Hannah's Moon (American Journey Book 5)

by John A. Heldt

  "I see," Margaret said. "Have you considered helping the war effort in other ways, such as by taking a desk job? I'm sure you could do something important."

  David sighed.

  "I'm sure I could. Then again, I think I have. I've taught hundreds of students how to think critically and see the world as a place brimming with possibilities and opportunities. I've helped prepare them for the day the war will end."

  "That's a good answer," Margaret said. "I wish I had as much confidence as a teacher as you do. Some days, like today, I just want to run home, lock myself in my room, and think about anything besides history and geography."

  "You shouldn't think that way. You're a great teacher," David said. "Principal Wiggins has told me as much. So has the paperboy. I met him last week."

  Margaret laughed.

  "You've talked to Harold?"

  David smiled.

  "He thinks his civics teacher is the bee's knees."

  Margaret blushed.

  "He really said that?"

  David nodded.

  "He meant it too. I asked him what he thought of you the minute I learned he was a sophomore at Moccasin Bend."

  Margaret looked away for a moment.

  "Why would you ask him about me?"

  David took a breath.

  "Because I'm curious. Like you, I'm curious about my neighbor."

  "I guess I'm not one to talk," Margaret said. She turned to face David. "I have asked a lot of questions about you, Claire, and Ron since you moved here."

  David smiled.

  "Have you learned anything interesting?"

  "No," Margaret said.

  David laughed.

  "There you have it. There's nothing to see across the street."

  Margaret raised a brow.

  "I sincerely doubt that."

  "Then keep digging," David said. "Just don't share what you find with your geography class. I couldn't bear another interrogation."

  Margaret laughed.

  "I'll try to be responsible."

  David smiled again.

  "Please do."

  CHAPTER 29: RON

  Thursday, May 10, 1945

  Even in a town known for its trains, Terminal Station, Chattanooga's principal railroad facility, was a sight to see. With an arched entrance, brass chandeliers, and an eighty-two-foot-high ceiling dome with a skylight in its center section, the thirty-six-year-old depot was a tribute to both the Beaux-Arts architectural style and the city's industrial spirit.

  Ron was no stranger to the building itself. As a twenty-first-century resident of Chattanooga, he had seen Terminal Station many times. He had seen it as a city icon, a historic site, and the center of a retail complex. On March 29, as a time traveler from Los Angeles, he had seen it as a functioning train station. Until today, though, he had never seen it as a place that might send him off to war.

  He had also never seen it so quiet or empty. Gone were the crowds that had rolled through the station and the streets two days earlier to celebrate the end of the war in Europe. The Rasmussens, David, and Margaret took part in some of Tuesday's festivities, which included parades, dances, and hastily scheduled church services, but they did not get carried away. For them and many others, the war's second act, the one in the Pacific, was still ongoing, real, and all too immediate.

  Ron battled mixed emotions as he stood on the platform and prepared to board his ride. He knew he had only minutes to work through them before his Chattanooga Choo Choo, the northbound four-fifteen, left the station and took him to Nashville, Chicago, and parts unknown. He suddenly had a desire to grab his family and bolt.

  Perhaps sensing her husband's discomfort, Claire led him away from the others in his small send-off party. When they finally found a zone of privacy, she clasped his hands and gave them a gentle squeeze. She smiled at Ron when he met her gaze.

  "How are you doing?" Claire asked.

  "I'm anxious," Ron said. He sighed. "I'm anxious, excited, and a little apprehensive. I'd be lying if I told you I wasn't having second thoughts."

  "I know. I've had them for days."

  "Are you going to be all right?"

  "Are you kidding? Look at my support staff," Claire said. She turned her head and gazed at a party of four. "With a crew like that, how can I go wrong?"

  Ron looked over Claire's shoulder and smiled when he saw David, Hannah, Margaret, and the defense attorney he now called Carter and not Mr. Galloway. He knew that each would look after his wife and his interests in the difficult days ahead. He felt blessed to have even this much when so many prospective soldiers and sailors had less.

  "You'll be in good hands," Ron said.

  Claire smiled.

  "I think so."

  Ron started to ask Claire a question but stopped when a man with a baritone voice spoke over a crackling public address system. When the man announced the train's pending departure to Nashville, Ron frowned, sighed, and dropped Claire's hands.

  "It's time to go," Ron said.

  Claire, fighting tears, nodded.

  "I know."

  Ron guided Claire about fifteen feet to where the others formed a loose line that paralleled the train. When they reached the farewell committee, he paused for a moment and then approached the man at the far end of the line.

  "Thank you for keeping me out of jail," Ron said.

  Carter Galloway frowned.

  "I'm sorry I didn't do better."

  Ron forced a smile.

  "You did what you could."

  "I suppose," Carter said. "If I can do more for you, I will. I would be happy to look after your family's interests in your absence. It's the least I can do to right this wrong."

  "You do that."

  Ron shook his attorney's hand and then moved down the line to the neighbor woman he liked, appreciated, and deeply respected. As he studied her smiling, cheerful face, he thought about her small acts of kindness and her generous spirit. He was glad that his first friend in 1945 was a good one. He offered Margaret a warm smile.

  "Thanks for coming," Ron said. "You didn't have to."

  "You're right. I didn't have to, but I wanted to," Margaret said. "I wanted to show my support and let you know I will be praying for your safety every day."

  Ron gave her a gentle hug.

  "Thank you."

  "You're welcome."

  Ron released Margaret and stepped toward David as a porter urged passengers to board the train. He looked at David as he handed Hannah to Claire and tried to determine if he was ready for the responsibilities that awaited him. He decided he was. If someone could pull off a scheme as cockamamie as this one, it was his resourceful brother-in-law.

  "Keep in regular contact," Ron said.

  "I will," David said.

  "I mean it. I want to know what you're doing and thinking. I want to know that you're taking care of business here every day."

  "Don't worry, Ron. I'll get it done."

  "I'm counting on that."

  Ron stepped forward, gave David a firm embrace, and patted his shoulders. When he was done saying goodbye, he stepped back, gave his brother-in-law a supportive smile, and mentally prepared himself for the moment he dreaded most.

  For the first time since arriving at the station, Ron did not want to get on with the show. He wanted time to stop. He wanted to hold on to the moment as long as he could because he feared it might be his last with the people he loved.

  Though he knew that David's plan was sound, he also knew that even the best of plans sometimes failed. He hoped and prayed that this was not one of those times. He had already faced his share of challenges on what was supposed to be a carefree vacation.

  Ron took a breath, collected his thoughts, and finally turned to Claire. He noticed that her eyes had moistened and that her smile had dimmed, but he didn't interpret the changes as signs of weakness. He was still looking at the lioness he had married twelve years ago, the woman who would do anything and everything to keep their family whole.r />
  "I guess this is it," Ron said.

  Claire wiped away a tear.

  "I guess."

  "I'll call as soon as I can."

  "You better."

  "I will," Ron said.

  Claire gazed at her husband through watery eyes, took a deep breath, and then smiled in a way that left Ron both happy and sad. She offered Hannah to her father.

  "Say goodbye to your daughter," Claire said.

  Ron took Hannah and for the next thirty seconds gave her the attention she deserved. He hugged her, kissed her, and held her high. He did so over and over until the girl's smiles turned into giggles and her giggles turned into words.

  Stunned by what he thought he heard, Ron held Hannah out and asked her to speak again. He grinned when she grabbed his nose and gasped when she repeated a word.

  "Dada."

  Ron looked at Claire.

  "Are you kidding me?"

  Claire smiled through her tears.

  "She started talking today."

  Just that quickly, Ron Rasmussen, all-around tough guy, lost his battle to keep it together. He wept as he hugged Hannah, kissed her head, and let his mind wander. This was a sign, he thought. It had to be. This was a sign he would come back, safe and sound, if only to hear "Dada" again.

  Ron stepped toward Claire, pulled her close, and smothered both of his girls with love and affection. He held them tightly until the porter again called out and brought the tender moment to an end.

  "I think he's serious this time," Ron said.

  "I do too," Claire said. She frowned. "You better get on."

  Ron kissed Hannah and handed her back to her mother.

  "I love you, Claire."

  "I love you too."

  "I promise I . . ."

  "Don't," Claire said. "Don't make any promises. Just take care of yourself, follow your orders, and come back to us. Whatever you do . . . come back."

  Ron wiped his eyes.

  "I will."

  He leaned forward, gave his wife a long kiss, and then stepped toward a small suitcase he had placed on the ground. A few seconds later, he retrieved the case, walked toward the sleek diesel-powered train, and joined the porter on the steps of a shiny coach.

  As the train began to inch out of the station, Ron turned to face his send-off party and motioned his last goodbyes. He blew tender kisses to his girls, gave David a playful salute, and waved gently to his neighbor and his lawyer. He did this to reassure them and to reassure himself that he was finally at peace with his decision.

  Ron gazed at his family as the train picked up speed and let out a breath as a whistle blew. Then he turned his attention to the matter at hand. He entered the coach, claimed the first seat he saw, and settled in for the ride of his life.

  CHAPTER 30: DAVID

  Tuesday, May 15, 1945

  David flipped to Page 10, set his coffee to the side, and examined the most widely read section of Chattanooga's morning paper. It was depressing as hell.

  In the first two columns, David saw photographs of local men who were killed in action. In the next two, he saw pictures of men who were missing in action. Short articles accompanied each image and listed the accomplishments of the casualties of war. Four of the men were under twenty. One of the men was black. His obituary was a reminder that, even in an unjust world, at least one thing — war — did not discriminate.

  David glanced at the last two columns and saw happier news. Ten local soldiers, part of the Army's 101st Airborne Division, were headed to Fort Campbell, Kentucky, and their homes in Tennessee. Two Chattanooga nurses had been decorated for valor. A three-star general, fresh from the German front, planned to speak at a Memorial Day picnic.

  Then David saw what he had hoped to see: Ron's name listed among local men who had enlisted in the past three weeks. He hoped that would be the last time he would see his name in this or any other newspaper — or at least a paper in 1945.

  David spread the paper across the table in his booth at Dalton's Diner and reached for his coffee. He took a sip, put down the cup, and started on the sports page. He got as far as the Southern League box scores when he heard someone approach the booth.

  "Good morning, Mr. Baker."

  David turned his head.

  "Good morning, Mr. Galloway."

  "I saw you as I was ordering," Carter Galloway said. "Do you mind if I join you?"

  "I don't mind at all," David said. "Take a seat."

  Galloway placed his cup and its saucer on the table and then slid into the unoccupied facing seat. When he finally got comfortable, he pulled his cup close, took a sip, and looked at the brother-in-law of the man he had sprung from jail.

  "Have you heard from Ron?" Galloway asked.

  David shook his head.

  "We're still waiting for his first letter."

  "It'll come," Galloway said. "Unless Ron is like my brother, he'll send you a letter this week. My brother, who is now serving in the Second Armored Division, waited almost two weeks before picking up a pen at boot camp."

  David sipped his coffee.

  "Isn't the Second the outfit they call 'Hell on Wheels'?"

  Galloway tilted his head.

  "I believe it is. I'm surprised you know that. Most civilians don't know an armored division from the Coast Guard unless they know someone serving in one."

  David smiled.

  "Let's just say I have an interest in the military."

  "I should say so," Galloway said.

  David was not about to explain his interest. As a collegian, he had studied the storied military units of World War II. As a teacher, he had once asked a class to write about units with colorful nicknames. Several students turned in essays on the Second Armored Division. One, a junior named Ty, reported that his great-grandfather had served in it.

  "I find it fascinating, that's all," David said.

  "I see," Galloway said. He sipped his coffee. "If you don't mind me asking, why are you not serving in the military right now?"

  "I have a bad ticker — a heart murmur, to be precise."

  "Then it appears we are birds of a feather. That's what kept me out of the Army three years ago. The doctors took one listen and sent me back to the courtroom."

  David laughed. He didn't like lawyers in general, but he admitted he liked this one. Carter Galloway wasn't just a skillful attorney. He was a pretty funny guy.

  "What are you doing out here?" David asked. "Your law office is a mile away."

  "I'm serving notices," Galloway said. "Our courier up and quit yesterday. So some of the attorneys are handling his duties until we can find a suitable replacement."

  "I see."

  "How about you? Why are you here and not at home?"

  "I just wanted to get out of the house and clear my head a bit," David said. "I've had a lot on my mind the past few days."

  Galloway folded his hands.

  "Is something troubling you?"

  David laughed to himself as he considered all the ways he couldn't answer the question. If he started talking about missing crystals and finding his way back to the future, his coffee companion might make a few calls to mental health authorities.

  "You might say that," David said.

  Galloway took another sip.

  "What, specifically, is the problem?"

  "I need something to do. I came to Chattanooga to help Ron and Claire check out the business community, but now that Ron is in the Navy, I find myself without a purpose."

  "Why don't you look for a job?"

  David frowned.

  "I have. I've already spoken to several principals."

  "What did they tell you?"

  "They told me to come back in July. Most won't even consider filling teaching vacancies before the middle of the summer."

  Galloway looked at David closely.

  "Have you considered a different kind of job?"

  "I have," David said. "I'm just not sure I want to start something I can't finish. If Ron is sent t
o a base in California, we will likely follow him there."

  "I see," Galloway said. "So what you're saying is that you want a temporary job you can leave at any time."

  David laughed.

  "That about sums it up."

  "Then you should consider working for me," Galloway said. "You can be my firm's court runner until something better comes along."

  David smiled. He could think of worse ways to spend a day. If being a legal errand boy was a means to a more productive end, then maybe he should look into it.

  "If I said yes, what would I need to do?"

  Galloway chuckled.

  "That's the easy part. If you came to work for me, all you would need to do is show up in a suit at eight o'clock tomorrow. I'll take care of the rest."

  "Mr. Galloway? Carter?"

  "Yes?"

  David extended his hand.

  "I think you have a runner."

  CHAPTER 31: CLAIRE

  Friday, May 18, 1945

  Claire watched with fear and trepidation as Marie Weatherford, sitting on her sofa, lifted Hannah high and tried to coax a smile. She didn't mind Marie holding her baby. She didn't mind her presence in her home. What she did mind was being judged by a woman who could dissolve her new family with the stroke of a pen.

  The adoption counselor, after all, had not come to St. Elmo Avenue to coax smiles out of a baby. She had come to determine whether Claire Rasmussen, probationary mother and wife of a convicted felon, was still fit to raise a child.

  "She looks wonderful," Marie said. She lowered Hannah to her lap, gave the happy girl another smile, and handed her back to Claire. "Is she eating well?"

  "She is," Claire said. "We can't keep enough food in the house, particularly peas, carrots, and bananas. Hannah goes through at least three jars a day."

  "That's good. I can tell she's put on weight."

  "We're doing our best to put it on."

  "Has she seen a doctor?" Marie asked.

  Claire nodded.

  "She saw Dr. Johnston three weeks ago."

  "What did he say?"

  "He said I have a healthy daughter. Hannah is healthy in every respect."