The Summer of Ian

Letters

Dear Ian,
Papa showed me a newspaper article this morning. It said they are rationing not only the food, but cloth and clothing and knitting wool too. That’s not so bad because we have a stash of jellies and canned foods in the cellar and God knows my closet has enough clothes. I miss you so much! I was daydreaming about last summer this morning when Papa showed me the article. I think he knows about us. He promised not to tell Mother. Miss Pollesthon came by yesterday. She was screaming about a Nazi chasing her in her kitchen. Father went over and couldn’t find any Nazi. Ha-ha. I think she went crazy ever since her husband died in the war. Anyway come visit soon, I miss you.
Love Brooke

Ian was sitting on a train looking out at the country when he read the article. “Damn.” he muttered and a woman next to him glared as she ran her fingers protectively through her child’s hair. Ian blushed and turned toward the window. He was looking forward to arriving in Valera Creek, Colorado. He had had his mail forwarded and looked forward to Brooke’s letter. He closed his eyes and scenes of the summer before flashed before his eyes.

“Miss?” Brooke jumped and turned around. Her hazel eyes flashed angrily and her shoulder length auburn hair was pinned partially back, the rest hanging in lovely spiral curls. “May I help you?” she sneered and his face turned crimson. “Yes actually. I’m staying here in Madison for the summer. My aunt lives here. Anyway, she gave me directions to her home and I seem to have lost them. Maybe you could point me in the right direction?”

Ian knew from the moment he met her that she was a high society girl. Her designer summer dress and heels gave it away at first glance. He also knew from the moment he met her that she was not only beautiful, but smart as well. What he didn’t know was that she was as attracted to his scruffy chin and striking green eyes as he was to her. Ian leaned back against the padded chair and smiled. He was going to Valera Creek to work in a automobile factory. The pay was decent and the work, not bad. He couldn’t afford college like Brooke, so he was putting away money for when they met again.


My dearest Brooke,
I read the article as well. It was in all the major papers. It doesn’t mean much. Food was the major thing. Clothing is just material. I feel bad for Miss Pollesthon. She is a little crazy but she needs help and condolence to get through this rough time. Max is sitting by my feet panting. I think he means for me to tell you hello. I arrived in Valera Creek this evening. My new address is on the envelope. Speaking of your father knowing about our relationship, I always liked the man. I can’t come visit until next summer. You know that. I love you though. Your letters are always the sunshine in my life.
Yours forever,
Ian

JULY 1941
Brooke turned nineteen July 25,1941. The party was the social event of the summer. Big white balloons and tablecloths were set outside. Lovely fruit salads and croissants lined the tables. Presents were stacked under a pale canopy and the flowers outside were in full bloom. Everything was perfect except for Brooke. “Mother why white? White should be for a wedding, not a party. I didn’t want a party anyway.” Brooke frowned and looked down upon the lavishly decorated yard from her second story window. “Young lady. Do you know how many young women would die for a party such as this?” Brooke sighed in exasperation and looked her mother in the eye “This party is not about me or my birthday. It’s about you having a social event and showing off your latest extravagant purchase. It’s all about you mother and you know it! More than half of those people out there are your friends! The rest are your friends children. I’m sick of my birthday being your reason to throw a sickly overdone party.” Her mothers eyes widened and she slapped her daughters face. “You will never again speak to me like that. Get out to that party and appreciate what your father and I have done for you. GET!” she screamed, her face flushed and Brooke’s eyes filled with tears. She ran down the staircase and stopped before the door to the backyard. Gathering her dignity, she wiped her eyes and took a deep breath. Then she slowly walked into the yard. Instantly she was surrounded by shallow society girls squealing “Happy Birthday Brooke! Found a boyfriend yet? Did you hear? Ted Graziano is eligible!” Sighing inside, Brooke put on a plastic smile and squealed back “Really!”

Dearest Ian,
I hate my mother. As you know, I turned 19 two weeks ago. My mother threw another high profile party with all her old friends and less than intelligent daughters. I received countless ribbons for my hair and my mother received countless praise for another “memorable summer bash”. I hate how she uses me for her own enjoyment. I am NOT a doll. My father wishes you well. I went to a picture show two nights ago with Amy Delonay. During the movie the projector failed and we had to leave only 30 minutes into the show. We strolled through the park but ended up going home about 20 minutes afterwards. This town is so dull. It needs you to liven it up again. I hope your work is going well in Valera Creek.
Love Brooke