The White Knight

by Gilbert, Morris

  Luke sat down and for the next hour he ate when he could and answered the questions that were fired at him. “How’s Tim?” he asked when there was finally a break in his questioning.

  “He’s great,” Jolie said. “Of course you know he and Mary have given us two grandchildren now. Gerald will be two next month, and Carolyn is ten months old.”

  “He’s practically running the plant now,” Peter put in, “which is great. I’m gradually letting him take over more of the decisions.”

  Peter Winslow had been a famous race car driver, but Jolie had always been fearful for him. More as a courtesy to her than anything, he had given up racing and had built a factory that made parts for automobiles. He had discovered to his surprise that he was an excellent businessman, and the factory had made him and Jolie wealthy beyond anything he could have imagined.

  “Do you have any plans for your future, son?”

  “I plan to be a lazy bum.”

  “Good!” Jolie exclaimed. “You deserve it. Now, have another slice of this cherry pie. . . .”

  ****

  Going into his old room gave Luke an odd feeling. It was exactly as he had left it. He walked around the room looking at the athletic trophies he had won, the news clippings formed into a montage, the books—everything from his old life. It would be nice if I could just go back and be eighteen years old again and move into this room and let my folks take care of me like they used to.

  Even as the thought crossed his mind, it irritated him, and when a knock came at the door he got up at once. “Come in, Dad,” he said as he opened the door.

  “I just wanted to be sure you had everything you need. Since you’re the same size you were when you left—or pretty close—I guess you could wear the same clothes.”

  “Yep. I can’t think of anything that I need.”

  “And don’t worry about going to work right away or anything like that. Just rest up. Say, maybe you and I should do some fishing while you’re around.”

  “Sounds good.”

  Peter looked down at the floor and when he looked up, his voice was unsteady. “I’m glad you’re home, son. Your mother and I . . . we worried about you.”

  A lump came to Luke’s throat. “I’m okay, Dad.”

  “We prayed for you every day.”

  “I know. That’s probably what got me back.”

  “Well, good night, son. We’ll talk more tomorrow.”

  After his father left, Luke looked out the window. The street looked alien to him. After seeing the bomb-damaged buildings and the barren landscape of Spain, everything looked neat and tidy and untouched. This isn’t the real world, he thought. If something isn’t done soon with that maniac Hitler, this street could be one of the next ones bombed. He couldn’t imagine how horrible it would be to worry for the safety of his own family the way he had worried for the Chavez family. And now . . .

  As he turned away, an old photo caught his eye. He and Tim were shoulder to shoulder, with big grins on their faces. He wondered how long it would be before Timothy insisted that he go to work at the factory. He smiled grimly. “It won’t be long if I know Tim!”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Unheeded Warnings

  Pale beams of sunlight filtered through the window, striking Luke on the face. During his week at home he had simply soaked up the food, the quiet, the rest. Sleeping in a good bed with clean sheets was a luxury, and he was guessing he had already gained a pound or two.

  Sleepily he rolled over and found the knob of the radio. He would listen to the radio while he decided whether to go back to sleep. A strange song was playing on the radio. The lyrics were something about three little fishies in a little bitty pool.

  The inane lyrics amused Luke, and he smiled faintly. Next he heard, “Roll out the barrel; we’ll have a barrel of fun.” The announcer said the rousing polka was called the “Beer Barrel Polka.” A bit much for this early in the morning, Luke thought.

  “Song writers are sure covering all the bases and coming up with deep thoughts about important topics,” he said to himself sarcastically. The next song was much more mellow, a sad ballad called “South of the Border Down Mexico Way.” At least this one told a story. It was about a young man who had left his sweetheart but would eventually meander back to Mexico and pick up his love life again.

  The meaningless lyrics of popular songs suddenly seemed to Luke like a counterpart to what the American public was thinking. Even in the short time he had been back, it had become obvious that the people back home had little interest in and even less knowledge about what was happening in Europe. He had always felt you could sense the pulse of a nation through its popular art, and as far as he knew, the war was not mentioned in a single song on the popular radio show called Your Hit Parade.

  “Three little fishies and a mama fishy too,” he grunted with discontent and sat up on the bed abruptly. He rubbed his eyes and tried to think of a movie that dealt with the subject of the juggernaut called Germany that threatened to envelop the world. There was nothing like that. Hollywood was in a tizzy over the soon-to-be-released film called Gone With the Wind, based on a novel by a woman named Margaret Mitchell. Out of curiosity Luke had read the book while he had been in Spain and found it to be completely ridiculous. A step back in time glamorizing a time that was never glamorous, as far as he was concerned, and turning its back on the real war to fantasize about the clash that had taken place decades ago.

  Luke got to his feet and slipped into some new clothing he had bought, including a pair of gray slacks, a dark blue polo shirt with an emblem over the pocket, and a pair of white deck shoes. He went downstairs to the kitchen, where he found Luana rolling out some dough, humming to herself. She didn’t hear him come in, and he reached around her to steal a piece of dough.

  She jumped and declared, “You scared me!”

  “That’s good dough, Luana.”

  “You stay out of my cooking. You hear me?”

  “What are you making?”

  “That’s none of your business.”

  “Oh, come on, Luana. The poor old soldier all beat up from the war has come home. The least you can do is be nice to me for a change.”

  Luana had been adamantly opposed to Luke’s leaving Arkansas to go fight. She had never understood the war in Spain and for some unfathomable reason had decided that the war was over the sinking of a battleship. Luke had tried to explain that she was thinking of the Spanish-American War, but nothing convinced Luana. She was a stubborn woman, but he knew she cared for him.

  “I’m hungry. What’s for breakfast? Is there any of that pie left?” Luke asked as he started for the refrigerator.

  “You stay out of that pie. I’m keepin’ your breakfast warm in the oven. You go sit in the dining room and I’ll bring it right there.”

  Luke ignored her and opened the refrigerator. “Ah, there it is.” He pulled it out, grabbed a plate out of the cupboard, and cut a large slice of pie.

  “You’re gonna spoil your breakfast, and I made pancakes just for you.”

  Luke put a bite of the pie in his mouth. “But I might die of a heart attack on my way to the dining room,” he mumbled around the pie. “Just think, for all eternity I’d be wishing I’d eaten that pie.”

  “You ain’t supposed to be talking like that about heaven.”

  “Do you think there’s apple pie in heaven?”

  Luana glared at him but then broke out in a chuckle. “You are bad, Mr. Luke!”

  “No I’m not. I’m good, and this is the best apple pie I’ve ever had in my life.”

  “That war didn’t make you no better!”

  “You’re a hard woman, Luana.”

  “You gonna find out hard if you don’t stay out of my cookin’.”

  Luke carried the rest of his pie to the dining room to enjoy after his breakfast. Luana brought him a plate with three large pancakes and another plate with sausage and then sat down to chat with him while he ate. For as long as he could remember s
he had been there for him. She must have been a teenager when she came to work for the Winslow family, and she had been as responsible for his upbringing as his parents were—sometimes even more, he thought.

  “I prayed for you every day while you was gone to that old war,” she told him.

  “I knew you would be. Probably the reason I came back alive was your prayers.”

  “I ain’t got no doubt about that. I had my whole church praying for you too.” Luana went to a Pentecostal church and sang in the choir every Sunday. She didn’t always sing exactly in tune, but she did sing loud, which seemed to be a common attribute for members of her church choir.

  “Did you ever think you’d get kilt while you was over there fightin’ in that war, Mr. Luke?”

  “I thought about it a few times, but there wasn’t much I could do about it. I just had to do my job.” Luke was not entirely truthful about this but didn’t want to alarm her.

  “Well, I don’t want you goin’ off to no more of them old wars in Spain or any of them other foreign places. You stay here and you go to work with Mr. Timothy and your daddy. It’s high time you find you a good woman, get married, and have some chil’uns.”

  “That sounds like a good plan to me.”

  Luke’s mother came into the dining room with a smile on her face. She leaned over and kissed him. “You’re having pie with your breakfast? Luana, I can’t believe you let him get away with that.”

  “I done tried to stop him, but you know how stubborn your son can get.” Luana stood up and returned to the kitchen.

  “You got a telephone call while you were asleep,” Jolie said as she handed him a slip of paper. “I wrote the name and number down.”

  Luke looked at the information thoughtfully and shook his head. “Who is she?”

  “Maxine Rogers? Why, she’s a reporter for the Arkansas Gazette. I’m surprised you’ve never heard of her.”

  “What does she want?”

  “She wants to interview you.”

  “Not interested.”

  “Yes you are. You’re always talking about how people are not aware of what’s going on in Europe. Well, here’s your chance to let them know. Thousands of people read the Gazette, so you can speak to every one of them.”

  Luke made a face. “A woman, you say? Isn’t it against the Bible for women to be reporters for newspapers?”

  “I don’t know where you heard that, but I certainly don’t think there’s anything like that in the Bible.”

  Luke laughed. “I think you’re right. Okay. I’ll call the homely old girl.”

  “How do you know she’s homely?” Jolie demanded, interested in spite of herself.

  “Good-looking girls get married and don’t become reporters for the Arkansas Gazette. I’m surprised you don’t know things like that, Mother.”

  “You go call her right now.”

  “Yes, Mother.” Luke laughed. He stood up and gave his mother a bear hug, picking her up off the floor. “You’re the best-looking woman I’ve ever seen. Whoever this reporter is, she won’t be as pretty as you.”

  “Put me down, you fool!” Jolie protested, but actually she loved his teasing.

  Luke made his way to the phone and dialed the number. At once a woman answered, saying, “Maxine Rogers.”

  “Mrs. Rogers, this is Luke Winslow.”

  “It’s not Mrs. Just Maxine will do.”

  “Fine. I’m Luke.”

  “I’d like to do an interview. I want to do a story on the war.”

  “Which war?”

  “Why—in Spain.”

  “That war’s over.”

  The woman laughed. She had a good voice, full of life, and sounded fairly young. “Then I’ll let you pick the war, Luke. Tell you what. If you’ll join me for dinner tonight, I’ll buy.”

  “Are you sure that’s legal?”

  “Am I sure what’s legal?”

  “Buying me supper. You might try to influence me by lavishing a good meal on me.”

  “It won’t be that expensive. Do you know where Leonard’s Cafeteria is?”

  “Had many a meal there.”

  “How about if we meet there at seven o’clock?”

  “How will I know you?”

  “I’ll wear a red hat and have a notebook in my hand.”

  “All right. Leonard’s it is at seven o’clock.”

  Putting the phone down, Luke walked back into the kitchen. “I’m going to miss your supper tonight, Luana. A woman’s buying me a meal at Leonard’s.”

  “You don’t need to be eating there! My cookin’s much better,” she protested.

  “Leave him alone, Luana,” Jolie said. “We need to get his story in all the newspapers.”

  Then his mother turned to him and said, “But don’t make any appointments for tomorrow night. Timothy’s coming over. And I’ve asked your cousins Wesley and Patrick and their families to come over too.”

  “Sounds like the gathering of the Winslow clan. What’s Wesley doing now?”

  “You don’t know? Why, he’s become one of the most famous photographers in America.”

  “Good for Wes. I knew he’d make it. I suppose those kids of his are about grown.”

  “Yes. They’re all in high school here. The twins are fifteen and Leslie is fourteen.”

  “Makes me feel old.” Luke grinned, then left the room. “I wish he’d find hisself a wife. She’d keep him home and outta trouble,” Luana said. “Don’t want him runnin’ off to no more of them old wars!”

  ****

  “How much am I allowed to spend?” Luke asked. He held his tray as they got in line, and mischief danced in his eyes as he turned to the woman. She was actually a pleasant surprise, being somewhere in her late twenties, he was guessing, an attractive redhead with green eyes. He had expected a dowdy woman.

  “A dollar fifty ought to fill you up.”

  “A dollar fifty? Why, I might spill that much.”

  Luke turned and moved down the line. He chose a salad, catfish with slaw, collard greens, and corn bread. He watched Maxine choose a salad and one piece of chicken. “You must be broke if that’s all you can afford to eat.”

  “I’m trying to lose weight.”

  “Lose weight where?”

  Maxine stared at him. “All over,” she said. “Now, let’s grab that table over there.”

  Leonard’s was crowded, as it usually was. The two sat down and transferred their plates to the table.

  “Do you ask a blessing before you eat?” Maxine asked.

  “No. Do you?”

  “Just a silent one.”

  “I was hoping you’d pray good and loud so people would know how religious we are.”

  Maxine could not keep the smile off her face. “You’re awful. I’m going to tell your parents on you. I’m positive that they don’t know how badly you behave.”

  “Oh, I’m afraid they do.”

  Luke began to eat the fish while Maxine bowed her head.

  “You know my parents?” Luke asked when she was done.

  “I met your dad once at a meeting. As a matter of fact, you look a lot like him.”

  “I’m much better looking than he is! Everybody says that, and I’m sure you’ll agree.”

  “No you’re not. Your father is one of the most handsome men I’ve ever seen.”

  “Well, I used to be better looking than him before I got all beat up in the war.”

  “Speaking of the war, can I interview you while we eat?”

  “That depends. This interview may not go the way you imagined it would.”

  “What do you mean?” She was picking at the lettuce, eating one small bite at a time.

  “If I’m honest with you, you’re not going to like my comments.”

  “Suppose we just do it and then you let me decide whether or not I like it.”

  “All right. Fire away with your questions.”

  “You were risking your life in Spain. Do you think it was a waste of time?”


  “That’s coming right down to it. No, I don’t think it was a waste of time.”

  “But the Republicans lost the war.”

  “They wouldn’t have if we’d had more help from our government.”

  “What do you think our government could have done?” Maxine asked. “We’re not at war with anyone. We couldn’t have sent our troops over officially.”

  “Germany did. Who do you think I was fighting over there? The Condor Legion was made up of Nazis, pure and simple.”

  “That’s different.”

  “Sure is,” Luke said. He poured pepper sauce all over the collards and put a forkful in his mouth. “You ever wonder why collards taste so much better than other greens?”

  “I guess I thought they all tasted pretty similar.”

  “Oh no. Not at all. They all have a different taste. Now, collards are—”

  “I’m not interested in collards. I’m interested in your thoughts about the war in Europe.”

  “What war?” Luke asked innocently.

  “What war! You know what I’m talking about.”

  “I thought it was over. I’ve been home a week and you’re the first person I’ve heard mention it. Although there was an article in Life magazine, I believe, about some shooting going on over there by some fellow called Hitler, but it doesn’t seem to have disturbed anybody all that much.”

  “You’re pretty cynical about our country, then.”

  “I heard a song on the radio this morning. It was about three little fish in a pool, and it says, ‘They swam and they swam all over the dam.’ Kind of gets your ear, doesn’t it?”

  Maxine stared at him with a pained expression. “I’m afraid you’re right, Luke. Actually, I was hoping this interview might help wake some people up.”

  Luke was surprised. He had assumed she just wanted a fluff story. “If you really mean that, we can get down to business, but it’ll ruffle some feathers.”

  “Ruffle away. Tell me about the atrocities the Germans committed over in Spain.”

  He couldn’t speak for a moment as he remembered the charred remains of the family he had come to think of as his own.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “That wasn’t right of me to speak of it so lightly. I know you saw some terrible things when you were in Spain.”