Leo hung his head. He was so excited about the whole business, it hadn’t even occurred to him to tell anyone else until they were enlisted. Their news didn’t exactly ruin the party, but it did put a bit of a damper on things.

Bobby and Leo were away in San Diego for ten weeks. When they came back in June for boot leave, they were tough and brown and capable of doing a hundred push-ups at a crack. They had been trained in physical fitness and swimming, self-defense and small-arms shooting, first aid and seamanship, firefighting and the proper way to pack a seabag. Emaline had to admit that they both seemed more polite and disciplined, but she still didn’t like it one bit.

When their leave was up, both Bobby and Leo were assigned to a battleship, the Tennessee. Bobby was going to be an antiaircraft gunner, while Leo was to be trained in the new radar technology. Emaline had seen pictures of the Tennessee. It was enormous. Perhaps it wasn’t quite indestructible, but it was the next best thing.

While he was home, Bobby said he wanted to go with Emaline up to visit the cabin where they had once lived with Watson and Velma on Little Goose Creek. On a warm Saturday, he borrowed Juanita’s car, came to get Emaline and Red on South Custer Street and took them first for malted milks and hamburgers before they drove the nine miles south to Big Horn and turned off on the narrow, winding gravel road that led up to the cabin.

Neither Emaline nor Bobby had visited Little Goose Creek since they left after Watson’s death in 1925. Bobby was only four then and he barely remembered the place. For Emaline, the memories were so painful that she’d thought she would never return, but that was before Bobby joined the navy. Now, somehow, she felt it was important to go back and to show Red where they had lived for a part of their childhood.

Emaline wasn’t sure she would recognize the place, but the neat little cabin was unmistakable. The mailbox said “Harter” rather than “Watson,” but otherwise the place looked as it had in 1925. Even the shed in back, which Watson had used as his workshop, was still there. They spilled out of the car and Bobby went to knock on the door. The Harters weren’t home, so they walked down the slope to Little Goose Creek, kicked off their shoes, went wading in the icy water, just as they had once done with Velma.

“I remember this spot,” Bobby said. “We were here with Mama, eating strawberries.”

“Yes. You and Ben used to throw rocks and try to hit the little fish in the water and Mama would tell you to stop. We had fun here when Watson wasn’t around.”