.”

“‘Situation’ is a strange word for it,” Ann mumbled. Stan shot a glare at her before she could say any further. She apologized, but rolled her eyes in Eduard’s direction. He chuckled softly, so if he was in a crowded cinema, and he was embarrassed to laugh at the scene in front of him.

Stan shrugged and leaned back in his chair. His breath smelled of cheap tobacco muted by the evening’s meal.

“He will forget it,” he posited. “Anyone can play a sport. But, especially with this war going on, it’s better if he gets himself a real family, and a real education. I never had the second.”

“In the meantime, we get our teeth checked for free,” Christopher added.

“Mr. Klement already did that for free, you fat head,” Theo replied.

Their father opened his mouth to chastise them, but was interrupted when Francis walked back into the room. He had a comb in his hand and was making quick use of it. His hair was slathered with grease that suffocated his natural curls until they were indistinguishable.

“Ready to go?” He asked the table. The remaining Hlas children, save Anton, stood. Ann excused herself to change her dress upstairs, in the bedroom she shared with her sister.

Stan pointed at Christopher and Theo. “No way, you two. Adults only tonight.”

“I’m seventeen,” Christopher protested.

“And I’m fifty-two,” Stan rebutted. He shook his hand and turned his attention to Francis and Eduard, who had moved to stand at the end of the table. Eduard had collected his hat from the closet and was holding it with both hands in front of his legs.

“Be safe,” Stan said with a cigarette between his fingers. “Be home by midnight. And Francis, make sure your sister doesn’t dance with any goddamn protestants this time.”

“Yessir.”

As Mrs. Hlas took her turn giving Francis instructions, Eduard looked toward the staircase, where soft footsteps had begun disturbing the wooden steps. Ann carried the hem of her peach-colored swing skirt as she crept down the stairs. She wore a white blouse with puff sleeves and a chevron pattern the same color as the skirt. Pearls dangled from her ears. Half a minute passed before Eduard remembered to stop staring and close his mouth.

“You clean up well,” he decided to say when she had finished descending the stairs.

“Are you saying I didn’t look nice before?”

“No, definitely no. I meant—”

“Ann!” Francis exclaimed, throwing his arm over his sister’s shoulders. “Don’t you clean up well?”

“Oh, hell,” she muttered.

The group of three said their brief goodbyes. Mrs. Hlas insisted Eduard take a tin of homemade cookies with him, and so he set off to their car with a metal box tucked under his arm. Francis slid into the front seat of the family’s Dodge and started the engine as Ann sat in the back row. Eduard would have joined her had Francis not spoken.

“C’mon, Ed, don’t make me look like the chauffeur here!”

It was a short drive to the Sokol Auditorium—under ten minutes—and one that he had made several times before. His friends from the softball league, chronic bachelors, attended every dance that they knew of, whether it was hosted in an elementary school’s gymnasium or featured big bands at the Chermot. The Sokol was one of their favorite places where they could exercise during the day and party at night. He found it amusing, very amusing in fact, but he seldom went by himself—he did not need another reason to stay in Omaha.

The trio circled the block several times in search of parking to no avail. On the third time around, Francis, exasperated, let his passengers out of the car without coming to a full stop. The tin of cookies was abandoned in the front seat in the mayhem.

Music streamed from the bars and buildings around them as Eduard and Ann trekked down the sidewalk in silence, the latter leading the way. Couples and bunches of young Omahans flooded the streets dressed in freshly-iron suits and new dresses, their conversations alternating between flawless Czech and English.

“It gets bad like this right before the school year starts,” Ann explained as she led the farmboy through the crowd.

A girl passed by in the same dress as Ann. Instead of ignoring each other, the two women complimented each other as they passed. The other woman’s date nodded once at Eduard in acknowledgement, his Navy dress blues blending into the night sky behind them.

At the corner, Ann and Eduard entered the auditorium and paid their admission fee. Three middle-aged women in their Church best counted the donations on yellow notepads in front of the stairs leading to the auditorium itself. Banners hung from the ceiling urging guests to donate more than they were required in support of the Red Cross. Eduard slipped in an extra dollar to the older woman’s delight.

“That’s sweet of you,” Ann told him, still keeping a respectful distance.

The auditorium, usually home to athletic competitions and Czech community meetings, was bustling with life when they arrived. A fourteen-piece band filled the stage and were in the midst of replicating Glenn Miller’s orchestra as best they could. Couples filled the dance floor as stragglers helped themselves to refreshments on the sidelines, lounged at round tables, or leaned against the railing on the viewing balcony above the floor.

Eduard surveyed his own outfit. Some men were dressed like him, in loose-fitting double-breasted suits and thoroughly combed hair. But a growing minority resembled the sailor outside: men in spotless dress blues from each branch of the military filled the space like marbles in a jar. They danced with the rapid speed of the band, swinging their dates in every which direction until their feet cried for a reprieve. Those who listened to the cries were chatting along the displays of punch and canapés.

Ann and Eduard settled at an abandoned table. It was littered with crumbs and an empty glass. Eduard busied himself by watching the crowd. As the couples danced, the whole crowd seemed to spin until everyone had rotated in and out of his view.

“Are you much of a dancer?” She asked. 

“Hm?”

She repeated her question.

“No, not really,” he said. It was true—he always managed to trip over his partner’s shoes.

Ann made a peculiar noise, somewhere between a sigh and a “hmph.” She slid her clutch across the table and over to Eduard. He stared blankly at the yellow cloth purse.

“Well, then. I’m going to find someone to dance with.”

Before Eduard could realize his mistake, much less correct it, Ann was bounding around the auditorium to a gaggle of uniform-clad men across the dancefloor. She stopped ten feet from them and positioned herself at a nearby table. She held her head high, watching the crowd along the balcony with careful indifference. Barely two minutes passed before a soldier approached her, drink in hand.

“Let’s hope he has a rosary in his pocket,” an upbeat voice sounded from Eduard’s right. It belonged to Francis, who was taking his sister’s empty chair besides the farmboy. He sniffled. “See, I don’t have the same prejudice against the protestants that my father has. But Ann over there—” he pointed in the young woman’s direction “—she’s angling to marry one.”

“Is she?”

Francis looked at his new friend and grinned until his eyes were practically shut. His front left tooth was almost completely sideways, so that only the thin side was visible. 

“Not seriously, no. But she has a knack for finding them,” her brother answered. He paused as he seemed to finally realize his surroundings. “You would think there were only Catholics here tonight.”

“I wouldn’t bet on it, Frank.”

“Francis, Ed. Francis is my name,” he said. His hand dipped into the inside of his jacket and emerged wrapped around a cheap metal flask. He tipped it towards Eduard. “Want a sip?”

Eduard waved the flask away. “I’m driving tomorrow morning.”

Francis stole a swig before one of the older women supervising the dance could spot him. He wiped the droplets off his lip with his sleeve, leaving light brown stains on his white cuff. The flask disappeared beneath his jacket once more.

“Did you think I was going to give you enough to give you a headache? I barely have enough for that myself.”