When The Geese Fly North
Page 1
Table of Contents
WHEN THE GEESE FLY NORTH
Acknowledgments
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Epilogue
WHEN THE GEESE FLY NORTH
Return to the Home Front Series
TRACEY L. DRAGON
SOUL MATE PUBLISHING
New York
WHEN THE GEESE FLY NORTH
Copyright©2018
TRACEY L. DRAGON
Cover Design by Melody A. Pond
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, business establishments, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.
The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials.
Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.
Published in the United States of America by
Soul Mate Publishing
P.O. Box 24
Macedon, New York, 14502
ISBN: 978-1-68291-791-6
www.SoulMatePublishing.com
The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.
Books by Tracey L. Dragon
Return to the Home Front Series
Cherished Wings
When The Geese Fly North
When Love Simply Is
I would like to dedicate this book
to all the veterans who have fought for our country.
Your service and sacrifice are deeply appreciated.
Acknowledgments
I would like to sincerely thank Betty Sue Miller, Librarian, and Delia Robinson from The Hoag Library in Albion, New York, for their valuable assistance in my 1940’s research of the town.
Chapter 1
March 2013
“Don’t let the door hit you in the ass on the way out,” Callie Baldwin muttered under her breath as Amy’s six-foot, pain-in-the-behind, know-it-all grandson stalked out the front door of the farmhouse irritation evident in every step he took on the way to his fancy BMW—no ordinary good-old, American-made vehicle for that arrogant prig. Lord, the man got under her skin. Thank goodness he only felt obligated to visit his grandparents once a week. After her last tour in Afghanistan, she found it unbearably hard to suffer stuffed-shirts, smug idiots, and shallow fools. In her mind, Michael Henderson, M.D., classified as all three.
“Callie dear, are you all right?”
Wiping the annoyed expression from her face, she turned to the shriveled figure of her grandmother’s dearest friend. “I’m fine. I was just walking Michael out.”
Amy’s wrinkled cheeks quivered as laughter slipped from her lips. “More likely showing him out by the seat of his pants would be my guess.”
Callie could feel her cheeks heat and shrugged her shoulders guiltily. “How you and Will, who are as sweet as cherry pie, ended up with a grandson as tart as gooseberries is beyond me.”
Amy chuckled then hunched heavily over her cane. “Blame it on my daughter-in-law. She puts great stock in appearances, and I’m afraid she passed it onto her son. He is very successful, you know. Some consider him quite a catch, and once you get better acquainted, I think you might just like him.”
Callie snorted then slapped her hand over her mouth. “I’m sorry,” she said then finally thought to ask, “Did you need something? Is Will okay?”
“Oh, yes, dear. He just dozed off, and I thought perhaps I would like a cup of tea. Do you mind joining me?”
“Not at all. You take a seat, and I’ll fix us a pot.” Callie gently took Amy’s fragile arm and helped her to her favorite rocker by the window. “I’ll be back in a minute.”
Callie put the kettle on to boil, fixed a tray with sugar and milk, and added a plate of cookies. This had become their afternoon ritual while Will took his nap. Now that Will and Amy were in their 90’s they needed daily assistance. Will was pretty much bedridden and required a level of care that Amy was not able to provide on a daily basis, thus Callie’s presence on the scene. After two tours serving as a nurse at an Army field hospital in Afghanistan, being wounded by a roadside bomb, and suffering from PTSD, a low-key medical assignment was just what she needed. She jumped at the opportunity when her mother suggested it after her discharge from the military.
“Here you are.” Callie set the tray on the table next to Amy and poured two cups of tea. She added a dab of milk to Amy’s tea and handed it to her. “Just what the doctor ordered.”
Amy grasped the delicate bone china with both hands to keep it steady as she took a sip then sighed. “I do so enjoy this time in the afternoon when we get to have our girls’ chat. Now that your grandmother is gone, I’m so thankful you’ve come to stay with us. I’ve missed female companionship. There’s nothing like a good gab session to pick up one’s spirit.”
Callie laughed then reached over and squeezed the elderly woman’s arm lightly. “And what, pray tell, are we gabbing about today? I can see the wheels turning in your head. What gives?”
A soft light flickered in Amy’s eyes then faded. “Oh, my dear, how you do remind me of your grandmother. I’ve so many lovely stories I can tell you about her, but that’s for another day. My concern today is how are you feeling? You’re a little pale, and I heard you up again pacing the floor in the wee hours of the night. More bad dreams?”
Callie took a sip of her tea then pursed her lips. “I’m fine. Really. I’m sorry if I disturbed you.”
“Not at all. At my age, I can nod off at the drop of a hat. But what I was wondering is if perhaps you would like to talk about it?”
�
��No.” Callie clamped her lips shut, jumped up, and stared out the window at the V of geese flying overhead on their trek north, her entire body trembling inwardly at the thought of recalling her last few days in Afghanistan. “Some things are better left in the dark, too ugly for the light.”
“Sounds like something my Will would have said many years ago. You know he was injured in World War II?”
Callie turned from the window. “Yes, my mother told me before I took the job.”
Amy gazed over at her with a tender expression in her eyes. “Did she mention how Will and I met?”
“No, I’m not sure she knows the fine details. She just said he had been wounded in the war.”
“Why don’t you take a seat and let me tell you a story. It just might do you some good.”
Not bloody likely, Callie thought, but was too polite to say as she sat down again.
Amy locked eyes with her then stared into the distance as if she were recalling another time and place. Her voice faded as she became lost in a long-gone era. “The war had left behind a debris field an ocean wide. Times were tough for those of us who had survived, but not unscathed. We should have been happy that the war had finally ended, and we were, but the inflicted emotional and physical wounds were still raw. It was March 1948, and I remember it like it was yesterday . . .”
Chapter 2
March 1948
Amy glanced up from the coffee she was pouring as a tall lean man dressed in chinos and a chambray shirt limped to the counter. His scruffy beard appeared speckled with white scars. She’d bet her bottom dollar he was another unemployed vet. Everywhere you turned there were vets looking for work and booting the women from the much needed higher-paying jobs they’d held during the war. Amy tried not to be bitter, but the loss of her brother, Red, had left a gaping wound that had yet to heal, and she couldn’t help but feel resentment toward each returning soldier even if it was unfair. Sometimes she wished she could grab one by the shirtfront, shake him, and demand why. Why you and not Red or his flying buddy, Jack?
Her recent divorce from her lying, cheating husband hadn’t helped matters and was just one more cross to bear. Yesterday it had been finalized, and she should be rejoicing, but instead all she felt was bitter. Bitter at being a single mother, a divorcee, and being reduced to slinging hash at Ray’s Diner on weekends while she tried during the week to maintain the small run-down farm she lived on. She’d thought when she got married that her working days would be over, but now she was forced to provide for not only herself but her son as well, and there wasn’t a decent paying job in sight.
She gladly accepted payment from her last customer, collected her pitiful tips, and with considerable relief punched out. Tonight, she was meeting her best friend, Fran, and they were headed to the Walsh Hotel for a night out swing dancing. Her mother had agreed to keep her son, Thomas, for her.
The weather had turned balmy for early spring, and Amy enjoyed the late afternoon sun on her face as she made her way to the parking lot. She popped in a piece of Bazooka gum, rolled down the window of her 1940 Ford Truck, and drove past the storefront with the newfangled RCA 630TS model televisions everyone was talking about but few could afford. She certainly couldn’t on her limited budget but hoped to purchase one someday if the farm ever paid for itself. A television would help pass the long, lonely evenings. She downshifted and slowed her speed as she crossed the lift-bridge and took a right turn onto Caroline Street toward her friend’s house. Fran still lived at home with her mother and worked at the Novelty Shoppe. After Amy’s brother had been killed, it seemed as if all the oxygen had been sucked from the air and neither Fran nor Amy had been the same since.
“Hey Fran,” Amy called as she crossed the lawn and plopped down in the metal shellback chair on her friend’s listing front porch. “We still on for tonight?”
“I’m not sure. I haven’t made my mind up yet. Can’t say as I feel much like going out.”
“Aw Fran, come on. You say that every time, and you always enjoy yourself once you get there. Mom’s agreed to babysit, and I don’t want to waste the opportunity for a night out.”
“But gee, Ames, it seems as though all we see is the same old crowd—no one new or interesting. Why don’t we drive to Medina instead and check out The Walsh Hotel? They’ve dancing on the weekends, and I’ve heard good things about it. What have we got to lose? It’s not much farther than Fancher.”
“All right, but you better hope we don’t run into Rob and his blond tart because I can guarantee I’ll lose it, and it won’t be a pretty sight. He’s none too happy I got to keep the truck and the farm, and with a couple of drinks under his belt, he’ll be spoiling for a fight.”
“I know but we can’t keep avoiding places because we might run into him.”
“Fine,” Amy sighed. “Medina it is, but we leave if Rob shows up. Agreed?”
“Agreed. What time do you want to pick me up?”
“Eight-thirty works for me. It should get us there early enough to grab a seat before the band starts, and it gets crowded.”
“Sounds good.”
Amy jingled her keys in her hand on the way to the truck and gave Fran a little three-finger wave before driving down the road to her mom’s house to get ready.
The place in Medina was already hopping when they arrived later that evening, but they managed to find a table in the corner near the bar. Amy slipped off her sweater and put it on the back of her chair. “Must be a good band. They haven’t even begun yet, and the place is packed. Come on . . .” She turned to Fran. “Put your jacket down, I want to go to the ladies’ room and comb my hair. On the way we can check to see if there’s anyone here we know, or better yet anyone here we want to meet.”
Amy attempted to tame her riotous crop of curls but with little avail. “It’s hopeless,” she said with disgust, glancing in the mirror at her friend’s fashionable coiffure. “Why couldn’t I have been born with thick auburn hair like yours instead of a mop of black curls?” She made a face in the mirror. “You always have such great pin-curl waves.”
“You’re fine.” Fran reassured her as she bent to make sure the seams in the back of her stockings were straight. “Don’t you think you’re being overly sensitive?”
“Am I?” Amy put a hand on her hip and arched an eyebrow at her friend. “You don’t think I have a right to be? My husband leaves me for a tall, leggy blond with Betty Grable hair who probably weighs one twenty soaking wet while I look like a chubby little elf.”
“Ames, you’ve got to get over this. You’re the optimistic, bubbly one, remember? I’m the sober, gloom and doom one. Yes, you put on a few pounds after Thomas was born, but you were always so skinny it just seems worse than it is. You look great. Honest.”
Fighting tears, Amy reached up and hugged Fran. “Thank you. And you’re right. I didn’t think the divorce would hit me this hard, but now that it’s finalized I guess I’m a tad bit unsure about everything.”
“I know the feeling.” Fran hugged her back then looped her arm through Amy’s. “Come on, let’s go celebrate that you’re finally free of the cheating son-of-a bitch. He’s not worth your tears.”
They no sooner reached their table and ordered their first round of drinks when the lying cheating son-of-a-bitch strolled in with the tall, leggy blond tart on his arm.
Chapter 3
Fran reached over and grabbed Amy’s arm. “Don’t turn now, but Rob just arrived, and he brought Pauline with him. He hasn’t spotted us yet. Just keep facing the bar and with any luck he’ll find a table on the other side of the room. We can quietly slip out once they’re seated.”
Amy sputtered. “We just ordered our drinks, and the band hasn’t even begun yet. It’s not fair we should be the ones to go. We were here first.”
“My thoughts exactly, but remember it was your idea to leave
if he showed up, not mine. Personally, I wouldn’t let the jerk have the satisfaction of driving me out of here.”
Just then the waitress brought their drinks, and as they reached for their wallets, she forestalled them nodding towards the bar. “Compliments of the two gentlemen at the end.”
Amy glanced in that direction then at Fran. “You recognize them?”
Fran shook her head. “Definitely not the tall one, but the blond seems familiar. Think I’ve seen him around town, but I can’t say as I’ve been introduced.”
Amy studied the two men sitting not far from their table. They were deep in conversation until the band started, then their focus shifted to the stage. She turned back to her friend. “I think I saw the big one at the diner this morning, but I’m not sure. I’m usually too busy waiting on the tables to pay attention to the customers who sit at the counter. Madge waits on them.”
“Well, whoever they are, they don’t seem bowled over by our presence. I wonder why they bought our drinks?”
“Beats me, but I wouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth. Here.” Fran lifted her glass. “To your newfound freedom and the fun we are going to have together.”
Amy clinked Fran’s glass. “Starting tonight. Come on, they’re playing ‘Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy.’ Let’s jitterbug.”
After dancing several sets in a row, Amy and Fran ordered another round of drinks, and once again they were bought by the two guys at the bar.
“It’s kind of weird, don’t you think?” Amy nodded toward the men. “That not one of the two has turned to acknowledge us, come over to introduce himself, or maybe ask for a dance. “What gives?”