Tuesday Special: Weeping Women Springs

TAMARA EATON

https://tamaraeatonnovels.weebly.com

A magical Spring of Hope was their protection--or so they thought...

The tranquil little town of Hope Springs, New Mexico is shattered on December 7, 1941. All the village boys go to fight, leaving their families behind to pray for their safety. Their hope knows no boundaries the boys will return unharmed—for they have a secret. The Spring delivers hope to all who drink from it.

They’ve kept this secret for years, but all is lost when tragedy strikes. Their grief dilutes the magical waters. The wives, mothers, and sisters have no option but to face the loss on their own. They struggle to find hope again, while withdrawing further from the world. Yet another war looms on the horizon and even the measures they’ve taken cannot protect them.

An exploration of the various facets of sorrow and its effects, Weeping Women Springs is “like finding a scrapbook long hidden” of interviews, letters, journal entries and poems. The novel is “intriguing and mysterious.” “A “beautifully wrought story,” which will make you think long “after you finish it.” –Various Amazon Reviewers

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We hope you enjoy this excerpt!

I DIDN’T ALWAYS WANT to hide. The Council made sure we hid the water from the start, but I would rather have gone out into the world. Hope Springs was a good place to grow up. Once I reached high school, I dreamed of going places. Did you know that? You came to town later, so I never shared that with you. The Council wants us to tell you the secrets so you can report everything that happened, maybe we won’t be forgotten.

You only see what is left, middle-aged and old women who teeter on unsteady legs, searching for balance that is never quite there, the dusty roads, the faded buildings, the closed up businesses, all but Fiekens’ General Store. Maxine always kept that open, even after—no I’m getting ahead of myself. Remind me to stay on track. It’s always best to start a story at the beginning, then maybe you’ll understand.

On that crisp December afternoon the air wafted over me cool and brisk. That morning I went to church with my family like every other Sunday. Maxine didn’t attend church, not since her parents died in an accident the year before. Anna Frolander never did attend church much, but I couldn’t pass judgment, not then or ever.

Maxine spent Sunday afternoons with us kids at the gym when the boys practiced basketball, and well, we girls practiced watching the boys.

I met up with Maxine at the store, but I’d seen the new carving, so I wasn’t surprised when she shared the latest.

“Have I got news for you.” Maxine’s voice sang over the aisles of canned goods and staples. It was like my old friend was back, happier than I’d seen her in so long.

“Does it have anything to do with the new heart on the Sweetheart Tree? Spotted it this morning after church.” I waited at the front door and hooked my arm into her elbow when she came up to me. We headed down the dusty street toward the high school. My friend almost skipped beside me.

Her face glowed. “Yes,” she said with a little squeal. “Billy asked me last night. Liv, you’ll be my maid of honor, right?”

I hugged her hard. “You bet. When’s the wedding?”

“Not until school’s out.”

“Let’s hurry. I’m sure Billy’s eager to see you.” I pulled her along faster toward the gymnasium.

On that quiet Sunday, few people were outside. We waved to my mother’s good friend, Anna, who was sweeping her front walk. An early snow dusted the craggy mountains in the distance, but the moderate temperature promised a mild winter. The surrounding mountains and hills sheltered Hope Springs in a verdant valley. It made hiding easier then and later when it became more necessary. Our seclusion saved our lives or perhaps it ended them. I suppose you’ll be the judge of that when the story’s told.

We stepped inside the gym. The basketball players’ shoes screeched on the wood floor. The boys practiced non-stop since the big game on Tuesday with our rival, Tularosa High, loomed in our future. We’d lost the last game with them, and we wanted to make the state playoffs.

The ball whooshed through the net.

“Billy made a good shot,” I said and Maxine just grinned. “So tell me about the proposal. Did he get down on one knee?”

“No. He made my favorite sundae at the store and put a little toothpick with a flag on top. On the flag were the words, ‘Will you?’”

Billy had loved her it seemed like forever, so I wasn’t surprised, but his parents weren’t a fan of the idea. “Did he decide to stay in town and run the store with you?”

“Mother and Papa would have approved, don’t you think?” Her question came out breathless as she searched for confirmation.

I squeezed her hand. “I’m sure they would have.”

The excitement of a moment ago faded from her eyes, replaced with the haunting pain of grief. At least while watching the boys, Maxine could be a girl again. I worried about her since she’d quit school to run her family’s store. On Sundays and game days she closed the door and warmed a seat on the bleachers, cheering Billy Fiekens on. She hadn’t lost her place in our class of 1942, though she wouldn’t graduate with the rest of us. Without Maxine we’d only have thirteen on stage for the ceremony in May. She had confided to me she hoped to get her diploma after marrying Billy, if he could watch the store.

“His parents approve of it?” I asked.

Maxine closed her eyes a moment. The hesitation spoke volumes. Over the last year, I had watched her deal with the unthinkable. I couldn’t imagine losing one parent, let alone both. My poor, gentle Maxine, who always had a kind word of encouragement for me whenever I grew tired of waiting to leave town, withdrew even deeper into herself after the accident. With the proposal, I saw signs of her sorrow lifting.

“They still want him to go to UNM?” I asked.

“Yes.” Maxine clenched her green cotton skirt before smoothing it down. “I kept telling him to go ahead and attend school. Teaching is so important to him. He just said, ‘If your parents were still alive, I’d do it, we’d go together and live in Albuquerque.’ Then he’d mention selling the store.”

“You could sell the store, but—”

“I can’t do that, not yet. It’s too soon. Besides, Billy’s parents can’t afford to support us both. Who would buy a store in the middle of nowhere, New Mexico?”

I laughed. “Or if the Council would even let you sell. I’m sure they’d have to authorize it.”

The door at the end of the gym burst open and little Eddie Frolander ran inside. “The Japs bombed Pearl Harbor!” he shouted. “Melvin’s dad heard it on his radio.”

Everything went silent, all but the bouncing ball echoing through the gymnasium. The players surrounded Eddie and everyone began talking at once.

“Where’s Pearl Harbor?” Maxine asked me.

“I don’t know,” I answered. We climbed down the bleachers to join the players.

Nine-year-old Eddie’s words tripped over one another. “I dunno any details, but Mr. Bracht said to tell everyone. He said we might be at war and spread the word.”

“War.” The word was murmured repeatedly through the crowd.

“Pearl Harbor is in Hawaya. The president said they bombed the navy base there.” Eddie’s dark hair fell over his eyes.

Maxine rushed over to Billy and he threw a sweaty arm around her shoulders. At that moment, I longed for a shoulder to lean on too.

Donnie Frolander, Eddie’s older brother, sidled up to me. “If we’ve been attacked, what will it mean?”

“Surely the president will tell us what to do.” I said. “President Roosevelt has seen us through a lot already.”

“Maybe we ought to head over to Mr. Bracht’s house,” Billy suggested.

“The Council was mad when Mr. Bracht bought a battery radio last year,” Donnie said. “But maybe this is a good reason to have a radio in town. Imagine if we didn’t find out until Tuesday when Tularosa comes to play the game. Boy, would we look dumb.”

I itched to tell Donnie to keep his opinions of the Council to himself, but swallowed the urge. Too late anyway. The other young people muttered an agreement, falling into their common theme of whining about the Council’s decisions. Uncle Jim’s words echoed in my mind. “You youngsters have no real idea what it means to this town to keep us isolated as much as possible. Besides you have opportunities enough to get outside, go to Tularosa or over to Alamogordo to the movie house.”  Arguments of the young people wanting more freedom, and wishing to see the world, or letting more visitors in to see us always fell on deaf ears. Freedom wasn’t in the Council’s vocabulary.

From the time I started school, my parents and other adults in the community drilled into us the necessity of keeping the secret. On the verge of adulthood, me and my friends questioned the rules set up by the founding fathers. I pushed the thought away. War on the horizon? What did it mean to Hope Springs?

Tamara Eaton is a "western woman." She lives in the southwest USA, and wide-open spaces of the desert and prairie are often portrayed in her work--fiction and poetry. Several of her stories have been published online and in print. When she isn't writing, she is often editing for others. Weeping Women Springs is her debut novel.

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