Chapter SevenStanding on the porch step, the young man in the dark green uniform and pillbox hat flushed with embarrassment as Melody Milligan opened the door to the small house set in a narrow, nondescript street in Kansas City. She giggled at her visitor's shocked expression, well aware of the effect she had on men of all ages. The hand in which he proffered the folded paper trembled.
She gave him a dollar and went back inside to read the telegram. The words made little sense, so she read them again, and by the fourth time of reading, she was giddy with delight. Grabbing her coat and hat, she rushed out of the house and made her way through the busy streets to her good friend Frances, where her boy Tommy was playing with Melody's own son, Patrick.
“I'm not sure what any of this means,”
