But the next morning, she still had a troubled feeling as she rose. Her mind was filled with Armand, and she pored carefully over the paper as she always did, looking for reports of the war in Europe.
“Was that you I heard prowling around last night, Liane? Or was it a burglar?” He smiled at her over their breakfast on Sunday morning. He knew about her midnight forays now. The first time he had heard her, he had snuck out of his bedroom, holding a loaded handgun, and they had both screamed and jumped.
“It must have been a burglar, Uncle George.” “Did he get the Christmas presents?” Elisabeth bounded into the room. She was nine years old now, and the days of Santa Claus were over. She was far more concerned that a burglar might have made inroads in the enormous stack of presents gathering in an upstairs closet.
“I'll have to check.” Liane smiled at her daughter as she went out to the garden with her sister. They were happy in San Francisco, and although they still missed their father, they had adjusted well, and the ugliness that had struck diem in Washington had never happened here, thanks to George's caution in not referring to his niece's husband as a Nazi. Liane was grateful to him for that, and she left for her day at the Red Cross with a lighter step than she had the day before. She wondered how Nick was faring after the shock of losing custody of John, but she knew from her own sorrows that time had a way of softening life's blows. She was sure that it wouldn't be easy, but in time the agony would be less acute, just as it was now when she thought of him. He had stayed on her mind for a long time as she carried on her quiet life in San Francisco. She was often surprised at how near he seemed when she closed her eyes and remembered their crossing on the Deauville. But now he was beginning to seem like a distant dream. And sometimes at night, as she slept, her dreams of him would get confused with those of Armand, and she would awake not knowing where she was, or with whom, or how she had come there, until she looked out the window and saw the Golden Gate Bridge or heard the foghorns, and she would remember where she was, far from them all now. Nick was a part of the past, but a part she still cherished. He had given her something no one else ever had, and his words had stood her in good stead for the past year and a half. She had needed every ounce of the strength he had reassured her she had when they left each other. She needed it each time she waited three or four or five weeks for a letter from Armand, or read a news report that filled her with terror, or thought of Armand working with the Germans in Paris. She needed it every day, every hour, for herself, for the girls, even for Uncle George. And she needed it as she turned on the radio in her bedroom after returning from church with the children. She often listened to the radio, for the latest news, but as she did now she stood transfixed in the center of the room, unable to believe the words she was hearing. Six great battleships had been sunk or seriously damaged in Pearl Harbor, Hawaii, and the Air Corps was left with only sixteen serviceable bombers. The Japanese had made a surprise early-morning attack on Hawaii, leaving scores of dead and wounded, and there could be no doubt now, the United States had been pulled into the war with one swift, vicious gesture.
Her heart pounding, her face pale, Liane raced downstairs to find her uncle, and she saw him standing in the den, listening to the news himself, with tears streaming down his cheeks. For the first time in his life his homeland, the country he held so dear, had been invaded. Liane went soundlessly to him, and they clung together, listening to President Roosevelt's words a few moments later. There was no question about it. America was at war now. It remained only to be confirmed by the Senate the next morning, and three days later, on December 11, Germany and Italy declared war, and Congress passed a joint resolution accepting a state of war for the United States. For Americans, a new day had dawned, and a sad one. The entire country was still in turmoil over the attack on Pearl Harbor, yet everyone wondered if the Japanese would be even bolder, attacking major cities on the mainland. Suddenly nothing was certain or safe.
Nick didn't hear the news until an hour or so after it had happened. When Hillary had picked Johnny up, he had taken his car out late that night and begun driving, and by the next morning he awoke at the side of the road, deep into Massachusetts. He hadn't known where he was going and he hadn't cared. He just wanted to drive until he could go no farther. He called her the next day and spoke to Johnny, but when he inquired about the weekend, he was told that they had other plans. They were going to Palm Beach for a few days to visit Mrs. Markham, and he could imagine why, to kiss the old woman's ass for more money, not that they needed it now. All it meant to him was that he wouldn't see Johnny for another week. And having heard that, he called his office and told them he was taking a week off. Everyone knew why and he offered no explanation. He wouldn't have been able to keep his mind on his work anyway, and it was a relief to be out in the country. Although he ached for his son, he felt better after a few days of fresh air. He called Johnny every night as he had promised, and drove from one small town to the next, staying in quaint inns, eating simple meals, and getting up to go for long walks along wooded roads and beside frozen lakes. The countryside seemed to restore him, and on the day Pearl Harbor was bombed he stayed out until lunchtime, and then came back for a hearty meal at the little inn where he was staying. He had a bowl of soup, drank a tankard of ale, and ate a thick slice of cheesecake, and then absentmindedly cocked an ear as someone turned on a radio at the other end of the dining hall, sure that nothing much could be happening on a Sunday. At first he couldn't make out what they were saying, and then suddenly he listened to what was being said on the broadcast and like millions of others all over the country, he froze in shock. And then, without saying a word, he stood up and went to his room to pack. He wasn't sure what he would do there, but he knew he had to return to New York at once. His New England idyll was over. And after he paid his bill, he called Hillary's apartment and left a message for Johnny, to tell him he was on his way back and would see him that night. To hell with her goddamn visiting schedule. And with that he grabbed his bags and ran out of the inn. It took him four and a half hours to drive back to New York, and he didn't even stop at his apartment to change, he went directly to his office on Wall Street, and sat there in the Sunday silence in the clothes he had worn in the woods in Massachusetts. He knew what he was going to do now, and he had had to come here, to find peace, to be sure of what he was doing.
All the way home he had listened to the news on the radio. Air Force spotters were watching the entire West Coast, but no planes had been sighted. There were no further attacks after Pearl Harbor.
He dialed the private number himself, after making some notes on his desk, and they kept him waiting for a while, but the President came on surprisingly quickly. Everyone of any importance at all in the country would be calling Roosevelt now. But as the President of Burnham Steel, he also knew that he would have top priority.