by Cat Gardiner
~~*~~
Thirty-Three
One O’clock Jump
June, 29 1992
The Antelope Tavern overlooked Sitka’s Crescent Bay Harbor, conveniently located down the street from the premier attraction of St. Michael’s Russian Orthodox Church. The cruise ship business had brought welcome tourists to the small town and the tavern, however, on this day, it was unusually quiet during the normal lunchtime rush of travelers.
Will sat at the rustic bar, chowing down on an authentic New York-style Reuben sandwich that Grace, the barmaid and owner made sure was available at one o’clock every Monday for her favorite regular customer. CNN silently broadcast images of the recently assassinated president of Algeria from the small TV mounted above the booze bottles, neatly tucked beside the obligatory taxidermy antelope head.
Against the far wall a 1970s silver and black jukebox currently filled the bucolic space with Brooks and Dunn’s “Neon Moon.” Nearby, a couple of teenagers were playing a game of pool.
Will drew a much needed long quaff from his pilsner glass as he watched a young couple enter the almost empty restaurant. Based on the young woman’s trendy black apparel and her New York Yankees baseball cap, she was obviously a tourist, most likely having just stepped off the Holland America ship that arrived this morning. He couldn’t help reflecting on the irony of his corned beef sandwich and the symbol of the Bronx Bombers, Louie’s favorite ball club, colliding here in Alaska. He immediately chastised himself for allowing something as innocuous as a cap to call his brother to mind so readily.
“Take a seat wherever you like. Menus are on the table.” Grace called out in her native Tlingit accent to the newcomers.
The young woman’s eyes locked with Will’s as she entered and walked toward him, causing him to think she was coming to talk, but instead she and her companion, a fair-haired male, sat at the table behind him.
Will continued to eat with gusto, lost in the images on the black and white television and those also being simulcast within his mind’s eye. That impulsive, unopened FedEx envelope still taunted him from his nightstand back at the house. He hadn’t even made headway on tuning up the floatplane this morning, having walked down the dock to stare at it for an hour without doing a blessed thing. Shit, he’d even mulled over renaming it, but thought better of it given his past experience and luck in naming airplanes. Agitated and annoyed at himself for letting Pistol get under his skin after all these years, he was in a foul mood, particularly since, after having been banished twenty years earlier, her photograph was ceremoniously reinserted within his wallet at five a.m. this morning. Further, he couldn’t escape the guilt at delivering the disappointing blow to Ginny the night before. He hadn’t expected her to cry, but she did.
Not even the corned beef was doing the trick to find his good humor, only serving to remind him of that little corner delicatessen beside the RKO Prospect theatre in Park Slope. Everything haunted him: Brooklyn, her beautiful face, their song, and now his brother and those damned conceited Yankees. Although, in that, at least, there was a tinge of satisfaction when recalling how they were having a shit season.
The country music was failing miserably to take his mind away from all things New York.
Will glanced over his shoulder at the couple again and her blue eyes met his. Even this sweet-looking tourist plagued him! Fighting a grimace, he gave her a half-hearted “leave me the fuck alone” smile, then turned back to his sandwich.
Juliana thought her heart would stop when she immediately recognized her great-uncle sitting at the bar. He hadn’t changed a bit from the photographs she committed to memory. Older, yes, but in a good way. William was devastatingly handsome, fit and, my G-d, she was sure that Lizzy would go lulu for him all over again. Heck, if he weren’t a senior citizen and her own relative, she could easily crush on him.
At that moment, it seemed voyeuristic that she knew almost verbatim the words Lizzy had penned to him five decades prior. Each tender memory they had shared, each declaration of love and teasing playfulness she had read was as though having written them herself. She felt like a trespasser. Her great-uncle was no longer a missing person or a one-dimensional flat image in a snapshot. He wasn’t a trinket in a military footlocker or a name written in ink on fine stationery. Her grandfather’s brother and her great-aunt’s sweetheart was real and right there—only feet from her.
After she and Jack had failed in their attempts at connecting with him over the weekend, she hadn’t expected that finding him in town would be so easy. As it turned out, it was uncannily fortuitous that their Alaskan host, Mr. Crenshaw, shot pool with William every Wednesday night at the Antelope and informed them about his ritual Monday lunch. Sure enough, he sat at the bar dressed in blue jeans and a long sleeved Henley. Wavy salt and pepper hair reached to his collar. Unfortunately, the most expressive eyes she had ever seen immediately told her that he was annoyed.
Grace came to stand on the opposite side of the bar in front of Will, wiping down the counter area surrounding his plate of piled high French fries. “This is unlike you to eat greasy stuff,” she said pointing to the curly potatoes.
He grunted and shrugged a shoulder.
“Boy you’re a grouch today. What happened, did Ginny give you the boot after all these years?”
“Sort of. She gave me an ultimatum and I don’t deal with those well. My ex-wife gave me one too many back in ’77. Two ultimatums was my threshold and as I get older my tolerance is even less. Sorry, Grace. I don’t mean to take it out on you. It’s been … a bad week.”
“Oh, darlin’, at your age you should understand women by now. We only give ultimatums because we want you to hang around not run you off. Don’t you know that by now?”
He sniggered. “Based on my history with women, I can unequivocally state that I know nothing about them and will never understand them for as long as I live. At 71, I am no more educated in the ways of women than I was at 21.”
“Now, that sounds like a bitter heart. Who knew you even had it in you? You need to read that new book, Men are From Mars, Women are From Venus.”
“No thank you. I don’t need some psycho-babble book to tell me that most women are alien creatures—present company excluded of course—and Ginny, too. She’s not really responsible for my piss poor attitude.”
“Of course I’m the exception. I make a mean Rueben.”
He smiled as he chewed, “Yes you do. Now if you could just learn to make an egg cream, I’ll consider you a goddess.”
Will heard the insistent whispers behind him, the man encouraging the Yankee fan to “don’t be frightened, just do it. He won’t bite.”
Grace called out over Will’s shoulder. “What are you folks drinking?”
The man replied in a northeastern accent, “Two Alaskan Ambers.”
Well, now that got Will’s attention. That wasn’t a beer easily attained in the Lower 48.
The owner was also surprised that the patron knew of the relatively new Alaskan Brewing Company specialty beer. “You’re not a sourdough. How do you know about ABC?”
“I’ve been out here a few times, covering the cruise line business and Denali National Park. I’m a travel reporter for New York Newsday newspaper.”
Will let out a deep sigh and almost hung his head in defeat. Damn. This couple was either from the City or the Island. Was everything determined to undermine the peace he found these last fifteen years of escape and seclusion? Finally, with beer in hand, he swiveled on the barstool to face the New Yorkers, his legs firmly planted before him.
“Where in New York are you from?” he asked. The young woman stared at him as though a deer caught in headlights. Actually, she looked similar to that antelope on the wall, flaxen haired and wide-eyed, and he wanted to chortle at her expression.
The young fella said, “I’m from Mill Neck, Long Island, just outside of Glen Cove and she’s from …”
He looked at the girl, elbowing her arm resting upon the table u
ntil she blurted, “Victorian Flatbush, Brooklyn.”
Glen Cove and Flatbush. You’ve got to be kidding? Will was further shocked when the five-foot two beauty rose from her chair, smiled at him with Louie’s shit eating, mischievous grin and declared, “300 Bradford Road—Primrose Cottage—to be precise.”
The beer glass slid from his fingers, falling between his legs and smashing to the wood floor. Damn he hated surprises.
He hardly paid the glass shards or the splattered beer any notice. His jaw went slack before he croaked, “Juliana? What are you doing here?”
Bolting him from the blue, she ran to him and hugged him tightly. He didn’t know what to do with his arms and chose the logical thing: he hugged her back when she cried, “Uncle William!”
Neither Will nor Juliana noticed when Jack rose from his seat and politely exited the tavern with the intent of leaving them alone. They had much to discuss and, at this time, his presence would only be an intrusion. This was her journey, and when and if the opportunity presented itself then, and only then, he would introduce himself as Lizzy’s grandson.
“I can’t believe I found you!” she beamed, drawing back from their embrace as Grace came around the bar with a broom and dustpan.
“Um … I can’t believe you found me either.”
She looked at him shyly. “I’m sorry … I’m so sorry if I’m not welcome or am intruding. I just wanted to thank you.”
“Why don’t we take a seat outside on the deck? We can talk over that beer of yours. How does that sound?” he offered, confused and still whirling from the complete shock of her appearance into his world.
He didn’t know what compelled him but he took her hand in his and laughed. “You flew almost three thousand miles to thank me? A simple card would have sufficed.”
“I guess a card would have been enough if that was all I had to say, but it’s not.”
Will signaled to Grace to bring the beers outside, mouthing the words, “I’m sorry,” as they walked out the door into brilliant sunlight.
Juliana bit her lip, and damn, if that quirky habit wasn’t further testimony to what a shitty week this was; the reminder was almost painful. “Don’t bite your lip. There’s no need to be fearful of me.”
“Right. Of course. I know that.” Her heart beat rapidly and she could almost hear her pulse pounding in her ears. However, when her uncle pulled out her chair, she felt so much more at ease. He was the gentleman, Ducky, she had come to know.
The vista surrounding them was breathtaking. One hundred and eighty degrees of mountains with low lying clouds reflected in the still water. Niece and uncle sat facing one another at a small, somewhat rickety table, both feeling incredibly awkward by their meeting and unsure how to begin conversation as strangers. Will couldn’t help his eyes drawing to the pair of silver wings she wore and he wondered if they were his.
Juliana wrung her hands together and breathed in the salty sea air. “You look just as I thought you would.”
“And I had no idea how you would look, but it’s very nice to finally meet you.”
“I … um … installed ceiling fans in the house and hope to have central air conditioning put in during the spring.”
“That’s good to hear. Has it been terribly warm in New York this summer?”
She nodded. “Barely tolerable, but the fans help. The stove generates a ton of heat.”
“I’m glad it’s so efficient. I had that oven special ordered when I purchased the house.”
Grace placed two beers on the table and gave Juliana a wink before quickly departing.
“Well, Juliana, I’m sure you didn’t come all this way to give me an update to This Old House or to talk about the weather in Brooklyn. I admit, I’m a bit shocked, but I am curious. As far as I knew, no one knew my whereabouts.” He raised an eyebrow.
“You’re right, no one knew where you were, but Jack, the guy I’m with, had connections and was able to locate you.”
“That’s a lot of trouble to find me. It must be important. It’s not Lou is it?”
“No, Grandpa is fine. It’s … well, you see … I’m here because I wanted to ask you face to face why you gave me Primrose Cottage when I didn’t even know of your existence. You left way before I was born and, now with my father gone, no one ever spoke of you or why you left. I found the house just as you left it in 1950 and it troubled me. Strangely, I felt your pain and thought something terrible must have happened in your life. It made me sad, and I wanted to know your story. Grandpa stopped speaking when Mimi died, so really, I didn’t have anyone to explain to me how you knew about me. How did you?”
Will leaned back in his chair and held her gaze. She was so innocent to have sought him out, to have cared so about him was unprecedented.
Frowning, he rubbed his chin. “I’ve kept tabs on New York through my lawyer, Alan Gardner.”
“I know him!”
“I’m sure you do. He’d been our family lawyer for forty years before his son took over the practice, but Al still keeps me informed of the important stuff. I’m sorry about your father and Lillian’s death. I only knew Gordon as a baby, but I knew your grandmother. She was a good woman, and I’m sure my brother is heartbroken. As for Primrose Cottage, it’s a special house—enchanted even. I left it to you because I hoped that by the time you were ready to fall in love and pursue a relationship it would be the home for you that I had envisioned it would be for me. I hoped that enough years would have passed for that kind of love to be appreciated and maybe in style again. The forties were a great—and foolish—time to be in love.”
“Yes, I gathered that. Was it a great time to be in love with someone like Lizzy?”
He furrowed his brow.
“I found your footlocker in the attic and read the letters and looked at the snapshots. Her letters are what led me to look for you.”
“Hmm …”
“She was very beautiful.”
“Yes, extremely.” He sighed deeply and looked away from her inquisitive stare. Clearly, she was looking for more than his acknowledgement of Lizzy in his life during the war, but he didn’t know the girl sitting before him enough to share with her anything about himself or the loss his heart felt when he allowed it.
“Pistol is alive,” she said, causing him to snap his head to attention. She grinned impishly.
A wry smile developed as Will tapped his fingers against the side of the beer bottle. “So, you know about my wartime sweetheart.” He sighed. “She broke my heart—twice, but I survived. The first time by the skin of my teeth and the grace of G-d when I crashed the bomber named after her over Holland.”
“Was that when you were taken as a prisoner of war?”
Will laughed. “What is this, an interview? Sheesh. Yes, I was so overcome with grief that I put my entire crew in jeopardy. Thank G-d we all survived.”
Juliana leaned forward. “If you don’t mind me asking, what happened between you two? I mean—why did it end? Was it because of her Nazi father?”
“I don’t know. Her letters stopped right after Christmas of ’42. I kept writing, but I never heard from her again. After my plane was shot down in May of ’43, there wasn’t any means she could have reached me by anyway. I had two years to realize that she had moved on. When I finally saw her a few years later at your father’s christening, I knew I had been correct. She had completely moved on thinking I was dead. Apparently, no one in my family saw fit to apprise me of her marriage or her of my survival. Based on the age of her children, she had obviously gotten a better offer to marry into that high society world of hers right after I flew overseas.”
Saw her again … ’49 … the affair, the letter.
“Well, from everything I read, heard, and discovered it seems more like the world moved on, but I don’t believe her heart moved with it.”
He laughed sardonically. “That’s doubtful. I don’t know what else I can tell you, Juliana. It’s very personal and something I don’t share easily. I’m so
rry, but I’d rather not say more on the subject. At the time it hurt too much, and I’ve kept it bottled up for too many years now to begin rehashing the past.”
“I understand about hurts and not wanting to face them. Truly I do, but I’m coming to learn that everyone needs a chance at forgiveness.” Even my mother. Her eyes unexpectedly welled with tears. “This way healing can take place in ourselves. My grandfather needs that opportunity. I want him to see his brother again and make amends for whatever happened between you two.” She wiped her eyes. “He misses you so much, and I want what’s left of his future to be happy.”
Damn, now she was getting him all sappy. He couldn’t help the prick of tear in his own eyes. He missed Louie, too. Missed what they had shared, missed being a family. “When you walked in with that ball cap of yours, I remembered that I owe him two dollars from the ’42 All-Star game. Lucky bastard that he always was.”
“He said it’s time to ante up with interest.” Juliana raised her eyebrows hopefully.
“That knucklehead knew you were coming out here to see me?”
“Yes. It’s been about two years now without a single word spoken due to grief and post-traumatic stress from the war but last week when I told him about the things I discovered in the wall of Primrose Cottage he found his voice to tell me the truth about your growing up Jewish. He also explained to me what happened to your grandfather and aunt.”
Will nodded, saying nothing just slightly pursing his lips.
“When I told him that I was coming to see you, he said something to the effect that only a vaporhead would try to hide from his past in Alaska. He wants you to come home, as do I. We want to be a family.”
“You found the items behind the painting?”
“Yes, Jack explained to me what they are. He’s Jewish, and that’s when I surmised that you were, too.”
He simply nodded, neither confirming nor denying his faith, but happy that she discovered what his brother had denied Gordon and her―their ancestry.
“Why did you leave? Was it because of something Grandpa did?”