by Cathy Elliot
“Manslaughter. He killed a man. And was incarcerated in the brig. After the court-martial, the military ordered him stripped of all medals and honors.”
“No wonder he didn’t want to talk about it,” Alice said, shaking her head sadly.
“I don’t understand.” Annie said. “How could the medals in the attic be Harold’s if he was already stripped of them?”
“Most likely, the tribunal didn’t demand Harold return the medals. They simply removed his right to wear them and all the benefits the honors bestow. The Medal of Honor is our highest military decoration, usually presented by the President. Being stripped of your medals is a huge fall from grace.”
“Wow.” Alice’s expression was one of wonder. “But he could have worn them anyway, right? Because he still had them. Who would know?”
“No serviceman of honor would ever do that. The few that chanced it have paid a stiff penalty. Very special privileges are also attached to this honor, like a pension or having one’s children eligible to attend military academies.”
Annie looked thoughtful. “I just can’t believe Harold is a killer. Not after being so honorable and brave. How did it happen?”
Mayor Butler pointed to the report. “A bar fight. Looks like it was accidental, but the testimonies conflicted a good deal. If it had been murder, Harold would never have been released at the end of the war.”
“Maybe he covered for someone else. What was his defense?” Annie asked. “Or maybe those other testimonies conflicted with his account, and that’s why he was found guilty.”
“According to this report, Harold refused to testify in his own defense. With the damning evidence presented, the outcome was obvious.” Ian put the report back in the folder. “One is left wondering if he simply had no defense.”
“Or could there be another reason for his silence? What about Dorothy Divine?” Annie asked. She didn’t want that lonely old man to be condemned forever. Not by the military, not by himself. There had to be more to the story.
Ian seemed to sympathize with her unspoken longing. “I searched yesterday afternoon. Finally, I obtained her last address through my military contacts. Unfortunately she’s deceased. But I contacted her daughter, Mrs. Bonnie Gleeson. I explained about Harold. Bonnie said she has information we need. I’m awaiting a fax from her later this morning.”
“That’s incredible!” Annie’s excitement acted like adrenalin. “What now?”
“We meet with Harold. Maybe have his son and grandson there too. He may need their support. Once we tell him what we know, he may fill in the details for us. We’ll finally get this solved!”
“Let’s go!” Annie said, bursting from her chair like a thoroughbred through a starting gate. “I could call Kate. Maybe she could set something up this morning.”
Ian stood. “Let me do the honors. I have a feeling a call from the mayor’s office might have a better response than even Kate Stevens could elicit.”
“What about me?” Alice rose, ready for action.
“Would you mind waiting for Wally? I have some things for him to do that need a woman’s detailed explanation. There’s a list,” Annie said. “Then you could pop over to the Hook and Needle Club meeting and bring the ladies up to speed.”
“But I’ll miss all the fun! After helping you out, Annie? Don’t I deserve to be there?” Alice said in a peevish voice.
“Actually, Alice, that’s a good idea.” The mayor spoke kindly. “But this is Harold’s life we are talking about. It’s a sensitive issue. He doesn’t know you. The fewer folks who witness his statement, the better.”
Defeated by common sense, Alice nodded. “I guess.”
Ian turned to Annie. “Meet me at Ocean View Assisted Living at eleven. We’ll see what happens from there.” They walked down the hall, discussing the plan. Passing the living room, Annie stopped to scoop up a cardboard box containing the new afghan, ready to post to Texas.
“I want to put this in the mail while I’m in town,” she told the mayor in explanation.
A quick wave to Alice, and Annie was out the door.
25
Annie sat in the open reception area of the assisted-living facility. She crossed and uncrossed her legs at the ankles, nervous but excited too. What if they could somehow give Harold Stevens a different ending to his story?
The double doors opened and Mayor Butler herded Robert and Harry Stevens, Harold’s son and grandson, into the room. “Come on in, gentlemen. I appreciate your prompt arrival. We’ll try not to keep you long.”
They both grunted their answers, looks of annoyance on their faces at this unexpected interference in their day’s work.
“What’s she doing here?” Harry asked, his bad attitude on full display.
“My apologies. I don’t believe you’ve met Mrs. Annie Dawson.” Ian made the introductions. “Mrs. Dawson is the granddaughter of Dr. Charlie and Betsy Holden. You remember them, right?”
More grunts in the affirmative.
“Good. Mrs. Dawson is joining us today as we visit Harold. We’d like to talk to him, and we need you there for his support.” Mayor Butler put his hand out. “Lead the way.”
Robert and Harry headed into the activity room with Annie and Ian close behind. Covered in the ratty afghan again, Harold sat alone, staring out at his beloved sea. When he turned and saw his son and grandson approach, his expression changed from lost to loving in a heartbeat.
“Robert! And Harry too? What a surprise. Thanks for coming, guys.”
Annie watched the men hug one another, noting the affection across generations. Obviously Harold was esteemed by his family. She couldn’t accept that he was a killer, no matter what the report said.
Ian stepped forward. “Mr. Stevens, I hope you don’t mind the interruption. Mrs. Dawson and I have come too. We wanted to talk to you, with your boys present. Would that be all right?” Ian clamped a friendly hand on the senior’s shoulder.
“Sure, sure,” Harold said, apparently unaware that his world was about to change. “Good to see you, Mayor. Mrs. Dawson.”
“Just call me Annie.” She smiled at him, hoping for a happy ending. “Betsy’s granddaughter, remember?”
“Right … Annie. You stopped by the other day.” He grinned, showing a hint of the boyish charm that must have won over Annie’s grandmother.
Harold was winning her over too.
“Let’s sit in a circle so we can keep our voices down.” Ian pulled some chairs near, and soon they were all seated close to Harold. Robert threw a protective arm around his father. Harry leaned back, arrogant.
Annie started the conversation. “Do you remember when we spoke last week? I asked if you had been awarded any medals. You said you didn’t deserve any.”
Harold nodded, his eyes clouding. “I remember.”
“But we have learned that during the war, you were awarded not only a Purple Heart, but the Medal of Honor, as well.”
Harry jumped up. “You don’t know what you’re talking about! Leave him alone!” He moved closer to his grandfather.
Robert stared at his father, worry in his eyes.
The old man slumped in his chair, hanging his head. “So it will all come out?”
Harry stared at Annie, almost hissing when he spoke. “You … you … busybody! What right do you have poking your nose into our affairs? No right at all! My grandfather has a right to his privacy. He never hurt you. He never hurt anybody.”
“That’s not completely true, Harry, and you know it,” Annie said.
Robert broke his silence. “Back off, Harry. Now too many people know about Dad’s past. Give it up.”
“No!” Harry said through clenched teeth, shaking his fist at Annie. “You back off! This is none of your business. I won’t let you hurt Pops. He’s the best man I know.”
Ian stepped forward and clasped Harry’s arm, forcing his hand back down and then releasing it. “We can discuss this without anger. This lady doesn’t deserve your disdain. She has
earned my respect by seeking the truth, no matter where it led her.”
“Respect? Bah!” Harry almost spit out the words. “I’ve got no respect for busybodies who can’t recognize a good man when they see one.”
“I do see one. Right here,” Annie pointed to Harold. “What we are trying to do is restore the honor that belongs to his good name, so it can be recognized.”
Harry shook his head. “I don’t believe you.”
“I find it hard to believe, as well,” Robert said, still seated next to his father, his arm encircling the veteran. “We’ve been protecting my dad for so long. Protecting ourselves also--from any fallout from the exposure.” He pulled back, ran his fingers through thick black hair, and looked up at Annie. “How can it be OK to talk about it now? Today? When it wasn’t OK yesterday?”
“Harold, does your family know the whole story?” Annie asked gently.
“The boys know. They’ve had to bear the shame of--” Harold couldn’t seem to finish his thought.
“We have some information that might change the way you see it,” Annie said with more authority than she had a right to convey. “But we have questions too. May we ask them so we can establish the truth and restore your honor?”
“You can’t rewrite history,” he said dully. He turned toward his grandson. “Harry, please sit down. You’ve protected me. But I don’t need protection from Mayor Butler or from Betsy Holden’s granddaughter.”
He waved to a chair and Harry sat, his mouth drawn in a thin line.
After everyone was again seated, Annie asked, “Mr. Stevens, can you just tell us your story, in your own words?”
Harold nodded and cleared his throat.
“Do you need some water, Pops? Are you comfortable?” Harry asked, leaning toward his grandfather.
“It’s a little chilly in here,” Harold said, shivering.
Harry reached over and pulled up the worn afghan, tucking it around the senior Stevens’ legs. “This old thing lets in more cold than it keeps out. I’m going to have to learn to crochet myself and make you a new one.”
Harold chucked a little, in spite of the situation. “It would be hard to replace this old blanket. Handmade by your grandmother, Harry.”
“I know.” Harry sat back down, his eyes on Harold, apparently watching for signs of discomfort.
Annie, touched by the demonstration, choked up and was unable to speak for a moment. Finally she recovered. “Go ahead, Mr. Stevens. Anytime you are ready.”
“I’ve lived with this for so long,” he whispered. “Covering it up has cost me. Friends couldn’t get too close. I didn’t join any post-military activities. And it hurt my boys, here. Made you afraid for me. Made you feel ashamed--although you had no reason to be. For that, I’m sorry.” He shook his head.
“I started with a bad attitude. And it was the war! After I got the medals, I got cocky. I was young, a hero … full of myself.”
“What I don’t understand,” Annie said, interrupting, “is why notice of your Medal of Honor never made it to Stony Point. I mean, this is a huge honor. Wouldn’t your family be contacted? Wouldn’t there be press releases?”
Harold raised his eyebrows. “That was my question, too. At first. I wrote my mom that she’d be getting good news soon. I thought the Navy would make the announcement. I wanted that ring of authority that comes with a message from the government. Not me. But it was the war.”
“It never came?” Ian asked.
“It never did,” Harold said. “It was wartime, and my awards were given at sea. I’d been wounded in battle, and it was some time before I was ready to receive them. After the ceremony on the ship, I was shipped stateside for more treatment.”
“Did you convalesce on board the USS Beneficent?” Annie asked, excited. “Is that where you met Charles Holden? My grandpa?”
“Yes. I recovered from my most severe wounds aboard his hospital ship. He used to listen as I talked about Stony Point. Oh, how I wanted to get home! I told him about Betsy, though I’d broken off our relationship by then.” Harold smiled, gazing out to sea. “That’s where Charlie and I became friends. He stuck by me through everything.”
“You were saying that it was wartime when you received your medals.” Ian brought the conversation back on topic. “Please continue.”
“Right.” Harold pulled the shabby afghan up around his chest and gave a couple of shallow coughs, covering his mouth with a calloused hand. He cleared his throat again.
In an instant, Harry was back on his feet, accusing. “Don’t you see he can’t handle all this? Can’t you just leave him alone?”
26
Harold spoke up then. “I’m fine now, Harry. Where was I?”
“It was wartime …” Ian helped him along.
“Yes, it was wartime, and the action was sufficient that radio silence was imposed at various times. Even during the ceremony at sea. Normal press releases were always timed to the actual ceremony. But I found out later that the office that would release the information never got word because of the prolonged radio silence.
“I didn’t know about the omission for a time. I thought it strange that my mother never congratulated me. Nor did anyone else. Except Charlie and my crewmates.”
Harold chuckled. “There was another reason that no one heard about it. Talk about government bureaucracy! Charlie had gone stateside not long after I was awarded the medals. He had a friend who was an assistant in an office in Washington, where those kinds of press releases were sent out. Charlie asked him to check into it.
“Later he said that they found the releases in a desk drawer in D.C. The name of my town had been misspelled. And they couldn’t figure out which town to send it to; there were three towns it could have been. So the press release never got sent. And that’s a good thing, because of the trouble I got into.”
“What do you mean?” Annie asked.
“I was glad no one knew. There was no mention of any medals, especially the Medal of Honor, by anyone at home. It was like it never happened. Almost as if the oversight was providential. Thank you, Uncle Sam.”
“Can you tell us what trouble you got into?” Ian asked.
Harry let out an angry grunt and crossed his arms, looking away.
“It was awful.” Harold studied his hands, clasping and unclasping them several times before he spoke. “It was soon after I was awarded the medals. I was pretty full of myself. I had broken up with Betsy so I could romance the girls--many girls. Maybe I thought that was a point of honor; I wouldn’t fool around while she still thought we were a couple. But it’s not much to hang my cap on.”
He took a deep breath. “I drank a lot. Too much. More, whenever I got liberty. One night, I got into a fight in a bar, defending a woman. Only it turned out badly. And a man ended up dead--by my hand.”
Harold hesitated, tearing up, the pain in his eyes evident. “I didn’t mean it. I swear I never meant to kill him.”
Robert reached around his father’s shoulder again, resting his arm in acceptance. “Of course not, Dad. Anyone who knows you believes that.”
“I was court-martialed and found guilty of manslaughter.”
The mayor leaned toward Harold. “Why didn’t you defend yourself, sir?”
“Because,” Harold said, “I couldn’t. I was drunk at the time and couldn’t remember anything. And there were witnesses who said I was guilty. So how could that be defended?”
“Apparently a lot of the witnesses were also drunk. You might have been exonerated if all the evidence had been presented,” Ian said.
“I only remember this man bullying the woman who had taken care of me in the hospital. When he slapped her, I hit him. Knocked him across the room. Banged his head against the bar.”
Harold sighed deeply. “I did it. No one else. They stripped me of my medals and revoked my pay. I spent the remainder of my tour of duty in the brig. After the war, I was sent packing with a dishonorable discharge.”
“Dad, you made
a mistake is all.” Robert’s voice wavered as he patted the old man on the back. “We’ve always known about the court-martial, and we love you anyway.”
“Yeah,” said Harry, “we’ve always known. I had that secret thing hanging over my head until I was eighteen. ‘When you turn eighteen, Harry, you’ll learn the family secret.’ I thought it would be some wonderful thing to carry through life,” Harry’s anger rose as he turned on his grandfather. “Why didn’t you just take it to the grave, Pops? You think I want to have that talk with Vanessa when she turns eighteen?”
Harold shook his head. “I’m so very sorry, Harry. I thought it was the right thing to do. I hoped that Robert and you would steer clear of trouble if you knew how I had ruined my life.”
Harry’s shoulders sagged as if he was surrendering his anger to his love for his grandfather. “Forget what I said, Pops. I didn’t mean it.”
“I know you didn’t, Harry.” Harold’s big hands trembled. “I never meant for you boys to live with my shame.”
“We’re doing OK, Dad,” Robert said. “We have a great life. I’ve been working my program for what? Twelve years? Put my marriage back together, keeping the business afloat, doing the Stevens name proud. Harry’s doing OK too, aren’t you, son?”
Eyes downcast, Harry agreed with a nod of his head.
“What happened to the medals?” Annie asked. Maybe she would finally understand how they came to be in Gram’s attic.
“When I came home, I left the medals behind. I couldn’t wear them or claim them. Didn’t deserve them. Especially not a Medal of Honor. Just left them in my locker. Charlie brought them to me later, not long after the war ended.”
“Then how did he end up keeping your medals? I can’t figure it out,” Annie said. “Why would he bring you medals you couldn’t wear, in the first place?”
Harold peered into the distance, retrieving the memory like nets full of fish. “I have so many regrets. Especially the way I treated Charlie. He was a good friend. He knew the full story about the man who was killed, and he never condemned me. He said he thought that by returning the medals, I’d be reminded of the good I had done, the lives that were saved and my part in it.