She had been kept awake last night imagining what she would say to him when she stepped into the church and saw him standing in the vestibule waiting for her, had practiced on Muriel and Betty the smile she would give him. (“Too much, Liss, he’s not Santa Claus;” “That looks like you just ate a lemon;” until she got it right.) They stayed up late discussing the evening’s events, Betty explaining that she hadn’t allowed the boys to walk them all the way home in order to keep some distance and thus increase their desire. “I’ll bet they’re lying awake talking about us right now,” she insisted, and she seemed to know about such things. Next, they debated over their outfits for church, Elissa choosing the two-piece navy dress she’d just purchased at Doerflinger’s, and put one another’s hair up in pin curls.

The discomfort of the pin curls, combined with the excitement of Nick, made sleep all but impossible. Elissa rose early to bathe, luxuriating in the steam until, finally, Betty knocked and told her she’d better hurry up. Thus jarred from her reverie, she dried off, dressed, and, with Muriel’s help, carefully fixed her hair, gratified to see that the pin curls had worked nicely. A bit of rouge and mascara masked her lack of sleep. Then there was the time-consuming process of applying leg makeup, in lieu of silk or nylon stockings that couldn’t be had. Just another thing about the war that they had almost grown accustomed to.

When the girls finally put on their coats (“You look like a million, Liss,” Muriel said, squeezing her hand) and set out for church, Betty’s parents hadn’t even finished their coffee. Having been informed about the boys who would be coming for Sunday dinner, they made wisecracks about how nice it was to see the girls so enthusiastic about getting to church on time. “Har, har, Mom and Dad,” Betty said, as the girls stepped out into the gray day. Snow drifted gently to the ground like dogwood blossoms on a Tennessee spring day (or so Elissa imagined), and as their boots made tracks in the thin layer of snow on the sidewalk, she could hardly follow the conversation. It seemed that Betty was discussing not knowing how she would ever choose between Paul and Sam, if it came to that, but all Elissa could think of was the curve of Nick’s smile. But then, when they had walked up the church steps, pulled open the heavy wooden doors, and entered the vestibule, Nick wasn’t there. And now, as the organ surged into the prelude, and the chattering of the congregation faded, Elissa couldn’t help but wonder if all her excitement had been for nothing.

Well, at least, being a Lutheran, she could be stoic about it. She looked at her watch again: 10:29.