The Widow's Choice

by Gilbert, Morris

  “I hate to disobey orders, but that’s the way it is, Captain.” A red haze seemed to fill Jason’s eyes, but he could fly. He shoved the throttle forward and put the Dauntless into a steep dive. Pain was raging through his body, but he held it steady. The Zeros indeed were swarming around like hornets, and more than once he felt his plane rattle and shake. But he was focused on the Shoho below him, which was turning and wheeling, trying to avoid taking a bomb. Jason set his sights on the big stack and gritted his teeth.

  Closer . . . closer . . . closer. The Shoho seemed to swell up before him, and when he was no more than three hundred feet up, he released his bomb and jerked back on the throttle. The force of gravity forced him back, and he passed out.

  It was only for a few seconds, but when he came to, his plane was rising straight into the air. Glancing out, he saw that his bomb had made a terrific impact. Evidently it went right down the stack and set off some munitions deep in the bowels of the carrier. He rolled the plane over, and the engine was running roughly. Weakness washed over him, and he could only manage to keep the plane level.

  He heard Hack Odom shouting, “You got him, Jason! You got him! It’s breaking in two!”

  Jason did not even have the strength to rejoice. The loss of blood had weakened him, and he could only mutter, “That’s good, Captain.”

  “Can you get back to the carrier?”

  “I don’t know. Shot up pretty bad.”

  “We got some more help here. Follow me in.”

  He saw two flights of Wildcats come, and they drove the Zeros away. Hack Odom maneuvered his dive bomber until he was in front of Jason and led him back to the carrier. Hack shepherded him like a wounded lamb, but Jason’s plane coughed and the engine stopped when the carrier was in sight. “I’m going down, Cap.”

  “Hang on. You can do it. You can land that thing.”

  “No. The engine’s quit.”

  Jason kept as much control as he could as his wounded plane headed down toward the sea. He took a second to glance back at his partner once, and sorrow filled him as he saw the lifeless body of Mack Morrison. “A good man,” he whispered as the sea rushed up to meet him.

  ****

  Oscar pushed the eggs in his tray around listlessly with his fork. Tentatively he lifted a fork full and stared at it for a moment before putting it in his mouth and chewing it slowly. He put the fork down and stared out the hospital window. Outside a gray squirrel was perched on the limb of a hickory tree, nibbling furiously at a nut. Oscar watched as the animal turned the nut around rapidly, its teeth moving so fast it was hard to see them. When the squirrel finished its delicacy, it licked its paw and then scampered off out of Oscar’s sight.

  Wearily Oscar picked up the newspaper and read the front page. The war was going bad for the Allies as usual, and he tossed the paper down with a discouraged gesture. As he did, the door opened, and Alona came in carrying a small wicker basket of fruit. She was wearing a soft blue dress, and the summer sun had laid a light tan on her face. Health seemed to glow from her as she came over to the bed and said, “Good morning, Oscar. How are you feeling?”

  “All right.”

  “I brought you some fresh fruit. Look, aren’t these apples beautiful?” Alona picked one up and admired it. “Do you want one now?”

  “Maybe later.”

  “All right. I’ll put them here on the table.” She put the fruit down and sat in the chair beside his bed, keeping the smile on her face. She always found it difficult when she looked at him not to reveal her dismay. He had lost some weight during the two weeks he’d been in the hospital, so that the skin of his neck hung in limp folds, and his eyes seemed to be sunken back in his head. He had been such a strong, vigorous man that the change in him was alarming. “I talked to Dr. Roberts. He was seeing another patient down the hall. He says you’re doing better.”

  “That’s doctor talk,” Oscar said. He held up a hand and stared at it. It seemed thin and frail. “I’m not doing better, Alona.”

  “But the fluid is all gone from your lungs now. He said you can get up soon and walk a little.”

  “I doubt if that will ever happen.” The sickness had drained Oscar’s will, and Alona felt a sudden touch of compassion. She reached out and picked up his hand and held it in both of hers. “Oscar,” she said softly, “would you like to come home?”

  “Come home?” he asked. “Did Dr. Roberts say I could?”

  “He didn’t say, but I think I could care for you at home. I think Mrs. Darrow and I could do as well for you as they do here.” Alona saw something change in his eyes, and she realized that Oscar had longed to get out of the hospital. She knew how he hated it, but he had been so ill, there had been no question of leaving. Even now she was not sure Dr. Roberts would permit it. “I’ll go ask him if that’s what you want.”

  “I . . .I would like it very much.”

  Alona saw that the admission was hard for her husband. She put his hand down and said firmly, “All right. I’ll go ask him right now.”

  When she was gone, Oscar lay there thinking over the past weeks. He had had peaks and valleys in his illness, but the valleys always seemed to be deeper than the peaks were high. The fluid in his lungs had been a constant concern, and pneumonia was always a threat. Alona had been more faithful than he had dreamed she would be. Much of the time he was too sick to talk, but she had come and sat beside his bed day after day, telling him what the boys were up to. She had even gone by the factory and talked to the manager who was in charge in his absence. Alona had reported back to Oscar that everything was fine at the foundry.

  Alona was gone for what seemed like a long time. As he lay there trying to keep his hopes from rising, he realized how far the two of them had drifted apart. He was filled with regret over the way their marriage had turned out. He longed to say something to Alona but didn’t know how to start. He had no practice in the art of reconciliation. His strength had always been a wall of separation from others. He did not allow any gaps in it that would allow others to come too close.

  Alona came back, her eyes bright, with Dr. Roberts in tow. “The doctor says we can take you home tomorrow, Oscar.”

  “Now, wait a minute. I said it was a bad idea. You didn’t add that.”

  Dr. Roberts looked weary, for he carried a heavy load. It seemed that the war had brought more sickness even here at home, although there was no obvious connection. “This woman ought to be a salesman. She doesn’t know what the word no means.”

  Oscar grinned briefly. “I understand that well enough.”

  “She’s convinced me that she and Mrs. Darrow can handle the job, and I’ve insisted that she have a nurse to help at least part time. And, Oscar, if you get worse, you’ll have to come back.”

  “Thanks, Ed.”

  He reached down and patted Oscar on the shoulder. “I hope you get better,” he said gruffly.

  “He will, Doctor,” Alona said. “I’ll take such good care of him.”

  When Dr. Roberts had left the room, she said, “We’ll keep you in the guest bedroom downstairs. It’ll be close to the kitchen, and the boys can come in and visit with you.” She brushed his hair back off his forehead. “I need to run some errands now, but I’ll be back for a longer visit this afternoon.”

  She started to move her hand, but he held it. “What is it, Oscar?”

  He tried to say what was on his heart but couldn’t make the words get past his lips. “Thanks. . . . It’ll be good to be home.”

  Alona gave his hand a squeeze. “You’ll feel better when you’re at home. I know you’ll improve just being away from here.” She smiled and left the room abruptly when she saw tears gather in Oscar’s eyes. She knew he would hate it if anyone saw him so weak. Leaving the hospital, her mind was filled with plans for caring for an invalid.

  ****

  “ . . . and so Oscar will be coming home tomorrow morning. He’ll stay in the guest room on the first floor, and Mrs. Darrow and I will take care of him.”<
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  “Is he better?” Zac demanded. “He must be if he’s gettin’ out of the hospital.”

  “He’s well enough to come home, but he’s still very sick. You boys will have to work on being quiet.”

  Carl wrinkled his nose. “Aw, Mom . . .”

  “You can’t yell like wild animals when you’re outside, and we’ll have to keep the volume down on the radio. We’re going to have to be careful to let him get his rest. I’ll be very strict about this.”

  “That’s all right, Mom,” Zac said. “I’ll keep ’em quiet.”

  “You couldn’t keep anybody quiet!” Carl argued. “Besides, you’re the noisiest one of all of us!”

  “We’ll all work together on being quiet. He’s a very sick man, but he loves you boys, and I want you to visit quietly with him and let him see that you care for him.”

  “Sure, Mom,” Carl said, “we can do that.”

  “I also wanted to warn you that he looks different than he used to. But don’t let that scare you.”

  Tim stared at his mother. “Is he . . . is he going to die?”

  “We’ve all got to do that someday, Tim, but I think Oscar is going to be fine. He’ll be his old self before long.”

  “Can we go play now, Mom?” Carl asked.

  “Sure. Mrs. Darrow and I have a lot of work to do.”

  When the boys started to leave, she held her oldest son back. “Tim, I know you and Oscar have had difficulties in the past, but you must put all that behind you now.”

  He flushed guiltily. “Sure, Mom. It won’t be hard.”

  “That’s my good boy.” Alona smiled and hugged him.

  ****

  A few days later, Alona finished her shopping late in the afternoon. She pulled into the garage and greeted Tim, who was already there to help her carry in the groceries. He picked up two of the sacks while she got the third.

  They went into the kitchen, where Leah was cutting up a piece of meat. “We ran out of ration stamps for some of the items,” Alona told her. “We’ll just have to make do.”

  “Did you get the butter?”

  “No, but I was able to get something that looks like butter. A little bit, anyway. It’s funny stuff,” she said, prowling through the packages. She pulled out an item. “Look, it’s white.”

  “White butter?” Tim said. “I never heard of such a thing.”

  “That’s because it’s not real butter. It’s called margarine.”

  Buddy was following all the action with his eyes, even though Alona couldn’t imagine that a dog would be interested in margarine or butter.

  “Ugh, I don’t think I could spread that white stuff on a biscuit!” Tim said.

  “It comes with this little capsule of dye,” she said, holding it up. “You mix it in, and it makes the margarine yellow.”

  “Well, I never . . .” Mrs. Darrow said. She took it and examined it. “I’m glad it’s yellow instead of green or blue,” she said with a grin.

  Alona laughed. Leah Darrow had undergone a transformation since Oscar’s heart attack. She was an excellent nurse, and with the aid of Bea McCulloch, who came for a couple hours every morning, she had become almost cheerful.

  “Well, it’s not going to be polka dot butter, anyhow,” Alona said. “How’s Oscar?”

  “He hasn’t had much to say today.”

  “We played checkers after school, Mom,” Tim said. “And I beat him two games out of three.”

  “I think he let you win.” Leah smiled. “I never heard of anyone ever beating him at checkers.”

  “Yeah, I think he probably did, but I didn’t say anything.”

  “I’ll help put the groceries away and then help with supper,” Alona said as she started pulling more items out of the bags.

  “No. You go sit with Oscar. I don’t mind doing this.”

  Buddy was sitting there looking at the two, and suddenly Mrs. Darrow laughed. “That dog has become a beggar!”

  “You spoil him, Leah, always giving him things to eat. He’s going to get fat.” It had been a shock to everyone that Leah had become very attached to Buddy. The big dog, always affectionate and hungry for attention, took all he could get.

  Mrs. Darrow cut a chunk of meat for Buddy. She held it above his nose until he sat up and begged.

  “Good boy, Buddy.” She dropped the meat into his mouth. “There. That’s all you get. Now, go lie down and get out from under my feet.”

  Obediently Buddy went over and flopped down on the rug by the wall.

  “I had a dog like him when I was a girl,” the housekeeper commented, “but my mother made me get rid of him.”

  Alona patted the older woman on the shoulder. “I’ll go sit with Oscar for a while. Get the boys to set the table for you.”

  “All right. You go now.”

  Alona went at once to Oscar’s room and found him sitting up in the chair they kept beside his bed. He loved to sit there and look out the window. She spoke to him cheerfully and drew up a chair, but when he didn’t speak, she said, “I hear you’ve been playing checkers.”

  “Yes.”

  The reply was short, and Leah was suddenly concerned. “Don’t you feel well, Oscar?”

  “I feel all right, but I’ve got some bad news. A telegram came this afternoon. I’ve been waiting for you to get home to tell you.”

  “A telegram?”

  “It’s about Jason.” Oscar took the yellow envelope from his bedside table.

  A chill slid over Alona, and she could not move. She knew well what a telegram usually meant. She reached out slowly and took the envelope. Feeling Oscar’s eyes on her, she opened it and took out the single sheet. “We regret to inform you that your brother, Jason Moran, has been wounded in action.” She read the rest of the telegram silently. “It doesn’t say how badly he was wounded.”

  “No, but he’s alive, Alona.”

  “Yes, thank God he’s alive.”

  She sat there unable to think clearly, aware that Oscar was waiting for her to speak. “We’ll have to pray that it’s minor.”

  “Yes. We’ll do that.” He cleared his throat and then said, “I’ve been wanting to talk to you, Alona, but this isn’t the right time. Maybe tomorrow.”

  “No, let’s do it now.” She put the telegram back in the envelope and put it back on the table. “What is it?”

  Oscar Moran was good at giving commands but not at other kinds of conversation. He was clearly struggling for words, and Alona thought she knew what was coming.

  “I . . . I’ve been wrong about so many things,” he started. “Lying in that hospital bed, and then the days here at home, I’ve been reflecting on my whole life. I’ve always been one to do things, but that’s been taken away from me. Now all I can do is think, and I’ve been thinking about the past.” He lifted his eyes and said quietly, “I was wrong about you and Jason. I ask you to forgive me.”

  Alona knew what it had cost him to say this. She took his hand and held it. “Of course I do.”

  “Thank you. That’s like you.” She kept his hand in hers, and he began to tell her about the early days of how he had tried to help Jason, how he had tried to be a father for the boy the best way he knew how. “I thought I was being a good father figure, but I know now I wasn’t understanding enough. I was so busy keeping the foundry going I didn’t have time to think. Jason’s not like me. You know that very well. He’s more sensitive. As a matter of fact, he’s like Tim.”

  “Why, yes, he is like Tim.” Alona was surprised that Oscar had the insight to notice that. She knew then that he had been spending a lot of time thinking.

  “I should have encouraged Jason when he wanted to be an artist. Maybe it’s not too late yet.”

  “Maybe not.”

  “When he gets home I’m going to try to make it up to him.”

  Alona couldn’t believe her ears as her husband shared his feelings with her. He seemed to have become a completely different man.

  “I wish I had done things diff
erently,” he said with a sigh, “so many things. . . .”

  She could see that he was getting tired. “Why don’t we get you back into bed. You may be pushing yourself a little with sitting up for so long.”

  Oscar allowed her to help him make the transfer from the chair to the bed. After she had made sure he was comfortable, she said, “I’m going to go help Leah with supper. I’ll bring your tray in as soon as it’s ready.”

  “I know it’ll be good. I’ve got the two best cooks in Jonesboro right here waiting on me.” Oscar managed to smile.

  How he’s changed, she thought as she left the room. It’s been a terrible experience, but I see something in his heart now that I never saw before, and I think he sees it too. As she walked down the hall, her thoughts turned to Jason and she wondered how she would tell the boys that he had been wounded. There was no easy way to break news like that, especially since they didn’t even know how badly he had been hurt. But it had to be done.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Front Page News

  Jason couldn’t figure out what the buzzing sound was. At first it sounded like bees and then eventually the buzzing sounded more like voices. But the words did not make any sense. He might have been listening to a foreign language. A sharp pain in his side caught his attention and then another in his right leg jerked him further out of the dim world where he had been dreaming of green fields and blue skies and into the harsh reality.

  He smelled something acidic, sharp and biting, and he was aware that he was lying in a bed. Suddenly he remembered what had happened in his last moments of consciousness . . . the blue-green water rushing up to meet him as his plane dove straight at it.

  “He’s doing better than I expected, Captain Odom. He had a little water in his lungs, but I think your men got him out just in time.”

  Jason’s eyes opened almost involuntarily, and he saw a man standing to his left with a long face and a shock of stiff black hair. The sight of Captain Hack Odom brought him a great surge of relief. Odom was a known factor, something he could relate to.

  “Look, his eyes are open!” Odom said, leaning over until his face filled Jason’s view. “Hey, are you awake, Moran?”