Farewell PFC Polk: The End of a Nightmare (In the Valley of Hope Book 2)

by Richard Weirich

  “Let ‘em in,” said Woody.

  For the next two hours, it was like the floodgates of Strasburg were opened. The line of friends, relatives, and strangers who had come to pay their respects spanned an entire block. And this was just a foreshadowing of what was to come the following day at the funeral. The outpouring of love and support proved to be both exhilarating and fatiguing. It didn’t take long for Elmo Dellinger to realize that there was no way that all of those people could be accommodated in the two hours allotted. Assistants were sent onto the street to request visitors to move along quickly. He hoped to avoid asking the family to extend the time limit.

  The St. Paul’s Blue Hairs were first in line. After all, none of them stayed up passed 8:00 o’clock and they always made it a point to be the first to get the latest twists and turns in the local news. To be fair, they also were the first to lend a hand in times of need and they thought the world of Mable.

  There were many young people in the assembly, most of whom had never experienced the death of a friend or loved one. Just as everybody knows everybody else in a small town, so it is in the local schools. Buddy’s graduating class of ’53 was made up of just 52 students, all of whom had been together since the first grade. They were like family.

  A sizeable representation of the Strasburg High School faculty was in attendance. Coach Al Simpson was there with his girlfriend Lula Mae Whitfield, as were Guidance Counselor Wilbert Bromley, Principle Bob White, and Buddy’s teacher crush and French instructor, Patricia Stover. Even some of his old elementary school teachers showed up.

  And there were girlfriends. Trudy and Bobbie Jean made the trip together. The long wait gave them time to catch up. Trudy was still in college and happily married to a husband who had a good paying job as an accountant. However, for Bobbie Jean, her world was crashing around her. In the two years since graduation she had married, divorced, moved back in with her mother, finished nursing school and ended up with a job with the boss from hell. Lately, she had battled a dark depression that had intensified since learning of Buddy’s death. Trudy could tell that things weren’t right with her old friend. However, Bobbie Jean had too much pride to share the extent of her troubles.

  They talked about Donnie and wondered if he would make it for the funeral. Neither had heard from him in a long time. He stopped writing to both of them when he learned of Trudy’s wedding plans.

  “You broke his heart,” said Bobbie Jean, taking a light-hearted jab at her old cheerleader teammate.

  “Told him we could still be friends.”

  “He was madly in love with you. He wanted more.”

  Trudy was uncomfortable with the topic of conversation and changed the subject. “Did you ever see so many black dresses? I liked to never find one.”

  Bobbie Jean was trying to avoid looking at Trudy, who was considerably heavier than the last time she saw her. Her once slender and beautiful figure had ballooned into a shape reminiscent of Wendy Electrolux Williams, one of Donnie’s old flames. But there was an intriguing possibility for Trudy’s weight gain. “Is there something that you’re hiding from me?” asked Bobbie Jean.

  Trudy looked puzzled. “What do you mean?”

  If things were going better in her life, Bobbie Jean would have probably left well enough alone. But she just had to capitalize on the one thing she still had going for her. She still had her cheerleader body and Trudy didn’t. “Are you pregnant?”

  Trudy’s face turned redder than the roses on Buddy’s casket. “Nope. Not pregnant.” And then she ran her hands down her sides and examined herself. “Does this dress make me look fat?”

  Bobbie Jean wasn’t about to answer that question. Never in a million years. No matter, though. Trudy was now motivated to take a little jab of her own. “So, what finally made you call it quits with Cliff? Most girls would have given just about anything to marry that guy. Best looking fellow at Strasburg High.”

  “Oh, I don’t know,” said Bobbie Jean sarcastically. “Maybe it was the second or third black eye. He didn’t look so handsome after that.”

  “Sorry. I shouldn’t have said that,” said Trudy, embarrassed that she had gone down that road.

  “Did you ever hear about the time that Buddy whipped Cliff’s butt?”

  “No. When did that happen?”

  “The night of the party at Donnie’s house when they came home on leave together. Buddy walked me to my house and after we had said goodnight, Cliff jumped him. Don’t you remember when Cliff was wearing a sling on his arm?”

  “Buddy did that?”

  “Yep.”

  “Well, I’ll be darned.”

  Finally, the girls were standing in the lobby which put an end to the conversation that had taken their minds off the grim task ahead. Moments later they stepped into the Shenandoah Room where they were confronted by the flowers, the photograph, the family, and…the casket.

  At first, all they could see was an open lid but as they drew nearer, there lay their good friend, and then came tears. Lots of tears. As they stood over him, Trudy had to look away, and Bobbie Jean froze. People behind her grew impatient and politely asked her to please keep the line moving but she didn’t hear a word they said. It took some prodding and even a little tugging on her arm to get her away from there.

  Only Bobbie Jean knew Mrs. Polk since they went to church together. Mable was still sitting, hadn’t moved since the visitation began. “Mrs. Polk,” said Bobbie Jean. “I am so...” and that’s all she could say. Mable held Bobbie Jeans hand and they cried together. Trudy had already moved on. She just couldn’t take it.

  Further back in the visitation line, Sally Duffy inched along, ever closer to seeing the man who had vowed that she was his ‘one and only love.’ If only she were invisible and could just take care of her business without being noticed. Her anxiety grew with each step. Over and over in her mind she exhorted herself. Hold it together. Hold it together. Be strong. To make matters worse, across the street was a reminder of that awful day in the library when she first read about the tragedy. She couldn’t believe it. The publishing facility for the Northern Virginia Daily was right before her eyes and she could even hear the sound of the presses running.

  “Are you from Strasburg?” asked the lady behind her.

  “Oh, no mam,” replied Sally, turning around to look at the one person kind enough to talk to her. A little girl was with her, holding her hand, and looking extremely bored.

  “Me, either. We’re from just down the road…in Middletown. I’m Jane Hudson and this is my daughter, Lilly.”

  “Pleased to meet the both of you. I’m Sally Duffy from West Point.”

  “The military school?”

  “No, mam. Lots of folks think that. West Point, Virginia, down near Williamsburg and Jamestown.”

  “OK. Never been there but I’ve heard of it. Are you a friend of the family?”

  “Well, I feel like I know them but we’ve never met. I was real good friends with Charles. How about you?”

  “I’m best friends with his sister, Helen. Lilly here and her little boy play together all the time.”

  “That would be Dickie, right?”

  Lilly responded before her mother could. “You know Dickie?”

  “No. Charles just talked about him in his letters.”

  “Oh,” said Lilly, seemingly disappointed.

  “She’s been upset ever since the family took him out of school early when they found out about his death.”

  “I didn’t know that. I bet Dickie will be glad to see you,” said Sally, smiling at Lilly and so grateful to have something to give her tired mind a rest.

  Elmo Dellinger, the Funeral Director, succeeded in speeding up the visitation line, and it was beginning to look like he would be able to close up shop on time. The issue wasn’t about keeping a schedule. What really concerned him was the well-being of the Polk family.

  Finally after waiting for more than an hour, it was Sally’s turn. Jane Hudson pointed ou
t the members of the immediate family as they entered the Shenandoah Room. “That’s my friend, Helen, on the left. Her husband, Woody, to her right. Of course, the boy is Dickie. Then next to the picture on the table, that’s Mr. and Mrs. Polk.”

  Upon seeing the photograph, just like the one Buddy had sent her, Sally’s knees began to buckle. Jane saw what was happening and caught her just in the nick of time. “Are you alright?” whispered Jane, who was more than a little curious as to the extent of Sally’s friendship with Buddy. There’s more here than a casual relationship, she reasoned. Helen told her everything in minutia. If there were a serious girlfriend in her brother’s life, Helen would have been all over it, that is if she knew about it. Jane couldn’t wait to corner her friend to find out what she knew about a beautiful girl from West Point named Sally.

  Helen saw Jane just inside the doorway and nodded her head to acknowledge her presence. Dickie also spotted his friend, Lilly, but pretended not to see her. It’s not that he didn’t like her or that they weren’t best friends. She was a girl. At home. In private. That was OK. But not here in public in front of all these people. No self-respecting 7-year-old boy in 1955 was willing to risk his reputation by being seen with a girl that wasn’t his sister.

  Sally remained true to her promise not to cry when she saw him but it was all that she could do to restrain herself from touching him. He had put on weight and looked stronger and more muscular than when she last saw him. So handsome in his uniform. How she wished that they could embrace again. And then all feeling disappeared from her legs, every ounce of energy drained from her body, and she fell to the floor.

  “Charlie, help that poor girl,” said Mable, who stood up then watched as Woody and Jane Hudson knelt down beside her. Charlie left the room in search of the funeral director. “Is she alright?” asked Mable.

  “I’ve got smelling salts,” said Helen, who proceeded to rummage through her purse for the tiny vial. “Here it is. Who is she, anyway?”

  Jane Hudson looked up at Helen. “Sally. Her name is Sally.”

  Woody held the ammonium carbonate potion under Sally’s nose in an attempt to revive her while Helen responded with a litany of questions and instructions. “Don’t hold it so close to her face. Is she breathing? Did she hit her head? Are you sure you removed the lid?”

  “I should have been holding onto her,” said Jane. “She nearly passed out when we first came into the room.”

  “She’s coming around,” said Woody continuing to gently wave the smelling salts under her nose.

  Elmo Dellinger and two assistants entered the room. “We’ll take it from here.” As Sally rallied from her fainting spell, the funeral home employees helped her to her feet and then led her into the next room where she sat on a bench. She tried to open her eyes but she felt as if she was spinning out of control. Where was she? Who were these people? What was happening to her?

  “You just passed out,” said the Director. You’re going to be just fine.”

  “I’m so embarrassed,” said Sally. “I must leave now.”

  “This happens all the time around here. Nothing to be embarrassed about. But you do need to stay put for a little while. Make sure your head is clear before you try to get up.”

  Back in the Shenandoah Room, Jane and Helen were discussing the identity of the girl that fainted. “Did you get her last name?” asked Helen.

  “Don’t remember the last name,” replied Jane.

  “Follow me,” said Helen, who then led Jane to an arrangement of flowers in the back of the room. “Look here,” she said pointing to the name tag. “Was her last name Duffy?”

  The connection was obvious. “West Point, Virginia,” said Jane. “That’s where she said she was from. And she knew all of you by name. In fact, she knew more than I know about your family.”

  “What do you make of that?” asked Helen with a puzzled look on her face.

  “Your brother had a girlfriend that he didn’t tell you about. I’ll bet you.”

  The sudden change of events took Helen’s mind off her grief. She was her old self again, the old self that was bound and determined to dig out every juicy little detail about Sally Duffy. “Why wouldn’t Buddy tell me about something like this?” asked Helen. But there wasn’t a sign of the mystery girl in that room, the lobby, or even outside on the sidewalk. “Maybe she’ll be at the funeral. I’ve got to talk to that girl.”

  Chapter VI – Never Say Goodbye – June 1955

  The Longest Day – June 21, 1955

  There is no such thing as an easy day when your world has been turned upside down by the loss of a child. The pain is so severe that you can’t see passed it. Wearing that chain of misery makes everything, every change, every event, a major ordeal. The simplest decisions become monumental and the most fundamental functions of life like eating, sleeping, and bathing seem unimportant and cumbersome.

  Mable had grown tired of hearing, “I don’t know how she’s holding up,” and “She’s doing remarkably well, considering the circumstances.” Those well-intended expressions of encouragement were way off the mark. She wasn’t holding up and she definitely wasn’t doing remarkably well, or even partially well. She was miserable beyond description. So was Charlie.

  And where was God in all this? Mable was like a walking Bible. Knew it. Lived it. She was the ultimate prayer warrior and had that kind of faith that moves mountains, that is, until now. There was no moving this mountain. No amount of fervent prayer could bring back her greatest earthly treasure. At the moment she lost her son, she lost her faith, and her family lost the rock upon which they drew strength in turbulent times.

  Added to her suffering was the vision of what she saw in the casket last night at the visitation. There was a finality in seeing him like that. In the long delay, the 3-weeks of waiting, there was a small, albeit unrealistic, glimmer of hope that all of this was just a nightmare. Even she knew that it was an irrational thought, but then again enormous stress inhibits cognitive clarity.

  On this day, there was yet more of the reality to be faced. The funeral at the church, the graveside service, and then a house full of people. It was all too much. How could she endure?

  Home of Preston Headley, Middletown, VA - 9:00 a.m.

  It was now time for Woody to take advantage of one of Helen’s rare compromises. If it had been up to him, Dickie would have been spared the visitation and the funeral. He just believed that his son was too young to be exposed to such traumatic experiences. It wasn’t that Helen disagreed with his logic, she just had a different motivation. Dickie was like her security blanket. Needed him with her. Then, if she made it through the visitation, she would have more confidence in her ability to withstand the funeral.

  Woody’s mother, Ida Headley, died in 1943. On her side of the Weirich family there were as many Headleys as there were trees on Massanutten Mountain, or so it seemed. So it wasn’t difficult to find a cousin who was willing to watch Dickie for the day. Even better, they had a son, Wesley, who was Dickie’s age and a classmate.

  Nobody was happier about the arrangement than Dickie. The funeral experience was everything that his dad feared it would be. He hoped that he would never have to set foot in a funeral home ever again. That image of his Uncle Buddy was like an ugly scar that wouldn’t go away. For the remainder of the day, it would be playtime.

  St. Paul’s Lutheran Church, Strasburg, Virginia – 9:45 a.m.

  When the Polk family left the house, they didn’t bother to lock the doors. Folks would be coming and going throughout the day bringing food and offering condolences. Helen and Mable wore the same black dresses from the night before. Woody and Charlie were now on the second day of wearing new suits purchased for the occasion. Those suits would last them for years to come but as for the ladies, well, they hoped they would never have to wear those symbols of mourning ever again.

  The weather couldn’t have been better. The sun was shining, there was a gentle breeze, and if all went according to plan, the gr
aveside service in Mt. Jackson would be over before the hottest part of the day.

  St. Paul’s was within walking distance of the Polk residence. Worked out perfectly for Mable since Charlie wasn’t a regular attender. Only took five minutes on foot. But today was different. This was not the usual Sunday morning worship service and it was one of the few times in her life when Mable did not want to go to her beloved church.

  At the top of the hill where Washington crosses Fort, there were cars lined up on both sides of the street and the sidewalk was filled with visitors. There were so many young people it looked more like a crowd descending on a high school football game than a funeral.

  “Where on earth are we going to park?” lamented Woody.

  “Don’t worry about it,” growled Helen. “That’s already been taken care of.”

  Charlie didn’t say anything. Didn’t even respond with his familiar hum of disapproval. On this day, his grief took precedence over his thoughts about Woody and Helen’s penchant for tardiness.

  As soon as Elmo Dellinger spotted the immediate family’s vehicle he directed them to a reserved place at the front of the processional line. And then, he led them to the front of the church. “Please make room for the family to pass,” he said prompting those in the way to quickly step aside. Elmo held Mable’s left arm while she grasped the brass rail on her right for support. The masonry stairway seemed taller and steeper than usual to the grieving mother.

  Helen wasn’t happy about all the people who were gawking at them. This ain’t no freak show, she thought. And when Woody saw some of his family members on the steps and thanked them for coming, she squeezed his hand and gave him a stern look to let him know that it was inappropriate to talk.

  Once the family was gathered in the narthex, the Undertaker looked into the sanctuary to make sure that everything was in place for the final viewing. The scene from the funeral home had been replicated at the front of the church. Only now, there were more flower arrangements than before. A hymn was being played softly by Mrs. Stickley, the church organist.