Half expecting a ghost to come flying out, when nothing but dust motes rose in the air, she gave a sigh of relief and flung back the sheet to expose an old steamer trunk. Never having seen the trunk before, intrigued, she lifted the lid. Another sheet, this one free of dust, protected the truck’s contents. Beneath it she found a variety of boxes, each tied with string. Her curiosity piqued, she selected the largest box and sat down on the floor, anxious to see what was inside. After removing the lid, she folded back the tissue paper.
She clapped a hand over her heart. “Oh, my God,” she murmured as she stared at the Army uniform folded neatly inside. Sure that it was her father’s, she gently lifted the jacket and held it up to examine it more closely. A name tag attached above the breast pocket read Sgt. Lawrence E. Blair.
“Oh, my God,” she whispered, awed by the sight.
Unaware that her mother had saved anything that belonged to her biological father, she shoved the box aside and pulled out another. After quickly untying the string, she lifted the lid. Bundles of letters, each bound with pink ribbon faded to a dusty rose, filled the space. She thumbed through the envelopes, noting that each was addressed to Janine Blair. Though the months of the postmarks varied, all were mailed in the same year, 1971. Stunned by her discovery, she pulled out another box, then another, and found more letters in each.
She stared at the stacks of letters scattered around her, unable to believe that her mother had never told her of their existence. Was it because the memories were too painful? she asked herself. Or was it because her mother had chosen to bury the memories of her first husband along with his body?
She knew her parents’ marriage had been impulsive, spawned by him leaving for the war. She remembered her mother telling her that he’d shipped out for Vietnam just two weeks after they were married. But Stephanie really didn’t know much else about her natural father—other than his name, of course, and that he had been killed in the war. She remembered asking her mother once if she had any pictures of him, and she’d claimed she hadn’t.
Wondering if her mother had secreted away pictures along with the letters, she pushed to her knees and dug through the box until she found what looked to be a photo album. Hopeful that she would find pictures of her father inside, she sank back down and opened the book over her lap.
The first photo all but stole her breath. The picture was a professional shot of a soldier and probably taken after he’d completed his basic training, judging by his buzzed haircut. He was wearing a dress uniform and had his hat angled low on his forehead. The name tag above the breast pocket identified him as Lawrence E. Blair.
He looks so young, was all she could think. And so handsome. She smoothed her fingers over his image. This is my father, she told herself and waited for the swell of emotion.
But she felt nothing. The man was a stranger to her. Her father, yet a complete stranger.
Emotion came then, an unexpected guilt that stabbed deeply. She should feel something. If she didn’t, who would? His parents had preceded him in death. Her mother—his wife—was gone now, too. There was no one left to remember him, to mourn for a life lost so young.
Along with the guilt came another emotion—resentment toward her mother. Mom should have shown me this trunk, she thought angrily. She should have made sure that I knew my father, that his memory lived on in my heart. He had courageously served his country and fathered a child he’d never seen. Surely he deserved more than a trunk full of memories tucked away in an attic.
Firming her jaw, she pushed to her feet and began gathering up the boxes. She would read the letters he left behind, she told herself. She’d get to know him through his correspondence and the album of pictures. She wouldn’t let his memory die. He was her father, for God’s sake, the man who had given her life!
Two
Later that night, as Stephanie passed through the kitchen dragging the last bag of trash she’d filled that day, the house phone rang. She didn’t even slow down. It was her parents’ phone, after all; anyone who wanted to speak to her would call her on her cell.
Ignoring the incessant ringing, she strong-armed the bag through the opening of the back door, then heaved it onto the growing pile at the foot of the steps. Winded, she dropped down on the top step to catch her breath.
Although the sun had set more than an hour before, a full moon lit the night sky and illuminated the landscape. From her vantage point on the porch she could see the roof of the barn and a portion of the corral that surrounded it. Beyond the barn stretched the pastures where the cattle grazed. Though she couldn’t see the cattle, she heard their low bawling and knew they were near. Runt let out a sharp bark, and she winced, feeling guilty for having banished him to the barn. But it was for his own good, she told herself. She’d seen a mouse earlier that day and had set out traps. Runt, God love him, had already activated two—due to his curiosity or greed, she wasn’t sure which—and had a bloody nose to prove it.
Knowing that spending one night in the barn wouldn’t hurt him, in spite of the pitiful look he’d given her when she’d penned him there, she let the peacefulness of her surroundings slip over her again.
Though raised on the ranch, she’d spent her adult years surrounded by the big-city noises of Dallas and had forgotten the depth of the quiet in the country. Closing her eyes, she listened closely, separating the sounds of the night: the raspy song of katydids perched high in the trees, the closer and more melodious chirping of crickets. A quail added its plaintive call of “bob-white” to the chorus of music, and she smiled, remembering the first time she’d heard the call and asking Bud who Bob White was and was that his mommy calling him home.
Enjoying the quiet and the pleasant memories it drew, she lay back on the wooden planks of the porch and stared up at the sky, letting her mind drift as she watched the clouds float across the face of the moon.
Her earliest memories were rooted here on this ranch, she thought wistfully. Prior to her mother marrying Bud, she and her mother had lived with her mother’s parents in town. Stephanie had vague recollections of that time, but she wasn’t sure if they were truly hers or a result of images she’d drawn from stories her mother had shared with her of those early years. A natural storyteller, her mother had often entertained Stephanie with tales of when Stephanie was a little girl.
But she’d never told her any that had included Stephanie’s father.
The resentment she’d discovered earlier returned to burn through her again. Why, Mom? she cried silently. Why didn’t you tell me anything about him? Why did you refuse to talk about him when I asked questions? Was he funny? Serious? What kind of things did he enjoy? What were his fears?
Her cell phone vibrated, making her jump, and she quickly sat up, pulling it from the clip at the waist of her shorts. She flipped up the cover to check the number displayed on the screen and recognized it as Kiki’s, her assistant.
Swiping at the tears, she placed the phone to her ear. “Kiki, what are you doing calling me?” she scolded good-naturedly. “You’re supposed to be on vacation.”
“Vacation?” Kiki repeated. “Ha! Being stuck at home with three-year-old twins isn’t a vacation, it’s a prison sentence!”
Laughing, Stephanie propped her elbow on her knee, grateful for the distraction Kiki offered from her whirling emotions. Five foot nothing, Kiki had flaming red hair that corkscrewed in every direction and the personality to match it. Talking to her was always a treat. “Don’t you dare talk about my godchildren that way. Morgan and Mariah are angels.”
“Humph. Easy for you to say. You haven’t been locked up in a house with them all day.”
“Wanna trade places?” Stephanie challenged. “I’d much rather be with the twins than doing what I’m doing.”
Kiki made a sympathetic noise. “How’s it going? Are you making any progress?”
Stephanie sighed wearily. “None that you’d notice. I had no idea my parents had so much stuff. I’ve spent three days in the dining room
alone and I’m still not done.”
“Found any hidden treasure?”
Stephanie thought of the trunk in the attic and the letters and photos she’d found hidden inside. “Maybe,” she replied vaguely, unsure if she was ready to talk about that yet.
“Maybe?” Kiki repeated, her voice sharpening with interest. “Spill your guts, girl, I’m desperate for excitement.”
Chuckling, Stephanie pushed the hair back from her face and held it against her head. “I doubt you’d find a bunch of old letters and a photo album that belonged to my father all that exciting.”
“You never know,” Kiki replied mysteriously. “Bud could’ve had a wild side we weren’t aware of.”
“They weren’t Bud’s. They belonged to my real father.”
There was a moment of stunned silence. “Oh, wow,” Kiki murmured. “I forget that Bud had adopted you.”
“I do, too, most of the time, which is what I’m sure Mom intended.”
Although Stephanie wasn’t aware of the bitterness in her tone, Kiki—who never missed anything—picked up on it immediately.
“What gives? You sound majorly ticked.”
“I’m not,” Stephanie said defensively, then admitted grudgingly, “Well, maybe a little.” She balled her hand into a fist against her thigh, struck again by her mother’s deception. “I can’t believe she never told me she saved any of his things. She kept it all hidden away in a trunk in the attic.”
“Why?”
“How would I know? She just did.”
“Bummer,” Kiki said sympathetically, then forced a positive note to her voice. “But, hey, the good news is you found it! Have you read any of the letters yet?”
Stephanie had to set her jaw to fight back the tears that threatened. “No, but I’m going to read every darn one of them. Somebody’s got to keep his memory alive.”
“Are you okay?” Kiki asked in concern. “You sound all weepy—and you never cry.”
Stephanie bit her lip, resisting the urge to tell Kiki everything, from the resentment she felt over her mother’s deception to seeing Wade again. “I’m fine,” she assured her friend. “I’m just tired.”
“Cleaning out your parents’ home is hard enough, and now you gotta deal with all this heavy stuff about your dad. Do you want me to come and help?”
Stephanie smiled at the offer, knowing Kiki would drop everything and drive to Georgetown if asked. She was that kind of friend. “No, I can handle it. But thanks.”
“Well, I mean it,” Kiki assured her. “You say the word and I’m there.”
Stephanie chuckled, imagining how much work they’d get done with the twins underfoot. “Thanks, but I’ve got everything under control. You just caught me at a weak moment. Listen,” she said, anxious to end the call before she caved and begged Kiki to come. “It’s getting late. I’d better go. Give the kids a kiss for me, okay?”
“I will. And take things slow,” Kiki urged. “If it takes you longer than two weeks to finalize things there, so what? The advertising industry won’t collapse without us. Once you get back home, we can work doubly hard to make up for any time lost.”
Stephanie pressed her fingertips to her lips, fighting back the tears, realizing how lucky she was to have a friend like Kiki.
“Thanks, Kiki,” she said, then added a hasty good-night and disconnected the call before Kiki could say anything more.
Within fifteen minutes of ending the call with Kiki, Stephanie was in bed, propped up on pillows, the bundles of her father’s letters piled around her. She’d already sobbed her way through two and was reaching for a third when the house phone rang. She angled her head to frown at the extension on the beside table. It was the second time the phone had rung since she’d talked to Kiki, and the sound was beginning to grate on her nerves.
Since her parents were a decade or more behind technology and didn’t have caller ID installed on their phone line, she couldn’t check to see who was calling. And she wasn’t about to answer the phone just to satisfy her curiosity. At this hour, she doubted the caller would be a telemarketer, which meant that one of her parents’ friends had probably heard that she was at the house and was calling to offer his or her condolences over the loss of Bud.
Considering her current emotional state, Stephanie was afraid that one kind word would send her into a crying jag she wouldn’t be able to stop.
After the fifth ring, the ringing stopped. With a sigh of relief Stephanie sank back against pillows and opened the letter over her propped-up knees.
Dear Janine,
It’s been a crummy day. Rain, rain and more rain. Sometimes it seems like it’s never going to stop. This is the third day we’ve been guarding this LZ (that’s Landing Zone to you civilians), and everything I own is sopping wet–including my underwear. Ha-ha.
I got your letter before I left camp. The one where you asked about getting a dog? Honey, that’s fine with me. In fact, I’d feel better knowing you have something (not someone!) to keep you company while I’m gone. What kind do you want to get? Make sure it’s something that’ll make a good guard dog. Not one of those sissy poodles. They are about as useless as tits on a nun.
“Tits on a nun?” she repeated, then choked a laugh. Obviously her father had possessed a sense of humor. Pleased to discover that small detail about his personality, she settled in to read more.
Have I told you that I love you? Probably about a million times, but it’s worth repeating. I miss you so much it hurts.
Stephanie placed a hand over her heart, knowing exactly how he must have felt. She’d experienced that depth of feeling only once in her life, and though it was more than a decade ago, she remembered it as if it were yesterday. A love so powerful it was a physical pain in her chest. Even now, after years with no contact, thoughts of Wade would occasionally slip unbidden into her mind and she would experience that same deep ache. Thankfully all she had to do was remind herself of what a jerk he’d turned out to be and the feeling would disappear as rapidly as it had come.
She gave her head a shake to clear the distracting thoughts and focused again on the letter, picking up where she’d left off.
I know I probably shouldn’t tell you that because it’ll only make you sad, but it’s the truth. I’d give anything to be holding you right now. Sometimes at night I close my eyes real tight and concentrate real hard on imagining you. A couple of times I swear I thought I even smelled you. Crazy, huh? But it’s true. That perfume you wear really turns me on. Remind me to buy you a gallon of it when I get home!
I better sign off for now. It’s getting so dark I can’t see, and we can’t turn on so much as a flashlight when we’re out in the field because it might give our position away. Man, I’ll be glad when this damn war is over!
Yours forever,
Larry
Stephanie stared at the letter a long time, trying to absorb the words he’d written and what he’d revealed about himself through them. It was obvious that he’d loved her mother very much and was concerned for her welfare. Had her mother’s feelings for him equaled his for her? Unsure of the answer, pensive, she refolded the letter and selected another from the pile.
Dear Janine,
I’m going to be a daddy?
Stephanie sat bolt upright, her eyes riveted on the words, realizing that she was holding the letter her father had sent after learning that her mother was pregnant. She squeezed her eyes shut, afraid to read any more. What if he was disappointed that her mother had gotten pregnant so soon after their marriage? Even mad? He may not have wanted any children.
“Please, God, let him have wanted me,” she prayed fervently, then opened her eyes and read on.
Whoa. That’s some pretty serious sh** to throw on a guy when he’s halfway around the world. Don’t think I’m not happy about it, because I am! I’m just disappointed that I’m stuck over here and not there with you. The good news is, if my calculations are right, I should be home by the time our baby is born.
&nb
sp; “Oh, God,” Stephanie murmured and had to stop reading to wipe her eyes. He not only had wanted her, he’d been looking forward to being home in time for her birth. The irony of that was simply too cruel for words. Blinking hard to clear her eyes, she scanned to find her place and began to read again.
Are you feeling okay? I know women sometimes throw up a lot in the beginning. I sure hope you’re not one of those who stays sick for nine months. Are you showing yet? That’s probably a crazy question, since you can’t be that far along. I’ll bet you look really sexy pregnant!
Man, I can’t believe this! Me, a daddy! It’s going to take a while for this to really sink in. As soon as I get home, we’re going to have to find a place of our own. I’m really glad that you’re there with your parents so they can take care of you while I’m gone, but when I get home I want you all to myself! Does that sound selfish? Hell, I don’t care if it does! I miss you like crazy and don’t want to share you with anybody, not even your mom and dad!
We’ll need a place with lots of room, because I want a whole houseful of kids. We never talked about that, but I hope you do, too. I don’t want our baby growing up without any brothers or sisters the way I did. Believe me, it can get pretty lonesome at times.
You mentioned in your letter that, for my sake, you hope it’s a boy. Honey, I don’t care what we have. I’ll love our baby no matter what.
Preacher just walked by and I told him our good news—I hope you don’t mind. He said to tell you congratulations. Remember me telling you about Preacher? He’s the one who didn’t think he could shoot a man. So far he’s squeaked by without having to. I’m worried that if it ever comes down to shoot or die, he won’t be able to pull the trigger. I try my best to keep an eye on him, but it’s hard to do that when things get really hot, with enemy fire coming at us from every direction.
A Piece of Texas Trilogy Page 3