Shoes: Tails from the post
Page 3
“The thing that has bothered me since I first read about his case is the distance. It’s seven miles up from that school house down in the valley. Even grown men have trouble navigating the old Indian and animal trails, much less running wildly through brambles and other obstructions. In fact, the hunters who did find him had initially bypassed the area a week before because of difficulty traversing the Old Bear Trail which leads through here.”
Kristin was wide-eyed.
“Do you think he was killed?”
I shook my head. “I don’t know. Everyone felt that the doctor’s findings of undigested chestnuts in the boy’s stomach meant that he had died only about three hours after getting lost. Could a panicked not-quite-five-year-old child walk seven miles up a mountain in that time?
“If he was killed, was he carried up there? And, if so, why?”
“Dad, that poor little boy! There’s got to be an answer!”
“Krissie, remember when I read you the story about Peter Pan and the Lost Boys?”
She nodded.
“Well, I like to think that little Ottie is with Peter and those other boys. But my rational mind says otherwise.”
Kristin leaned her head on my shoulder, just as she did as a little girl, and stared at that tiny marker.
Lauren
Lauren, why did you leave me?
We were candy-cane fragments melting in the August heat.
Dressed in our Hell Week red gym shorts and white tee shirts, we stood in line, some smiling, some silently crying as parents and friends waved at us.
It was our first day at VMI.
“Dad, wake up. What’s wrong?”
I sat straight up. Not an easy thing to do in a sleeping bag.
The evening air was chilly despite the little fire my daughter had started in the stone circle fire pit. I hadn’t realized how tired I was until we climbed back down from the summit and trudged over to the shelter. I must have just unfolded my bag and climbed in. The next thing I remember, Kristin was shaking me.
“Wha … what happened?”
“You were tossing and turning and calling out for someone named Lauren.”
She looked me straight in the eye.
“Who is she? Is that why you and mom split up?”
I shook my head. I felt nauseated in doing so. The flickering tongues of flame doubled then resolved into one image.
“No, no, it was long before I met your mother. Truth be told, Lauren would have been your mother if she hadn’t … she hadn’t…”
I couldn’t seem to focus. My head pounded and the nausea rose within me. I managed to lean over and upchucked the entire contents of that earlier fast-food meal. I felt embarrassed. Parents aren’t supposed to get sick or show weakness.
“Come on, Dad, Let’s go home. I’ll drive.”
“No, no. I’m okay.”
Maybe it was getting rid of the food, but I did feel better. Food poisoning? Or was my pigmented crab, my growing partner within, messing with my brain?
“Don’t you want to hear about Lauren?”
She hesitated then sat down, Indian style, as I lay back and stared up at the shelter roof.
“It was almost thirty years ago. I had just arrived in Lexington, Virginia. My parents and I drove up the hill to my future home, Virginia Military Institute—VMI.”
Welcome, new cadets .
“We stood there in civvies for the last time. Your grandparents, Grandpa Julius and Grandma Libby, watched as I waited in Cameron Hall to sign the matriculation book. It was my commitment to what lay ahead. Then I was told to change into the special outfit that would be both insignia and badge of shame: red shorts and white tee shirt.
“I was a farm boy, a damned good one, too. Our Ohio spread had been in the family for almost one hundred years. My older brothers worked it with my dad and, until I reached my teens, I thought I would, too.
“Not that you would know it, daughter, but I was pretty damned smart in school. Top grades in math and science and one helluva competitive wrestler. My coach hinted that I should try for some military scholarships and told me about some internet sites.
“From the moment I logged in, I fell in love with the Virginia Military Institute.
“It wasn’t easy, but I had the grades, and I was physically fit—a rare combination in those days!
“I saw my father’s sunburned face and my mother dabbing at her eyes as we were told to line up and fall into a truly half-assed semblance of military formation.
“I saw someone else as well.
“She was just a bit taller than I was. High cheek bones, long black hair, still uncut—yes, we got shaved to the nub later—and olive complexion highlighted by piercing dark eyes. She … she … filled her shorts and shirt in a special way.
“Okay, she turned me on! Stop laughing, Krissie.
“And thank God, I entered VMI after women were allowed to matriculate.”
“Allowed?”
I saw my daughter’s eyebrows rise. Better explain real quick, or I would get an earful.
“Well, until the latter part of the twentieth century, the major military academies allowed only men to enter. It took several landmark cases, among them one against VMI, before women were allowed to enter as cadets. Since then, VMI has been in the forefront of training top-notch women cadets and those graduates have served our country well.
“Now, where was I?”
“It was your first day. You were in socks and jocks, marching, and saw this girl.”
“Don’t be a wiseass, kiddo, you know it was red gym shorts and tee shirt.
“Anyway, I stumbled as the upper classman assigned as our drill instructor, Torquemada, our Cadre, started yelling commands as we marched to barracks.
“I didn’t care. My mind was on only one thing. That girl was Pocahontas and Minnehaha rolled into one.”
God a’mighty, did you smell our DI’s breath?
“We were five in our room. Our hay, the mattresses we would sleep on, were still rolled up. And we were drenched in sweat.”
Don’t think none a’ us smell that good, guys .
“Our outfits were soaked. Non-stop running, push-ups, sit-ups, obstacle courses and log lifting do that to you. No wonder they told us to eat and drink lots of fluids that last normal meal.
“We ran to the showers, navels to asses, and rinsed off as quickly as we could. The word had come down: Be prepared for some fun at 11 p.m.
“Ah, yes, our Cadre would show up, supposedly unannounced at either 11 p.m. or 6:30 a.m. and put us through more rigorous exercises euphemistically called sweat parties. Now, remember, we were also students. I was majoring in engineering.
“That first four months of being a member of the Rat Mass, that purgatory of non-being, not even considered a fourth year—freshman—cadet.
“That wouldn’t happen until Breakout, sometime in January, when the survivors among us were welcomed into the fellowship of the Corps.
“We lost some to physical and emotional stress. One kid collapsed and died after a ten-mile march. It was no one’s fault. He had an unusual heart condition that’s hard to detect beforehand.
“And all the while, I watched that girl.”
Hi … I’m Gus .
I know. I’m Lauren .
“I turned into a beet. It was hard to talk. Everyone was so busy, even in Crozet Hall. Breakfast, lunch, dinner—as Rats we had to stare straight ahead as we ate. But there are ways. You see a roster of names. You see names posted on the barracks rooms where girls are assigned. And you wait.
“The Old Corps, the upper classmen, put us through many a sweat party over the next four months. And then it was January, Resurrection Week, that final passage, that final step in becoming a true member of the Corps.
“Somehow, in some way, Lauren Fletcher and I managed to sweat our way up the four levels of the barracks together during Breakout. We became fourth year cadets together. We were now Brother Rats.”
“Where are
you from, Lauren?”
We sat together that Saturday afternoon after Breakout and finally delved into each other’s backgrounds.
“Dad’s a sheriff here in Lexington. Mom’s a teacher.”
I couldn’t take my eyes off her raven hair.
“So …”
“She’s part Amerindian, if that’s what you’re asking.”
That girl could read my mind. “I … uh … never meant…”
“I know what you meant, Gus.”
She laughed. Bells tinkled in my brain, as she squeezed my arm.
“Ah, no, I meant, what do you want to do after…”
I waved my arm to encompass the Post.
“I want to travel. Asia, the Mideast. My counselor says I have a natural aptitude for Arabic. Maybe I can get a semester overseas.”
“Sounds exciting—and dangerous.”
“And you, farm boy?”
I looked up and pointed as a jet flashed overhead.
“I want to fly, Lauren.”
Kristin held me as I cried.
Kristin
He had fallen asleep in her arms.
She wiped the remnants of tears from his face then did her best to gently move him into his sleeping bag.
Now she was exhausted. But sleeping wouldn’t help.
The crescent moon cast faint shadows from leaf-thinned tree branches as she rose and walked toward the little outhouse not far to the left. When she was finished, she opened the weather-worn door and stepped back outside.
What was that?
The lunar light had coalesced. Other campers?
One small, two large, they moved toward her then stopped about fifty yards away.
The smaller one … a child? … waved … no … beckoned her.
She didn’t realize she was moving, walking toward that hand.
She felt the gold locket, still in her pocket. She reached for it and held it tightly.
The small light intensified, clarified. It was a child, a small boy.
“Mama?”
“Are you lost, little boy?”
What’s a child doing up here? Where did the other one go?
He shook his head and held out his hand once more.
The locket jumped in her hand.
“Mama?”
His hand touched hers, and the nocturnal mountain vista faded away.
Now it was May, 1892. Spring had come to the valley farms around Lexington and Buena Vista. She heard the clip-clop, clip-clop of horse hooves on the hardened ground in front of the little clapboard farm house she and her husband called home.
She didn’t rise as the tall, elderly man knocked on the half-open, hand-hewn door. She said nothing as he entered and stood nervously before her seated figure.
“Words cannot express my sympathy, Lillian. My wife and I wanted you to have this. I … uh … took this after I finished my … uh … examination of...”
The old doctor was dressed in full waist coat and vest. He was not a farmer. He wasn’t one of the coarsely-dressed, hard-working Dunkards living in the valley. The gold chain and fob of his pocket watch glistened in the reflected spring sunlight of the open doorway. His brougham driver waited outside, brushing down the dapple-gray horse.
She wasn’t old, but six childbirths take something out of a woman. So does the death of a child. She stared at the gleaming object in the old man’s outstretched hand: a gold locket.
She shook her head. Her husband wouldn’t allow it. Jewelry was not acceptable in their faith.
“Please, ma’am, take it. Look.”
He opened the locket. A child’s lock of chestnut hair lay within.
She was devout. She was strong. But to refuse this?
Her hands closed around the gold-cased memento mori and she held it to her breast.
The doctor nodded. “God be with you.”
He turned and left.
She sat facing the window, the rough, handmade rocker not moving.
“Wife, why is the door open?”
He was covered with sweat from the farm work that filled his life. His hands were coarse and strong.
She didn’t answer. Her gaze was unwavering, fixed on the mountain beyond.
He saw the flash of light from the object pressed against her chest.
“Lillian, what do you have?”
Slowly she opened her hands. He saw the object and shook his head.
“You cannot, you must not keep this. It is against our faith. Give it to me, Lillian”
He reached for it.
He did not expect the sewing shears aimed at his chest.
He did not expect her words.
“You took him from me once before. Not again.”
He backed away.
Kristin opened her eyes as she heard herself saying “You took him from me once before. Not again.”
The boy was gone.
She stared at the moonlit locket then turned toward the shelter.
In the opening, one of the larger images stood over her father.
A blink and it was gone.
Kristin Belmont stepped into her sleeping bag, holding the locket against her chest.
Drum Roll
I slept well that night—until Kristin’s muffled snores wakened me, her head turned sideways under the flap of her sleeping bag.
She had slept that way as a child.
The early morning dew allowed me to walk soundlessly to the john, then I headed over to the Punchbowl mini-lake and watched the mountain breeze ripple on its surface. In some strange way, in that spot, I felt at peace with my fate.
The dawn sky was a backdrop for the theater of my mind.
“We’re only six weeks away from graduation, Gus.”
“Wanna get married in our dress uniforms?”
“Ducks and dykes?”
“Yeah, we can cut the cake with our sabers and accidently kill each other when we jam cake-tipped sabers in each other’s mouths.”
Lauren and I had laughed uncontrollably as we tussled on the grass in that very spot.
April was warm that year and we were the only ones up on the mountain so we did what young lovers will always do, given the opportunity.
“What’s that noise?”
“Probably some peeping tom mountain lion”
She giggled. She always did just before…
“No, I hear it, too—rustling grass.”
“Too late to worry about that.”
We both erupted then lay back.
“I wonder what that deer or bear thought.”
“That he was missing out on the action, big guy.”
“Hope it wasn’t your father, the sheriff.”
“Nah, he knows he’s gonna be stuck with you as a son-in-law. ’Course, that doesn’t mean he won’t shoot you if you’re mean to his little girl.”
“You ain’t so little, girl.”
We tussled once more as the sun rose that Sunday morning.
But I heard the rustling again, It wasn’t mountain fauna.
“Come on, Gus, let’s get dressed before the tourists arrive.”
“We could put up a sign: Don’t feed the bares.”
“Dad, Dad, where’d you go?”
The movie ended.
I didn’t want it to end.
My daughter’s voice startled me. I shrugged and called back. “Over here, Kris.”
I could hear her running.
“Why did you wander off like that? You could have been carried off by bears or wild cats or…”
“Or ghosts?”
She stared at me.
“Wanna hear more about me and Lauren Fletcher? I guess I was a bit tired last night. Must have been food poisoning. See, your old man really is mortal … uh … or should I say human?”
We sat down on the grass. Wet bottoms didn’t bother us.
“Where do I begin?”
“Well, from what I remember, you and Lauren had survived the Rat Mass and got through Breakout together.”
“Did you miss her?”
“What do you think, girl? Don’t you miss your boyfriend?”
She blushed.
“Think your old man didn’t know about that?”
“Uh … you said all the cadets with her were great, except one. What did she say?”
“There was this one guy who kept trying to hit on her. She did her best to go easy on him, but he didn’t get the message. When she finally told him to buzz off, he got a bit aggressive, if you know what I mean, and she cold-cocked him.”
“He tried to rape her? Isn’t that a violation of the Honor Code?”
“Hmm, I suppose you could say he was trying to steal something from her, but that would be a stretch. More likely sexual harassment, but she didn’t do anything because they weren’t on the Post, and she didn’t want to cause trouble for a classmate. Lauren was good hearted even though she could throw a mean punch.
“But she…”
She was shaking her head.
“I know, Kristin, I know. But you had to know Lauren. She was tough, but she was also a softie.”
“How soft, Daddy dearest?” She grinned, as I turned red. Damn!
“Hmm, well, in any event, we went through our second year and she actually outranked me at one point. She got her Corporal’s stripes before I did!”
“Did she command you to…?”
“Be serious, young lady, be serious!”
“Did you know the guy who tried to…?”
“No, and I wish I had. I begged Lauren to tell me but she wouldn’t. She warned me not to do or say anything because it would get me in trouble. Too bad. If I had found out, he wouldn’t have been able to hit on any girl again.”
“Lauren really knew you, didn’t she?”
I miss her so much.