by Linda Ellen
His bizarre behavior of late had not changed her opinion. She had overheard his parents discussing their son one night and thereby learned that T.J. had been fired from his job, and they were worried that he was exhibiting ‘symptoms’ of some unnamed mental malady. There was no doubt about the concern in their voices. Obviously a family secret, it didn’t make Louise feel secure, or warm and loving toward her husband. On the contrary, it generated an uneasy fear.
Days before, he had had a sort of mental breakdown and Mr. Blankenbaker had confined him to bed – thankfully downstairs in the master bedroom. The father, himself, was tending to his son. Louise wondered if that was due to T.J.’s wild outbursts, which perhaps rendered his mother unable to control him. Louise was staying as far away from him as she possibly could and had begun to make plans to escape the house and seek refuge with her parents, even if only temporarily.
Now her heart skipped a beat as she heard footsteps on the stairs coming up to her room. They wanted her for something. Swallowing nervously, she looked toward the door as she heard a brisk knock.
“Come in,” she called softly.
The door opened and Mr. Blankenbaker stuck his head inside.
“Young lady, you need to come downstairs and tend to your husband,” the old man announced without preamble.
Louise’s eyes opened wide, her brow furrowing. “Tend to him? What do you mean?”
The man allowed his eyes to rake over her form as she reclined on the bed, causing her to unconsciously shift positions and sit up, crossing her arms over her middle.
“I mean – my son has confided to me that you have been…rather lax in your conjugal duties toward him. I’m convinced that is a large part of the reason for his current breakdown…”
Shocked that he had blamed her, it took Louise a moment to register his words. Clamping her mouth for a moment and staring at him, she murmured, “Current breakdown? Are you saying he’s done this before?”
The man scowled at his mistake and came further into the room. Reaching the bed, he leaned down and grasped Louise roughly by the wrist, pulling her to her feet. “Never mind that, missy. Your place is downstairs, with your husband, not up here mooning over another man and committing mental adultery.”
Louise yanked her wrist from his hold. “NO! I’m not going down there. The last time I got near T.J., he reached out and grabbed me, and bit my arm! He’s acting crazy! And I don’t want to be anywhere near him.”
“I say you will,” the old man insisted, trying to grab her arm again, but she twisted away and scooted over to put a chair between them.
“No I won’t! Because…because I’m not taking any chances on anything happening to my baby!”
The old man’s eyes nearly bugged out of his head as he gasped, “Your baby? You’re pregnant?”
Louise clamped her lips for a moment, standing up straight and proud. Looking him directly in the eye, she declared. “Yes.”
“Well, this is the first I’ve heard of it. When did you find out?” he demanded, turning his head slightly toward the door, as if calculating how the news would affect things with the other members of the family.
“Mama took me to the doctor yesterday. I’m six weeks along. And I’m NOT going anywhere near T.J. – until he gets over whatever this is and starts acting normal again!”
The two stared at one another, and the old man could tell Louise meant every word she said. But…he felt sure the news would help his son’s current problem.
Finally he nodded and relaxed his stance. “Very well. I’ll inform the family.”
With that, he turned and went out, shutting the door after him.
Left to her thoughts, Louise realized that the thing that she had hoped would never happen had occurred, but she wasn’t as upset about it as she thought she’d be. Once she had confirmed her suspicions as to why she had been sick every morning for two weeks in a row, she had begun to think about the baby she was carrying inside her. It was her baby, as well as his, and a love was already growing within her heart for the tiny person.
Her only regret was that it wasn’t Vic’s child. But…that couldn’t be helped.
‡
CHAPTER 28
For Vic, Life Must Go On
“Well, Vic, I’ll say it again, I hate to see you go,” Major Connors remarked as Vic sat across from him in the chair he had occupied many times over the previous two years. Only once or twice for some slight infraction; most of the time, it was for Major Connors to tell Vic what a good job he was doing.
The major thought back over the months, picturing how Vic, one of his top men, seemed to naturally take charge of a situation and keep the younger enlistees in line. He had stopped fights before they raged out of hand, and comforted young men, boys really, who found themselves homesick for family in New York, or Florida, the West Coast, or wherever they had come from. He had watched Vic and the camp’s only enlistee of color, Floyd Grimes, become close friends, and had witnessed several instances of Vic taking up for his friend or setting things straight. The younger enlistees had soon learned the ropes and it hadn’t taken long before those things were in the past and Floyd was considered as what he was, a decent hardworking young man and valuable part of the team.
Sitting across the desk, Major Connors noticed how Vic unconsciously rubbed the scarred end of the finger that had been damaged in the accident, and he wondered if the digit still caused him pain. That had been a traumatic incident for them all, and one of the worst accidents anyone in his camp had suffered, as the major prided himself on running a camp with safety as its top priority.
The subject of suffering brought his mind back to how he had tried to comfort and advise Vic after the incident regarding the news from back home about his girl. The major truly cared for his ‘boys’ and strove to make sure their time in his camp was a good experience in every way. Seeing how the young man had grieved so brokenheartedly at the loss of his girl had weighed heavy on the major’s kind heart.
“I’ll miss it here,” Vic admitted with a sad smile. He had grown close to his commanding officer and felt about him much the same as he did about Doc; the men were very similar in age and temperament. That’s probably why we got on so well, he mused. Vic had a great amount of respect for the major, and the way he ran Beaver Ridge with a firm, but caring hand. For those, and many more reasons, Vic knew he would benefit the rest of his life from his experiences during those two years of his enlistment.
He was also thinking back on all of the times he had watched with admiration and respect as the major had dealt with one problem or another, such as early on when a seemingly inevitable argument had ensued regarding race and heritage.
“There’ll be none of that kind of talk in my camp,” the major had sternly ordered when he happened to overhear rather rude comments being banded about in the barracks. Vic happened to catch the incident as he was returning from the showers.
“But Major…sir…we shouldn’t have to share space with the likes of…” Gary, the enlistee that Vic had had trouble with on his first night, sneered.
The major had quickly raised a hand to silence the young man’s outburst, and then uttered quietly, “Enders, I have found over the years that when a person feels the way you seem to, it is because either he has been taught to think that way, or he is just ignorant of the fact that we are all human and all equal.” He then proceeded to assign teams for the following week, pairing Gary with Floyd and two other young men, who happened to be of Italian and Polish descent. He then dropped the teams off on survival missions to the far reaches of the camp’s acreage, with instructions to help each other survive. Taking no provisions, they had to rely on one another and make it as a unit. Each young man brought to the team his own expertise in various fields, and by the end of the week they had developed a respect for one another.
Although Beaver Ridge had been relatively free of trouble or dissention after that, the few times incidents had occurred, the Major had handled himself and t
he situation with the utmost professionalism and wisdom. All of the enlistees knew they were lucky to serve under such a man.
“What are your plans once you get to Evansville?” the major asked as he relaxed into his high-backed leather desk chair.
Vic pressed his lips together as he fought the heavy feeling he’d had for the last several weeks. To think…he had once envisioned going home to Louisville…seeing Louise again…picturing her running to him and throwing herself into his arms as he stepped off the bus. Now, he merely shrugged and emitted a soft sigh. “I don’t know yet, sir. Take one day at a time, I guess. Maybe see what jobs are there…maybe head out west…” He shrugged again and murmured, “I dunno.”
Major Connors nodded, pursing his lips thoughtfully, as he seemed to weigh his words. Finally, he offered gently, “Vic…I know that the plans you had when you first signed up have…fallen through. And…I know it seems like the future has practically no meaning…” he paused, holding back the words, ‘Without a certain young lady’. “However, none of us know why certain things happen in our lives…only the Good Lord knows. But…things have a way of working themselves out. Each of our lives is made up of a succession of seasons…seasons of happiness, seasons of trouble…seasons of plenty, and seasons of need. What makes or breaks a person is how they roll with the punches and go on, keeping a positive attitude through the bad times, looking for the silver lining in every cloud, and seeking out happiness where they find it. You never know…something good can be right around the corner.”
Vic’s lips moved into his customary half smile as he nodded, thinking that at this point in his life, his season of happiness seemed like it was always just out of his reach – and the ever illusive ‘corner’ was actually a revolving door with no end.
Nevertheless, he murmured respectfully, “Thank you, sir. I’ll remember that.”
The major gave a quick nod, satisfied that he had done his best to encourage his young friend, as he reached to open a file. From it, he extracted a piece of paper and leaned across the desk, handing it to Vic.
“I’ve taken the liberty of writing you a recommendation letter. Feel free to give my name and contact information to any prospective employers. I’ll be sure and sing your praises,” he added with a grin.
Vic smiled as he reached out to take the letter, quickly scanning the neatly typed missive. His grin grew larger as he read the glowing accolades the major had poured out. With a soft snicker, he switched his eyes back up to connect with his superior. “Thank you, sir. I hope I can live up to this.”
“I have confidence that you will,” the major laughed as he rose to his feet, extending his hand across the desk as Vic also stood. Passing the letter to his left hand, Vic stuck out his right and the two men grasped hands, eyes locked for a moment.
“You’re a good man, Victor Matthews. You’ve got skill, and talent, and the drive to make something of yourself. I wish you all the best,” the major murmured sincerely. “Drop me a line now and then and let me know how you’re doing.”
“I will, sir,” Vic replied, wishing at that moment that he could stay at the camp forever. He had felt needed and accepted there, and an important part of the team. Now, he was very much heading out into unknown territory. That was never a pleasant feeling, and one Vic particularly hated, as it always took him back to the many times in his past when he had been forced into a sudden and traumatic shift of circumstances.
On his way back to the barracks for the last time, to pick up his belongings and await his transport into town, he gazed around at the large encampment that had been his home for twenty-four months.
There stood the new mess hall they had built when the first one burned down – that had been a frightening night, and a miracle that the other structures had not burned as well. Images rose in his mind of being awakened in the middle of the night by yells of, “The mess hall’s on fire! Somebody man the pump! Get a bucket brigade going! You there, wet down that building there so it don’t catch fire too!” Within moments, every man in the camp had vaulted from their bunks and joined the fight to prevent a major catastrophe. Vic smirked with a soft snort as he remembered hearing later that the cause was found to have been a faulty strip of lights on the mess hall’s Christmas tree, which someone had carelessly left on. What a Christmas it would have been had the whole camp burned down – but thankfully they had received a Christmas miracle in the form of a heavy few minutes of snow and sleet, which helped to extinguish the fire.
As Vic passed the new fire tower…he thought about the day that past winter when a black dog had wandered into the camp and had immediately become his shadow. One of the fellows had even taken a picture of him with the animal, crouching together at the base of the tower with piles of snow all around. In a way, the dog, which Vic had named ‘Sparky’, had helped to fill at least a part of the void in his heart, and had helped him to emotionally survive the long snowy winter. Sparky had stayed until spring, and then just as he had appeared, one day he was gone, never to return.
The buildings, hills, trees, and surroundings were now so familiar to Vic. He had hiked nearly every inch of the acreage, and had spent quite a bit of his free time up at ‘his’ place. Thinking of it then, he ducked into the barracks to carefully stow the recommendation letter, and then headed off into the woods one last time.
As he came through the trees and the familiar vista spread out before him, he breathed in the cool, fresh air, filling his lungs one more time with the serenity the place emitted. Over the months, several of the other young men had stumbled upon the lookout, but between them, they had worked out sort of an unspoken agreement to share it and not encroach on one another’s space.
Lowering himself down, he allowed his legs to swing free over the side of the cliff, his eyes slowly panning across the landscape as he unconsciously committed every detail to memory…the hundreds of trees and bushes, just beginning to turn over into their fall colors…the sounds, a soothing combination of profound silence, and the soft musical sounds of nature with the gentle flow of the water 130 feet below…the clean, fresh scent of the rocks, trees, and open sky…the white fluffy clouds overhead, seeming as if they were barely moving…as if time itself slowed down to a relaxed pace up there on his cliff.
Thinking over the months, a funny thought came to mind as he allowed a soft chuckle, remembering the time he had deemed to take Floyd up to his special place – and his friend had balked and stepped back away from the edge, his eyes as big as saucers.
“No suh! I ain’t gettin’ neah that!” he had blustered from ten feet away.
Vic had laughed, motioning for him to come closer, but Floyd had steadfastly shaken his head, backing up another step. Vic had realized then that his friend suffered from a fear of heights. No big shame, lots of men felt the same way.
Floyd, who had assigned himself the job of watchdog and encourager after Vic had confided in him about his devastation over Louise, had never again tried to follow his pal when he would go off by himself to brood and think.
Floyd…Vic smiled fondly, missing his companion. Floyd’s two years had been up a week before, and they had said their goodbyes. In some ways, Floyd had become an even closer friend than Alec, and it had been a difficult parting. Exchanging addresses so they could keep in touch, Floyd had boarded the transport to town to catch a bus back to Alabama, leaving Vic to wonder if they would ever see one another again…
And then, thoughts of his lost love crept into his consciousness. Once again, he wished he could show her this magical place. He wondered what she was doing at that moment, and if she thought of him…once in a while… He wondered if she had found happiness with her…husband… That word was still enough to make him grit his teeth…
From the letters he had received from Alec and even from Irene, he was under the strong impression that Louise was decidedly unhappy, and not for the first time, he entertained thoughts of slipping into town and whisking her away. But, he knew that wouldn’t be right. Stil
l…Alec and Fleet had hinted that even Louise, herself, was leaning toward the possibility that she wouldn’t stay married to him ‘till death do them part’. Vic felt like a tethered racehorse and had to fight the urge to take the bus to Louisville instead of Evansville. Perhaps he could go with the pretense of visiting the gang…
Finally, knowing that he needed to get back so that he wouldn’t miss his bus, Vic sighed deeply as he climbed to his feet and took one last long look. He hoped he could one day come back…or at least find another place that would provide him with as much solace.
Turning, he began the trek down through the woods for the last time.
*
When the bus pulled into the terminal on Sycamore Street in Evansville, Vic gazed for a moment at the shiny new building. Built by the bus line in 1939, its pleasant blue color and Art Modern style, with the company’s image – racing greyhound dogs – gracing the top, gave the whole area a fresh, prosperous feel.
Smiling, Vic spotted his brother and sister-in-law standing off to one side. They waved when they saw him. Goldie had even made a sign that read, “Welcome Home Vic!”
Reaching up to grab his duffle bag – a newer, larger one issued by the C’s – he made his way off the bus.
“Hey there, stranger!” Al greeted as Vic reached them. Vic dropped his bag on the ground and shook his brother’s hand, and then hugged Goldie.
“Hey. Whew, I’m glad to get off and stretch my legs.”
“I bet,” Goldie responded, reaching up to smooth his close-cropped hair – regulation length for the CCC. “Where’s all your wavy locks, hmm?”
Vic chuckled and ran a hand back through his recent haircut. “On the barber floor,” he quipped with a dimpled grin.