only hope, but you're sure one of our biggest."
Lloyd bit down hard not to tell Braden that he had no desire to shoot a back azimuth, but wanted nothing more than to shoot whomever those bastards were. They backed off and made for what they both hoped was the mobile student body of the former Harrison Traditional School.
Lloyd had replayed that conversation in his mind time and again. What Braden had said was so clear the town drunk would have figured it out almost immediately. Braden wasn't counting on leading the group out. He wasn't even planning on being with them once they hit the junction of Breakers and Highway 31. Lloyd was just so damn mad at that moment he wasn't thinking.
"Yeah Jim you're right. That's what Braden said alright," Lloyd replied. "He was planning to make a stand the moment we saw what had happened at the school. He knew they would catch up to us otherwise."
"Slow Jim, slow," Moss thought to himself. "This is it, that delicate moment where you'll either save or lose him."
"Thought so and here's my point Lloyd," he began. Those forty some odd men that ran from the debacle at the Alamo were running for their lives. All grand thoughts like independence for Texas and buying Houston time to recruit and train troops were gone. They just wanted to survive."
"But in your case," Jim continued, "You were in charge of children. Children Lloyd! Christ sakes man, there's a damn good reason why the command of 'Women and Children First' is one of the cardinal rules of ships in distress. And a ship's Captain always sends a seaman along to man those boats. They're usually young men like you. And they're in charge of that lifeboat. They man the oars and ration the resources. I'm not surprised that when the time came and Braden determined the circumstances dictated that the Rifles drop off and buy you time to hit that junction he acted. What still surprises me today is that the rest of the cadets agreed so readily. From what I've read they were normal kids, yet they rose to the occasion without dissent, even knowing what the probable outcome would be. And you rose too Lloyd Foster. Oh, I know you don't think so, but your duty was to those kids; kids that are alive today in large part because of you."
The look on Lloyd's face told Jim that he had never considered his actions in this light before. He had been so caught up in the whirlwind of post Schonefield interrogation, interviews and concern for Rhoda that by the time he had a moment to himself, a moment to reflect, the hero label had already been attached. Braden hadn't given him the choice. Braden had already decided that he would live, must live.
"I was never given the choice," Lloyd said aloud, more to himself than to Jim.
"Lloyd," Jim said, "Braden was your superior officer. I know that it was just high school ROTC, but he was in charge and he took charge. He made a tactical assessment and issued his orders accordingly."
"Besides," he went on pointing at Lloyd, "in the end you were willing to stand with them and, if you are honest with yourself, were probably minutes away from joining the rest of the Rifles. But it was your mere presence that helped all those kids. Even so it was a near run thing. Had the Army been any later… but they weren't because you stayed on the radio, and although you didn't know it at that time, you helped guide them on to your charges position. Lloyd, I can't make you feel better about yourself. All I can do is tell you the truth. That truth is some heroes die, and that's a fact; but some heroes live and that too is a fact. How you live determines whether or not those that died did so in vain. In my opinion, and the opinion of all who know you, your conduct ranks on par with the sacrifice of the Rifles. Your greatest challenge now is to live that exemplary life your courage has demonstrated."
Within twenty-four hours the caretaker of the Texas Star (North) was settled in.
The Watch
His was now free to sit by Rhoda's bedside. Here he recaps the day's events. He also takes the engagement ring and places it on her bony finger. Each visit starts and ends with prayer. He never fails to mention any development that has occurred, inventions, music, events, anything new that they should be experiencing together. Some days are harder than others. Those times he falls back on their shared memories. Reminding her how she would playfully tease him about his name, telling him that he needed to be at least forty before it would fit him.
"By the time we're forty you'll be saying how distinguished it makes me look. And people will stare with barely concealed envy at the handsome Lloyd Foster,' and who is that beautiful lady on his arm?' They will ask. 'Why that's Mrs. Foster, former Miss Montana and first runner-up in the Miss America pageant don't you know.' I made you first runner-up because I don't want your head getting any bigger than what it already is."
Lloyd always told this story or some variation of it while stroking Rhoda's hair or face or simply holding her hand. He didn't know if she heard it or if she did that it made her feel any better. But it worked wonders for him, and broke the hearts any of the medical staff that happened to overhear.
Initially the hospital staff tried to keep him out by reminding him that he was not a relative. But their hearts were never really in it. Everyone knew what had happened at Schonefield, and the part Lloyd and Rhoda had played in the tragedy. My God! The girl's own parents didn't come to visit anymore. It was as though they had shipped her here to die. Besides, many correctly guessed the city fathers would be well disposed toward them if a blind eye were conspicuously turned concerning young Mr. Foster.
City fathers or not, the hospital administrator, Hiram West, was duty bound to tell the Delcums of Rhoda's daily visitor. Speaking to both on a speakerphone, their initial reaction, banning further access, was exactly what he feared. Being no fool, West knew a potential public relations disaster when he saw it. And being considerably savvier in this area than the Delcums, he informed them that while he certainly acknowledged their right to restrict outside visitations, an order he hastened to add he had up until now scrupulously followed, that the young man had been, and technically still was, their daughter's fiancée. Should the Delcums insist and Mr. Foster decide to go to the news media with the story, well administrator West certainly couldn't speak for the entire hospital board of course but the young man, along with their daughter, were considered national heroes of sorts. They were America's darlings, and up until now the media has been respectful, steering clear of publicizing Lloyd's visits out of respect for the current circumstances.
"Allow those responsible for Rhoda's condition to remain the bad guys," West said. "There is no way on God's green earth, that you'll be able to sway what the public may perceive as nothing more than mean-spirited intransigence. You'll have reporters camped out on your doorstep wanting to know why. What will you say? That you want the boy to move on with his life? A noble sentiment, but if with that being true, do you think it'll read that way in all the papers? Let me assure you Mister and Misses Delcum it most certainly will not!
Most reporters I have known are a combination, half human and half something unclassified, but that happily lives in the dirt of ulterior motives and loves to dig. Those who haven't sold their humanity for a shot at a Pulitzer will take your explanation and go away happy to write about the dignified way you have tried to help a young man move on past the shared pain all three of you feel. Most, but not all. The young and hungry will continue to dig. Even when most of them have convinced themselves of the righteousness of your intention, there will still be a percentage, those most feral, who will conceive and ascribe the most base reasons for your decision. Then they will proceed to interview any and everyone looking to find a justification for their cockamamie theories, and you know what? Inevitably, they will find it.
No folks, I'm not implying anything except to say everyone has skeletons; and these aberrant creatures won't stop until they are found and revealed to the world. Finally, the lowest of the low won't even bother with even the pretense of research; without a scintilla of compassion they'll just make it up. Like Joseph Goebble's "Big Lie", if repeated often enough people will believe."
His argument was well taken by Mr. and Mrs. Del
cum. Hiram West sadly believed to his dying day that the issue remained in doubt until the inference regarding the possible cessation of federal funding for their daughter's care was raised. It had been his trump card and he played it with the subtlety of a bridge master. Suddenly immovable intransigence quickly moved to sporadic grumbling, which easily segued to overall acceptance, once he threw them a bone by alluding to the possible therapeutic benefits that such visits might produce.
Hiram West replaced the receiver, leaned back in his patent leather chair and smiled. His gaze fell on the semi-circle of family pictures that graced his lacquered mahogany desk. The centerpiece was a portrait of his wife Louise, dead now seven long years from the cancer that had sapped her life with a frightening rapidity. Like Lloyd Foster, Hiram West had stood the watch with the love of his life until the end. Still smiling his eyes took on the sadness of remembrance. "Well Lou-Lou, chalk one up today for the good guys."
For his part Lloyd never knew what had transpired.
He was at his usual position by Rhoda's bedside when the nursing staff received the phone call. Two minutes later Lloyd was on the line with Lauren Ortiz.
"Lloyd, Lauren Ortiz, how are you?"
"Lauren! Why I'm fine. How are you? How's college?"
"I'm fine. College is a bear." Then with slight hesitation, "How's Rhoda?"
Lloyd let out a short breath. Anyone else would have received Lloyd's standard optimistic answer stating that Rhoda's on the mend, any day now she going to open her eyes and once again the sun will shine and birds will sing and flowers will shower the world with sweet fragrance. But this was Lauren. And though the club wasn't big the membership was certainly exclusive. Telling Lauren a lie or even a half- truth was unthinkable.
"No change still comatose."
"I pray for her everyday. So do many others. She's lucky to have you."
"I was always the lucky one Lauren, Lloyd said. Then quickly before the conversation could become even more maudlin, "What's up? Or is this just a social call?"
Lauren began by explaining how the Schonefield Group, a conglomeration of local businesses and some heavy outside money had leased HTS, the property as well as the environs up to a quarter mile in circumference. ("Real heavy outside money," thought Lloyd) Since Headmaster Morgan was dead, his wife Bea was in charge of the property. As well as assuming the job of headmistress of the new Morgan Traditional School, built about a mile south of HTS, she decided that if something was going to be done to honor the faculty and students of the 9 May tragedy it was going to be done right. As the owner she was therefore in a position to insist on a very unusual provisional lease. She would allow the Schonefield group to preserve the site, however they must adhere to several conditions namely:
Provision One. The school building's interior must be preserved in its present condition. This included blast damage as well as damage from small arms fire. The huge cafeteria could be altered to accommodate, like many national parks, audiences for a video presentation. Naturally placards could be placed at specific areas explaining what had occurred. Exterior construction must be exacting in its faithful reproduction of the original design, once again with as much damage preserved as structural integrity would allow.
"She always was a tough bird," Lloyd interrupted.
"That's nothing," Lauren said. "You ready for the kicker."
"Shoot," Lloyd said. He was smiling, remembering his several pre 9 May encounters with Mrs. Morgan. What Lauren said next caused the smile to quickly fade.
Lauren took a deep breath. "Lloyd, remember how she took over after …afterwards?"
Lloyd noted how difficult it was for everyone closely involved, including himself, to try and assign a name to what happened. To him calling it 'The Schonefield Incident' was as demeaning as it was insufficient. It was like calling rape, consensual.
He apologized reminding her that in the immediate aftermath Rhoda had been his sole concern. That, and the enormity of the losing so many close friends had unbalanced all of them. There had been the funerals, followed by the world's most watched graduation.
Graduation for two. It sounded like a Learner and Lowe musical. The hook song, the one that would send the audience into the night singing, was that instant classic: It Should Have Been Four. Yeah, it should have been. Shoulda, coulda, woulda. But one was dead and the other in a coma. "Lloyd Foster" and the crowd that shoulda numbered no more than a hundred at the very outside, erupted with the deafening applause normally reserved for victories athletics, conquering heroes and presidential State of the Union addresses. Press reports would later place the number that had managed to squeeze into the Consolidated Middle School/High School gym at two thousand, with over half of those from the press. "Jeez Louise!" Lloyd's Uncle Max exclaimed. "There's so many satellite dishes outside, it looks as though we're trying to contact the Galactic Council for a membership application."
Could someone remembered the solemnity of the occasion, and kept the Fourth Estate caged? No I suppose not. "Lauren Ortiz Hartman." Then it was her turn in the barrel. After receiving her diploma to the same cacophony that had greeted Lloyd, she sat back down
In a way she was alphabetically lucky, if such a term woulda been possible to ascribe to this façade. She sat at the end of four chairs; Lloyd occupied the other. Between him were two chairs draped in black crepe, each with a neatly folded gown toped with a mortarboard – Braden and Rhoda's. And Rhoda wasn't even dead, for cryin' out loud!
"Lloyd, Lloyd. You still there?" Lauren's voice snapped him back to reality. "Yeah, sorry I spaced there for a moment," he replied.
"Graduation?" she asked. Hard to keep anything from Lars.
"Yeah. What a zoo!"
"Gospel truth there, no doubt. I still get chills thinking about how surreal it all was."
"Yeah. Sorry. Anyway you were saying something about Mrs. Morgan taking over?"
"Well, afterwards you know. I remember it very well. It was a week later and I went back to school to see about getting my things and there she was personally directing the clean-up."
"Yeah, my folks got my stuff," Lloyd interjected.
"You were lucky in that regard, believe me. I wished I had never gone. Our lockers were set up outside, as the building was in such terrible shape it was in danger of collapse. I had heard that the structural engineer recommended bulldozing the site, but she would have none of it. Anyway, I found my locker, and I'm getting my things, when I hear one of the clean-up crew mention to Mrs. Morgan that everyone will need to leave soon because the fumes from the solvent they're going to use to remove the blood stains were pretty strong but that they would set up some big fans and open the plastic tarps that were covering where the doors used to be, and the place would air out in a few hours."
"Uh huh," Lloyd said.
"Lloyd, she absolutely refused to allow a single speck of blood to be removed.! In fact she asked the clean-up man what type of sealant would be best to preserve them!"
"Wow! That's certainly different. But I'm honestly not all that surprised."
"Really? Care to share?"
At this they both laughed. Harvey Miles, HTS's esteemed Chemistry and Biology teacher, had a habit of sneaking up on students engaged in surreptitious conversation. Without saying a word he would lean on the science table, prop his chin on his hand, and feign fascination, moving his head to and fro until the tittering from the rest of the class would alert the miscreant students that something was up. Upon seeing Mr. Miles they would usually lower their heads and wait for the inevitable "Really? Care to share?" that was always his standard line. Busted, the students would shake their heads realizing that they had just netted a zero in conduct for the day. They also knew that a weeks worth of good behavior would erase it. That was just the way Mr. Miles, indeed most of the teachers at HTS operated.
Harvey Johansson Miles 68, was within one week of retirement. "I'm walking out the door with you," He told the seniors all that last semester. Part-time fisherman and full-t
ime Grandfather was what he was looking forward to. When the attack came, Mr. Miles, and a fortuitous supply of explosives, inflicted both surprise and substantial enemy casualties.
It was good to laugh again. Though neither said it, both Lauren and Lloyd though about how long it had been since either had. As if tuned in to each other's thoughts both abruptly ceased.
"Aw me," chuckled Lloyd one last time. "Good ol' Mr. Miles."
"Yeah," sighed Lauren. "I miss him."
"Me too," agreed Lloyd. Then he added almost without thinking. "I miss them all. Even the ones I didn't know so well. Sometimes I think… Well sometimes I think about them the most, the ones that I didn't really know. Strange huh?"
Lauren was surprised, but only said, "I know what you mean." She didn't want to go where the conversation was heading, at least not on the telephone. Later perhaps, in person, if Lloyd bought in on what Mrs. Morgan had in mind for them, they could find the right moment to continue down this path. But for now, especially for her own sake, she needed to steer the conversation back on track.
"So you're really not all that surprised about Mrs. Morgan's stand on the blood issue?"
"Well, don't get me wrong Lauren. It's weird for sure. But it's also keeping with what Dean Morgan told me about their trip to Texas one summer. They were in San Antonio, and of course went to see the Alamo. Now you know how the Dean was, always cool calm and collected. Well he told me that while both he and Mrs. Morgan enjoyed the tour, the historical ambiance was totally compromised by the encroachment of the city. He went on to say how they both longed to be there the day after the fight. Lauren, He was getting worked up just telling me about how he would have preserved the site in all its gory glory, yadda, yadda. You get my point?"
"Yeah I do. Thanks, it does explain a lot."
Lauren continued.
"Provision Two. The retreat route (Mrs. Morgan absolutely refused to have the word 'escape' uttered in her presence) it to be a paved walkway, circuitous and meeting all state and federal handicap regulations. It may not come any closer than ten feet to any site where the retreat took place. Twenty feet (Here Lauren paused a moment, then read on) from the site of the rearguard action, markers are to be placed explaining what occurred, who perished, and how many enemy dead were killed at any particular site. The entire walkway is to be named The Valor Road. Finally twin monuments are to be place at both ends of the circuit explaining what took place.'"
Lloyd was listening, but his eyes had strayed back on the shrunken form of Rhoda, which had
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