“Thank you, darling!” she almost bubbled, looking so much unlike the tired, wilted woman I’d met the day before. Her face had a little makeup on it, and she wore red lipstick that matched the ribbon that encircled the crown of her white hat. Her hair hung down to her shoulders in soft curls. When I looked at her, I couldn’t help but think that she reminded me of a neglected flower. I could already see the little love and nurture I’d given her was bringing her back to beauty and vibrancy.
“You’re welcome, and you are gorgeous, my dear!” I replied, taking off my oven mitts as she stood waiting to thank me with puckered lips. I gave her a long kiss, and opened my eyes to see Lizzie standing there, watching us from the side with curiosity and mild alarm.
“Oh,” I said, breaking it off and looking down at her, thinking she deserved an explanation.
“Did you tell her?” I whispered to Maggie.
“Yes, I told her this morning!” Maggie chuckled.
“Ma says you’re going to be my pa,” Lizzie told me solemnly.
“That’s right, first thing tomorrow,” I smiled at her. “Is that alright with you?”
A big smile split her face. “Yes!” she replied emphatically, and she ran over and hugged my legs. I gave her a squeeze and rubbed the top of her head. I winked at Maggie, and I saw her look at us with happy tears in her eyes.
“Well, I’m glad, too,” I told Lizzie, “I’m real glad.”
We spent the rest of the day sorting and packing anything Maggie wanted to take with. Maggie notified horrified friends and relatives that she was getting married the next day to a man she’d just met and would be moving to Coon Hollow. Needless to say, her announcement was met with shock and some heated opposition, but Maggie was undaunted by those who assumed she was a vulnerable widow who’d been swept off her feet by some shady fly-by-night character. We were both betting on hope, staking our entire future not on what we were, but what we knew we could be. And we were going for broke.
~~~
On Monday morning we crammed Maggie’s possessions into the Buick and tied down a few larger items that wouldn’t fit inside on the top. She left most of her furniture for friends, neighbors, and relatives, since my house was fully furnished, plus there was only so much room in the car for things, and we had no intention of hiring a truck or making additional trips.
“Good-bye and good riddance!” Maggie fairly shouted as she closed the ill-fitting door of the house for the last time.
“I can’t wait to begin our new life,” she sighed dreamily as we walked toward the car together.
“It’s already begun,” I smiled at her as I opened her door for her. The back seat was full, so Lizzie sat between us in the front seat, and Joshua sat on Maggie’s lap. It was snug.
“This is going to be quite the ride,” I said, looking over at Maggie as I started the engine.
“Yes, it is,” she smiled back at me. “It sure is.”
We stopped in Williston to get married by the Justice of the Peace. The short ceremony went off smoothly, if one doesn’t count the brief intermission we had to take so Joshua could get his diaper changed. It was a simple marriage, that’s all it was, two hearts, two bodies, two lives being joined together in all earnestness for eternity. There was no pomp and circumstance, no talk of a honeymoon, no purchase of rings made. To us, those things were unnecessary luxuries. We were getting married for the purpose of being married, and that was enough.
~~~
Thus began a fresh chapter in our lives, not only for Maggie and me, but for Joshua and Lizzie, too. It took a little adjustment on everyone’s part, and it was not as if we didn’t have growing pains, but it didn’t take long before we felt very much like a cozy little family unit. Maggie accepted Joshua as if she’d given birth to him, and Lizzie became a daughter to me in more than a legal sense.
As for Maggie and me, our love for one another flourished, putting down deep roots in the soil of trust, commitment, and faithfulness, just as Maggie had foreseen. She seemed more beautiful each time I looked at her, and I told her that often. As a woman is prone to do, she became more beautiful each time I told her.
It seemed the tragedy we’d both experienced in our lives had shaped us in order to fit us together perfectly. We both had sorrow in our past, but that only heightened our compatibility and the appreciation we both had for each other. We each respected the right of the other to keep the memory of our departed spouses alive through pictures, mementos, and conversation, understanding that the process of grieving in the human heart culminates only at death.
Still, we both avoided discussing our former spouses with each other too much. I didn’t want her to think that I would have rather had Ellen stay alive than have been given the opportunity to marry her as I did, and I suspect she didn’t want to lead me to believe that the memory of Johnny was more dear to her than I was.
Yes, our first Christmas together was a simple, yet wonderful time, and I always looked back on our first winter together with extraordinary fondness. Our marriage had filled a huge void in my life. It was a positive change that I needed, a motivation to do well in all I did.
But yet, I couldn’t help but feel that more change was needed. I continued to work at the sawmill, out of necessity, and we kept on living on the family homestead, out of necessity. To me, working at a sawmill served its purpose, but I found it decidedly uninspiring, and living on the homestead felt at times like living in a haunted house where you know where all the skeletons are hidden. My marriage felt like only a part of the total life renewal I desired.
“Maggie, I really don’t want to live here anymore,” I confessed to my wife one frosty winter night. As was our habit, we were sitting in the kitchen and chatting after we’d put the children to bed. I had never mentioned anything of the sort to Maggie, so she looked a little surprised to hear me say that.
“You don’t want to live where? This house? Coon Hollow? Kentucky?” she asked with a little smile.
I chuckled. “Maybe all of the above,” I admitted. She studied me with her brow furrowed, as though she wanted further clarification.
“Well, mostly, living here, this house, this area,” I said.
“What’s wrong with living here?” she asked.
I had to think about it for a minute. I knew I had reasons, but they had just been feelings up until then, not words.
“I don’t know, this place just . . . depresses me sometimes. It’s like—it’s like the whole place is one giant museum of bad memories. You know, it’s just filled with things I’d just as soon forget.” I looked at her to see if she understood me. “Am I making any sense here?” I asked.
“Yeah, I think I know what you mean,” she nodded understandingly. She looked thoughtful.
“So, do you think you’d be happier if we’d just find another place, or do you want to get out of this area altogether?” she probed.
“I want out altogether,” I nodded. “I really can’t see myself working at the sawmill for the rest of my life, and there just aren’t many other opportunities around here.”
She nodded in agreement. “So what do you want to do? What can you see yourself doing for the rest of your life?” she asked.
“I don’t know,” I sighed. “I have so little education and formal training—unless you count military training. I’m really not qualified to do much more than menial labor,” I concluded, feeling down on myself.
“But sweetheart, you’re hardworking and smart. I’m sure if we’d move you could easily find work that you’d enjoy,” she exhorted me.
“I know, darling, but people won’t hire me just because I tell them my wife thinks I’m hardworking and smart. They want to see official papers, diplomas, degrees. I don’t have any of that,” I replied despondently.
“Well, why don’t you go to college?” she suggested. “My cousin Arnold did when he got out of the service and the government paid for everything.”
I let out an empty laugh. “At my age?”
“I’d like to,” I admitted, “but it just feels like it’s too late in the game for college. Maybe I should, but I’m just not sure it’s right for me right now.”
“Alright, so maybe that might not be right for you,” she agreed, “but whatever you feel like you need to do, I’m behind you. I’ll move wherever you want, do what you want to do, as long as you’re happy.”
“Oh, I am happy,” I said quickly, not wanting her to think I wasn’t, “I couldn’t be happier with you, our marriage, our family. But I really feel like I need a change of job, change of scenery.”
She nodded as though telling me she had understood without my explanation.
“Well, have you prayed about it?” she asked.
“No,” I admitted.
“Maybe you should,” she said.
“That’s more your thing,” I joked, “you’re the one that’s on the first name basis with God.”
“Well, I will,” she promised. “But I think you should, too,” she admonished. I just gave her a lopsided grin.
We didn’t really discuss it much after that. I left the praying to Maggie, and I stewed and I fretted, and made plans and discarded plans as quickly as I made them. I just couldn’t come up with a feasible solution that wouldn’t jeopardize our family’s well-being, and it was a very frustrating feeling.
~~~
Winter trickled away, and as spring drew near, I was beginning to debate whether I should rent the land out or attempt to try my own hand at farming again. It was a prospect that really vexed me, since putting seed in the ground would mean I was bound to that patch of dirt at least until harvest. I was beginning to feel trapped, and the more imprisoned my restless spirit felt, the more restless it became. Finally, when I had angrily given up hope for a more fulfilling life, things fell into place, all on their own. Sort of.
I had decided to farm my land myself that spring, but for some reason, I just didn’t feel right about it. I wasn’t sure if I felt that way because it wasn’t the right decision, or just because I really didn’t want to farm in the first place, so I decided to talk to Maggie about it. She also said she didn’t feel I should, which was a huge relief, since I simply had no desire whatsoever to work the soil, and so I notified our neighbors that our land was once again available for rent. Mr. Matthew’s son, Eric, was eager to oblige.
The crops were poking their green shoots through the earth when I received a letter from Leroy Green, one of the few surviving platoon members I had served with from basic training until discharge. I hadn’t heard any news from any of them since being discharged, so I was understandably eager to open his letter and read how he was doing.
Dear Robert,
I hope this letter finds you and yours healthy and happy. I am doing quite well. Since arriving home in Arlington, I’ve gotten married, and Alice and I are awaiting the arrival of our first child.
You may recall I once told you I planned to take over my father’s newspaper business once I returned. This transfer has taken place, and I am now president of the Arlington Daily Herald.
I remember promising you that I would put your name on the top of my father’s list of people to call if he ever needed an entry-level reporter. Well, I can do you one better than that. One of my reporters is retiring at the end of June. Your name came to mind immediately when he gave his notice. I have no doubts about your abilities. I feel privileged to have served with you, and under you, and so if you were serious about wanting a reporting job, I have one waiting here for you. If you wish, I could also arrange to have housing ready for you here in Arlington.
I also understand that circumstances change, so if this is not something that interests you any longer, or if you have other obligations, I understand perfectly, all I ask is that you give me the courtesy of notifying me whether or not you accept this offer.
Best regards to you and your family,
Leroy Green
“It’s an answer to prayer!” Maggie squealed excitedly after I read the letter out loud to her.
“See, I told you that you have an in with God!” I teased, feeling a little giddy myself. I knew the few feeble prayers I’d prayed certainly couldn’t take any of the credit.
Maggie picked up the letter and read it silently, holding it reverently as though it were a sacred document.
“Oh, Robert, he says he’ll help us find a house and everything!” she sighed happily. “And you’ll be a reporter! You’ll be so good at it, too! You must write him, right away!” She was simply exuberant.
“Oh, I’m so happy! Sometimes you just have to trust God, ask and ye shall receive!” she babbled. She couldn’t seem to stop talking.
“Yes, yes, I know, you were right again, dear,” I laughed, amused at how wound up she was.
She opened her mouth again.
“Shhhh!” I said soberly. “This is not something we should rush into. I think we should give it at least a few weeks of careful prayer and consideration.” I tried to sound solemn and holy. She looked at me like I was a ninny before seeing the twinkle in my eye I couldn’t hide.
“Oh, you, stop it!” she shrieked, smacking me playfully. “You know it’s what we’re supposed to do! Now you sit yourself down and write that man a letter!”
“Yes, ma’am!” I chuckled.
~~~
As we prepared to move, things fell into place. Our neighbor, Eric Matthews, purchased our land, as well as the house with all the furnishings, for a favorable price. He was a bachelor who still lived with his parents, and rumor had it he was writing a girl from Winchester that was interested in settling down with him, so it seemed like a good deal for both of us. It all seemed like—well, like it was meant to be.
I don’t know if I slept a wink the night before moving day. It seemed I lay there all night, listening to Maggie’s heavy breathing, wondering what the future held and restlessly contemplating leaving a place that was such an integral part of my past. I had thought leaving would be easy, but I was to learn that sentimental feelings most often apply to all familiar things and places, even those we think we despise, even those we think we can’t wait to be rid of. We hold those things dear, because those were things that were part of our lives.
I didn’t feel like sleeping in the slightest, so I impatiently waited for the night to end. As soon as I saw the sky lighten through the crack in the curtains, I popped out of bed and got dressed. I had some good-byes to say.
The stars were beginning to melt away before the heat of the ascending sun as I walked outside that June morning. I stopped outside the door, lit a cigarette, and began to stroll about the place, quietly reflecting on memories, mostly childhood memories, but also things that had happened more recently.
I opened the door to the empty barn and remembered our horses, Shiver and Shake, and wondered if they were still alive somewhere. I felt sorrowful as I looked at the spot where I’d found my dear, dying Ma, so many years ago. I shut the door and felt twinges of sadness when I thought that I may have just seen the inside of that old barn for the last time. Then I felt childish for thinking silly thoughts like that.
Standing in the middle of the yard, I looked around slowly. In my mind’s eye, I could see Pa in the fields. Ma milking the cows. Me slopping the pigs. Ma working in the garden. Ellen working in the garden. I allowed myself to think of memories I’d suppressed, things I’d forgotten, and things I could never forget, and was filled with a sweet melancholy.
Then, as though being drawn by an invisible force, I began to ramble, over the pasture, up and down hills, and through the woods. I realized I felt a bond with the land. A part of my soul was connected to my childhood haunts, the places where a barefoot boy who only vaguely resembled me had played eons ago.
I visited trees that had been old friends and surveyed the valley from a rocky outcropping over which I’d mercilessly hurled countless imaginary foes when I was a lad. Finally, I reached the place that had
drawn me, the place that had been my sanctuary and retreat for so many years—my spring.
It had been many, many years since I visited my spring. I was afraid it might have changed, but it looked as I remembered it. Nature changes slowly without man’s interference.
I sat down on the familiar rock, removed my shoes and socks, and dangled my toes in the water, for old times’ sake. The water was cold, and the early morning cool, so I deemed a brief dabble to be a sufficient reenactment. I dried my feet on my pants, put my socks and shoes back on, and thought of all the times I’d sat on that very spot and hated my pa. I remembered how I’d sat there with bloody knuckles, staring down at my hands, wondering if they would ever have the strength to lash out at him. The fearful rage I’d felt toward him as a child briefly coursed through me as I thought about the times I’d sat on that piece of limestone and cried and cursed him. Then I remembered how he was now, and what he’d done for me, and I felt ashamed and guilty for having neglected to talk to him recently.
The rising sun reminded me that Maggie and the children would be up before too long, and we would have to get moving if we wanted to reach Virginia before nightfall. I bid adieu to my spring, and it gurgled a reply.
As I walked away, I noticed a piece of bone jutting out of the ground. I grasped it and pulled it out quite easily. It looked like a short piece of rib bone, and I wondered if it had come from that doe I’d shot on the night Ma died, the one that I’d never gone back to retrieve. I decided it had, and put it in my pocket. It was a tangible part of Coon Hollow that I held onto for the rest of my life.
I hurried back to the house, tarrying only once to gather some wildflowers, which I placed in the car.
“Good morning!” Maggie greeted me cheerily as I walked in the door.
“Mmm, smells good,” I commented, as I smelled the bacon and eggs she was cooking.
“Mmm, tastes good,” I teased, after giving her a kiss. She shook her head at me, but she blushed a little and a pleased smile lingered on her lips.
Love is a Wounded Soldier Page 33