Backlands

by Michael McGarrity

  Much to Matt’s amazement, Patrick willingly obliged the little girl. Patrick further confounded Matt by showing uncharacteristically good humor in Anna Lynn’s company, telling her stories about the ranch and the old days. One afternoon, Patrick took Anna Lynn and Ginny to the family cemetery on the hill, where he told them about the people buried there and CJ lying with his fallen comrades in France. Anna Lynn impulsively hugged him when he finished, and Patrick didn’t even flinch.

  On the drive home to Mountain Park, Anna Lynn thought how perfect it would be if she and Matt could visit back and forth at the ranch or the farm whenever they wished. As she watched Matt drive away, the memory of their lovemaking every night at the ranch gave her a little shiver. More of that was certainly in order.

  Matt returned from carrying Anna Lynn and Ginny home to find Pa outside the barn waiting for him.

  “That woman and her little girl are real good medicine for you,” Patrick said.

  “But not for you?” Matt asked with a laugh.

  “Both of us, I reckon,” Patrick admitted. “She reminds me of Emma in a way.”

  “You think so?”

  “I do. A touch more tame, I reckon. Or less tame; I’m not sure which.”

  Matt waited for more elaboration, but Pa fell silent and clomped into the barn, pitchfork in hand.

  ***

  Anna Lynn and Ginny returned to the 7-Bar-K four more times in the spring and summer of 1941. Matt made an equal number of visits to Anna Lynn’s farm, staying over on long weekends.

  The addition of Al Jr. and Brenda to the ranch didn’t cause a problem. Matt just moved Anna Lynn into his old bedroom in the ranch house and set up Ginny’s bed in the living room right outside the bedroom door.

  If Al Jr. and Brenda thought Matt and Anna Lynn’s affair was scandalous, they didn’t say a word about it or show any disapproval. Brenda clearly enjoyed Anna Lynn’s company, and Al Jr. treated her like a lady. Ginny never wanted to leave the ranch or Patrick, who spoiled her like she was his granddaughter. He was teaching her to ride on Stony with her very own saddle, which he’d given her as a present.

  After fall works and another successful pony auction, Matt and Anna Lynn had more time together. They trekked to the high-country cabin or burrowed in at the farm, where they spent blissful days forgetting half the world was at war.

  On Sunday, December 7, they were at the farm listening to music on the radio when an announcer interrupted to report that the Japanese had attacked Pearl Harbor in Hawaii. The news sucked the breath right out of them.

  “You’re going to war; I just know it,” she said, clutching his hand across the kitchen table.

  Matt nodded grimly as he turned off the radio.

  “When?” Anna Lynn asked.

  “I don’t know. But I’m not all that eager to get shot at.”

  “Why go at all if you don’t have to?”

  “I’m not quite clear about it in my own mind,” Matt said. “It has to do with not embarrassing myself and standing up for my country. I’ve never been wildly patriotic, but I wouldn’t want to live anywhere else.”

  Anna Lynn shook her head. “Men.”

  Matt smiled. “When I do go, you’ve got to promise not to wait for me.”

  Anna Lynn’s eyes widened. “Why did you say that?” she demanded.

  “Because I don’t want to get a Dear John letter while I’m gone.”

  Anna Lynn slipped out of her chair and into his lap. “I’ve always favored a man in uniform,” she said gaily. “I may not throw you over.”

  “It’s your nature; you told me so.”

  Anna Lynn shook her head. “We don’t have to talk about something that hasn’t happened—might never happen—do we?”

  Matt smiled and squeezed her close. “It’s okay by me to change the subject. Let’s be happy while we can.”

  “I like that idea,” Anna Lynn said, wondering how long happiness could last for anybody with the world at war.

  ***

  Nineteen forty-two began with bad news from the war on the front page of every Sunday edition of the Albuquerque newspaper. The Allies fighting Field Marshal Rommel in North Africa were getting mauled. Singapore fell, and the British forces there surrendered to the Japanese. In the North Atlantic, German U-boats were torpedoing massive amounts of shipping bound for Great Britain. Washington imposed mandatory nighttime blackouts along portions of the Eastern Seaboard. In the Mediterranean, a British fleet got stung by the German Nazis and Italian Fascists. After Singapore, the Japs took Burma, Mandalay, and Rangoon, rolling up tens of thousands of Allied soldiers as prisoners of war, massacring countless civilians, and leveling cities, towns, and villages along the way.

  The hardest blow to bear in New Mexico was the surrender of Bataan and Corregidor in the Philippines in April and May. The 200th Coast Artillery Regiment, which counted hundreds of New Mexico boys in its ranks, had trained at Fort Bliss and shipped overseas less than three months before Pearl Harbor. Many were reported killed, missing in action, or taken prisoner.

  Soon after, the Albuquerque paper published a list of the men killed in action; it included Lieutenant James Hurley, Ginny’s father, who had been awarded the Purple Heart posthumously. A photograph showed Hurley’s grieving widow and his three children receiving the decoration from an army officer. The accompanying article reported that Mrs. Hurley would receive a widow’s pension and monthly benefits for her children totaling eighty-five dollars, as well as the monthly proceeds from a ten-thousand-dollar life insurance policy.

  Ginny, born out of wedlock, unrecognized by both her father and the government, got nothing. Matt thought it unfair, but Anna Lynn was unperturbed. She’d always expected to raise Ginny on her own, without help from anybody.

  Good news from the front came in June with a decisive American naval victory over the Japanese at the Battle of Midway. But it wasn’t enough to lift a persistent gloom created by a war now encircling the globe.

  Through all this the 7-Bar-K thrived. The War Department bought cattle, and the army wanted replacement ponies. Rains had come in record amounts, greening up the pasturelands. Matt bought cattle to fatten for market and sold all the ponies except his breeding stock. He took a close look at his land after fall works. With good browse for another year, he immediately started replenishing his stock. Agricultural commodities were exempted under the new price-stabilization law, and when shortages and rationing began, the price of beef would go even higher.

  In October 1942, Matt sat down and wrote out a plan for the 7-Bar-K of what he hoped to accomplish over the next few years. Indoor plumbing, a bathroom, and electricity were at the top of the list. He wanted several ranch roads built to handle truck traffic and two good work trucks to get around on the spread more quickly. If the money was there, a garage with automotive tools and spare parts and a gasoline storage tank to fuel his trucks would give him greater independence. Last on his list was the luxury of a new hay barn.

  Not knowing exactly what the next few years would bring, he wasn’t sure that much of his wish list was realistic. He sat down with Patrick and Al Jr. for a confab and went over the plan with them. Al Jr. suggested replacing some old stock tanks and Pa argued that some new fencing was needed.

  Matt added the items, handed the list to Al Jr., and said, “That’s a hefty list. See what you can get done.”

  Al Jr. looked sharply at Matt. “You’re gonna enlist, aren’t you?”

  “Yep, after the holidays.”

  “Damn fool,” Patrick grumbled. “Does Anna Lynn know?”

  “She will this weekend. I’m going to ask her and Ginny to spend Christmas and New Year’s at the ranch. We’ll get a Christmas tree up, put a roast in the oven, have some presents under the tree, and make the old homestead look festive. In fact, I’d like to have a real shindig and invite our neighbors over to celebrate the Ne
w Year.”

  “Sounds like you’re throwing a good-bye party for yourself,” Patrick groused.

  “And why not?” Matt countered with a smile.

  Patrick grinned. “I ain’t opposed to it, really.”

  “Brenda will love it!” Al Jr. said, pushing back from the table.

  Matt stood. “If there’s no other business, the meeting is adjourned.”

  ***

  On Saturday night at the farmhouse, after Ginny was tucked in and asleep, Matt told Anna Lynn of his decision to enlist in the New Year. She fell silent and got busy tidying up the kitchen. When she finished and returned to the parlor, she sat quietly in her favorite chair and began reading, her spectacles perched on her nose.

  “Aren’t you going to say anything?” Matt asked in frustration from the davenport.

  Anna Lynn looked over the rims of her glasses at him. “What for? Your mind is made up, isn’t it? What branch of the service have you chosen?”

  “The army. I’m not much of a swimmer. I’ve been thinking you should marry me.”

  She took off her glasses and stared at him. “If I didn’t care so much about you, I’d ask you to leave my house right now.”

  “Hear me out. I figure we get married and I claim Ginny as my own. If I don’t come back, you get a pension and a little bit of extra money for her.”

  Anna Lynn’s stare turned into a glare. “Absolutely not. I will not profit from your death. I’d feel responsible if something happened to you. It’s a terrible idea.”

  “It wouldn’t be your fault.”

  She shook her head. “I know what you offered comes from the heart, but I never want to discuss this with you again.”

  Defeated, Matt rubbed his chin and looked away. Finally he said, “Okay, how about spending Christmas and New Year’s at the ranch? We’ll do the whole shebang: a Christmas tree, presents, a big roast in the oven, and a holiday shindig with friends and neighbors. We can celebrate the good fortune and good times we’ve had together.”

  Anna Lynn’s glare melted. She rose and joined him on the davenport. “That’s a wonderful idea. How can a man as sweet as you want to go to war?”

  Matt shrugged. “I’ve tried to talk myself out of enlisting. So has Pa, who got shot pretty bad in Cuba.”

  Anna Lynn sighed. “I suppose there is no easy answer.” She reached for his hand. “Take me for a moonlight walk. We’ll bundle up, look at the stars, and pretend the world is at peace.”

  They strolled past the corral and up the canyon. On the basin below, the lights of Alamogordo, a short distance away, winked in the night. To the west of the town, they could see the lights of the new Alamogordo Army Air Field, soon to become operational, with aprons, runways, taxiways, and hangers already built.

  Although they didn’t speak of it, both knew that when the army planes started flying, the reality of the war, no matter how far away it was for now, would change the Tularosa forever.

  39

  In January 1943, Matt enlisted and was promptly sent for basic training at Camp Hood, a new army base in central Texas, outside of Killeen and south of Waco. At thirty, he was the oldest member of his basic training company. Soon everyone started calling him Pops, and the moniker stuck.

  There were tens of thousands of soldiers in basic training at the camp, but it wasn’t much different from the CCC camps, just put together on a much grander scale. His training unit was one of dozens with barracks, a company HQ, rec halls, and mess halls arranged in the same layout as the Forest Service camps he’d inspected for Hubert Roddy.

  At first, he worried he might not hold his own with all the young bucks. But by his second week it was clear that many of the guys were having trouble keeping up with him. Used to getting up before dawn and working long past sunset, he was in better shape than most of the eighteen- and nineteen-year-olds. In physical training he lagged only in the runs, although he managed to stay in the middle of the pack. As the days passed, he picked up speed and stamina and started closing in on the front-runners.

  At the start of third week of basic, Matt was ordered to report to the first sergeant. His platoon leader had recommended him to be an acting squad leader. He was given an armband with two stripes to wear to show his acting rank. As soon as he got back to the barracks, he got razzed for being an apple-polisher.

  It was winter in Texas, but it felt more like a hot, steamy spring, with temperatures hitting the low eighties. The days were mostly humid, and Matt didn’t enjoy the mugginess. It sucked the energy out of him.

  While it was greener than home, with more trees in the lowlands, the absence of mountains seemed unnatural to his eye. The creek bottoms were pretty and the grass more lush, but the land didn’t grab Matt’s attention like the Tularosa did.

  The camp had a newspaper, The Hood Panther, and one issue featured a story about how the camp of more than two hundred thousand acres had been created almost overnight by moving more than three hundred families off their land and demolishing the small towns of Clear Creek, Elijah, and Antelope. Although the article trumpeted the willing war sacrifices made by the displaced farm and ranch families, Matt figured there had to be another side to the story. He didn’t think folks whose families had been on the land since the days of the Texas Republic were overjoyed to give up all they’d worked for over the years. He wondered if any of them had dug in their heels and tried to stay put. Knowing country folk, he didn’t doubt it.

  On the rifle range, Matt qualified as expert with the M-1 rifle, the carbine, and the .45 semiautomatic. A few other country boys who’d grown up squirrel hunting did the same, but all together they formed a small, elite group of five men in the entire company. Even with the temporary rank of acting squad leader, Matt wasn’t immune to KP, a duty universally hated by all, but he pulled it without complaint, as he did guard and latrine duty.

  Three days before graduation and a day after the company completed a twenty-mile forced march with a full pack, weapons, and gear, Matt was ordered to the company HQ. He dragged his weary, sore feet into the XO’s office, snapped to attention, and saluted.

  Lieutenant Fultz consulted the papers on his desk. “Private Kerney, you have one year of college and speak fluent Spanish. Is that correct?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “You’ve been selected for admission to the Army Specialized Training Program.”

  “I never heard of it, sir,” Matt said.

  “Now you have. You get to go to school courtesy of the army,” Lieutenant Fultz said with a slight sneer. “I’ve been told it’s easy duty, Private.”

  “What kind of school is it, sir?” Matt asked.

  The lieutenant paged through the paperwork in front of him. “You’re going to learn Italian at a college in Massachusetts, Amherst.”

  “Why Italian, sir?”

  Fultz stared at Matthew. “Because that’s what the army wants you to do, Private. Your orders come with a priority flag, which means somebody somewhere thinks this is important. Because you’re already fluent in Spanish, you’ll be in an advanced, accelerated class. There’s a booklet in your orders that describes the program.”

  “Can I turn these orders down, sir?” Matt asked. “I’d like to stay with the outfit.”

  “No, you cannot.” Fultz handed Matt the paperwork. “You are ordered to report to your new detachment immediately. Your travel orders are inside. You don’t get any leave to go home. But buck up. I’ve been told if you finish the program, you’ll be in line for a commission. You just might get to sit out the war at some stateside desk job.”

  “I didn’t enlist for this, sir,” Matt said.

  “I don’t like it myself,” Fultz replied. “You’ve the makings of a good noncom.”

  Matt scanned his travel orders. “Excuse me, sir, these order show my rank as private first class.”

  Fultz grinned. “You’ve been
promoted by the CO for finishing basic at the top of your class.” He shook Matt’s hand. “Congratulations, Pops. Get those stripes sewn on your uniform before you clear the post.”

  “Yes, sir,” Matt said, executing a perfect hand salute.

  Matt took his promotion orders to the PX, bought stripes for his uniforms, returned to the empty barracks, and started sewing. By the time the platoon returned from a tactical field exercise on the obstacle course, Matt was packed, in uniform, and ready to go. His squad gathered around and cheered him out the door, while across the quadrangle, the company commander; the XO, Lieutenant Fultz; and the first sergeant stood outside the company HQ watching. Matt stopped, saluted, and moved out smartly to the camp personnel hut, wondering what he would find at Amherst College in Amherst, Massachusetts.

  ***

  Matt sat in his college dormitory room at the small study desk beneath a window that looked out on a campus covered in a thick blanket of snow. Located on a hill, the college was postcard pretty. From his room he could see Pratt Quad, with a view of the statue of one of the college’s founders, Noah Webster. It was a blustery late afternoon, with only a few students crossing the quad in a hurry to get out of the cold.

  After the barracks at Camp Hood, Matt’s dorm room was pure luxury. He shared it with one roommate, and it was warm and cozy as opposed to cold and drafty. And the showers down the hall had both hot and cold water.

  He was three weeks into the program, grinding away twelve hours a day with classes and homework, his head filled with a jumble of Italian conjugations, pronouns, adjectives, and common phrases. The work was so demanding, three students had already failed to make the cut and been sent off for advanced infantry training.

  He closed his book, rubbed his eyes, and reached for paper and pen. He’d written Anna Lynn only once since leaving home, a short letter from Camp Hood telling her where he was and that he was all right. She’d not written back. He wondered if she might have already moved on to someone else.