by J. L. Salter
Mitch dropped Kelly off at her cabin. He kissed her goodnight on her porch, and they went their separate ways. It was earlier than they usually parted. No particular reason provided.
Kelly suspected that Mitch-the-buffet-king had a tummy ache.
Chapter Nine
October 3 — Wednesday — morning
It was a pleasant sunny morning with a light breeze as Kelly and Mitch left for the appointment with Dottie Daniels.
They made it to Burnside, south of Somerset, with five minutes to spare.
Kelly took a long look at the house. In reasonably good repair, the structure had a faded look, as though its time had long passed by. It was a white Victorian with two stories and attic dormers. Raised on beams and piers, it had lattice work along the front beneath the porch. Someone had removed most of the gingerbread details but two examples remained in the extreme corners of the expansive front. From the driveway, along the right side of the house, a fairly new ramp was visible, one made of treated lumber that hadn’t been stained since its purchase. The ramp apparently led to the kitchen door, in about the middle of the structure.
After climbing the green painted stairs, both stood on Dottie’s porch and looked out over the former main street area of old downtown Burnside.
“Seeing it all dried up like this is depressing,” said Kelly. “I sure wish I could’ve visited this place before it was flooded in 1950. I’ve only seen pictures.”
“Yeah, me too, at least briefly. Miss Dottie said she dearly loved Old Burnside.” Mitch rang the doorbell.
“Come on in. It’s open.” Her voice — surprisingly strong for a woman in her late eighties — came from the living room, just inside the front door.
“Miss Dottie, this is Kelly Randall. We both worked on that story last year.”
Kelly remembered details Mitch had previously mentioned about Dottie: that in addition to modest regular meals, every day she ate cottage cheese and prunes, drank a single tiny glass of red wine, ate one square of dark chocolate, and took a large spoonful of cod liver oil. All those components were supposed to keep her bodily systems young. And they had! Her facial skin was smooth and looked nearly twenty years younger; her naturally curly hair showed just a few traces of gray. But it was obvious from her posture and movement that she had osteoporosis in her back and considerable pain in her left knee and hip.
Kelly extended her hand and Dottie held it lightly with scarcely any movement.
“Oh, this young man didn’t adequately express how lovely you are.”
“Why thank you.” Kelly felt a hint of warmth on her cheeks. “I didn’t realize you two spoke about me at all. Just the Yellow Fever in Memphis and your great-grandmother.”
“Philomena. Yes, we did spend quite some time on that. But he also told me about you.”
Mitch just looked uncomfortable.
“Well, I’ll have to ask him about that later, Miss Dottie.” Kelly looked over her shoulder. “Right now, he seems rather incapable of speech.”
The old lady smiled and sat, slowly, in a huge stuffed chair. She waved her hand toward the other seats available and Kelly took the nearest rocker. Mitch stood by the front window looking out on the dry bed of Lake Cumberland. It used to be the busy downtown of the bustling Port Burnside, on a bend of the Cumberland River.
“Mitch told me you’re doing a series of articles for a Veterans Day special next month.”
Kelly nodded. “Should I begin with some questions about the home front, or is there some recollection you’d like to start with?”
“Well I’ve been watching that new Ken Burns documentary. It reminded me of all the excitement on campus. I was at Centenary College when America entered the war, but I’d transferred to LSU by the middle of the war. The campus was crawling with handsome boys in their pressed uniforms. Did you watch the Burns film?”
“I don’t see much TV.” Kelly shook her head.
“Well, they interviewed a Birmingham lady and she had it dead to rights. What she didn’t mention was — at my campus, anyway — they rushed through the classes and graduated most of the boys early. Just so they could go to war. You think they’d do that today?”
“If they did, people would sue the school, the governor, and the Federal Department of Education.”
“It was truly different then. Everybody was pulling together. We all had a common goal — to fight hard enough to end the war so our boys could come home.” Dottie paused. “Everybody knew the evil Third Reich and oppressive Japanese Empire had to be demolished.”
“What do you think made everybody pull together, besides a common desire to bring the troops back safely?” Kelly’s pen was poised above her tablet.
“Well, you have to remember that before Pearl Harbor there was a lot of opposition to America getting involved at all. Lots of folks said it was a European war, period.” Daniels cleared her throat. “But people could read headlines. We knew Hitler had invaded Poland without any cause. We knew Japan had invaded China and slaughtered all those civilians. We saw their brutality and their single-minded purpose to possess and control everything. They destroyed any opposition and even eliminated other kinds of thinking.”
Daniels shifted in her chair. “Now I was pretty young in the late thirties but Daddy said Americans would never send troops back to Europe again — he’d fought in France during the Great War. He said most Americans didn’t care about the Chinese or Philippinos enough to fight for them. It sounds awful to say it now, but I think it was true with a lot of folks. But it was a powerful shock seeing European countries, countries some of our ancestors came from, being overrun by Nazi tanks. Still, like Daddy said, Americans had two oceans to protect us. Nobody at that time imagined all the death and destruction from submarines.”
“So the tide began to turn.”
“When Great Britain joined the war in ‘39, lots of Americans thought the Brits were crazy to honor some footnote on a treaty agreement with Poland. But when Göering started bombing London and other English cities, it began a wave of sympathy and identification that continued to build.”
“But America still let England fight — basically alone, once France dropped out — for over two years.” Kelly held up as many fingers.
“To our everlasting shame. Roosevelt even had trouble getting Congress to allow Lend Lease. Without everything we shipped over there, British soldiers simply were not equipped to fight and English citizens would have been starved into surrender.” Dottie sighed. “If FDR ever made it to Heaven, it’s because of Lend Lease.”
“So England fights, nearly alone, all that time.”
“Not totally alone. Australia, Canada, South Africa. There were other countries represented, though mostly through their colonial status — past or present. But no American units fighting.”
Kelly pointed to her tablet. “In some of my background research, I was surprised to learn that the American military was simply not prepared to fight a major conflict.” She flipped to a particular page. “In September of 1939, I understand the U.S. Army, in size, ranked eighteenth in the world.”
“Trying to climb out of the depression, there were so many other priorities.”
“Then Pearl Harbor…”
Dottie nodded. “I was listening to an opera on the radio when the news flashed. Totally stunned. Everybody was. Most people didn’t know where that was and lots of us didn’t realize we had troops anywhere near Hawaii. Not to mention ships and planes. Why would we? What were our boys even doing there? I mean you understand in hindsight that America’s presence in the Pacific was believed to be a stabilizing influence.”
“Of sorts. Though some say it merely slowed the Japanese conquest of all those islands.” Kelly flipped through her notes quickly. “If you lived in China, Southeast Asia, Philippines, New Guinea, et cetera, I doubt you considered the Pacific very stable.”
“Not at all. It just meant Japan had to neutralize the U.S. strength there. So America became a priority target since we
were in their way at that point.”
“And also because of American diplomatic and economic pressures.”
Dottie nodded again. “Once Japan attacked us, Roosevelt basically told America, We’re at war, like it or not. Then Hitler’s treaty with Japan made him also declare war on us, though he didn’t need too much prodding. He would’ve rather waited ‘til he had Nazi branch offices in London and Moscow, but he had fully intended to also take over America. There’s no doubt.”
“And then the entire world was caught up in war.” Kelly shook her head at the concept. “That’s when America was united.”
“Right. Imperial Japan attacking in the Pacific. Nazi Germany sinking ships in the Atlantic and Gulf. Now suddenly we were smack dab in the middle. We had to fight and fight hard. No half measures. This was down to whether our country would survive. After Tojo and Hitler finished off the countries they’d been busy destroying, they’d both turn on us — one from the west and the other from the east.”
Kelly flipped to a page of questions. “Miss Dottie, what would you say to people who dismiss all of America’s military activity as simply imperialism and exploitation of other countries? The point of view that America is and always has been a selfish nation dominating other countries just for their resources.”
“Let me give you a really quick history lesson and then I’ll answer your question. In the past when wars were fought, the defeated countries were swallowed up by the victors. You were either killed on the battlefield, executed, enslaved, or you died from disease and starvation. Period. Government treasury stolen, personal property gone. Cities destroyed. Even as late at the First World War, the attitude of most of the Allies was about revenge: make an already bankrupt Germany pay reparations.” Dottie shifted in her chair. “Now, here’s the answer to your question: a couple of years after the Second World War, General George Marshall launched the largest, most comprehensive recovery program ever imagined, much less implemented. The Marshall Plan, with mostly American dollars and mostly American knowhow, rebuilt a good part of war-damaged Europe. If anybody tells me America’s a selfish nation exploiting other countries, I’ve got two words for them: Marshall Plan.”
Kelly had been scribbling frantically and it took her a moment to catch up. “Miss Dottie, I have to say I’m amazed at your grasp of history and the bigger picture of the war. Several people I’ve interviewed have a rather narrow awareness of what happened. War started, I signed up, I got back alive. Or, My husband died in Guadalcanal and never saw our baby. Or, I lost a son, two nephews, and more cousins than I can count. Things like that. Most are very specific and almost always microsubjective.”
“Well, that’s natural. Most people relate to how things affect them. Like the victory gardens, hanging embroidered stars in their windows. Ration books — shortages of gas, tires, sugar, butter, stockings. Taking copper from pennies and nickel from nickels. I remember all that, too. But I want the youngsters to know why all that happened. Of course, it’s my hope it won’t ever happen again. But if we understand the how and why, maybe that’ll help prevent it. That’s why I’m pleased you’re interviewing me along with the uniformed veterans.”
“It’s my honor, Miss Dottie.” Kelly was silent as she noticed how tired the old lady looked after finishing her story. “Mitch, we should go.” Kelly put her pen and tablet into her carryall. “We’ve got that other appointment.”
“Huh? Oh yeah.” Mitch, near the front window, looked at his watch and obviously tried to remember another appointment.
“One thing I want both of you to remember.” Dottie shifted again in her chair. “There’s likely to come a time you’ll find barbarians at your gate. When that happens, you have to keep them out.”
“How?” Kelly held out her empty hands.
“With everything you’ve got. If there’s one overall lesson — for you and your readers — about the Second World War’s significance, it’s to fight all out. Your life, your family, property, neighbors, way of life… your country. When those are in peril, you have to whale into the enemy and don’t let up. If you run out of weapons, throw cow turds at them. Claw out their eyes with your fingernails.” The old lady started to stand, but changed her mind. “Don’t just carry your single suitcase and walk up a wooden ramp to a filthy cattle car. If they’re going to take your life, make them work for it, make them use their bullets. Make it cost them. Don’t simply go on your own power into their crematorium just because they’re pointing a Schmeisser at you.” She began crying quietly.
Kelly patted her trembling shoulder. “We’re gonna leave now, Miss Dottie. I’m sorry. I mean…”
Dottie nodded. She understood.
Mitch and Kelly both looked back into the room as they stood briefly in that Victorian doorway. The old lady was facing the sunshine which bathed her through the window. That warmth dried the tears in mid-descent on her cheeks.
Kelly closed the door quietly.
“Oh, I forgot to thank her for the help she gave us last spring.” Mitch started to go back inside.
“Her emotions are pretty raw right now. Save your thanks for later.” Kelly paused. “Plus it’ll give you an excuse to come visit again.”
****
After their meeting in Burnside, they returned to Kelly’s cabin. Mitch had an interview of his own to tackle at one p.m. so he only had time to grab a quick bite on the way. The interview was near the Delmer community off the now-stone-dry Timmy Branch, on the west side of Clifty Creek. Mitch wondered what this man’s story was and how he could spin it into a positive feature in his series about Lake Cumberland still being open for business.
There was a Big Clifty Creek north of the Cumberland Parkway. But this, between Highway 80 and Highway 235, was just called Clifty Creek. On the topographic maps it had the appearance of the rattle on a rattlesnake.
After the interview, Mitch returned to his cabin above Fishing Creek and typed up his notes. He called Kelly and they arranged to meet for supper.
Chapter Ten
October 3 — Wednesday — evening
Mitch and Kelly had eaten supper at an inexpensive restaurant near light number eighteen. Even though the daytime had been warm the temperature had turned much cooler as they left.
When they arrived at her cabin and Kelly unlocked the front door, Perra zoomed outside with scarcely a pause to sniff the recent diners. Usually she took several deep whiffs and one could imagine her ticking off the menu items which had been consumed. But that night, Perra had urgent business to tend to down in the dry creek bed to the east. No doubt some groundhog had waddled from Point A to Point B.
Once they got inside, Mitch started to sit in the recliner.
“Oh, before you get too comfortable, could you help me haul my trash can out to the curb?”
“Way out there? That’s over two hundred feet!”
“Probably more. But the exercise will do you good after all you ate.” Kelly winked. “Plus, I’ll have to drag it otherwise.”
“Okay, but it’ll cost you a kiss.”
“First let me see how strong you are.” She gathered a small plastic bag from the kitchen to add to the large container.
The forty-gallon can was kept outside, right next to the rear steps. Kelly taking one handle and Mitch the other, they slowly made their way north along the whitish gravel driveway toward Butler Cemetery Road.
Perra had returned from her urgent business and zoomed at them in the darkness. She quickly took her protective position about a dozen feet in front of them.
About half way, they switched sides. At the corner, they placed the trash can with a loud smack. Kelly rocked the container slightly to move it back a little and the sharp-edged gravel scraped the bottom aggressively.
“Kelly, for most folks, a trip to their curb is about thirty feet.”
“I’m not like most folks. Or haven’t you noticed?”
“Oh, I’ve noticed all right.” He reached for her, but she dodged in the darkness. Mitch cam
e back around and captured her in a clumsy embrace.
“You realize that hugging outdoors is really invigorating?” She was breathing faster than normal.
“I’m just as randy indoors, without all the gross smells from the cattle yard next door.”
“You’re impossible, Mitch.” Abruptly, she pointed. “Let’s go up there a minute.”
“I’m not traipsing up in your graveyard again.”
“No. Just up this little hill.” She started walking and Mitch followed. “It’s peaceful up here at night. Look at the fields and the lights over there.” She pointed north and then east. “This little summit is about the highest place on Pop’s ninety-nine acres. We’re level with the top of my cabin from here.”
Mitch sufficiently enjoyed the night view, but he kept looking at Kelly. The last quarter moonlight barely allowed him to see her face but it nicely silhouetted her figure, even with her short jacket.
“You know, I realize I’m just renting here, but I wonder what it’d feel like if there were barbarians about to break down my gate. Did you hear that part of Miss Dottie’s interview?”
Mitch nodded but Kelly wouldn’t have been able to see his face since the moon crescent was behind him.
“I wonder what I’d do. Whether I’d fight.”
“Might depend on the odds.” Mitch’s mind was really on something else.
“Before World War II, America had such a small army and our navy was unbelievably weak. Those were terrible odds. But we — well, they — hunkered down and did what it took to mobilize.”
Both were silent for a few moments.
Mitch looked up at the bright stars in the black sky and then back at Kelly. “So what do you think you’d do? I know you wouldn’t just walk up the ramp to a cattle car.”
“Impossible to say what you’d do until you’re faced with the actual decision.” Kelly shuddered, but not from the cold. “But no, I don’t think I’d go nicely. I’d like to think I’d put up a fight of some kind. But I’m afraid my overwhelming tendency would be to run, just try to get away if I could.”
