Free The Magic of Ordinary Days by Ann Howard Creel

time since our wedding day.
    Outside the church building, I saw many parked cars and trucks, all of them covered in the layer of brown dust that had already grown familiar to me, grime that disguised the true colors of most everything. Groups of people worked their way into the building, letting me know that despite the outward appearance of emptiness down the web of roads, indeed many people lived there. Before the service began, I met some of the congregation members and noticed that here, wartime fashion had yet to be introduced. In the face of plain prints and faded hats, I became conscious of the quality of my suit. Ray introduced me as his wife, and judging by the surprised looks we received, I didn’t think he had told anyone I was coming. At Ray’s side, however, I received a much different response from the one I’d received in Trinidad, alone. With him, people didn’t hesitate to smile and greet me.
    â€œSo pleased to meet you,” one woman said. “Goodness me.” Then she congratulated Ray.
    Another woman said, “We had no idea.”
    Her husband pumped Ray’s hand up and down, then patted him on the back before we entered the sanctuary.
    Reverend Case began his service with the usual prayers, hymns, and Bible readings. But then he moved from behind the pulpit and spoke directly to the congregation without the burden of that barrier between us. In the sermon, his message was one of forgiveness and sympathy for our enemies.
    â€œI hope we can be so great a nation that we choose charity in the face of victory.” He paused for reflection. “Sympathy over condemnation.”
    It felt as if he were engaged in intimate conversation alone and with each one of us. “I hope that we may find love for the countrymen of our enemy.” Then he stood perfectly still. “The common man among our enemies may be more victim than we know.”
    Graciousness against our enemies? In Denver, I had been more accustomed to dirty “Heine” jokes and “Jinx the Japs” rallies than to the substance of this talk. At one point in the early years of the war, a game atmosphere had even prevailed. Everyone had believed that the U.S. forces were obviously superior, that victory would be easy. Bent on revenge for Pearl Harbor, we caricatured our enemy, attended parties and rallies, and held parades. It was definitely a good-versus-evil thing, and we in the U.S. were the good guys. But after years of it, I had grown weary of celebrations and children wearing cast-off uniforms and shooting toy guns. And now, in this unlikely place, I was listening to words that mirrored my sentiments. The difference between Reverend Case and the stern men of the pulpit I had known before was remarkable. After the first years of the war, I never thought of celebrating victories in the same way that once I’d done it before. With so much loss taken along the way, victories didn’t feel very triumphant anyway.
    â€œLet us pray for the relief of all suffering, for comfort and prosperity for all, for the end to every skirmish, battle, and war in this world.”
    â€œAmen,” we said together.
    After the service ended, Reverend Case held me back in the sanctuary for a moment. With one of his gracious smiles, he said, “I’m so happy to see you again. How are you liking it here?”
    I didn’t want to lie. “It’s peaceful.” But still, he looked concerned. “I enjoyed your sermon.”
    He put one hand on my back and gave a soft pat. “You’re among friends here, Olivia.” Then he led me into the kitchen area, where we chatted with Martha, Hank, and the children.
    Ray then introduced me to the infamous Mrs. Pratt, who indeed handed over a cake. She grinned and touched my sleeve. “What a wonderful thing that Ray has finally married.” Cake in hand, Ray headed for the door. Mrs. Pratt moved closer. “And how did you and Ray