The Coach House by Florence Osmund Read Free Book Online Page B

February, not September. Then it dawned on her. It was the first anniversary of the day they met.
    “Wow! What a big bouquet!” said Esther when she entered Marie’s office. They had made plans to go to the Cultural Center to view the new WWII exhibit right after work.
    “I know. Isn’t it gorgeous? I guess I should buy him something, too, but I don’t know what.”
    “What’s the occasion?”
    “The one-year anniversary of when we met.”
    “He’s such a romantic, I can’t stand it. If you can’t think of what to get him, you could surprise him with something for the anniversary of another event instead,” Esther suggested. “Like your first date?”
    “That would be the first day we met.”
    “First kiss?”
    Marie gave her an embarrassing look. “Same day,” she confessed.
    “First roll in the hay?”
    “Esther!”
    “Well?”
    “C’mon. Let’s go to the exhibit.”
    They entered the Cultural Center to the sound of “Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy.” Photographs of smiling soldiers coming off boats, planes, and trains lined the walls along with pictures of children running up to their daddies and wives waiting to hug their husbands after being separated for months.
    The most prominent photograph was the one of the young sailor bending over the woman in the nurse’s uniform planting a kiss on her mouth in the middle of Times Square. Titled The Kiss, it had been printed in almost every newspaper across the country when they announced the end of the war.
     
    He was a famous trumpet man from out Chicago way
    He had a boogie style that no one else could play
    He was the top man at his craft
    But then his number came up and he was gone with the draft
    He’s in the army now, blowing reveille
    He’s the boogie woogie bugle boy of Company B
    Uniforms from all the armed forces lined one wall. Cases of medals filled the center of the room, sadly separated from their rightful owners. A variety of run-down artillery hung on the walls.
    The next room was larger with wartime posters covering one wall, some in support of the war and some not. A display case of picture postcards depicted the same mixed sentiments. Some posters illustrated work that was being done on the home front—women selling war bonds and working Rosie the Riveter jobs. Ration books, stamps, and tokens were displayed next to photographs of long lines in front of grocery stores. “Over There” played in the background.
    As the two women strolled though each room of the exhibit, they talked about how the war had affected them, their family and friends. With nearly six years of fighting, it was hard not to have a story that hit close to home. Tears welled up in Esther’s eyes. “I lost a cousin and a step-brother to this war. I’m so glad it’s over.”
    They strolled through a room filled with political cartoons and scenes from wartime films. One series of political cartoons caught Marie’s attention. “Esther, these are by Dr. Seuss. I didn’t know there was a political side to him, did you?”
    “No. I thought he just wrote children’s books.”
    “He did, and in fact, it says here that some of his children’s books contained political themes as well. Did you know that Yertle the Turtle is really a story about dictators?” It was eerie to see characters in the wartime cartoons so closely resembling those in his children’s books.
    “You’re kidding.”
    “That’s what it says.”
    “Amazing.”
    The last room was devoted to foreign wartime memorabilia. Artifacts from Germany, France, Great Britain, and Japan were disturbing reminders of the war’s magnitude.
    “This seems to be the end. Richard’s out of town. Want to go for a bite to eat?” Esther nodded. “How about the Blackstone? They have the best fried chicken in town.”
    The two women were seated at a table near the window in the hotel’s first floor café. “You know the story behind this hotel, don’t you?” she asked Esther.
    “No, I don’t think