Keeping Victoria's Secret

by Melinda Peters

  Vince Cangelosi stood in the back yard next to the pair on the ground. He looked out over the apple trees, saw a fireball shooting high, and even at this distance could hear the roar of flames. “I’ve got no idea what the hell that is,” he said, “but it can’t be good.” He took out his cell phone and called nine-one-one. After speaking with the operator, he put the phone away.

  “When my guys get here to answer the call, we can have them read Van Winkle his rights. Looks like attempted arson to me. Hey John, you know the nine-one-one operator said this is the fourth call from this address in as many months? Guess that's right. I answer the first one myself, when Jack was running around naked scaring people. Remember?”

  Jonathan made no attempt to get away from Van Wart, who had him pinned to the ground. He continued moaning and whimpering in terror, yelling about being attacked by aliens.

  “John, what the hell’s wrong with him anyway?” asked Vince, as he stood, frowning at the fire down the road.

  In the moonlight, John leaned over and saw long lines oozing red on the man’s chubby face. “Damn Vince, looks like Rip Van Winkle was in a knife fight or something. He doesn’t look so good.”

  Edna and Ben Cohen turned at the sound of the explosion. They stood next to their parked car in their driveway watching the orange flames licking skyward a mile away. Nearly in unison they exclaimed, “What was that?”

  Chapter 25

  With the last of his strength waning, he jumped and stumbled over the trunks of fallen palms. His eyes flashed and his feverish brain raced. Reaching behind as he ran, he helped the girl, encouraging her to keep going. When they began to falter, the shouts of their pursuers stiffened their resolve. Open mouthed, they drew ragged lungfuls of humid air. Sweat coursed from his brow and ran under his shirt.

  At last he glimpsed the sea and caught its scent. The shouts of their pursuers grew stronger; they must be gaining on them. He took the girl’s hand pulling her along. Cold fear gripped his heart. Where would they go when they reached the sea, could she even swim? He didn’t know. The nearest islands were miles away. Instinctively he fled to the ocean, the enemy close behind.

  They broke through the last cover of palm trees, running down the beach dodging debris. A shattered lifeboat lay on the sand, where it had been thrown onto the beach by the storm. He looked out to sea; a lifeboat meant there were ships out there somewhere, if any ship had survived the raging storm that had torn through the islands for days.

  A dead sailor, dressed in only blue trousers was tossed up at the high water line, tattoos on his upper arms, legs splayed, staring skyward. With a sinking feeling, he drew the girl behind him down to where the ebbing tide was scouring the sand.

  There was something out on the water’s surface, that appeared and disappeared as the surf rose and fell. It was a small boat, adrift. “Can you swim?” He rasped out. The girl nodded as she swept back damp locks of her long red hair from her forehead. “Come on then,” he yelled and waded into the water, the surf still running high. He fought against the incoming waves, hoping the ebbing tide would carry them away from the shore. Then from behind he heard the gunshots.”

  * * *

  The old man woke in a sweat to the pounding of his heart. The gunfire was always what roused him from the dream. He closed his eyes and tried to relax as the smell of the damp jungle and tang of the sea, slowly drifted from his memory.

  Gradually, the terror of the nightmare subsided as he collected his thoughts. It was getting late. The morning light split the partially closed curtains lighting the motel room. He sighed and swung his legs over the side of the bed, sitting up. Scratching at the beard stubble on his wrinkled face, the old man coughed and stretched.

  How many times had the dream come to him? Was it really sixty-seven years since their escape from the island? With a sad smile, he allowed his thoughts to cascade down all the intervening years. They were good years with his Laura. She was gone, taken from him by the cancer five years before. Presently, he’d joined her in a better place.

  Several times over the summer months, he’d made the journey between his home in Ohio and the little town in the Hudson Valley. The first hints of autumn were in the air now and it would be a good day to take a long walk. He wanted to feel the sun on his face.

  Today I’ll go see that lawyer, Douglas, and tell him the rest of the story. Just as that guy on the radio, Paul Harvey, always used to say. I’ll tell him the whole tale from beginning to end, instead of just what he needed to fix that legal mess.

  * * *

  Fred Douglas was on the telephone when his secretary poked her head in to tell him that the old man was back and would like to speak with him. Fred ended his call and stood, smiling and holding out his hand to Alexander Willet.

  “Glad to see you Mr. Willet. I can’t thank you enough for your assistance with Victoria’s case.” The lawyer gestured toward a chair and Alexander sat, heaving a long sigh.

  “It’s such a perfect day out there; I walked all the way and enjoyed stretching my legs.”

  “What can I do for you today?” Fred leaned back in his chair and looked curiously across at his visitor.

  “I wanted to make sure you’d found everything necessary to keep the Willet Farm out of Van Winkles hands. Then, if you have a few minutes to spare an old man, I’d like to tell you the rest of my story. I don’t want to leave this world without someone else knowing the whole truth. Your father knew it all, and of course my Laura, but they’re both gone now.”

  “Certainly Mr. Willet. As to your first question, thanks to your involvement, I did find all that I needed to stop Van Winkle from taking the farm. The documents you spoke of were among my father’s papers, just not where I’d expected. It took a good deal of searching to discover them. You’ll be glad to know that Van Winkle’s lawyer has withdrawn the suit and Victoria will retain ownership.

  Now then, I do want to hear your story. Take as much time as you like. It’s the least I can do for you after all the help you've been.”

  “I believe I mentioned to you that I was in the Pacific during the war, 1943 and pretty near all of 1944. Then when I returned, due to a case of mistaken identity, the army and the world believed I was someone else, and that Alexander Willet was dead.”

  “I remember,” said Fred. “When I questioned you, you wouldn’t explain further.”

  Alexander nodded his gray head. “That’s right.”

  Fred glanced at the clock on the wall, ticking its familiar cadence. There was nothing particularly important he had to do that afternoon. “Excuse me for a moment, Mr. Willet.” He rose and leaned through the door to the outer office. “Dottie? Would you please clear my calendar for this afternoon? Yes. Thank you.”

  Returning to his office Fred asked, “Before you begin, I wonder, would you tell your story to Victoria and Jack? We could go out to the farm. I know they’d like to hear it.”

  The old man considered for a moment. Then he smiled. “Yes, I’d like that. I owe many things to many people, but most of them are gone. I can at least tell Victoria. You know, that girl does look very like her grandmother.”

  * *

  Jack made his way across the lawn, carrying a basket of apples. Victoria saw him coming and left the office room to open the door. He smiled and set the basket down.

  “Thought you might like a few apples.”

  “I might.” She reached up and touched his cheek, then kissed him. “If the right man brought me some.”

  “That would be me. I’m the right man for you,” he said giving her a squeeze.

  “I suppose you’ll expect an apple pie in exchange?” she teased.

  “Well…,” Then he demonstrated what he’d really like.

  For days now, Vicky had listened to the voices of the itinerant pickers calling to one another in the orchards and watched the trucks coming and going. Taking apples to local farm markets, wineries and cider mills. She’d hardly seen Jack at all. He’d been busy supervising the harves
t operation.

  They sat together with the apples on the floor between them. Vicky leaned over and plucked up one of the Golden Delicious. “These are beautiful Jack. They’re such a bright yellow. The color is spectacular. Tell me again, what are all the varieties we grow?”

  “Those are the Golden and some Macintosh. The other two are Cortland and Macoun. Just those four in these orchards, but there’s easily a couple dozen others right in the neighborhood.”

  Victoria bit into the apple, munching thoughtfully. “Oh, these are delicious,” she exclaimed.

  “Why do you think they’re called Golden Delicious,” said Jack grinning.

  “Wise guy.” She took another apple and handed it to him.

  “Hmmm. Just like Adam and Eve. She gave him the apple and everything went downhill from there, remember?”

  “I think Adam was the stupid one, falling for that old apple trick,” she said.

  Jack took a bite of his apple and grinned at her mischievously. “Adam and Eve didn’t wear any clothes. Why don’t we go upstairs and play Adam and Eve?”

  “Don’t you have to keep an eye on the apple pickers?” With a coy smile in his direction, she raised a hand and pushed her hair off her forehead.

  “I think they’re okay for the moment. Come on,” he said, pulling her to her feet. “Let’s go upstairs.”

  She felt the familiar stirring when Jack held her and she responded eagerly to his kisses. “Hurry Jack, let’s go.”

  He threw one last quick glance in the direction of the orchards and took her hand, pulling her to the stairs. At the bottom he deftly slipped one arm behind her legs and scooped her up.

  "Jack, stop it. What are you doing?"

  "I'm going to carry you upstairs."

  "Are you sure? You might pull your back out or something. Be careful."

  "I think I've done this before without injuring myself," he said, and started up.

  In another minute they were in one another's arms in her king sized sleigh bed, their clothes scattered over the floor. His hands roamed over her breasts, down her sleek sides, to her hips and the top of her thighs. Victoria buried her fingers in his dark curls, her mouth on his, tongue probing. He marveled at how fast this urgency came upon them and how fast their need accelerated. Victoria's legs parted and she locked her ankles at the small of his back. Her lips never left his. She reached down with one hand and guided him into herself. They rocked and bucked together. He pulled his mouth from hers, gasping for air. They climaxed as one, Victoria's groan building and culminating in a scream of joy.

  Afterwards they basked in the silence for several minutes.

  "Don't look now, but we have an audience," whispered Jack.

  Victoria sat up with a start. "What?" She followed his gaze to the doorway, where Romeo and Juliet sat side by side. Their ears back, eyes wide they remained motionless like two little sphinxes.

  The sound of tires on the drive brought them back to reality. “Are you expecting anyone? We’ve got visitors,” said Jack.

  “No,” Vicky moaned in frustration. "Hurry up and get your clothes on." She began rummaging through the pile on the floor.

  Jack sighed. Barefoot, buttoning his shirt, he went to a window. “Let me go see.” In a moment he came padding back to the bedroom. “It’s Fred. He’s got someone with him. I think it’s the old guy that scared Jonathan off with the shotgun.”

  Chapter 26

  "You're Nanna’s brother?” A stunned Vicky murmured to herself, “I wanted to know more about her life when she was young, and now I will.”

  Fred urged Alexander Willet to tell Victoria and Jack about himself when they were all settled on the front porch.

  He looked over the hills covered in apple trees; their branches pulled low with the weight of their ripening fruit and began slowly.

  “You would be very much interested I'm sure, to hear my story. I’ve kept it all to myself for many years, there being only two others who knew everything and they’re gone now. This was my home, until I left for the army. That was in 1942 and I was just eighteen. War, especially a war like that one, quickly makes a grown man of a young boy. You know now, of course, that I married Betsy before going overseas. Looking back on it, that was the biggest mistake of my life. But for that, I believe I could have returned to Pippen’s Grove.”

  He took a sip of ice tea and gazed out at the orchards. “All the years I’ve lived elsewhere, I never stopped missing the apple trees. The blossoms were so pretty that spring of 1944, when I came home on leave and got a big surprise. I was told my wife was carrying a child, though I’d been gone for about a year. She’d been playing around behind my back, while I’d been in the Pacific, fighting for my country. I was mad as hell and all torn up over it. I never saw her again because her family had her off with relatives in Vermont. They didn’t want the embarrassment. Everyone knew that I’d been overseas.”

  He looked at Victoria. “You do look very much like your grandmother when she was young. You have her eyes y dear and same color hair.” He paused, fiddling with his glass and looking away wistfully.

  “What I did, was to go straight to Joe Douglas, Fred’s daddy, a lawyer here in Pippins Grove. I knew him pretty well. He’d lost an eye in an accident when he was a boy and the service wouldn’t take him, so he stayed here and practiced law in town. Before I returned to duty I made a will, leaving everything to my sister in case I never came back from the war. I just didn’t want that wife of mine getting anything. Couldn’t bear the thought of returning here to live in the same town with Betsy. Joe suggested I sign a legal paper giving my sister the farm, so it was hers no matter what happened to me. I wanted to get my affairs in order before I returned to the army you see. Those documents were the reason Joe Douglas knew the farm belonged to my sister, Victoria, and not me or my wife and children.”

  Fred nodded. “Elvira showed me an entry in her mother’s diary that said as much. She verified that the child was not Alexander’s. Elvira’s mother was in a position to know that for certain.”

  Jack leaned forward, curious. “Mr. Willet, how come everyone believed that you’d been killed in the war?”

  “I’m getting to that young man. As I was saying, I took care of my affairs, and then returned to my division. Out in the Pacific I served in the New Guinea Campaign, and the invasion of Leyte in the Philippine Islands.”

  He paused, sipped his tea, before continuing. “I saw some terrible things on those islands. Japs were a stubborn enemy. They rarely gave up. Either we killed them or they killed themselves, choosing suicide, rather than surrender. Anyhow, it was October 1944 we landed on Leyte. Few weeks later I was down with jungle fever. Lots of the American boys got sick in that god awful jungle. I was delirious and out of my head when they evacuated me in an army plane with several other wounded men. A good buddy of mine, Albert Simmons was on the plane with me. Al had a couple of bullet holes in his arm. There was an army nurse on board assigned to us. I was out of my head with fever most of the time, but I remember the plane taking off. The next thing I knew, salt water was pouring in. We’d crashed into the sea during a storm." He sipped slowly.

  "Somehow they got us into life rafts before it sank. Fortunately, we weren’t far from a small island. There were Japs on the island but some Filipinos got us off the beach and hid us in their village in the hills.” Alexander closed his eyes, searching his memory.

  Wanting to know what happened next, Jack prompted him to continue. “Mr. Willet, sounds like you were really lucky the villagers were there to help. Did some of the others go down with the plane?”

  He nodded slowly. “I was one of the lucky ones I suppose. They didn’t all make it out before the airplane sank. Only good thing, guess you’d say, is they were probably not conscious when the plane went under. That army nurse, her name was Laura Morgan, she took care of me and the guys that managed to get out of the plane. I came around after a while and got over the fever. My buddy, Al Simmons, didn’t make it; he died a
few days later. It’s what I did next that caused the confusion later on. I took his dog tags and hung them on my neck along with my own. We’d do that so we could later identify for the army those who didn’t make it, you understand? For another month we stayed in the village with the Filipinos, managing to keep clear of the Japs. Then in December everything went all to hell.”

  Once again, Alexander Willet paused gazing at the orchards. He picked up his glass and saw that it was empty save for a few scraps of ice. He rattled the ice idly, looking into the glass.

  “Mr. Willet, let me get you some more tea,” said Vicky, getting to her feet. “I guess I should call you Great Uncle Alexander.”

  “Thank you my dear. All this talking is thirsty work.”

  She gathered up all the glasses and coffee cups and went inside.

  “So, what do you mean everything went to hell Mr. Willet?” asked Jack.

  “Well you see, after Laura nursed me back to health and we settled in to village life with the Filipinos, we fell in love. These things just happen you know. It doesn’t matter what any of us intend. Life still happens, when we least expect it. We just couldn’t help it, but it was our love for each other that saved our lives. One day we went for a walk, just the two of us. That was the day the Japs discovered the village and attacked.”

  Alexander licked his lips, closed his eyes and put his head back against his chair. For a long time he was silent. Jack wondered if he’d fallen asleep. He sighed at last and sat up, rubbing his eyes. Then he began again. “When we returned, the entire village had been slaughtered.” Everyone was dead. His hands trembled as he relived in his mind the events of that day.

  Vicky returned and handed a fresh glass of tea to the old man.

  “Thank you Victoria.” He looked up and rewarded her with his grateful smile.