Edited by Denise Barker
Remeon’s Destiny
Copyright © 2018 J.W. Garrett
All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without prior written permission of the publisher.
This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Published by H2O
an imprint of BHC Press
Library of Congress Control Number:
2018930085
Print edition ISBN:
978-1-947727-30-4
Visit the publisher at:
www.bhcpress.com
Also available in trade softcover
Dedicated to the memory of “S.T.”
whose spirit lives between these pages
Know that you have been the last dream of my soul.
— Charles Dickens, A Tale of Two Cities
DAMN STUPID OLD-FASHIONED rules were meant to be broken. It’s 1947, for God’s sake, Thomas Stewart thought, as he slid open the barn door with a grating squeak. Momentarily blinded by the darkness, he gave his eyes a few minutes to adjust.
Bessie let out a somber moo, objecting to the intrusion.
He moved quickly to her side to quiet and comfort her, whispering, “It’s okay, girl. I’m not here to bother you just yet.”
Shep rose from his blanket nestled in the straw and bounded toward Thomas, barking a hello.
“No, no, no. It’s not time to play,” Thomas said, reaching down to pet his dog, his eyes now accustomed to the low light. He heard the rhythmic back and forth thud of Shep’s tail wagging against the barn floor, and squatted to give him more attention, scratching behind each ear. “Listen up. Stay… I can’t have you barking and carrying on. Pa will know something is up for sure.”
Thomas made his way to the back of the barn, focusing on his target just ahead. He and Pa had finished tweaking the transmission a few days ago. The used 1942 Harley had been calling to Thomas ever since. He smiled as he thought of the freedom he would feel when he hit the road, just a few minutes away. Thomas moved in closer, grasping the handlebars and releasing the kickstand as he made his way to the door, Shep following closely. “Stay, boy, stay.”
Thomas led the motorbike down the long hill to the road. A short walk later, the family farm no longer in his sight, he prepared to kick-start the bike. He bent down, opened the choke and turned the key. He mounted then, kicked down hard on the starter, pressed in the clutch, and popped the gear into second. As he gave it some throttle, the engine sputtered, then came to life, announcing itself with a low rumble. The Harley felt powerful underneath him, and he smiled with satisfaction. This was heaven.
Under the light of the half moon, in the rural Virginia town, he rode through the cool early morning air—very early in the morning—as it slapped his face and blew his hair, invigorating him. He breathed evenly now, releasing his pent-up tension as he escaped the farm, leaving behind his strict parents and his landlocked life, and followed along the dirt-filled path to the meeting place.
As he neared his destination, he slowed, pressed in the clutch, and downshifted, gliding to a stop. “Joe, where are you?”
“I’m here. Stop your bellowing,” Joe said, emerging from the trees. He took a long drag from the cigarette hanging from his lips, then continued. “You trying to wake the dead or just your ma and pa? They can probably hear you, ya know?” he said, laughing, as he threw Thomas the box of Camels.
“Aw, shut up,” Thomas said, giving his friend a shove.
“Now, now, you asked, and I delivered. Watch out. Be careful of the merchandise,” Joe said, revealing a brown paper sack, offering it to Thomas.
“That’s what I’m talking about.” Thomas reached in, pulling out a Budweiser. He grabbed his pocketknife from his pants and popped off the bottle top, then slid in beside his friend. “You got a light?”
“Sure.”
“Looks like I’ve got some catching up to do,” Thomas said, as he noticed the empty slots of the six-pack. He cupped his hands and lit his cigarette, drew deeply, then exhaled slowly.
“We’ve got backup supplies, waiting in the wings,” Joe said, patting another bag. “Plenty left to get you toasted.”
Thomas gulped down several large swallows, then burped loudly. “Hey, how’s your money supply? You still saving for our adventure?”
“Some,” Joe said, taking another long swig. “Things are tight.”
“I know they are. My parents are always pinching pennies. Damn Depression. It really messed them up. But why do we need to keep hearing about it? It’s 1947. It’s over. It’s been over for like eight years now. But I’m still hearing, Things were different when we were young. Blah, blah.”
“Same here, except I have even less saved than you. How much do you have? C’mon, tell me. I know it’s more than me.”
“Um, close to thirty-five dollars. Not really enough to last us for long without jobs, which we don’t even have yet,” he said, polishing off his first beer. Thomas stood up and pointed at a tree. “Look there, Joe. That one up ahead about forty yards. You think I can hit it?”
“Well, I know I can’t,” he said, slurring his words.
Thomas did a mock windup and pitched the bottle hard, smashing it to bits. “And the crowd goes wild,” he said, prancing in circle.
“Ooh, aah,” Joe said in mock amazement. “Sit down, stupid, and have another beer. You’ll miss the next shot.”
As Thomas opened his second beer, he paused. “Are you still with me? We’re leaving town together, remember?”
“Sure, ugly. Always, together forever,” Joe said, laughing.
“Hey, serious up. I mean it. I’m leaving soon, even if I have to walk outta this boring lifeless town.” Thomas downed several long gulps of his beer, as silence fell over the pair. He took a final drag of his cigarette and stomped it out with his foot.
“Thomas, man, you know my parents lost everything during the Depression. They’re scared, and they’ll be scared ’til the day they die. Hell, they’re practically dead already. And I’m scared shitless that I’m gonna follow in their footsteps. Oh, and I’ve got about five bucks to my name and beer for brains.”
“Next thing you know, you’re gonna get all weepy on me. For real, I’ve got your back. Now, after I take a piss, I’m gonna need another. Can you handle that?”
“I’ll see what I can do to accom, accom, accom…mo…date.”
“But first another shot.” Thomas stood and grabbed his empty bottle, paused and took aim, and let the bottle fly. “The second in a row, yes! This boy is hot tonight,” he said, moving to the perimeter and unzipping his fly. “Aah.”
“Not so fast, Thomas. Look. We got company. Now, shhh.”
Thomas turned, then fell to the ground as he saw flashing red lights. “Where did he come from? Shit.”
“What? Now I’m the calm one?” Joe asked. “I can barely stand, much less take a piss—well, maybe piss on myself.”
“Shut up! If they find us, I’m dead meat. Why is he driving so slow?”
“He heard you, Jackie Robinson, hitting those trees. Now can you run as fast as Robinson too?”
“Run? I can’t run home and leave the bike. You are wasted.”
“Shhh, here he comes again. He’s making another pass,” Joe said, whispering.
“That’s it. I won’t be cornered like an animal. I can outrun him. I can.”
“Don’t be dumb. Just hush up and hide i
n the woods, wait him out, like I’m gonna do.”
“No way! Look. He’s parking. It’s gonna be light in a couple hours, and I need to be home well before that. My parents care if I come home at night.”
“Eat shit and die, man.”
“I’m getting my bike. I’ll walk it out, hugging close to the brush. Then, down the road a bit, I’ll start her up.”
“Don’t say I didn’t warn ya. I’m heading for cover and taking a nap.” Joe moved toward the woods as Thomas reached his bike. “See ya tomorrow.”
“Yeah, assuming my pa doesn’t skin me,” Thomas replied. He walked the bike as slowly as his nerves let him, peering back at every shuffle of rock, just to be sure the police car was still stationary. “That’s gotta be about half a mile,” he said out loud softly, turning this time to gauge the distance. “It’s about an hour ’til sunup. I can’t waste any more time walking.”
Thomas mounted the bike and pushed down hard on the starter. From behind he heard the shrill sound of sirens, and his stomach fell. “I can’t let them catch me,” he said, engaging the clutch. He pushed into second gear and let out the throttle, careening through the rock and dirt as his tires found the road.
He knew the police car was following him. He still heard the sirens, but he didn’t dare look back. “It’s gonna be the long way home,” he said, as he veered off road, putting his foot down to keep his balance as he skidded toward the forest dirt path he knew so well. The trees and underbrush made the bike trek difficult, but soon Thomas couldn’t hear the sirens any longer. Just short of the estimated hour travel time, he saw his family’s barn in the distance. He exhaled a deep sigh of relief, cut the engine, and dismounted the bike, while he looked at the sky, then back to the house. Pa will be up soon and wondering where I am, he thought. And I better be busy milking Bessie.
THOMAS STOWED THE bike, careful to park it in the back of the barn at the exact same angle as before. He ran his hand along the smooth olive-colored body of the Harley, pulling trapped twigs and leaves from his ride. Outside, he heard the familiar sound of the back door opening and slamming shut.
“Son?”
Thomas felt his heart beat in his throat as he moved into high gear. Beads of sweat broke out on his forehead, even though he had already cooled down from his recent escapades. He grabbed the milking stool and pail, and parked them next to Bessie, realizing he only had seconds to come up with a reasonable explanation for being here with an empty pail. Grateful that he had thought to change his clothes before going out, he noticed a large tear in his pants leg as he pulled the stool over, swung his legs around, and sat down. Barking and a muted conversation, coupled with the heavy thud of Pa’s boots crunching as they hit the ground, meant he was approaching the door. Shep must have gotten out, Thomas thought. A few seconds later, he was face-to-face with his pa.
“Thomas? Why didn’t you answer me?”
“Hi, Pa. I didn’t hear you, sorry. I couldn’t sleep, so I thought I’d come on out and get started.”
“Couldn’t sleep? You’re never early for chores.” He looked down at the empty bucket. “Doesn’t look like you’ve got much done. How long have you been out here? I’ve been awake in the house for a while, and I didn’t hear you come out.”
Thomas met his father’s eyes and realized his pa didn’t know, not yet anyway. At this point Pa was just confused. He wanted a reasonable explanation. After all, Thomas wasn’t ever early.
Then he felt a bulge in his back pocket and remembered what he had stowed there and suppressed a grin. As he stood, he reached around and pulled out his Buck Rogers comic book he had been reading before his ride and handed it to his father. Kicking intently at the straw around his feet, he continued. “I came out here a few hours ago to read since I couldn’t sleep.” Glancing up, Thomas waited for the moment of truth, gauging his pa’s reaction.
“Silly. What a waste of time.”
Relieved, Thomas exhaled, not realizing he had been holding his breath. “It relaxes me.”
“You could read lots of real books…books that might further your education, books where you might actually learn something,” he said pointedly, returning the comic book with a look of disgust.
Before Thomas could respond, he watched as his pa wrinkled his nose and turned to the side.
“What’s that smell? Is it gas?”
Thomas froze, unsure how to deflect his pa’s latest revelation. “I don’t smell anything,” Thomas added, watching as his pa moved to the back of the barn toward the bike. No, no, no. Don’t touch the bike. The engine might still be warm, Thomas thought. No…
“Did we somehow spill gas the other day, while we were working on the transmission?”
“Yes, that’s it. We did,” he answered a little too energetically, surprising his father, who turned around. Thomas felt his legs go weak and reached out to Bessie to steady himself.
“What’s wrong, son?”
“Just tired, I guess. I should have been in my bed sleeping last night,” he said, being totally honest for the moment.
“That’s true, but you’re not getting out of chores that easy. And what’s that you have on? Torn pants and a T-shirt? No jacket? You came out here like that this morning? It’s cold this morning, son,” he said, shaking his head.
Relieved the focus had turned away from the bike, he said sheepishly, “Yes, Pa.”
“Go back inside and grab a jacket, and come right back out—and hustle. There’s work to be done, and I’ll not have you getting sick.”
“Yes, Pa. I’ll be right back.”
I’m only a farmhand to him, Thomas thought, as he walked to the house. The monotony of this place will surely kill me eventually, just the same as if someone pulled a trigger and shot me dead on the spot. This is just another morning, like all the other endless mornings I’ve endured up to this day. I’m free labor—a shit-shoveler, more or less.
As he opened the back door, his senses came alive, greeted with the familiar aromas of freshly baked biscuits, frying sausage, and strong coffee. The kitchen stove warmed him as he moved through the room.
“Thomas, I didn’t hear you go out.”
“Hi, Ma. I went out early, just coming back for my jacket. Colder than I thought,” Thomas added, as he tramped up the stairs. In his room, Thomas picked up a thermal shirt and pulled it over his head, then added a jacket. He returned through the kitchen, and his stomach growled. “Smells good, Ma,” he said, pulling his collar in closer around his neck before disappearing back outside.
He and his pa typically worked silently most mornings, but, as Thomas opened the barn door again and made his way to Bessie, he thought about possibly talking to his pa, maybe due to the boldness of the morning already. He decided to test the waters.
“Pa?”
“Yes, son.”
“I’ll be sixteen soon, and I’ve been thinking about my future.”
“Yes, good to know, and?”
“And…and—”
“Spit it out.”
“Well…I’m not sure I’m cut out for farming, day in and day out.” There—he said it. Unable to look at his father, he studied bits of stray grass, waiting for a response in the awkward silence.
“Is that so? What are you cut out for then? You’ve been working on this farm ever since you could walk. It’s what you know.”
“It’s what you know, Pa,” Thomas corrected.
James turned toward his son, as he leaned on a shovel. “Sit for a minute, son.”
Shocked that his pa might actually hear him out, Thomas pulled up the milking stool and took a seat.
“Your ma and I have talked and thought you might be ready to handle more responsibility this season—learning the buying and selling piece of what we do. You’ve always been involved in the day-to-day planting, tilling, harvesting. Now it’s time to know more, do more. You can see how we actually make a living at farming. You can see the potential. Now you can understand it.”
Thomas sat compl
etely still, afraid to speak, not wanting something awful to come out of his mouth, even though the words were on the tip of his tongue, fighting to be set free.
“Son, did you hear me? We think you’re ready. We can start soon. There is so much more to learn,” he said, his excitement evident. “One more year of school and then you could spend more of your day here and less time cooped up in the schoolhouse.”
“Pa, I…I…don’t know what to say,” Thomas said. He paused, his pa’s eyes boring a hole into him, took a deep breath, and decided to jump in with both feet. “I want to see the world, Pa. I want to learn about the world, not just this one little piece of dirt—maybe join the service.”
“Piece of dirt?” Pa said, spitting out the last word. “This piece of dirt is keeping our family afloat, with food on the table and clothes on your back,” he said, as his eyes grew bigger and bigger with each word.
Here it comes, Thomas thought.
“The service? Are you ready to fight for our country, give your life for our country? Explain to me how you’re ready for that when you spend your days reading comic strips?”
Thomas listened as his pa’s voice broke, and his eyes got misty.
“Pa?”
James picked up the shovel he’d been leaning on, turned, and threw it against the side of the barn, sending an echo throughout the shed.
Shep darted out the door, and Bessie mooed, nervously shifting her hind legs.
“Go, son. Go take care of the chickens. I’ll finish up in here.”
“But, Pa, I didn’t…”
“Go. Now.”
Thomas left the barn and quietly shut the door, petting Shep, who sat waiting for him outside the barn. “Come on, boy. Come with me. It’s okay.” If the only way out is to enlist, I’ll up and leave one night, and make it happen, he thought. Even with the war over, they still needed men. He heard the spiel in his head repeating over and over. Defend your country. Your friends are fighting. Why aren’t you?
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