America's War: A Short Story

It was 1920 and the war had left France devastated. After the war, our industries were destroyed, our economy collapsed, and our families ripped apart. Our lands and homes were gone; so we all had decided to leave and rebuild elsewhere in a land of opportunity. We were gathered on this ship in hopes of making a new life for ourselves. There were many men aboard, but even more women with children, perhaps going to meet their husbands already in America.
One particular woman caught my attention. She was thin and pale, with long blonde hair pinned back and in a braid. She was dressed in many raggedy layers: skirts, blouses, sweaters, and a fur-trimmed coat; probably her most prized possession. She only had one small trunk with her, which held her belongings. Her small child sat atop the trunk, becoming restless. She tried to calm him down and keep him quiet, to minimize the attention drawn to them. I heard his whines, but I noticed something more about her. She was clutching two letters in her fist. When her child was settled, she would read them. The same two pieces of parchment, over and over again. I watched her. I saw the look of
despair in her eyes upon reading one, with an occasional tear shed which she quickly wiped away so no one would see. But when she moved on to the next, her eyes were fireflies. I wanted to know her story; what her letters contained. There was something about this woman that drew me to her like to a fire in the winter.
Her son fell asleep, and I decided this was a perfect opportunity to approach her, hoping to get her undivided attention. I walked to her, sat down, and said bonjour politely. She looked up at me, smiled shyly, and said bonjour back. I told her I wanted to learn about all the passengers on the boat to pass the time.

I asked her about the letters in her hand. “This letter is from my husband. He wrote it while he was away,” she said sheeply. I could tell that this was the sad letter. She continued quietly and cautiously, careful not to disturb her son. He was too young to understand why she was upset. “He was a good man, and an even better husband. He would write me letters every week or so, whenever he could get his hands on paper, pencil, and a stamp. But one week they stopped coming. I knew he didn’t simply forget, I knew”, she paused for a moment to collect herself, then continued. “But this letter reassures me of his love for me and our family. He told me he was proud of me and how I’ve been able to raise our son well in his absence. It keeps me going, encouraging me to provide for my son.” We sat in silence for a few minutes.
She broke the silence by changing the subject to her second letter.
“This letter is from a man who I’m going to see. One of my friends is already in America, and when she saw a posting for this job, she thought of me. She wrote me about a man who is looking for a nanny to take care of his children because his wife passed away. He’s a busy businessman and needs someone to live in their home, take care of his two children, and teach them like a mother would. I decided to contact him and tell him I would like the job. My family in France is gone, I have no one but my son. I have been learning english from a neighbor, and I’m actually quite decent. I wrote him and told him I was willing to move there. This is his letter hiring me for the job; the pay isn’t much, but it’s a place to live, and my son is welcome.” she said
optimistically.
I hadn’t known her long, but I from what I had learned and how sweetly she spoke I knew she was good with children. I was happy that she already had a plan for her new life in America. She deserved a bit of happiness in her life. She may not go from rags to riches, but her kindness will help her succeed.