“But he’s a German. Might grow up to fight your children one day.”
“Yeah, but right now he’s just an innocent kid—same as any kids I might have.”
“Maybe you don’t hate your enemy as much as you think you do.”
Reed felt a tug on his line and reeled in another fish.
“You’re doin’ all the catchin’,” Joe said. “I don’t think I’m gonna fish with you no more.”
Reed smiled at him. “You keep sharin’ your wisdom and I just might share my catfish with you.”
“I’m from Mississippi, Reed. You couldn’t shut me up if you tried.”
CHAPTER
seventeen
After weeks of working with Daisy, Reed was now adding exercises on his own. He had asked Dolly if he could install an overhead bar on the porch ceiling so he could do chin-ups. He was determined to get himself fit again—for what, he had no idea.
Holding on to the back of the porch rocker, he raised his bad knee up as much as he could. Not yet hip high but getting closer. He repeated the movement several times, pushing himself as hard as he could.
“You fixin’ to fire me?”
He looked up to see Daisy standing at the screen door. “Actually, I was gonna double your salary. What’s two times nothin’?”
Daisy laughed and came onto the porch. She had worn her bathing suit under her overalls and was carrying a towel she had brought from Ella’s. Reed had on a T-shirt with his swim trunks. He grabbed a towel from Si and Dolly’s bathroom and a pocketknife he kept on his nightstand.
“I’m goin’ swimmin’—what you got in mind?” Daisy asked, pointing to the knife.
“I know it sounds strange—prob’ly is strange—but I still like to know I could defend myself if I had to. You mind?”
“You can’t do much damage with a pocketknife.”
“You can if you know how.”
Daisy looked at the knife and then at Reed. She held out her hand. “I’ll put it in my pocket.”
He handed her the knife and they headed out, taking a rougher trail that led behind the skating rink. Reed wasn’t quite ready for the stares of all the swimmers at the lake.
Once they reached the slough, Daisy said, “We can wade in for a coupla yards, but then it drops off real quick.”
Reed pulled his T-shirt over his head just in time to see Daisy step out of her overalls, which he now realized were drastically oversized. She had a figure like a movie star and legs like a dancer. It was all he could do not to stare, and he had to wonder why she was hiding all that under baggy denim.
The two of them stepped into the water and waded toward the center. Daisy was right. The water deepened quickly. At first Reed was relying mostly on his arms, but as he began to relax and move his legs, he could easily tread water.
“Feels a lot better than walkin’, I’ll bet,” Daisy said.
“It does. Feels a lot looser. Lemme guess. You’ve tried this on horses.”
Daisy laughed. “No, I never took the horses swimmin’. C’mon. Let’s see if we can make it to that big rock by the bank over there.”
The two of them swam across the slough to a low, flat limestone outcropping where the creek emptied into it. They propped on the rock, lying on their stomachs and resting their heads on crossed arms like schoolkids at nap time, and let their legs dangle in the water.
Reed was tired but exhilarated. “Man, I love this place,” he said as he looked around.
“Never took to north Alabama?”
“No. It’s beautiful up there, but it just never felt like home to me.”
“You think you’ll stay here?”
“I want to. Gotta find a way to make a livin’ first.”
“What were you gonna do—to make a livin’, I mean—before the war?”
“I didn’t really wanna farm like Daddy. But I always liked workin’ on the machinery. Guess I thought I might be a mechanic.”
“Anna says you’ve got Jesse’s truck runnin’ like a top. How come you didn’t sign up for somethin’ like that in the Army?”
“I tried, but they needed medics. When I was in basic, I met several farm boys that ended up medics once the Army decided they might run outta real doctors—guess they figured if we knew how to tend to livestock, we were halfway to takin’ care o’ people . . .” Reed’s voice trailed off, and he felt The Dust Storm begin its awful swirl in his mind.
“Medic!” The bone-chilling screams and the blood and the smoke and the blasts and the sickening smells . . .
“Reed?”
“Medic!” A green lieutenant cowers behind a boulder. The captain who saved the whole unit yesterday collapses into the smoke from an explosion . . .
“Reed? Reed!” Daisy was shaking his shoulder as if she were trying to wake him from a bad dream.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
“No, I am. I took you back there with my stupid questions. I’m the one oughta be sorry.”
Reed laid his head back down and tried to relax.
The two of them were quiet for a while before he said, “I don’t think I’ll ever be normal again, Daisy.”
“When you figure out what normal looks like, be sure to let me know.”
“I call it The Dust Storm—that thing that takes over my mind when I let myself go back there. It feels like a thick, choking blanket that wants to wrap me so tight I can’t breathe. I don’t know how to free myself from it.”
They were quiet again before she said, “I got my own version o’ your Dust Storm, just so you know. Mine’s more like a black cloud that comes over me whenever I think about what I did to Charlie. Every time I start to feel a little bit happy, here it comes. But I guess that’s fair. I really ain’t got no right to be happy.”
“You wanna tell me why?”
“I sold it. I sold the farm Charlie died tryin’ to save—the farm I let him die tryin’ to save. I shoulda talked him outta goin’, no matter how bad he wanted to. I shoulda pitched a fit or begged and pleaded or somethin’. Instead I gave him my blessin’. And I swear it wasn’t for the Army pay. I woulda been perfectly happy to move offa that farm and get a job somewhere. But I still didn’t talk him outta goin’. It just seemed like it meant so much to him to go. And then after I got that telegram, I couldn’t stand the sight o’ those fields, knowin’ what they cost. So I sold ’em, and I’m usin’ the money to hide out here. You’re a war hero, Reed, and you’re spendin’ your time with a real coward.”
“You’re not a coward, Daisy. And you didn’t let Charlie die. Even if you coulda talked him outta signin’ up—which you prob’ly couldn’t—he woulda been drafted. It was just his time. I saw it over and over—one guy lives and the one standin’ a coupla feet away from him dies. Somewhere there’s a reason for that, but I got no idea what it is. And if you’d kept that land, what could you have done with it? Worked it all by yourself?”
“I guess not.”
“As for that war hero business—there ain’t no such thing. There’s just the ones that live and the ones that die. Why I came home and a lotta good men didn’t—good men with wives and children dependin’ on ’em—that’s somethin’ I’ll still be tryin’ to figure out when my time comes.”
They stopped talking for a while and let the cool water and the warm breeze chase their demons away. Morning sunlight was filtering through the trees and striking the side of Daisy’s face. Reed was wishing he could draw as well as she did because her face in the sunlight would’ve made a beautiful picture.
She caught him staring at her. “What are you thinkin’ about?”
“Why do women always ask that?”
“Because we’re hopin’ one day we’ll get a straight answer.”
Reed smiled at her. “I was thinkin’ I sure hope you don’t make me race you back to the bank.”
Daisy laughed. “You’re lyin’. But no, I won’t make you race. Let’s dry off and see if Dolly’ll feed us.”
CHAPTER
eighte
en
“Mornin’, Miss Lillian.” Reed climbed the steps to her porch and sat down in the rocker next to her. “I brought you a little somethin’.” He set the Mason jar of flowers on the little table next to her.
Lillian closed her eyes and took a deep breath, then smiled and clapped her hands together. “Honeysuckle!” she said.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“How on earth did you remember?”
“To tell the truth, I had forgotten how we used to clip it, but the minute I walked past some honeysuckle bloomin’ in the hedgerow at Dolly’s, I remembered.”
“You were an exceptional child, so patient and kind with an old blind woman like me. And you were a very good guide. We used to roam all over this loop together, clipping honeysuckle and picking blackberries by the road.”
“I think maybe you and Dolly were the exceptional ones—puttin’ up with a worrisome kid underfoot.”
“You were never worrisome, Reed. I regret I cannot say the same for some of the girls in our community.”
They laughed together about the rowdy loop girls.
“Tell me what has become of the young woman you met on the Tanyard when you first got back,” Lillian said.
“You mean the young woman you sent me to find on the creek?”
“I have no idea what you might be speaking of.” She was smiling. “How would I have known she was there?”
“Now, that’s a very interesting question.”
Lillian laughed. “Just an old woman’s intuition.”
“She’s fine. And she’s been a big help to me. Mighty good comp’ny too.”
“Hmm. Well, how about that?”
“Miss Lillian, I’ve been tryin’ to remember everything you told me about Catherine and Andre when I was little.”
“The river pirate and his bride? What on earth for?”
“I’m not really sure. I remember playin’ pirate in Dolly’s attic. She made me a sword from a broom handle and rigged me up a treasure chest. But there’s somethin’ I’m forgettin’. Somethin’ you told me. I can see us sittin’ on your porch together. I had my pirate sword, and I had brought you somethin’ from my treasure chest at Dolly’s.”
Lillian smiled. “Yes, your treasure went back and forth between my house and hers many times. You would bring me a silver candy tray or a rhinestone brooch, and I would send it home by Si the next time he stopped by to look in on me.”
“But there was somethin’ you told me. Somethin’ I think was important.”
Lillian nodded. “I told you that once Andre had captured all the gold and silver he could ever need or want, he realized he was lacking the one thing of any lasting value. Do you remember what that was, Reed?”
He looked at her and thought about it. “He didn’t have anybody to share it with. He didn’t have anybody to love.”
Lillian reached over and took him by the hand. “Welcome home, young Reed.”
CHAPTER
nineteen
“Breathe in . . . and out . . . In . . . and out . . . Good. Whatever you’re doing, son, keep it up.”
Dolly had suggested that Reed see the town doctor so he’d have somebody close by to check on his progress. He had just finished his first exam with Dr. Sesser.
“I’m quite frankly amazed by what you’ve accomplished in just a month or so, given the prognosis in your Army records,” Dr. Sesser said. “You must be pushing yourself mighty hard.”
“I had help,” Reed said. “A friend worked with me on the exercises that the Birmingham doctors gave me. Now I can do ’em on my own, so I pretty much work my knee all day long, off and on.”
“Well, it shows. Are you familiar with Oleander Springs?”
“No, sir, never heard of it.”
“Back in the twenties, a fellow was prospecting for oil way down in the southeast corner of the state, but he hit a hot spring instead. There’s a resort down there, so you’d have a place to stay. I’m not saying I believe in any healing magic from those springs, but I do think the heat and minerals in the water would be good for your leg if you were to go down there for a few days now and again.”
“Thank you. I’ll keep that in mind.”
“You ever think of going into medicine, now that you’ve got all that training from the Army? I’m not getting any younger.”
Reed shook his head as he stepped down from the examination table. “No offense to you, sir, but I think that might be the last thing I’d wanna do.”
The doctor smiled. “I said the same thing when I came home from the trenches. Give yourself time. You’ll find it’s hard to put down that red cross once you take it up.”
Another Sunday morning rolled around. Reed found that he was marking time by Sundays—those especially difficult days he had to make it through before he could begin another week of working toward normal, whatever that was. After the others left for church, he decided to walk across the road to the lake—no cane required, thanks to Daisy, though he still had a slight limp. He took a seat in one of the Adirondacks on the porch of the skating rink.
The whole place was deserted now—Dolly’s rule on Sunday—so he could enjoy the quiet. It was still fairly cool in the morning sun, and a breeze was blowing ripples across the lake. Dolly and her boarders were likely settling into their Sunday school lessons right about now—offering envelopes collected, prayer requests shared, “now turn in your Bibles to the fifteenth chapter of John . . .”
What was so threatening about that? Why could he not bring himself to set foot in church when he had gone every Sunday of his life before the war? Deep down, he knew the answer.
It was the soul-bearing enthusiasm of the Baptist church that Reed couldn’t handle right now—the conviction that all wounds can be healed once they’re laid bare. His wounds wanted salving, not exposure. The well-meaning faithful who would urge his confession would run screaming in horror if they actually heard it. And so he told only God—the same God whose church he couldn’t bring himself to approach.
When Reed was home, his mother had pressured him into going to Sunday services with the family as soon as he got back. She thought it would do him good. Instead, it had sent him into a tailspin. Hearing all those hymns he had grown up with—songs of love and grace and forgiveness—set against his visions of dead soldiers piled on top of each other like old toys nobody wanted to play with anymore . . . it was just too much. He had not lost his faith, but he had lost the ability to cope with the powerful emotions it stirred. Church seemed to demand that he contain but not extinguish the fires it stoked. Reed just wasn’t up to it.
Dolly understood, and she never said a word to him about church attendance. She just made sure he had a Bible with a bookmarker on his nightstand. Every time she cleaned his room, she would move the marker to a new passage she thought might be of help. There was something comforting about watching that bookmarker move around without any pressure to do anything about it. He did, though. He read every one of Dolly’s chosen Scriptures, placing his dog tags on top of the bookmarker each time to let her know he appreciated her efforts. It was a silent and private devotional they shared.
“You sinnin’ today too?”
He was surprised to see Daisy coming out of the woods and onto the porch. “’Fraid so. Why’d you skip?”
She took a seat in the chair next to Reed and laid her sketchpad on the porch. “Haven’t been since Charlie’s funeral. I tried, but I’d always end up cryin’ and slippin’ out the back. Somethin’ about those hymns—they make too much stuff bubble up. What’s your excuse?”
“Same as yours.”
They sat in silence for a little while, looking out at the water and listening to two doves calling from somewhere in the woods.
“Sundays are strange,” Daisy finally said. “They’re like a test I know I can’t pass. Soon as Friday rolls around, I start to wonder if this’ll be the week I go back to church. And the more I think about it, the more knots I get in my stomach. I start seein’ myself si
ttin’ in that pew and singin’ those songs like we used to. And then I see myself goin’ all to pieces right there in front o’ everybody, and I know I can’t do it. Once I give up on goin’, I feel a lot better. Part o’ me dreads Sunday, and part o’ me looks forward to lettin’ go o’ those knots.”
“Sure you didn’t serve with the 34th?”
Daisy smiled. “Pretty sure I’d remember that. You keep in touch with anybody over there?”
Reed shook his head. “You keep in touch with anybody in Mississippi?”
“My brother Mack’s in the Navy. I write to him every week. And then once a month, I force myself to write Mama a letter.”
“What’s Mama like?”
Daisy shuddered. “A bulldozer in high heels.”
“I think I know her.”
“Would you believe she had all the church ladies bringin’ their bachelor sons to my house less than a month after Charlie’s funeral? Like I wanted to date. And even if I had, all the boys my age are overseas. Some o’ these fellas looked like they had one foot in the grave and the other on a banana peel.”
Both of them laughed at the image of Daisy’s geriatric suitors.
“Is that why you came back to Alabama instead of stayin’ in Mississippi?”
“That and a lotta other things. Charlie and me grew up together. Everywhere I’ve been, he’s been—except here. Had to get away from my ghosts.”
“Mine seem to have followed me.”
“Is it bad?”
“Sometimes.”
“You wanna talk about it?”
Reed looked at Daisy. “People are always tellin’ me they know how hard it musta been, seein’ all that death over there. But it’s not all the death—it’s the one. That one guy whose expression is etched on your brain, lookin’ at you the way somebody looks at you when they know you’re the last thing they’re ever gonna see.”
Again they were quiet, letting themselves be part of the stillness of a Sunday morning when the whole town was someplace else. Stillness was one of the many qualities Reed had come to appreciate in Daisy. She didn’t feel the need to do or say something just to fill the empty spaces.
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