by Linda Ellen
Determinedly, Gary pulled back, leaned down for one of his father’s bags, and drew himself up to his full height.
Confidently looking his dad in the eye, he said, “You must be hungry, Father, as I know you don’t care for the food they serve on trains. I have a cab waiting, let’s get you to the hotel and get you settled and fed. We have much to discuss,” he added firmly.
His father’s brows furrowed for just a moment, almost as if he suspected something was up, but then he gave a nod and reached down for his other bag.
“Lead the way, son.”
CHAPTER 6
Gareth Tucker, Sr., sat back in the luxuriously upholstered chair in the Brown Hotel’s opulent English Grill restaurant and dabbed his mouth with a linen napkin.
“That was excellent, son,” he murmured, having made short order of consuming his meal of center cut prime filet mignon with bordelaise sauce, red potatoes, asparagus, and leek rings.
Gary looked up from his plate and smiled at his dad. “As was mine. I’ve eaten here quite a bit since I moved to Louisville. I think their beef rivals any restaurant in Houston. Reminds me of the Monarch back home. Don’t you agree, Father?”
“Quite. Quite,” the older man agreed with a nod as he let his gaze roam their surroundings. Gary followed the direction of his dad’s attention, noting the rich, polished dark oak paneling, lead glass windows, tracery ceilings, and equestrian paintings on the walls that gave it a refined, private club atmosphere.
So far, father and son had only exchanged the usual pleasantries, and Gary swallowed the last bite of his prime rib dinner as he mentally prepared for what was to come.
He opened his mouth to suggest they retire upstairs just as his father jokingly observed, “Well, now you’ve got me fed and comfortable. I can honestly say that the memory of changing trains six times and fighting the frustration of nearly losing my luggage more than once, not to mention the sadly lacking passenger train food, is relegating itself into the realm of distant memory. I suppose I’m ready to hear the bad news.”
Gary’s eyes snapped up to meet his father’s knowing perusal. He knows? How could he know? And…if he does, why does he seem so calm about it…?
His father chuckled and reached inside his jacket to retrieve one of his imported cigars for his customary after-dinner smoke. Igniting the end with the engraved lighter that Gary had given him for Christmas two years before, the elder gave his son the eye as he drew in and expelled several short puffs.
Placing the lighter back into his pocket, he cocked one eyebrow. “Well? I can’t imagine it could be that bad. Your weekly reports have led me to believe that all is well with the plant. We’re even turning a profit already, of which I was quite impressed. So, let’s have it,” he encouraged, his eyes twinkling a bit as if he’d caught Gary with his hand in the cookie jar and was merely amused. “Employee problems?” he prompted. “Secretary on the verge of quitting? DoD payments coming in slower than promised?”
Gary flopped back in his chair in shock as he wiped his mouth with his napkin. Blinking several times as he tried to wrap his mind around the direction of his father’s assumptions, he acknowledged he was totally unprepared for that reaction. Great Caesar’s Ghost! He’s been expecting me to fail! All this time! How did I not see this coming? He has no confidence in my abilities.
The revelation hurt. Deep.
His pulse ratcheted into a higher gear as his heart began to pound with anger and frustration. Gary cleared his throat and leaned forward, lowering his voice. “Dad…perhaps we should retire up to my suite and talk about this in private…”
His father waved the hand with the cigar. “Nonsense, boy. Just come on out with it. Whatever it is, Dad’s here. We’ll get it fixed. Nothing is ever as bad as it first seems.”
Gary hesitated, trying to force words out, but they seemed stuck somewhere near his Adam’s apple. He tried clearing his throat again as memories came tumbling through his mind of the many incidences in the past when his father had brushed aside his opinions, efforts or achievements, and along with them, the pain of each exploit.
His palms began to sweat. Why couldn’t the man see what was right in front of him? Would he ever see the Gary of today, without seeing him as a child? He was a man, for Pete’s sake, and a darn confident one. Everyone saw that…everyone but…
His father laughed. “Now boy—”
Something in Gary’s mind snapped like a dry twig and before he could stop himself, he exploded, albeit through gritted teeth, “Stop calling me a boy!” Although he had managed to keep his voice under the level of shouting, neighboring diners glanced their way in disapproval. He felt the heat of embarrassment creep up his neck and face as he lowered his head and clamped his lips shut.
Gary took in a slow, deep breath. This is NOT how I planned to do this, he silently grumbled as he raised his head again and met his father’s eyes. “C’mon,” he inclined his head toward the doors. “Let’s get out of here.”
However, his tablemate let out a tired sigh and lowered the hand that held the cigar down to the table. “I shall ignore your outburst for the moment, Gareth, but I’m not budging until you tell me whatever it is that has you so upset. Is it a girl? Have you gotten some local girl in trouble?”
Gary clamped his teeth in frustration. My own father has no clue who I really am. Leave it to the old man to expect the worst. He shut his eyelids, swallowed, and took another deep intake of air before looking back up to meet those hawk-like eyes that had always been able to make him toe the line with just one look. Gareth, Sr. had never struck his son. He didn’t need to. There was just something about him that made you want to obey. That and the fact that Gary truly did not want to disappoint or hurt his only parent. Consequently, his personal desires had always fallen by the wayside.
But not this time.
“As you wish, Father,” he acceded, keeping his voice quiet. “Then, I’ll lay my cards on the table. Monday morning, I went down to the recruiting office and offered my services to Uncle Sam. My induction papers are signed and I’m officially a member of the United States Armed Forces—specifically, the Army Air Corps. I’ve had my pilot’s license for years and I’m going to fly bombers and help this wonderful country of ours win this war that none of us wanted in the first place.”
The air in the room seemed to go suddenly still. His father didn’t move. Didn’t even blink. He just stared at Gary with no expression. For several heartbeats, Gary wondered if his dad had heard him, but then…was that a sheen of something in his eyes?
How long has dad been looking so… aged? That question gave Gary a reason to pause from his pacing back and forth in front of his father, who had earlier walked into the suite and lowered himself onto the couch in apparently stunned silence. More than a dozen times, Gary wanted to kick himself for blurting out the facts the way he had down in the hotel’s dining room.
Now that he had managed to get the man to agree to retire up to the room for further discussion, he wasn’t sure what to say. He had expected his father to become angry, argue at length about why this wasn’t a good decision, or order him to back out of the “deal.” But in fact, the elder Tucker had done none of those things. Instead, he had merely seemed saddened by the news…almost as if he had expected it. Could it be that neither father nor son knew the other as well as they thought?
“I think we should talk about this, Father,” Gary finally began, keeping his voice gentle. “We need to make plans about the Louisville plant.”
He waited, but his father merely swallowed and continued to stare at the now unlit cigar in his hand.
Gary tried again. “I’m sorry I blurted my news out like that. Truly, I had planned on breaking it to you more gently…”
The old man took a slow deep breath and let it out just as slowly. Finally, he raised his head and met his son’s eyes with his own misty gaze.
“Somehow, I knew this was coming…ever since you met your brothers…”
Gary’s
eyes widened and he dropped onto the chair directly across from the other man. Leaning forward, elbows on knees, he extended his hands in supplication. “Since I met my brothers? Is that what you think? That I’m playing monkey see, monkey do?”
Dad Tucker merely held his son’s perusal, so Gary pulled out all of the stops and gave it both barrels. “I admit that seeing my identical siblings in uniform and serving in the military made me feel a bit out of the loop, but I swear to you, that isn’t the reason. Gene and Steve didn’t talk me into joining up, Dad. Matter of fact, when I told them my plans, they actually raked me over the coals for it. But Father…you know I have wanted to join the war effort since the day Japan attacked Pearl, but you talked me out of it. I know all of the arguments about how running a company that is helping the war effort is as important as the actual fighting, Dad, but…I feel as if I’m called to join up. Please try to understand—it’s something I must do.”
The heartache in the older man’s countenance seemed to intensify as Gary added, “I just came to my breaking point, Dad. I have to do what I feel is right.”
After what seemed like an eternity, the elder slowly raised a hand to the younger’s cheek. A lone tear rolled from the corner of one eye as he shook his head once. “The day we adopted you was one of the happiest of my life…and the day your mother died was one of the worst. I thought I wouldn’t survive the pain of it.” He allowed his hand to drop, whispering, “I just don’t want to lose you, too…son. I couldn’t bear it.”
Gary fought back a mistiness seeking to overtake his own vision as he placed one hand on his father’s shoulder. “You won’t, Dad. I promise.”
At that, the old man smiled sadly and drew in a shuddered breath. “To my knowledge, you’ve never broken a promise to me, boy…son,” he corrected swiftly. “I hope this won’t be the first.” Then, he allowed his gaze to roam over Gary’s hair and face with the hint of a fond grin. “Gareth…you’ve been the best son any father could ask for, and worthy of the Tucker name. You’ve grown into a responsible, hard-working man.” Their eyes held again and his father added, “If I’ve not told you often enough…I’ve always been mighty proud of you, son. Mighty proud.”
His words sparked fierce emotion in Gary and his eyes filled as he gave his father a small smile. “Thank you, Dad. That means the world to me. I’ve always tried to make you proud.”
Slightly embarrassed at their exhibitions of deep sentiment, the two looked away, each one retrieving handkerchiefs from their pockets and surreptitiously swiping at the perceived unmanly liquid.
When they had calmed a bit, the father cast a look his son’s way and remarked, “So…just when did you obtain a pilot’s license, and why did I not know about it?”
Gary let out a relieved laugh and sat back in the chair. “Well, see…it was like this…”
For the next few hours, father and son talked about Gary’s love of flying, a few dangerous things he had done while away at college, and several things Gareth, Sr. admitted to engaging in when he’d been a young man. Much laughter and many confidences were shared, and their mutual respect and love for one another grew that much stronger—especially on the father’s side.
After a while, the conversation turned to company business and whom they would put in charge of the new plant while Gary was away.
Julie wiped her mouth and cast a look between the husband and wife in whose house she was now residing as a boarder.
The two were sitting at opposite ends of the table, with only Julie between them, and conversation had been scant at best. Mary June and Steve had already left to spend the evening alone together, and hadn’t stayed for supper. The other chair, presumably the brother’s, remained empty. All through dinner, Julie had noticed Mrs. Harriman looking at the empty seat with a downhearted gaze and the girl could tell how much she missed her son.
“That was delicious, Mrs. Harriman. I’ll take care of the dishes tonight if you and Mr. Harriman want to listen to a radio program or something,” Julie offered as she pushed back from the table and began to gather the dishes. The dinner had, indeed, been tasty—roast beef, potatoes, and a blueberry pie for dessert.
“Oh, you don’t have to do that…we don’t usually…” Mrs. Harriman began, but Julie waved away her protestations.
“Nonsense, I insist. My family always listens to Edgar Bergen and Charlie McCarthy on Friday evenings; they’re so funny. You’ve been working hard all day. You should go sit down and rest. Cuddle up with your husband,” Julie admonished, not looking at her hosts’ expressions as she began to carry the dishes into the kitchen.
When she came back in, they were still there, looking at one another a bit awkwardly. Julie raised one eyebrow at them as she picked up another dish.
Robert Harriman cleared his throat and stood to his feet, walking over and extending a hand to his wife as he did so. “C’mon Harriet. She’s right. We used to love listening to them when the kids were younger.” He paused as a shadow seemed to come over his wife’s countenance and he blanched as Julie wondered if he wanted to kick himself for reminding his wife of their son, who was serving in the army somewhere overseas. She knew they hadn’t received a letter from him for over six weeks now.
However, Harriet seemed to make a concerted effort to shake off the melancholy and placed her hand on her husband’s open palm. “I think Bergen and McCarthy might be just the thing tonight.”
She shared a smile with her husband as the two moved into the living room.
Julie smiled as well as she carried the last of the dishes into the kitchen to begin the chore. Good. My plan is beginning to work.
Robert got their old Art Deco Silvertone console tube radio to come to life just as the program started and Edgar Bergen was welcoming W.C. Fields, a regular comedic feature, to the show. Within a minute, Fields was delivering a comeback to a snarling insult from the dummy. Robert and Harriet laughed along with the studio audience as they settled onto the couch together.
“Uh oh, W.C. and Charlie are at it again,” Mr. Harriman said as the comedian fired another round at the debonair, wisecracking “child”. From the other room, Julie heard W. C. Field’s voice snarl, “Quiet, Wormwood, or I’ll whittle you into a venetian blind.” to which Charlie McCarthy, Ventriloquist Edgar Bergen’s smart-mouthed, tuxedo, top hat and monocle-wearing dummy replied, “Ooh, that makes me shutter!” On and on the exchange went, with each volley producing even more laughs than the last.
Julie chuckled and shook her head, remembering the fond times she had with her family listening to the radio, when her brother Gene had been a teenager—before he had taken off unexpectedly and ended up joining the CCC’s. They had been such a happy, carefree family then—in spite of the economic situation in the country. The five of them had spent many a winter evening curled on the living room floor before the fireplace and the radio, listening to their favorite shows and giggling.
Pausing for a moment, she pictured her mother and father, snuggled together on the couch feeding one another popcorn and chuckling along with the kids, or listening intently to the plot of a mystery show. Julie’s brothers and sister had always known their parents were very much in love. There had never been a shortage of kissing and hugging in the big rambling farmhouse in Elizabethtown. Their home had been happy—their lives content.
In contrast, from what Mary June had told her, this house hadn’t known as much happiness. The fault, Julie knew, lay with Mrs. Harriman, and it pricked Julie’s heart to think of the woman being so consistently unhappy. For some reason, Julie had taken on the mission of trying to infuse a bit of color and life into their lives. Tonight was a good start. Mr. Harriman hadn’t fled the house to go play pool with his friends. Instead, he had stayed around to spend some time with his wife.
Humming softly as she wiped suds over a plate, Julie chuckled as she realized it was the tune to Pistol Packin’ Mama. Of course, it made her immediately think about Gary and their wild dance—during which she had embarrassingly end
ed up straddling him when he landed on the floor! Her cheeks burned for a moment as she remembered the heat and feel of his body under her thighs. Oh goodness, Julie Anne! Think about something else!
Switching gears in her mind, she purposely thought about her new job at one of the packing stations in the Tucker Manufacturing plant. She’d been on the job for a week and was still settling in and learning the ropes. Gary was now her boss—at least, the boss of the company. She had truthfully only seen him once or twice at work after that first day, as she mainly dealt with the employees in her immediate vicinity, and the floor boss, Mr. Cravens.
Actually, she realized, that was probably for the best. He’d suggested she come in on Tuesday, so she had taken the bus from the house on Preston with Mary June and spoke with him in his office for a few minutes while he told her about the various types of jobs the workers in the plant performed, and that they had an immediate opening in the shipping department because a man had enlisted in the Navy. Gary had then escorted her onto the floor and over to meet Mr. Cravens, and Julie hadn’t missed the looks of interest and even a touch of envy from some of the other girls on the line, as he had unconsciously walked by her side with his hand at the small of her back. Since Gary was quite handsome and single, Julie could just imagine how he was the object of many of their dreams and ambitions—to marry the bachelor owner of the company.
On break later, several of the girls had asked how she knew Mr. Tucker, but she had kept her answers vague, as she didn’t want anyone thinking she was there under false pretenses—in other words, not deserving of the position.
She intended to work hard and earn her pay, and not make Gary sorry he had extended the invitation of a job to Gene’s younger sister.
CHAPTER 7