Unleashed - The Gordonston Ladies Dog Walking Club Part 2

by Duncan Whitehead

  “So, how are you going to spend the day, sweetheart?” asked May as she continued combing her hair, watching her husband dress, his body reflected in the mirror.

  “I am not sure,” replied Ignatius, “maybe prepare you a nice dinner. Read the newspaper, maybe wash the car. I only have seven days of leave remaining — to be honest, I can’t wait to get back. I miss my boys.”

  May rose from the dresser, her crisp white nurses’ uniform emphasizing her elegant figure and beauty. “Your boys, your boys…I hope your boys realize how lucky they are to have a boss like you,” she said smiling. She walked over to her husband, hugged his muscular torso, and ran her finger down his well-toned and defined arm and kissed him on the lips.

  “You can forget about spending the day reading the newspaper, or cleaning the car for that matter… we have a new house! There are boxes that still need unpacking, the den could use a lick of paint and don’t forget the garden. Only seven days? I expect this house to be perfect in five,” she laughed.

  Of course she was right, thought Ignatius, there were many jobs to do around the house. Yes, the den needed painting, and he still hadn’t unpacked all the moving boxes. He wanted to hang his decoration medals, and he had decided the wall by the stairs would be perfect. He hated gardening, but of course, like a good soldier, and even better husband, he would obey his wife’s orders. Maybe he would even paint the room they had earmarked as a nursery, so it would be ready when, well when they were ready. Which Ignatius hoped would be soon.

  “I love you, Colonel Jackson,” said May, staring into her husband’s eyes.

  “I love you, Nurse Jackson, more,” he replied.

  “That’s impossible,” replied May.

  “Are you sure I can’t drive you to the hospital? I really don’t mind,” offered Ignatius.

  May had begun working at Savannah’s Memorial Hospital only three weeks previously. Already she had made friends and was popular amongst her new colleagues. Dedicated, hardworking, but above all caring, it had already been tipped she would soon be a candidate for early promotion.

  “No, Margaret is going to drive me. I am going to walk to her house; it is only a block away; she likes to gossip before we start our shift. I kind of enjoy listening to her stories and gossip to be honest. I guess sooner or later though, you are going to have to teach me to drive.”

  Ignatius agreed. With him soon to be posted to Fort Benning he would have to ensure his wife was as self-sufficient as she could be. He promised that this weekend he would begin giving her driving lessons, and once she had obtained her license he would buy her a car.

  Ignatius grinned and kissed his wife again. He had never expected life could be this be good, this perfect, and it could only get better. They had promised to wait two more years before starting a family. As May was eight years younger than Ignatius, they had time. During the war, the thought of marrying and spending his life with May had been the one thing that had got him through the horrors of battle and the stress of command. The thought of raising a family, living comfortably and watching his children grow, eventually having kids of their own and growing old with May at his side had spurred him in the heat of battle. He had survived much, and it was his determination to live a long and happy family life that had kept him focused and alert.

  “I will see you tonight,” said May as she exited the bedroom. “I love you.”

  “And I love you.”

  * * * * *

  Ignatius Jackson coughed again and sighed, after all these years the memories seemed so fresh. That day, that happy day, had remained in his memory as if it was only yesterday – moving into their new home, painting the nursery, planning for their life together. His marriage had been perfect, but children had never come. His dream of becoming a father had never come true. The nursery never was used, and the sound of their home had never been filled with children’s laughter, toys, cats and a big dog. May could not have children; twice she had suffered miscarriages which devastated both of them. They had considered adoption, but with her career, and his, they simply didn’t think it would be fair.

  Chalky looked up to his master, as he groaned in pain once more. At the age of forty, he had retired from the army, a result of cut backs. Initially he had struggled with adjusting to civilian life, though he received a very generous pension, and with May’s salary, who had now become a senior nurse, they were financially comfortable. After two months of sitting at home, gardening, which he still hated, cooking and being the proverbial house husband, he had taken a second career.

  He obtained a degree in teaching, a vocation that his wife encouraged, and he had spent the next twenty years of his life as a high school teacher. He remembered fondly the children he had taught; he was proud of them all. Many had joined the military; their decisions based on his advice. He was seen as a caring and dedicated educator, popular not only with the pupils, but his fellow teachers also. He was respected and admired by parents, held in high regard by the Board of Education, and it was predicted that one day he would become principal.

  But then came the sickness. Gradually his health began deteriorating; initially it was mild aches and pains, the odd unexplained bout of tiredness. The day he had collapsed, while teaching a class, had been his final day as a teacher. Tests were conducted, results waited on, and, when eventually he was diagnosed with cancer, it had been May who had proven to be his rock. She insisted on a regime of vitamins and healthy eating, coupled with his prescribed medication, and due to the treatment he received the cancer, while never cured, did not spread as expected. Defying his doctors, Ignatius lived, lived well, and though his physicians had given him a prognosis of living only for a few more years, he had survived.

  Though they could never be sure, both Ignatius and May were convinced his sickness was a result of the chemicals and various agents and gasses he had come into contact with during his military service. Ignatius harbored the notion that his contact with Agent Orange, which the U.S. military, as part of its herbicidal warfare program, Operation Ranch Hand, had used during the Vietnam War, an Operation Ignatius had been involved in, had caused his cancer.

  Ignatius had been told, as had his fellow soldiers, while in Vietnam, not to worry, and was persuaded the chemical was harmless. Of course, it hadn’t been. Ignatius also suspected that it was his exposure to Agent Orange that had led to his wife’s miscarriages. Unlike many, who had tried and failed to seek compensation and disability payments, and extra health care, for conditions they believed were associated with exposure to Agent Orange, Ignatius hadn’t even bothered to make a claim.

  Despite the knowledge that sooner or later he would eventually succumb to the cancer, that one day the disease would spread, he made the most of his life, brushing aside his illness, and dealing with life as he always had, with dignity, strength and courage. He had volunteered at the local church, which was located in Gordonston, Christ’s Community Church, located along Kinzie Avenue. He would spend most of his day there, not only volunteering for church projects, but counseling and providing advice and guidance to all who sought it. He was pivotal in fund raising efforts and organizing church events, and, he enjoyed it, especially as the church was a mere two minute walk from his home.

  Sometimes though, Ignatius would be briefly transported back to his time serving his country, and his years in the army; May would sometimes catch him seemingly staring into space. He missed it, he even missed teaching, which he had loved equally, but it was no comparison to the camaraderie, excitement and the sheer adrenaline rush he had experienced in combat.

  May had planned to retire at the age of 60. She wanted to travel, and though Ignatius had seen much of the world, his army career taking him overseas on numerous occasions, May had never left Georgia. He recalled how he would count the days to her retirement, so they could spend their remaining years growing old together, taking cruises, extended vacations, visiting distant relatives and traveling not just the globe, but their own country.

&nb
sp; But plans don’t always work out, life, as Ignatius well knew, was fragile, and even though it was a cliché, it was true, bad things did indeed happen to good people. May had been a good woman, and back then, he had considered himself a good man.

  Ignatius’ mouth was dry and he took another sip of water from the glass by the side of his bed. Soon his suffering would be over and he hoped that wherever he was headed, May would be waiting for him.

  Ignatius Jackson had been a brave and honorable man, a man May was proud to call her husband, and seventeen years ago he would have shuddered at the very thought of being involved in a business that solicited death and murder. But things change, people change, perspectives change and the human condition can be driven by many things, and, despite his former honor, integrity and righteous beliefs, Ignatius had been driven by anger and revenge. How different things would have been if it hadn’t been for the fact that his precious May, the one true love of his life, who had sacrificed her dreams to be a mother, due to the chemicals he had infected her with, who had cared for him and helped him not beat, but at least fend off cancer had, for all intents and purposes, been murdered, and the man who killed her left unpunished….

  CHAPTER FOUR

  It had been a normal Tuesday, that fateful day seventeen years ago. May had left Gordonston and driven to the hospital where she was now a Senior Sister, in charge of the emergency room nursing staff. Ignatius had been as good as his word; he had taught his wife how to drive and, as he had promised, bought her a car. Many times he had offered to replace it, to buy her a new one, but she had refused. She had driven the same car for twenty years, she was comfortable with it, it was safe, and anyway, who needed a new fancy car? There was nothing wrong with it.

  Ignatius had spent the morning following his usual routine. He walked to the church, and had spent the morning organizing a trip for some of the children, who attended the Sunday school, to visit the zoo in Atlanta. That afternoon he trimmed the flowers, read the newspapers, took a stroll in the park and prepared an evening meal for May’s return home that evening. Everything that day was fine, the weather glorious, his health fine, and it was a day closer to May’s retirement. He had kissed his wife, as he had every morning for the past 35 years, as soon as he awoke, which was always at six. He had told her that he loved her, that he cherished her, and that he was proud of her, again, as he did every morning. In turn, she had told him to “stop being such a softy,” something she said every morning.

  May Jackson was tired. It had been a long and arduous day. It seemed most days were now seemingly becoming longer. It was her age, she often thought; she wasn’t as young, or as sprightly as she had once been. She also seemed to, just lately at least, spend more time doing paperwork than actual nursing. Writing never-ending reports, evaluating the younger nurses and dispensing advice and guidance not only to her designated nursing staff but to junior doctors, senior doctors, consultants and on the odd occasion, to the women who worked in the canteen. She was well respected, and the staff, not just the medical staff, but all at Memorial Hospital would miss her when she retired in less than three weeks.

  At 2.30 pm, her sister called. May’s sister, Emma, lived on Tybee Island, ten miles east of Savannah and a short drive from May’s home in Gordonston. Emma was also a nurse, and five years younger than her sister. On occasion, May would, after work, visit her sister for sweet tea and to catch up on the family gossip, before returning home to spend the remainder of the evening with her husband.

  May confirmed that she would be stopping by to see her sister once her shift had ended, not to partake in chit chat and sweet tea, but because her sister was sick. She had asked May to collect a prescription for her, as she felt too unwell to leave the house. Unlike May, her sister had not met the man of her dreams, and was a childless spinster.

  It was around 4.30 pm that the first casualty arrived at the emergency room. A fire had broken out at a hotel in downtown Savannah. Hundreds were injured, suffering from injuries that ranged from smoke inhalation to serious burns. The emergency room was swamped, patients were being treated in the waiting area, and triages had even been set up in the car park. May had not hesitated to volunteer and stay late to help with the emergency, despite her shift officially ending at four. She had called Ignatius and told him that she would be home late, that she had no idea when she would be returning, that she also had to collect her sister’s prescription. May told Ignatius not to wait up, it could even be an ‘all-nighter’. She told him to eat, and she explained to him that she was needed, that it was all hands on deck. Of course he had understood. That was May, selfless, caring and professional — he wouldn’t have expected anything less.

  The emergency room teams had worked through the night, and thanks to their dedication and, not least of all, the leadership shown by Senior Sister May Jackson, not one casualty succumbed to their injuries. She was hailed by many that night as a hero. Yes, she was exhausted, and yes, the night had now turned into early morning, but lives had been saved, the injured cared for and families grateful that the staff on duty that night had, as one survivor later said, performed miracles.

  May Jackson was a safe, experienced and good driver. She had of course been taught to drive by Ignatius, and in her twenty years of driving had never once so much as gotten a scratch on her car, received a speeding ticket, nor even a parking ticket. Normally she did not drive in the dark and, as her position meant she no longer worked late shifts, or other unsociable hours, she rarely drove at night. That evening, now early morning, had been the exception. Of course she was tired and even exhausted. It had been a long and traumatic day; however, she was certainly safe to drive. There was no question of that. If she hadn’t been, she would have called Ignatius, who would have driven to the hospital to collect her.

  Her home was less than five miles away from the hospital, a short distance that she had driven many times before, but of course she had an important errand to run. She had not forgotten about her sister, and her promise to collect her prescription. Despite Emma’s protestations, May would still drive to the pharmacy, pick up her sister's medication, deliver it and then return home. It would only take her a few minutes, and anyway, she had explained, the roads would be clear, and a promise is a promise.

  May drove the fifteen miles to Tybee Island, luckily her sister’s prescription was being administered by a pharmacy that was open twenty four hours a day. She collected it on behalf of Emma, duly delivered it to her sister, spent ten minutes describing the events that occurred that day at the hospital, declined a glass of sweet tea and then began her journey home.

  As she had expected, the road leading from Tybee Island to Savannah was clear of traffic, her headlights were on, her seat belt fastened, and her speed did not exceed any limit that had been imposed on US 80, the stretch of road that connected Tybee to Savannah.

  Thomas Robertson, known as TJ to his friends and family, had been drinking all night. He was drunk. After consuming several bottles of beer, numerous shots of whiskey and a bottle of wine he was in no fit state to walk, let alone drive. But TJ Robertson didn’t care. Why should he? He was rich, his father was rich, and he could do what he wanted. Even if a cop did pull him over, so what? His father would pay them off; he always did. Despite being an habitual drunk driver, TJ Robertson had not once gotten a ticket, despite being pulled over on numerous occasions, as he headed home, as he did every night, from his bar hopping in Savannah, along US 80, back to his Tybee Island beach house.

  In an ideal world their paths would not have crossed. In an ideal world, TJ Robertson would not have been drunk, he would have simply passed May’s car as she passed his. In an ideal world, TJ Robertson would have been traveling on the right side of the road.

  May had stood no chance. It could only be speculated what went through her mind as she saw the headlights approaching her at top speed. She had braked, tried to swerve out of the way, but it had been too late. The collision flipped her car and it rolled several times be
fore landing in the marsh that saddled both sides of US 80. TJ Robertson’s car also flipped over and careened into a tree. Ten minutes later, a motorist in a car heading from Tybee to Savannah pulled over after spotting the wreckage and called the emergency services.

  Less than one hour after leaving the emergency room, where she had battled to save so many lives, May Jackson returned; this time fighting for her own life. At 4:45 am she succumbed to her injuries and died on the operating table. TJ Robertson survived. Though unconscious when brought into the hospital, his only injuries were a few scratches and a broken wrist. Later he would call it a miracle, divine intervention from God, which had spared his life.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  “Who the heck is that?’ muttered Ignatius as he made his way to the front door of his home, dressed in his dressing gown and wearing his slippers. “Is that you, May?” he shouted. “Did you forget your door key? So much for just going to sleep. It’s five in the morning! I will be getting up soon,” he continued jokingly, as he opened the door to his home. Ignatius was not at all surprised his wife was this late. She had of course forewarned him that she would be working late. It must have been a busy night, and then no doubt she had spent a few hours gossiping with her sister. She was probably too tired to even find her door key, which he guessed was stuffed deep inside her purse.

  The doorbell rang again. “Hold on, I am coming. Hold your horses, May, I am not opening this door naked,” he shouted once again as he opened the door.

  “Ignatius Jackson? Mr. Ignatius Jackson?” asked the young looking police officer at his door.