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he wasn’t aware of any of the other delivery boys taking them either. Mr. McGovern’s son Kyle was in the navy in the Pacific. He was a fighter pilot and everyone in the family was proud of his accomplishments. Several years Andy’s senior, Kyle had been the all-American boy around Haven. He was the favored son in the McGovern household—a fine example of what a man could become if he put his mind to it.
    Andy wearily climbed the snow-covered steps to the McGovern front porch. His hand trembled as he reached out to knock on the door. School had been cancelled for the day, sohe hoped fervently that Mr. McGovern would be at home. He knocked loudly, solidly. It was a knock that announced importance—demanded attention.
    The youngest member of the McGovern household, Amanda, came to the door. She was only ten, but she knew what Andy’s presence represented.
    “Daddy!” she cried and ran from the door in tears. “Daddy, come quick.”
    Mr. McGovern came to the door and opened the screen. He met Andy’s gaze and stepped out onto the porch.
    “Afternoon, Andrew.” He seemed to age before Andy’s very eyes. Shoulders slumped, the man reached out for the telegram.
    For a moment time stood still. Andy felt he should say something—do something. He waited to see what Mr. McGovern would do and watched as his eyes filled with tears.
    “He’s just twenty-four,” the older man whispered. “Just twenty-four.”
    Without warning, the big man, who had always seemed strong enough to bear the weight of the world, collapsed to the floor. Sobbing, he clutched the telegram against his chest. “He’s just a boy . . . just my boy. Oh, God, help me.”
    Terror struck Andy’s heart. He’d never in his life seen a grown man break down like this. He reached out his hand and then pulled it back quickly. How could he possibly comfort this man? Without waiting to see what else might happen, Andy turned and ran as fast as his legs could carry him.
    Blinded by the snow, he pressed through the storm, mindless of the remaining telegrams. When he reached the Jackson Street Bridge, he sought shelter under it. He gasped for breath while his heart pounded in his ears. Opening his mouth, he gave a primal scream from deep within his dying soul.
    ****
    Estella put her wartime cake into the oven and smiled. Shehoped Andy would like it. She planned to take him several pieces tomorrow. Hopefully the snow would stop by then.
    She looked at her watch and noted the time. It would take just under an hour for the cake to bake. That would give her plenty of time to finish her ironing and maybe even dust the front room.
    Picking up the iron from the back of the stove, Estella tested it. She smiled as she noted it was perfect and hurried to the board, where her best Sunday blouse awaited her tender care. Many had been the afternoon she’d stood and ironed while her mother knitted sweaters for the war effort. Her mother had been good company after Howard’s death—especially since Estella had no children. In fact, Estella wasn’t sure she could have made it through without Mama’s tenderness. Her mother understood what it was to lose the man she loved—she understood the loneliness and longing for companionship. Now Mama was gone and Estella was alone again. She tried not to be maudlin about it, however. God had a plan, even in this.
    She smiled to herself. Yes, God had a plan, and she wasn’t going to go getting weepy just because old memories were stirred up by ironing. Goodness, but she’d have to give up ironing altogether if she allowed such things to be a stumbling block in her spiritual walk. She laughed out loud. “I’d give up ironing—wouldn’t break my heart one bit.”
    Estella had just started to press the front of the blouse when a strange sense of urgency washed over her. Gone was the humor of the moment.
    Andy.
    It was the only word—the only thought—that came to mind.
    Andy is in trouble. She stood silent, iron poised in