by Linda Ellen
At the sink, Lilly stood absently washing the breakfast dishes and staring out the window, also thinking about Willis. More specifically, the horrific argument they’d had when he had come back from Bowling Green after their daughter’s marriage. Lilly had never seen her normally passive husband so angry as he had yelled at her, “How could you…why did you…marry off our Louise like that? To a man her father hasn’t even met!”
Fretting and wringing her hands nervously, Lilly had stammered, “I didn’t exactly marry her off… I didn’t sign a paper or anything giving her permission… But Will, I was frightened…and I…I didn’t want to lose everything again, like the last time…”
“That is no excuse, woman,” he had immediately countered, a palm raised toward her as if he could stop more words from coming forth and causing more upset. “No excuse at all! To force your daughter to marry and spend the rest of her life with a man that she doesn’t love, while…”
“You just don’t understand!” Lilly had screeched in reaction. “You don’t know what it’s like to have to make ends meet on the little bit of money you’d send each month!”
Now three months later as she lowered a dish into the sink, Lilly closed her eyes and winced as she remembered that moment. She had regretted the statement the instant it was out of her mouth, as well as the sight of Willis reeling back as if she’d struck him.
Embarrassed and on edge, she had sent Sonny and Billy outside then, as quite a long verbal battle had ensued. Finally, Willis had slammed the door on the way out of the apartment and gone for a very long walk. It was late evening before he had returned.
Shaking herself from her oppressive thoughts, Lilly strove to think of something for conversation.
“So, tell me again about these people you’re renting that room from…”
Louise pursed her lips for a minute, thinking back to the bits and pieces she had learned over the months. All she knew really about the Richardsons, who were friends of the Mockers, was that they had needed the money, and had moved their belongings down to a room in the basement and rented out the master bedroom to T.J. and Louise. Of necessity, the foursome had to share the kitchen and the one bathroom, with an arrangement that had worked well for the most part, as they had worked out a schedule for the shared rooms and alternated their times of occupancy.
Filling her mother in on the particulars, she added, “It makes me mad when Anna’s upstairs, straining to eavesdrop on our conversations through the bedroom door.”
Lilly gasped, then shook her head incredulously. “You think she does that?”
“I caught her at it one night.” Louise shrugged and picked up another towel. “Ah, I guess I ought to feel sorry for the old biddy. I guess she’s got nothing better to do.”
Lilly looked over at her daughter and smiled fondly as she watched her placing the clean dishes on the shelf above the sink.
“Do you think T.J. would like to stay for supper when he comes for you? I was thinking about making a big pot of my vegetable soup, and maybe some corn bread.”
Louise smiled with a tiny snort and then actually gave out a small giggle, the first laughter she had enjoyed in quite some time. “He probably would…since he hasn’t exactly been getting much food at home lately,” she added with a mischievous grin.
“Oh? You aren’t cooking for your husband?” Lilly questioned, her sharp eyes missing none of the nuances in Louise’s expression.
“Yeah sure, I’ve just been…kinda distracted lately,” Louise explained softly. Something in her eyes before she hastily looked away clued her mother in and Lilly nodded wisely.
“Are you pregnant?”
Louise’s eyes flared for a moment, embarrassed to speak about the subject with her mother. Shaking her head, she mumbled, “No.”
Pursing her lips, Lilly turned back to finish the dishes. After a few minutes, she murmured softly, “I’ll tell you something, Mary Louise…living in your dreams may help you get through the day, or the night, but there will come a point when you’ll find you either have to give them up…or act upon them. If you let it go on too long, neither choice will be easy.”
Louise turned and stared at her mother’s profile, her hair pinned up in its customary tightly rolled bun, with not a strand out of place. She wondered if her mother was speaking from experience…
Deciding she didn’t want to know the answer to that question, she chose not to ask.
The two women continued on with their chores in silence.
*
“Hello, Mr. Hudson,” Louise greeted the kindly storekeeper an hour later, having been sent to the market for items Lilly needed for supper. It felt good to be out and about, and she almost skipped down the street as she had traversed the familiar route. It felt like old times, and for a little while, she could pretend her life was carefree and happy again.
The jovial old gentleman’s eyes lit up when he saw her, and he motioned for her to come closer to the checkout counter. “Well, hello there, sweet girl. How’ve you been? I haven’t seen you come in for quite a while,” he crooned as he reached into his large glass ‘penny candy’ jar next to the register. Louise smiled as she thought about how it had been their habit since she was a child and sent to the little market for something, that Old Mr. Hudson would always look both ways, reach into the jar, and hand her a piece or two of candy with a chuckle. Then he would bring one finger up to his lips with a ‘shhh’ to complete their game. The sweet, familiar gesture almost brought tears to her eyes.
She cleared her throat as she reached for the candy. “Oh um…I’m not living around here anymore, so…”
“Oh that’s right! Your brother, Billy, told me you’d gone and got yourself married. Got a ring through your young man’s nose, eh?” he joked with a chuckle.
“My young man?” she asked, popping the piece of hard candy into her mouth and relishing the sweet butterscotch taste.
“Yes…the one I saw you talking with that time…” At her confused expression, he continued as he gestured with one hand, “Right out there…a few days after your family came back from being evacuated during the flood.” He reached for his customary dust rag to wipe down the countertop.
Louise remembered that wonderful moment when Earl and Vic had stopped to talk, and Vic had asked her out on their first date. Tears instantly sprang to her eyes. Quickly breathing in through her nose, she looked away as she tried to control her emotions, and answered softly, “Oh…no…I didn’t marry him…I married T.J. Blankenbaker…”
The old man stopped for a moment, blinking as he focused on her face. He knew the Blankenbakers, of course, and truthfully, he wouldn’t have given a plug nickel for the whole lot. He wondered why in the world sweet Louise would have married into that clan. Opening his mouth to comment, he thought better of it and shut it again, deciding to hold his peace. It was, after all, none of his business. He could see that Louise didn’t appear to be happy with the situation, and his old heart went out to her.
Giving her a moment to collect herself, he asked, “So, what’d Miss Lilly send you down here for today?”
“Um…some tomatoes, and a couple of onions. And some powdered sugar…she’s gonna make me a birthday cake,” she managed to add with a touch of impishness.
“Oh, it’s your birthday!” he predictably reacted, his eyes twinkling behind his wire rim glasses. “Well, happy birthday, honey. So, how old are you now?”
“Sixteen,” she grinned, enjoying the fact that someone was actually friendly and excited about her special day.
“Sixteen, my my. Why, I was just sayin’ to the missus the other day how time is just flying by…” he commented as she turned, nodding, and crossed the room to the onion bin, the old floor creaking as she walked. Her mind then slid into its usual mode of daydreaming and his voice was relegated to the background.
My birthday she mused, thinking back to a year before. Her fifteenth birthday had been so carefree, so happy… It had started with a wonderful family dinne
r and gifts, followed by laughter and fun with the gang, and a whole evening of Vic’s attention.
Staring at the wall, with two white onions in her hands, she remembered the kiss Vic had given her at the end of the night. How he had leaned down, drawing her close as his lips touched hers, and how those familiar sparks had zipped through her from head to toe. They had both emitted tiny gasps as they had simultaneously leaned closer and melted into one another’s embrace. After several moments, Vic had finally pulled back. Smiling as his thumb had brushed the edge of her mouth, he had whispered, “Happy Birthday, sweet Mary Lou.”
“Thank you,” she had smiled back, never having felt such sweet euphoric happiness in her life. “Tonight’s been the best birthday I’ve ever had,” she had confessed softly.
Turning back toward the checkout counter with the onions, it seemed like a hundred years had passed since that night.
‡
CHAPTER 26
Life in the CCC
“Watch out there, Matthews, or you’ll be losing another finger,” warned Arch Benson, the head of the camp’s motor pool. The stout, balding older man glared at Vic as he stood nearby, his hands on his hips.
Vic pulled his hands back from the wheel of the truck he was working on and glanced up at the other man, casting him a half smile. “I ain’t gonna let that happen again, believe me,” he mumbled, before glancing down at the middle finger on his left hand. He had lost the tip of it in a freak accident a few weeks after Alec’s visit, as he had been in the act of inspecting the bottom of a truck for oil leaks. A crewmate had hopped up in the cab and accidentally hit the gearshift. Before Vic knew what was happening, the truck had rolled backwards onto his fingers.
In reaction, Vic had tried to jerk his hand out, and in the process lost his balance. His friend Floyd had seen what had happened and leapt to his assistance, yelling, “Look out dere, Chief!” He had grabbed Vic from behind and tackled him out of the way just as Vic began to tumble forward, which would most certainly have resulted in him being crushed by the wheel. Although all four fingers were scraped and bleeding, the longer middle finger had received the most injury. The camp doctor had no choice but to amputate it at the first knuckle.
In the process, Floyd had landed wrong and fractured his collarbone.
Since then, any time Floyd wanted a favor, he would rub his shoulder, reminding Vic that he ‘owed’ him. It was all in good fun, however, as the two friends had become inseparable in the months since their arrival at the camp.
“Well, all the same – keep your mind on what you’re doing. I don’t feel like cleaning up a bunch of blood today,” the man grumbled in his morbid way of jesting as he turned back to the vehicle he was working on.
Vic nodded and pushed back the stool he was crouching on, far enough for him to stand up. “Think I’ll take five,” he mumbled, receiving a terse ‘okay’ from Mr. Benson as the man moodily turned his head to spit out a bit of juice from the ever-present wad of tobacco nestled in one cheek.
Reaching for the rag hanging from his back pocket, Vic wiped his hands. As he headed toward the office of the garage, a very familiar Benny Goodman song happened to be playing on the radio that was situated on the workbench…Once In A While. The moment the music had begun, it had instantly transported Vic from concentrating on replacing the worn brake drums on his truck straight into the world of memories.
He poured himself a cup of steaming hot coffee as the familiar words floated through the air in the big open space of the garage, and he wondered if it would always hurt as much as it did that moment. Would that song always bring back images of Louise…singing up on stage wearing that dress that made her look years older than she was, and even more beautiful than she usually looked? Would the words always make his heart kick start like a motorcycle, with an electric current shooting through every nerve ending in his body as his mind registered what he was hearing? Would he ever truly forget her?
He wandered over to the window, looking outside at the bleak February day, but not really seeing the view. His mind was too full of images of her. That lovely smooth dark hair, the creamy skin, those twinkling eyes and rosy lips… Why does the memory of her still twist my guts so bad?
The few fellows at the camp that knew what had happened, namely Floyd, Major Connors, and Mr. Benson, all continued to tell him the same thing. He would get over her. He would move on, and some day it would be as if he had never even met her. That seemed unlikely, as it didn’t take much to bring it all rushing back; in spite of the fact that it had already been six months since the last time they had seen one another. Like just now – hearing a song. He hadn’t even been thinking about her, but had been completely entrenched in his work. Yet the opening bars of the tune had knocked him for a loop and made him feel paralyzed, forgetting to keep his fingers out of the way as he maneuvered the drum back onto the hub of the wheel.
Listening to the final chorus, with Martha Tilton’s voice sounding so very much like her, he wondered if she ever heard the song… Had she found occasion to get up and sing it before an audience again? And if she had, did it make her think of him?
Just then, the motor pool’s manager decided to take a break, and to warm up next to the one small wood burning stove that vainly tried to heat up the entire garage. Coming to stand next to Vic at the window a few minutes later and taking a sip of his coffee, the older man stared out at the gloomy gray, heavily overcast sky and mumbled, “Looks like it’s fixing to blow in a big snow out there.”
Vic shrugged and took another sip. “Guess so.”
“Lousy cold weather. Don’t do much for these old bones of mine,” Benson growled as he reached down to rub an aching knee.
That time Vic didn’t answer, but merely stood contemplating the bare tree branches swaying in the cold wind outside of the frosty windowpane.
The other man cast a sideways glance at him. “What’s on your mind, boy? You look like you done lost your best friend.” Then as he watched Vic lower his eyes down to the cup in his hands and emit a soft sigh, the other man snorted in disgust. “You’re thinking of that little filly again, ain’t yah,” he stated rather than questioned. Without waiting for an answer, he went right on, “Son, you gotta put that thing to rest and move on now, I’m telling you. Women! Pah!” he snarled, turning to the side to spit out another bit of tobacco juice. “Ain’t none of ‘em worth a plug nickel. You can’t trust even the best of ‘em! Take it from me – I been married and divorced three times.”
Vic nodded, rolling his eyes as the man continued to drone on. Vic had heard the stories of Benson’s three failed marriages so many times he’d lost count. Of course, to hear Arch tell it, it was all completely the faults of the women and none of his own. All three wives had been unfaithful. As a result, Arch Benson was now a man who firmly believed there were absolutely no good women to be found – anywhere. It rankled Vic to hear the stories, but he did have to admit, it helped to take the edge off of the pain of pining for Louise.
He was, however, quite tired of being on the receiving end of a nonstop barrage of ‘advice’.
Trying not to be too rude, he finished off his coffee and mumbled, “Well, guess I’ll get back to work. That wheel ain’t gonna fix itself.”
“Sure won’t,” Arch agreed, walking back to the messy sink and tossing the last of his coffee down the drain before turning to follow Vic back into the colder part of the building.
“You just keep your mind on what you’re doin’,” he aimed at Vic’s jacket-covered back, to which the younger man nodded and sent a wave of acknowledgement back over his shoulder.
Grumbling a few choice words, Benson mumbled, “Lousy no-good females.”
*
Vic leaned down close to the felt surface of the pool table in the camp’s recreation hall as he closed one eye to line up his shot. The radio in the corner blared with an announcer’s voice giving an animated blow by blow of a boxing match.
Huffing an impatient sigh, he mumbled, “Ma
n, I wish they’d turn that thing down.”
Floyd leaned against the table, his fingers nimbly twirling his cue as he watched his friend calculating his last shot. “Yeah man, who cares ‘bout some college fight,” he agreed as he cast a glance in the direction of the distraction. Five of their crewmates were sprawled out in chairs and on the floor, all staring at the radio as if they could see the action – which of course is what everyone did when listening to a program of interest.
Deciding on the perfect combination, Vic smoothly pulled back on his pool stick and sent it carefully forward. The cue ball bumped the eight ball and the round black object sailed without a swish, straight into the corner pocket.
Vic looked over at his friend and wriggled his eyebrows with a grin. “That’s game. Five bucks. Pay up,” he added as he held out his hand, palm up, and waggled his fingers.
“Aw man, gimme jus’ one mo’ chance,” Floyd begged, in spite of the fact that it was their second game and Vic had beaten him twice, thereby winning the wager of their monthly five-dollar stipend.
“I done beat ya two to zip, man,” Vic argued, although he knew Floyd would talk him into another round. He shook his head, thinking about his friend’s decided lack of talent when it came to the game of pool. However, he more than made up for it in other sports, like wrestling and baseball. As expected, Floyd gave him the ‘sad eye’ before purposely reaching up to rub his collarbone.
