Page 46 of All We Thought We Knew
“Mattie,” Dad said from his place at the head of the table, warning in the one word.
I faced him, frustrated. “It’s true. Nixon couldn’t care less aboutour boys. The coward admitted he wouldn’t bring them home right now because it would be ‘the first defeat in our Nation’s history’ and that it would hurt Asia’s confidence in American politics. What he’s saying is that he cares more about Asia’s confidence than he does the thousands of Americans who put themselves in danger over there every day. Including those poor POWs.”
I glanced at Nash to see if he would join the conversation. We hadn’t talked about it since I arrived home, but surely his views on the whole Vietnam issue had changed since he left for war. He’d lost an arm and his best friend to the madness.
But he didn’t speak up. He simply stared at the pie on his plate.
“I believe President Nixon cares about all our military personnel overseas,” Pastor said, keeping his tone even and calm. “But he has to think of the broader picture, and the repercussions of what will happen to South Vietnam if the United States pulls out. The polls show that most Americans approve of the way President Nixon is handling the war.”
I shook my head with disgust. “You sound just like him and all the other Washington politicians. Nixon had the audacity to referto people like me as avocal minoritybecause we won’t stay silent like the rest of you sheep. In fact, I—”
Dad stood with so much force, the glassware on the table rattled. “That’s enough.” His voice echoed off the floral-papered walls. “We know how you feel about the war, but that’s no reason to be rude to our guests.” He looked at the pastor. “I’m sorry, Reverend. Mattie is too quick to share her opinions.”
My face flamed.
Dad retook his seat.
Pastor Arnold didn’t look angry. “I don’t blame Mattie and the young people like her for speaking out for what they believe. You and I,” he turned to me, “want the same thing. We want the war to end. But neither of us has been to Vietnam and seen firsthand what’s going on over there.” He faced Nash. “What do you think, son? Is it time for the United States to pull out?”
My eyes fastened on Nash, willing him to tell Pastor Arnold the truth.
After a long silence, he cleared his throat. “I think mistakes have been made since our involvement in Vietnam began,” he said, giving me hope. “But I also think it would be a mistake to remove all US presence from the country right now.” He glanced at me. “The people of South Vietnam need help. They’re as much prisoners of the Vietcong as our boys in those prisons are. Until the job is finished and the South Vietnamese army can protect the people, we’re needed there.”
He held my gaze, almost in challenge. My throat tightened with angry tears, but I wouldn’t give any of them the satisfaction of seeing me cry.
I stood, snatched up the plate with my half-eaten pie on it, and stomped into the kitchen.
If they all thought of me as an ignorant child, I might as well act like one.
Low voices came from the dining room, but I didn’t care if Iwas the subject of their conversation. One of these days, when it was too late, they’d have to acknowledge I was right. Even Nash.
Mrs. Arnold came into the kitchen, a look of empathy on her face.
“The meal was delicious, Mattie. Your mother would be proud.” She walked to the sink and deposited the three plates she carried into the sudsy water.
She could have said so many things to me, but her kindness worked to loosen the grip anger had on my tongue.
“Thank you.” I heaved a sigh. “I suppose I should apologize for speaking my mind.”
She faced me. “It’s never wrong to express an opinion on something you feel passionately about.” She laid a gentle hand on my arm. “You and your family have suffered a great loss because of the war. I don’t think anyone can blame you for feeling so strongly about how things are being handled in Washington.”
I appreciated her understanding. “Does your husband know you don’t agree with him?”
“Oh, I agree with him, for the most part.” At my confused look, she continued. “We live in a wonderful country where we enjoy the kind of freedom millions of people in the world don’t have. Communism strips citizens of the right to choose for themselves. Those living under it are little more than pawns. The North Vietnamese government has done terrible things under communism. If South Vietnam falls to them, they will suffer the same fate.”
“But it isn’t right to send our young men over there to police what is essentially a civil war,” I said, keeping my voice lowered so Dad wouldn’t hear.
She gave me a patient look. “Would you have said the same thing about the war in Europe? President Roosevelt kept the United States out of that war far longer than he should have, in my opinion. Hundreds of thousands of innocent lives were lost before our troops crossed the ocean.”
I saw her point. “But the war in Europe was different. Japan attacked us, and Hitler wanted to rule the world.”
“I don’t think the people of South Vietnam would agree with you. War looks the same, no matter the circumstances. Innocent people are suffering because of the Vietcong’s determination to rule the entire region.”
Pastor Arnold entered the kitchen then and our conversation ended. The couple went upstairs to visit Mama before they took their leave. I carried up a plate of food, and although she ate a small helping of the special meal, I could tell Mama was in pain. Another white pill soon took her away.
Exhaustion—both mental and physical—rolled through me. I was more than ready to end this day. Nash and Dad had gone back to work in the barns after the Arnolds left, and it was dark when they returned, with Jake leading the way. I noticed Nash carried a bundle of personal belongings and Dad carried a dog bed.
“The furnace is out again in the cabin,” he said at my silent question. “It’s too cold without heat. I told Nash he could sleep in Mark’s old room.”
