by Doug Beason
At least she seemed perky that morning, and the stomach flu had mysteriously disappeared; for some reason it seemed as though her emotions were on a roller coaster, swinging up and down like a yo-yo.
Outside, trees with bare branches lined the tracks. The sky was gray and cloudy as flakes of snow swirled against the window. Rod shivered, remembering the cold winter on Pennsylvania Avenue a scant two years ago when the Wing had marched in President Eisenhower’s inauguration. The damp winter air had a sharp bite, and although the temperature had not been as low as it typically was in Colorado, it had felt more chilling.
The brakes squealed as the train slowed into a long tunnel that led into Union Station. It grew dark outside and the inside lights seemed suddenly bright.
Rod held out a hand to balance as he stood and opened the door to the small sleeper. He turned to Julie; she wore an oversized grey sweater, black slacks, and short pumps. “I’m sorry if I’ve done anything to upset you,” Rod said. “Why don’t we put whatever happened back in Colorado behind us and enjoy this trip?”
She stuffed a wad of tissue paper into her purse. “I’m not angry.”
“Then you’re upset.”
Snapping her purse shut, she stood unsteadily. “No I’m not upset.”
“Then what’s the matter?”
Julie twisted past him and moved into the hallway, ignoring him. The train crept into an enormous, arched building; twenty other trains were parked along various piers.
The train shuddered, then bumped to a stop.
Rod picked up the suitcases. “What’s wrong?” He spoke to the back of her head.
“I said, nothing.”
This is crazy. Is the whole Christmas break going to be like this? He tried another tack. “If you’re worried about your parents giving you trouble about moving to Colorado, I’ll speak to your father.”
“It’s not that.”
The train door opened with a squeak. Rod saw Julie’s father, Ambassador Phillips, walking arm in arm with Julie’s mother. He stopped as Mrs. Phillips scanned the cars, looking for them. Looking upset, she clutched a handkerchief.
Julie stepped outside when Rod reached forward and said, “What is it?”
She turned. Her eyes softened as she studied him; she said quietly, “Rod, I’m pregnant.”
“You’re what?”
“Pregnant, you dope.”
“Pregnant? How … how did that happen?” Rod felt his knees grow wobbly.
“How the hell do you think it happened? Immaculate conception?”
He closed his eyes.
She touched his face. “I’m sorry. I’ve been going through a lot lately.”
“I’ll say,” Rod said. He leaned against the bulkhead. What else could she drop on him right before they met her parents?
Suddenly it was clear, Julie’s sickness at Thanksgiving, her moodiness.…
Julie’s mother spotted them and started walking rapidly toward the train’s door. She waved her handkerchief as she wobbled slightly on her high heels.
Julie sniffed and rummaged through her purse for a tissue. “I’m sorry, Rod.” She dabbed at her eyes.
“Sorry? What for?” His mind raced with the implications. “Uh, when’s the baby due?” A baby. Geez, and they weren’t even married. What were they going to do now? What was Julie going to do while she was pregnant?
What would happen to him—would the Academy allow him to graduate? And what about graduate school, and pilot training? He was going to be a father!
“The baby’s due in June.” She took his hand. “But don’t worry. I did some calling before the trip and I’ll take care of it while I’m here.”
“Take care of it.” He ran a weak hand through his hair. “You mean put the baby up for adoption.” Things were going way too fast for him to make any sensible decisions.
“No, I mean get rid of it.”
“Right. Put it up for adoption.”
She looked at him strangely. “No, an abortion.”
Mrs. Phillips tapped up to the bottom of the stairs. “Julie, welcome home, dear. You look tired.”
Looking stoic in his white shirt, pin-striped brown suit, and burnt orange tie, Mr. Phillips waited behind her, his hands behind his back.
Mrs. Phillip set her mouth at the sight of Rod, as if suddenly seeing him for the first time. “Hello, Rod.”
“Good afternoon, ma’am.”
Julie stepped carefully down the stairs, one at a time. Rod stooped, picked up the suitcases, and followed her off the train. The station was packed with people. Men in gray business suits carrying briefcases hurried past; a young mother with a stroller pulled a young boy by the arm. The tangy smell of mustard, hot dogs, and pretzels drifted from a passing deli stand; someone spoke in a high-pitched foreign language.
Rod focused on Julie and her parents, and it seemed as if time slowed for him as he thought over and over and over again: Julie’s pregnant.
I’m going to be a father.
But had she been serious about getting an abortion?
Mrs. Phillips hugged Julie and they started walking away.
Mr. Phillips hesitated, then held out a hand. “Hello, Rod.”
“Good afternoon, sir.” They shook and Rod picked up the suitcases.
“Julie told us about your father’s, eh, problems. If he needs a good Washington firm, we’re known for our congressional contacts and … other competencies such as defending murder charges—”
“Thank you, sir, but he’s quite satisfied with his legal representation.” It’s just the cost that’s driving him to the brink.
“Let me help you with those,” Mr. Phillips said, stepping toward the luggage.
“That’s all right, sir. It helps me keep my balance if I carry both of them.” Feeling light-headed, Rod followed Julie and her mother.
Mr. Phillips grunted. “If you insist.”
“Yes, sir.” And besides, Rod thought, despite the weight of father’s troubles, it will keep me from floating away.
O O O
Two days later on Christmas Eve morning, Rod crunched through the snow on the Phillips estate in McLean, Virginia. Bare, leafless trees covered the grounds; thick oaks jutted up like vanguards circled the massive estate. The snow was crusty from yesterday’s sun. High, gray clouds cast a gloom.
She’s pregnant!
He was going to be a father. Or was he?
And did he want to be a father? Or did he even have a say in the matter?
He’d been trying to think through the options, and even tried discussing them with Julie, but he kept getting caught up in his emotions.
What was he going to do? What were they going to do?
And what did Julie want to do?
Rod followed the twin tracks of a rabbit as he walked down to a stream that meandered through the property. The tracks disappeared at the water. Rod stood for some time, watching water gurgle over stones and fallen branches.
The last two days had been strangely quiet around the Phillips household. During the day, Mr. Phillips had driven to work down the George Washington Parkway, a country road paralleling the Potomac. Julie had helped her mother prepare for their annual Christmas Eve party, which left him alone to sleep in, wander the estate, and catch up on his thinking. Every time he tried to speak to Julie about the baby, she put him off. “Later,” she’d said. “We’ll have time.”
He’d be leaving for the Cotton Bowl in another few days, which would remove some of the pressure in the Phillips household. Mr. Phillips continued to be cordial, but it was evident that he was uncomfortable having a cadet stay in his home. As a former ambassador he’d overseen generals and admirals, so Mr. Phillips undoubtedly thought that Julie was cavorting beneath her station.
If he thought that was bad, Rod wondered what he’d do when he discovered his daughter was pregnant; probably have him carted off to the Pentagon to be sacrificed.
The sound of footsteps crunching through the snow made him turn. Wear
ing a long blue coat, a knit cap, and a red scarf around her neck, Julie stepped carefully down to the stream. “I thought you’d be here.”
Rod straightened and helped her step onto a rock. They overlooked the quiet scene.
“I used to wander here when I was a little girl. We’d fly home from Switzerland for a few weeks, and it was like returning to an old friend.” She looked around and put a hand on a thick tree whose roots reached into the water. “Every year the trees would grow taller, just like me. I’d talk to them, and they’d give me advice.”
“Talk to the trees,” Rod mused. He leaned over and knocked on the thick bark. “Hello? Should Coach Ben Martin run up the middle, pass, or punt?”
She laughed and tossed a handful of snow at him. “Trees don’t know anything about football.”
“What do they know about little girls?”
“They know enough to listen, enough so I could figure things out.”
Julie grew quiet. She turned away and folded her arms. When she spoke, her voice was low. “I have an appointment two days after Christmas, in Maryland. It’s the day before you leave. We can say we’re going to visit some of my friends.”
Rod knelt and poked a stick into the stream. “And they’ll get rid of the baby.”
“It’s called an abortion,” Julie said with an edge to her voice. “Don’t call it a baby, it hasn’t been born. They’ll abort it.”
“Is that legal? Is it even safe?”
Julie ignored him. “Then everything … everything will be all right.”
The sun peaked through the clouds. Light glinted up from the water and the sunlight warmed his jacket. Rod straightened. “The baby’s not due until June.”
“Rod, stop it. It’s hard enough knowing that I’m going to get rid of it—”
Rod stepped over and from the back put his arms around her. He moved his face to the back of her neck and kissed her. “I don’t want you to go through this alone.”
“I won’t be alone. You’re driving me to Baltimore, the Inner Harbor.”
He held her tight. “No, I don’t mean that. I’ve been thinking the past few days. If you get rid of the baby, you’ll still come back to Colorado after Christmas and be in that apartment, all alone again except for weekends. And for what purpose? To wait for me to show up on weekends, not knowing what’s going to happen day by day? That’s being alone.”
“I knew that going into this. There were no promises, no illusions—”
He turned her around. “I don’t want that. I don’t want you just waiting, not knowing about our future together.”
She laughed harshly. “So what are you going to do? Quit? What would that accomplish? You have everything going for you. Don’t throw it away.”
“No, I mean keep the baby.” He felt his heart beat faster. “Marry me when I graduate.”
She held a hand up to her mouth.
“It’s only five more months,” he said. He put a hand on her stomach. Through her coat he couldn’t feel anything, but he was doing it for her, not for him.
“This is a mistake.” Her voice was weak. “I … I can’t do that to you.…”
He said softly, “It’s not a mistake. I want you to marry me because I love you.” And because it’s the right thing to do. “Our child is a bonus. I want to make a lifelong commitment.”
She whispered, “You don’t have to do it.”
“I know I don’t have to. I want to.”
“But your plans for graduate school, pilot training, flying fighters—”
“They’re our plans,” he said. “We can do it together.”
“It isn’t fair. You … you deserve better than this.”
He pulled her close and she buried her head in his shoulder.
As he held her she started sobbing. He stroked her hair, then pulled back his head. “Are you all right? What’s the matter?”
“Nothing,” she said, pulling him back. She started to cry. “You’ve been so good to me.”
O O O
That evening the Phillips’ gathered in the library, hosting their annual Christmas reception. The edging around the room’s twelve foot ceiling was carved with intricate revolutionary figures; a fire stoked by cedar logs cackled at the end of the room, set off by oak bookcases that rose from the floor to the ceiling. Black-coated waiters in white gloves and tails served champagne and hors d’oeuvres to the fifty guests.
Wearing his winter blue cadet uniform, Rod felt vastly underdressed, especially for an intimate Christmas Eve reception; he wished he’d brought his mess dress. But when he saw the first Army general officer show up, resplendent in his braid, rows of medals and gold shoulder boards, Rod was glad he didn’t have to compete visually with the high-ranking officers.
Julie stood by his side as they wove through the reception. She clutched his arm and introduced him to her parents’ friends.
Mr. Phillips’ non-military guests wore tuxedos, impeccably fitted down to the perfect cut of their cuffs, showing a hint of gold Rolex watches, class rings from Yale, Harvard, and Princeton. Trophy wives adorned the arms of at least a fourth of the men, women not much older than Julie, who were stunningly beautiful and deeply tanned, wearing ornate jewelry that weighed down their thin necks.
Wearing a long, black dress cut below her shoulder blades at the back, Julie looked radiant, freshly scrubbed and was the only person in the entire room that put him at ease. As people drifted by and introduced themselves, the memory of Rod’s father taking him to a reception at the Smithsonian ten years earlier flashed through his mind. A sense of déjà vu enveloped him—he saw the same glances, the same quick summing up of stature: Where does this person rank in the pecking order with respect to me? Will I be doing him a favor if I stay and talk, or is there anything I can gain from this encounter?
Mr. Phillips strode over and placed a hand on Julie’s shoulder. He held a glass filled with two fingers of bourbon, straight. Everyone in the room turned as he guided her to the fireplace.
Rod stepped away to stay in the background, but Julie pulled him close, tightly clasping his hand. “It’s Daddy’s annual toast,” she whispered. “Help me.”
Feeling the heat of the fire against his backside, Rod stood slightly behind Julie and Mr. Phillips. Several people spoke in low tones, glancing at Rod.
Looking flushed and obviously quite proud, Mr. Phillips tapped on his glass. The murmuring in the room drew quiet.
“Colleagues. Dear friends, Yale classmates, and other riff-raff in the room.” A few chuckled. “Tonight as we celebrate Christmas, I’m pleased to announce another event of Biblical proportion.”
Rod felt suddenly panicked. Had Julie told them she was pregnant? Julie had never formally agreed to marry him, and he had at least wanted to go through the ritual of asking Mr. Phillips for her hand in marriage.
Mr. Phillips held his glass up, his voice slightly slurred. “I give you the prodigal daughter, newly returned from the West, freshly degreed—back to family, to home and to civilization.”
The crowd clapped politely. Julie looked annoyed.
“As you know, she graduated from university but returned to Colorado to pursue a career. We haven’t had the opportunity to honor her publicly, so may I present the miracle of the modern age, Miss Julia Phillips.” He raised his glass. Julie pulled Rod close. Spotting the movement, Mr. Phillips said in a monotone, “And of course, her beau, Cadet Simone.” The cadet was faintly stressed.
“Hear, hear.”
Her long dress swishing as she walked, Mrs. Phillips glided over to her daughter and kissed her on the cheek. “We’re so proud of you, darling.”
“Yes, we are,” Mr. Phillips said. “Who would have thought that after attending three universities we would finally be so lucky to find one that would allow her to graduate? Incredible. And to think of the contribution the Phillips estate has made to sustain our national academic infrastructure.”
“Edward.” Mrs. Phillips warned in a low voice.
Mr. Phillips looked pleased with his wit. “And to clinch the deal, she has acquired a government-funded escort. What more could a father ask?”
Nervous tittering ran through the crowd. Rod felt that the guests sensed tension in Mr. Phillips’ voice. Whatever was happening tonight, it was clear that Mr. Phillips was annoyed at his daughter’s choice in giving up Georgetown law school as well as her choice of companion. Rod tightened his mouth, determined not to let this get under his skin. He’d be gone tomorrow and would put this behind him. Julie hadn’t officially accepted his marriage proposal, so this might even be the last time he saw Mr. Phillips.
Julie picked up a glass and lifted it high. “I’d like to propose a toast, Daddy!”
Mr. Phillips blinked. Momentarily set back, he composed himself and then raised his own glass. “Certainly, dear. To whom does this honor go?” He looked quizzical.
Julie lifted her chin. She looked around the crowded room. “To Cadet Roderick Jean-Claude Simone, who in five months will gain three titles: first, as a second lieutenant in the United States Air Force.” Smiling, she paused. “And second, as my husband.”
Mrs. Phillips dropped her drink. Champagne splashed on her dress as the thin glass shattered on the floor. A waiter pulled a white towel from his arm and knelt to mop up the glass. A crowd of people surged toward them.
Mr. Phillips bent close to his wife and scowled. “Control yourself.” He straightened and turned to a clique of his classmates to perform damage control.
Mrs. Phillips put a hand to her mouth and another on Julie’s shoulder. “Oh, baby. I’m so … so—”
“Happy?” Julie said.
“Yes. Of course. But, baby, isn’t this a little hasty?” She threw a glance at her husband. “And Edward. Edward won’t allow this to happen.”
Julie reached out to Rod and held his hand tightly. “Daddy has no say in this, Mother. I am on my own, and Rod is, too. We’re old enough to make our own decisions.”