by John Snyder
Love, Frankie
Tears of worry welled in Emma’s eyes as she read the letter. She wished Frankie could come home, that all the men could come back to America and be safe. The thought that the entire world was at war seriously disturbed her.
She pulled her daughter next to her and held her close.
“Is Uncle Frankie okay, Mommy?”
“He’s fine, dear. He’s fine.”
Chapter Four
Jacob awakened to someone kicking his feet. As he strained his eyes against the bright morning sun, his sight was hazy. Once he’d focused, the image became clearer. He made out the shadow of a large man hovering over him, his eyes zeroing in on a brass belt buckle and a badge, and then to the billy club the man was slapping repeatedly into his open palm. An imposing figure and definitely impressed by his own authority, the cop peered down upon him. He stood erect, his legs spread slightly apart, his face wrinkled and his lips pursed, with a service revolver hanging loose at his side, as if he were a gun slinger from the Wild, Wild West.
“Hey, you! Wake up and beat it, or I’ll run you in.”
Jacob bolted upright, rubbing his face. He removed the blanket of newspapers and cardboard that had covered him during his drunken night on the street. As he stood, he became unsteady on his feet, leaning against the wall of the building near him for support.
“What makes you think you can just lay down and sleep off your drunk wherever you want?”
Jacob grasped for a plausible explanation. “Well, sir…I just…ah…”
“Stand up straight!”
Jacob snapped to attention like a recruit, but couldn’t help wobbling back and forth.
“Where do you live?”
“Well…I just got into town and I don’t have a place to stay yet, sir.”
“I’ve got a place I can put you up for a few nights. It’s called jail.”
“No thank you, sir. I’m here to visit with my sons.”
“Then what are you doing sleeping on my sidewalk?”
“Let me explain…”
“I don’t need an explanation. Where do your sons live?”
Thinking for a moment, he said, “At 1641 Washington Street.”
“Well, I suggest you go there to sleep it off.”
“Can you please tell me how to get to Washington Street from here?” he asked the officer politely, afraid of angering him even more.
The officer gave Jacob directions and abruptly walked away. After taking a few steps, the policeman turned. With a stern glare toward Jacob, he shouted, “If I see you down here on my beat again sleeping on the sidewalk, you’re going to jail. You got that?”
“Yes, sir.”
Jacob headed in the opposite direction, already forgetting the directions the officer gave him. He hadn’t really listened, still half asleep, and half in the bag from last night’s diversion. As he walked, he began to cough. He coughed so hard that it made his head hurt. Jacob became sick to his stomach and ducked into an alley, where he leaned against the side of a building before sliding down into a sitting position. Putting his head in his hands, he began to vomit. He gagged and gagged, regurgitating the scotch he had consumed the night before. Blood began dripping from his mouth, blood he coughed up from deep within, an occurrence that happened lately with concerning frequency. It scared Jacob, causing him to wonder if he was sick, if he was dying.
Tears streamed from his eyes. He sat there, consumed by self-hatred, uttering aloud, “What a coward I have become. What a disappointment.” Again, he began to reflect upon the days gone by. Over the last twenty-some years, he’d lived more in the past than he did in the present. The present was too painful, yet in many ways, so was the past.
He remembered the time he took Amanda to a cabin on a lake in the Illinois countryside. They took a canoe out onto the water. Like a new piece of shiny glass, the lake rested calmly against its surroundings under a cloudless blue sky. A crisp freshness permeated the air as the golden sunshine danced off Amanda’s thick blond hair. As he rowed, Jacob couldn’t take his eyes off her. She lay in the front of the boat, her bare feet dangling over the side as she dragged her fingers gently through the water. Her legs were long and slender, delicately extending from her movie star figure. And the best part? She was even more beautiful on the inside. Her unselfish demeanor was endearing to everyone she met. She dipped her hand into the water and blissfully splashed Jacob.
“Hey! Knock it off,” he said playfully.
“Why? Are you afraid of the water?” She laughed.
She splashed him again. To retaliate, Jacob skimmed the oars along the top of the lake, spilling water into the front of the boat. Amanda curled up into the fetal position.
“Who’s afraid of the water now?” He laughed.
“Stop it!” she squealed. “That’s not fair!”
They began laughing as each of them splashed water onto the other. Suddenly, they stopped and looked deep into each other’s eyes. Their lips met in a long kiss. They held each other close, kissing and caressing in the warm summer sun. Their bodies entwined, they lay in each other’s arms, enjoying the moment as the boat drifted aimlessly on the lake.
* * *
“Excuse me. Sir? Are you all right?”
Surprised, Jacob opened his eyes to catch the image of a man kneeling over him. He was a kind-looking gentleman, clean shaven and properly dressed. His black hair had flecks of gray, and he smelled of spice from his aftershave.
“Yeah, I’m okay.”
Jacob attempted to stand, but he was as wobbly as an antique table, falling back down.
“You sure you’re all right?”
“Yeah, I’ll be okay. Just give me a minute.”
The man helped Jacob to his feet.
“It looks to me like you’re in pretty rough shape.”
“What? Are you a doctor or something?” Jacob replied, his tone caustic.
“No. I’m not a doctor, I’m a pastor. But I can recognize a man who’s in rough shape when I see him. How long has it been since you’ve had a meal?”
Jacob paused to reflect for a moment.
“A few days.”
“Why don’t you come with me down to the Salvation Army kitchen?”
The pastor took hold of Jacob’s arm and the two started walking. Jacob had his legs now.
“What’s your name?” the pastor asked.
“Jacob. Jacob McCallum. What’s yours?”
“Howard Angel.”
“Oh, you’re kidding me, for crying out loud. I’ve been rescued by an Angel.”
“Believe me when I tell you I’ve heard that one before.”
Both men laughed as they continued their walk to the mission.
* * *
The front door to the Salvation Army creaked open.
“Well, here we are.”
Jacob stood in the doorway and sized up the place. The stark interior was less than inviting, but the tantalizing aroma of eggs frying offered up a welcoming environment. The delicious fragrance of country ham also lingered in the air.
“Are you hungry?”
“I’m starved.”
“Well, let’s fix that.”
Howard led Jacob over to the buffet. He got them each a plate, handing one to Jacob.
“Help yourself.”
Jacob didn’t need any more encouragement. He piled his tin plate high with scrambled eggs and carved off a thick slab of ham. Balancing two biscuits on the top of his food, he made his way over to the coffee urn for a fresh cup of morning brew. Howard went over to the table and took a seat, waiting for him. As Jacob took his place next to Howard, his mouth watered as he anticipated devouring his meal. Just then, his empty stomach let out an embarrassing growl. Jacob dug his fork deep into the mound of scrambled eggs and shoveled it into his mouth.
“Excuse me, Jacob,” Howard interrupted. “But around here, we thank the Lord for his blessings before we eat His food.”
Jacob, cheeks bulging, paused. His face
reddened uncomfortably in recognition of his thoughtless faux pas. He wasn’t accustomed to eating at a table these days, much less saying grace before he ate. Many years had passed since his last prayer. He’d given up on that a long time ago. Neither his manners, nor his grace, were as they used to be. He bowed his head while Howard gave the blessing, then he wasted no time satisfying his hunger.
“So tell me a little about yourself, Jacob.”
“What do you want to know?” he said, chewing.
“A lot, but let’s start with where you are from.”
“Right here in Chicago. But I’ve been away for a while.”
“Away? Where?”
“Here, there, and everywhere.”
“Do you have a family?”
“Well…” Jacob paused.
“Well?”
“Yes. I do have a family, but I haven’t seen them in a long while.”
“Really? Why?”
“It’s a long story. Believe me, you don’t want to sit here and have to listen to it.”
“Sure I do, Jacob. That’s my job. And you look like you could use a friend right about now.”
“Let’s just say that I haven’t been the most ideal father over the years. My kids…I say ‘kids,’ but they’re all grown up now, well…they hate me.”
“They hate you? Hate is a pretty strong word, Jacob. And I can’t see how any child could truly hate their father.”
“Well, trust me, mine do.”
“How many children do you have?”
“Three. Two sons and a daughter.”
“Do they all live here in Chicago?”
“My two sons do. I’m here to try to find them. I don’t even know if the address I have is a current one.”
“What are their names?”
“Tom and Frankie.”
“Where does your daughter live?”
“She lives in the East—Baltimore, I’m pretty sure.”
“Why don’t you tell me a little about your children?” Howard quizzed, trying to get to the root of Jacob’s problem without appearing too meddlesome.
“That’s just it. I don’t really know all that much about them. I’ve been in and out of their lives over the years—mostly out.”
“Tell me what you do know, my friend.”
“Do you have a smoke?”
“No,” Howard said, laughing. “I don’t smoke. And neither should you.”
“Well, Emma, my daughter, is the oldest. Let’s see, she’d be about, ah…thirty-one…maybe thirty-two. She’s married, but I’ve never met her husband.”
“Does she have any children?”
“Yeah. She has two—well, just a daughter now. Her son died when he was just a baby. I haven’t seen or heard from Emma in six, maybe seven, years. I hardly remember my granddaughter. Tom, he’s my next oldest. He’d be about…oh…I guess twenty-nine, almost thirty, and Frankie is my youngest.”
“How old is your youngest son?”
“Let’s see, Frankie would be in his mid-twenties or so.”
“And your wife?”
“Amanda?”
“Is that her name?”
“That was her name before…” Jacob paused suddenly.
“Before what?” Howard asked.
Jacob took a sip of coffee and looked away from the table. His eyes began to well. He grimaced hard, attempting, unsuccessfully, to choke back his tears.
“What is it, Jacob?”
Jacob sniffed, then wiped his eyes and nose with the sleeve of his shirt.
“I don’t want to talk about my family anymore.”
“I’m here to listen, not to judge you. And frankly, you don’t have to tell me if you wish not to.”
“I’d rather not talk about it.”
“That’s okay. You don’t have to.”
“Really, I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Well, sometimes it’s better to air things out that are bothering us.”
Jacob’s face hardened as he became agitated. “I said I don’t want to talk about it!”
“Okay. Okay, Jacob. Then we won’t talk about it.”
Silence ended their conversation as Jacob hurriedly finished his meal. He stared down at his plate without looking up, without talking. Howard noticed periodic tears in Jacob’s eyes. He wanted to get to the source of Jacob’s pain, but he knew this was not the time.
“I hate to act like a hog,” Jacob said. “But I’m really hungry. Can I get a second helping?”
“Sure you can.”
Howard welcomed the opportunity for the extra time to find out more about Jacob. And judging from Jacob’s drawn appearance, he was obviously malnourished and could use the extra helping of food.
As Jacob went back to the serving table, Howard poured them each another cup of coffee and returned to their table, waiting for Jacob to join him again.
“This is good ham,” Jacob said while chewing.
The wheels were churning in Howard’s head. Although he was accustomed to counseling troubled men of the streets, it had been a while since he’d encountered someone as troubled as Jacob appeared. He knew the despair of loneliness and rejection. Years ago, he’d found himself in a similar situation. He sensed Jacob’s pain and his need for help. But he also knew he must choose his questions carefully.
“Tell me about your sons here in Chicago. Are they in the military?”
“I know Tom’s not. He has a gimpy leg. I’m not sure about Frankie. Like I said, I’ve been out of touch for a while.”
“What happened to Tom’s leg?”
“Hey, look. I just would prefer not to talk about my family, all right?” Jacob said as he rose from the table. “If it’s all the same to you, I think I’ll be going now. Thank you for your kindness.”
“Where will you go?”
“Wherever.”
“Sit down, Jacob. Rest for a while.”
“Nah, I better get going. I have some important things to do. Thanks again for your generosity.”
“You know you’re always welcome here. We’re here to serve mankind,” Howard told him.
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
As Jacob turned to leave, his face turned white. His eyes rolled back in his head and he fainted. Howard tried to catch him, but missed and Jacob hit the floor.
“Jacob, are you okay? “ Howard said as he leaned over him.
Jacob went out for a few seconds before gathering his faculties and attempting to stand.
“Stay down, Jacob.”
“I’m okay.”
“It’s obvious that you’re not.”
“Naaaah. I’ll be all right,” he said stubbornly.
Jacob made another effort to stand, but as quickly as he rose, he fell back down on a chair.
“Why don’t you spend some time here?”
“No. I need to get going. I came here to find my sons—to make good with them.”
“Nothing could be more important than your well-being. I insist that you stay here, at least for a while.”
Jacob refused Howard’s hospitality. As he tried to get up, he became woozy again. He held on to the side of the table to steady himself. Feeling too weak to stand, Jacob sat back down and reluctantly accepted Howard’s offer to stay.
“If you don’t mind, I could use a place to sleep tonight.”
“I think you’ve made a wise decision. There’s an empty cot in the back. You should lie down for a while.”
Howard guided Jacob, still wobbling, to the cot, where he collapsed.
“I’ll get you a blanket.”
By the time Howard returned, Jacob was sound asleep. Not to disturb him, Howard unfolded the blanket and gently placed it on Jacob’s tired body.
Howard took an immediate liking to Jacob. Later that afternoon, he went to the chapel and prayed for him. Afterward, he took a seat on the bench near the altar. He couldn’t stop thinking about Jacob and wondering what lay ahead for this distressed man. He wondered what troubled him so. Why
would he say his children hate him? Why had he become so agitated when I asked him questions about his wife and children?
Jacob slept through the day and into the night. Just past two in the morning he suffered an unsettling nightmare. In his dream he kept reaching out for Amanda, but just as their hands met, she would slip away from him. He abruptly awakened, startled, his shirt soaked from night sweats. Shivering, he sat up on the cot and wrapped the blanket around his shoulders. He rocked back and forth while he wept. Every time he closed his eyes, he could see Tom’s bloodied body and Frankie trying to reach for his mother. He remained awake until after 4 a.m. before making an effort to get out of bed and leave the mission. Feeling confined, he sought the freedom he felt when out on the streets. Placing his feet on the floor, he attempted to stand. Still too weak and overcome by fever, he laid his head back down on the pillow. For several more hours he battled sleep, fearful he would return to his nightmare. Eventually, sleep overtook him.
* * *
With a cup of hot coffee in his hands, Howard bent over the cot where Jacob lay peacefully, and softly tapped him on the shoulder. Jacob’s eyes opened slowly, his nose quick to capture the smell of the freshly brewed cup of Joe.
“Here you go, Jacob. I thought you might need this to make you feel a little better.”
“Thank you.”
Jacob thought for a brief second and said, “I’m sorry, but I have forgotten your name.”
“That’s okay. My name is Howard. Howard Angel.”
“Oh, yeah. How in the world could I forget that?”
They both chuckled.
“Yesterday was a difficult day for you and I completely understand. What do you say we get you some breakfast in your belly? I’m sure that will help restore your strength.”
“Sounds good to me.”
The two of them walked to the dining hall, where a plate of pancakes awaited Jacob. Hungrily, he attacked the plate.