The Widow's Choice

by Gilbert, Morris

  “Yes,” Jason managed to say. Odom’s face disappeared, and another man appeared, a stethoscope around his neck.

  “How do you feel?” the man asked.

  “Just . . .peachy.”

  “Bullets from a Zero and crashing a plane into the ocean didn’t take the devilment out of you, I see,” Odom said as his face joined the doctor’s. “You’re gonna be okay. I guarantee it.”

  “You’re not the doctor here, Captain. I am. Now, will you please leave so I can examine the man?”

  “No, I won’t.”

  The doctor laughed. “You military types are all alike. Think you can shoot your way out of anything. Okay, you can have five minutes. I’ll be right back.”

  “Thanks, Doc.”

  Odom’s face seemed to grow more distinct instead of having a slightly fuzzy outline. “Where am I?” Jason whispered.

  “You’re in the hospital, of course. Where did you think—this was heaven and I was Saint Peter?”

  “My leg hurts . . .and my side.”

  “Yep, I think you should be a little sore. You took a bullet in your side—that one just gouged a little trench in you—and another one in your thigh. But the doc says the bigger problem is your leg. You broke your thigh bone and both bones in your lower leg.”

  “How’d you get me out?”

  “One of our destroyers was no more than a half mile away from where you hit. The sailor boys saw you coming down and made for you. They did a good job getting you out just before your plane sank. You owe them one for that.”

  “How . . .are the rest of the boys?”

  “Most of them made it back.”

  “Mack’s gone. The Zeros got him the same time they winged me.”

  “I know. I’m sorry about that. He was a good man.”

  A pain raced up and down Jason’s leg, and he couldn’t speak. He closed his eyes and heard Hack Odom say, “I’ll get the doc to give you a shot for that. You do whatever he says.”

  Jason felt his hand being squeezed and managed to whisper, “What about the flat top?”

  Odom was grinning broadly. “Scratch one flat top,” he announced. “You put your bomb right down the stack. It broke in two. You’re a hero, boy. But don’t get bigheaded.”

  Jason thought about that moment when he had released the bomb, and then he could stay awake no longer and slipped back into the warm, pleasant darkness.

  ****

  “Look, Oscar, it’s a letter from Jason!” Alona shook his shoulder gently. “See, it’s his handwriting.”

  Oscar had been dozing in a chaise longue on the front porch, but he instantly came awake. “From Jason? What does it say?”

  “It’s addressed to you,” she said, excitement in her voice. “And there’s another one addressed to the boys. He must be better if he can write.”

  “Open it up.”

  “Let me take this to the boys and then I’ll be right back.”

  She found the three boys playing marbles out back behind the house. They argued about who should get to read the letter first and then finally agreed they would each read two sentences aloud to the others. She waited while they took turns reading it. You would hardly know Jason was lying in a hospital bed. His letter was full of teasing and references to some of the goofy things the four of them had done together during Alona and Oscar’s honeymoon.

  Alona returned to the front porch and told Oscar about the boys’ letter. Then she carefully tore into Oscar’s envelope, took out the single sheet of paper, and read aloud.

  “Dear Oscar,

  “I am feeling much better now than I was when I wrote you the first time. I was pretty dizzy, although my captain, Hack Odom, says it’s hard to tell about me—that I’m dizzy most of the time.

  “They have treated me very well here in the hospital. My side is doing much better, but my leg is still pretty useless. The doctors keep warning me not to hope for too much, and I keep telling them that Dr. Jesus is going to get me on my feet again.”

  “He told them that!” Oscar exclaimed. “I think that’s great!”

  “So do I. I’m sure he’ll be all right.” She began to read again.

  “The doctors are right about one thing, though. I’m going to be out of things for some time. I don’t know exactly how long, but I won’t be flying for quite a while.

  “I want to thank you, Oscar, once again, for the way you’ve stood by me all my life. A father could not have been better to me. I know I gave you all kinds of problems, and I’m sorry for all of them, and I hope you’ll put those out of your mind and just remember the good things.

  “I hope you’re taking care of yourself. I’m praying every day for your recovery. When you’re flat on your back, there’s nothing much to do but pray, so I’ve been catching up.

  “Your loving brother,

  “Jason”

  She handed him the letter and he scanned it. “That’s the best letter I ever got in my life, Alona,” he said in a husky voice.

  “I’m so glad you’re willing to start fresh with Jason.”

  “Would you write a letter for me?”

  “Of course. Let me get a pen and paper.”

  Alona was back in a moment, and Oscar spoke haltingly.

  “Dear Jason,

  “I thank God that you are alive, and I will pray for your recovery.

  “We all talk about you every day here. The boys appreciate the letters you’ve sent to the three of them. They have the first one on the bulletin board in Tim’s room, and I think they’ve all got it memorized. It gave them a great thrill to get a letter from a real war hero. I think they all three want to go into naval aviation now. I pray, of course, as you do, that they won’t have to. That this war will be over long before they’re old enough to enlist.

  “I have great pain when I look back over my life and realize how badly I handled some things—and especially you. I wasn’t the kind of dad you needed. I should have been much gentler and much kinder. I made the mistake of throwing all my energy into making money. It seemed like the right thing to do at the time, but I ask you to forgive me for the harshness with you.

  “We are all longing for the day when you come home. Please write again, and once again, I hope you can forget the bad things that I did and try to remember the good things.

  “Your brother,

  “Oscar”

  “That’s nice, Oscar.” Alona reached over and put her hand on Oscar’s. “It will make Jason very happy.”

  “Do you think so?”

  “Oh yes, I know it will. I’ll stamp it and get it mailed right away.”

  ****

  Tim stepped hesitantly into Oscar’s bedroom. Oscar was sitting in his chair beside the window looking out. “You wanted to see me, sir?”

  “Yes, I did. Did you bring those drawings of yours?”

  “I brought a few of them.”

  “Come over here and show them to me in this good light and tell me about them.”

  Tim swallowed. “Tell you about them?”

  “Yes.” Oscar smiled. “Tell me if you had any particular thing in mind while you were drawing or if you had trouble with some part of it. I don’t know anything about art. It’s almost like magic to me when someone can do what you do. I can’t even draw a straight line.”

  “Well, they’re just sketches,” Tim said tentatively as he sat on a chair near Oscar. He put the sketches down on the table, holding up one of them. “I had a lot of trouble with this one. I’m still not happy with it.”

  Oscar took the sketch and slanted it to get the best light. It was a sketch of the back part of their property where three tall pecan trees were in full flower. “This is great, Tim. I love those trees.”

  “I didn’t draw in the house we can see on the other side of the property. I wanted to make it look like it was way out in the country. But I’m not very good at drawing the flowers.”

  “I might disagree with that. They look very realistic.”

  The two talked f
or some time about the sketch, and then Oscar asked to see another. For thirty minutes Oscar listened as Tim told him about his drawings, and finally Oscar handed the last one back and said, “You have real talent, son.”

  “Oh, I don’t know. But I’m going to keep working on it.”

  “I’ve been thinking a lot about you and your desire to be an artist. Now that I’m pretty well unable to do anything, I’ve been trying to think of things I can do. And here’s what I’ve decided. If you’re interested, I’d like you to pursue your career in art. When it comes time for you to go to college, you should pick out one that has a good art program. If you want to go to Europe to study, I’ll provide the funds for that.”

  Oscar wasn’t sure what to make of Tim’s expression. His lips were parted and he looked frozen in his chair. “Would you like that, Tim?”

  “I’d be crazy if I didn’t like that, sir, but it would cost a lot of money.”

  “If it’s what you want, it might be the best money I’ve ever spent. In a decade or two most of the things we make at the foundry will be junk—rusted and thrown away. But some of your paintings may be hanging on the walls of museums long after you’re gone. I’d like to see you do your best at this. I think Zac will want to do something with his hands—maybe even work at the foundry—and as for Carl, well, it’s too early to tell what he might like to do. But I’ve made a will out, and none of you will have to worry about funding your dreams. Whatever happens to me, you’ll be able to become an artist.”

  Tim swallowed hard, and Oscar saw that the boy had tears in his eyes. “Let me look at this last sketch,” Oscar started but was interrupted when Zac’s voice filled the house.

  “He’s on the front page! He’s on the front page!” he yelled.

  “What’s he yelling about?” Tim asked. “Mom told him to be quiet.”

  But there was no quieting Zac Jennings down, and even as Tim stood up to go tell him to hush, Zac came flying into the room, waving a newspaper in the air. “Look, Mr. Oscar, it’s Jason! It’s him with the president!”

  Oscar took the page from Zac, who continued to talk excitedly.

  “Look, it’s Jason,” Zac repeated, pointing at the picture. “He’s getting a medal from the president!”

  Alona and Carl came into the room. “What is it?” Alona asked. “Is something wrong?”

  “Mom, it’s Jason. His picture is on the front page with President Roosevelt. Show it to her, Mr. Oscar!”

  Alona went to Oscar’s side and bent over the paper. She could hardly believe her eyes when she saw Jason sitting in a wheelchair across from President Roosevelt. You could not mistake Roosevelt. He was grinning at Jason, and the headline said, “Naval flier wins Medal of Honor for sinking flat top.”

  “The Medal of Honor!” Oscar exclaimed. “Jason has won the Medal of Honor!”

  “What’s that?” Carl demanded.

  “It’s the highest honor a soldier or sailor can get,” Oscar said. “They don’t give these away to just anybody.”

  The boys were all talking excitedly, and Alona went over and squatted beside Oscar. “You must be very proud, Oscar.”

  “I am, and all of us are, aren’t we, boys?”

  “We need to buy about fifty papers so we can give them to our friends.”

  “I expect everybody in Jonesboro will keep this one.” Alona smiled. She looked down at the picture of Jason again and shook her head. “He looks so thin.”

  “Yes, but he’s smiling,” Oscar said. “I hope he can come home soon.”

  Alona instantly knew why he had said that. Oscar had never talked about the possibility that he could die before he saw Jason again, but she knew that it was on his mind. “I’m sure he will as soon as he can.”

  “I’d love to see him and that medal,” Oscar said quietly. Then he smiled and said, “Put that in your prayers, Alona.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  “Tell Jason I Love Him”

  August had come with all of its heat, and Alona felt stretched thin. For a time it had seemed that Oscar was getting stronger, but that had been short-lived. He now was becoming steadily weaker and was unable to get out of bed. Even with the nurse, who came in every afternoon, Alona had her hands full taking care of the boys and her sick husband.

  The war had taken a turn for the better when the Battle of the Coral Sea had halted the Japanese, and then in June, the Allies had destroyed, for all practical purposes, the naval strength of the Japanese empire during the Battle of Midway. General Eisenhower had assumed command of the United States forces in the European theater, and Americans were beginning to feel better about the war. Even the news from Russia was good, for the Germans had been stopped at Sevastopol.

  Each day Alona took the paper into Oscar’s room and read the headlines and some of the news stories to him. He listened with interest but was obviously growing weaker.

  She went in to check on Oscar and saw that he was lying flat on his back but his eyes were open. “I’ll have your lunch ready soon.”

  “I’m not very hungry.”

  “You’ve got to eat.”

  “Alona, come here.”

  Surprised, she walked over. He held up his hand, and she took it and held it in both of hers. “What is it, Oscar? Do you want something?”

  “Yes, I do. I want you to forgive me.”

  “Forgive you for what?”

  “I had to get sick before I realized how badly I behaved toward you, but—”

  “Don’t worry about that,” Alona said quickly. “That’s all in the past. You’ve already asked for my forgiveness and I’ve given it to you. When you get better—”

  “I want to write a letter to Jason.”

  “Of course, Oscar.” She went over to the table and picked up some paper and a pen. Even as she did so, Tim came running through the door. “Mom—Mr. Oscar!”

  “What is it, Tim?” Alona said. “Is something wrong?”

  “No. Look what just came in the mail.”

  He handed her the letter with trembling fingers. She read it quickly and then gave him a big hug. “I’m so proud of you!” Still holding onto Tim, she handed the letter to Oscar. He took it and read it to himself.

  Mr. Timothy Jennings,

  The committee is pleased to inform you that your sketches have won first place in the Columbia Art Contest. Our congratulations to you, young man. Your sketches will be exhibited in the Atlanta Museum of Art. Please find a check enclosed, and we will be in touch with you in the near future.

  Oscar looked up, his face wreathed in a smile. “Tim, congratulations.”

  “I couldn’t have done it if it hadn’t been for you, Mr. Oscar.” Tim went over and when Oscar put out his hand, Tim ignored it. Instead he put his arms around Oscar and said, “Thanks . . . Dad.”

  Alona felt tears come to her eyes. Tim pulled out of the embrace and before he ran from the room, she saw tears in his eyes as well.

  “That was wonderful, Oscar.” She took a handkerchief out of her pocket and used it first on her tears and then on Oscar’s.

  “Your son is a fine boy, Alona, and I’m so proud of him.”

  “Do you want me to write your letter now?”

  “I’d like to write it myself this time.”

  “Are you sure you feel like it?”

  “Help me sit up and then bring me that board to write on.”

  Alona pulled Oscar into a semi-upright position, stuffing pillows behind his back, and gave him the board he used when he felt like writing himself. She put an envelope and paper and pen on the board and said, “I’ll come back later.” She leaned over and kissed his cheek. “It’s a wonderful thing you’ve done for Tim and for all the boys.”

  “I wish I’d had more time with them.”

  “You will,” she said. “You’ll have plenty of time with them.”

  He did not answer for a moment; then he reached out and took her hand again. He squeezed it gently and said, “I want you to take care of those boys,
Alona, and I know you will. And I want to thank you for being in my life.”

  “Why, Oscar, you’ve done so much for us. I need to thank you for all you’ve done for the boys and for me.”

  She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. “I’ll be back in half an hour with your lunch.”

  “All right, Alona.”

  She left the room and went to the kitchen.

  “How is he feeling today?” Leah asked.

  “Physically, about the same, I guess. Emotionally, I’d say he’s feeling very well. Better than ever.”

  She told Leah about what had happened.

  “I’m so glad that Tim called him Dad,” Leah said. “That must have been one of the best moments of his life.”

  “I think it was.”

  * * *

  Carrying a lunch tray carefully in one hand, Alona opened the door of Oscar’s room. The board was still on Oscar’s lap, but his head hung down at an awkward angle, and fear swept through her.

  “Oscar!” she cried. She quickly put the tray down on the bedside table. “Oscar, are you all right?”

  But when she touched him, she knew he was not all right. She felt for his pulse as the nurse had taught her and knew he was gone.

  She took a deep breath and tried to compose herself. The envelope she had given Oscar had fallen to the floor. She picked it up and noticed that it was sealed. She read the unsteady handwriting: For my beloved brother, Jason—when he comes home.

  She gazed down at this man who had so changed her life and the lives of her sons. She smoothed his hair and caressed his cheek. “Thank you, Oscar, for all the good things.”

  Closing the door quietly, she left the room and found the boys listening to the radio. She turned the radio off. “Boys, I have something to tell you. . . .”

  ****

  Jason was navigating down the hall of the hospital, swinging along on his crutches, when Chaplain Barnes came around the corner. “Hello, Padre, you out spreading the gospel today?”

  Chaplain Barnes ordinarily had a cheerful face, but today he was looking quite somber. “I’ve got something for you, Jason.”