The Mine (Northwest Passage Book 1)

by John A. Heldt

  "OK. Is this a trick question?"

  "How many uniforms do you see?"

  Joel paused and scanned the room again.

  "I see twenty, maybe twenty-five. It looks like most are enlisted men."

  "Exactly," Tom said. "And how many uniforms did you see at Lake Wilderness?"

  "Maybe a third that many."

  "Change is coming, buddy, and it's coming fast."

  "Have you heard anything from the draft board?"

  "Not yet. But I have a low number and it's coming up. I have a feeling I won't be selling dining sets in six months. We'll see." Tom pushed his cigar into the tray, watched an Army lieutenant walk by, and turned to Joel. "What about you? You never told me what your number is. You don't seem all that concerned."

  Joel scrambled to discuss a matter that was on the mind of virtually every young American male. He had had three months to work up a story and pick a high draft number. But he had not. Remembering something he had recently read about Ted Williams, he pulled a number out of thin air.

  "I'm a 648."

  "You have a while then," Tom said. "But they'll come for you, too, just as sure as they've come for some of my friends. Hell, they even drafted two football players. I hate having the war hang over our heads. I hate it. You can't make any plans. You can't do shit. You can't believe what you read in the papers. Sometimes I want to just say 'to hell with it' and live for the moment."

  "I know what you mean."

  Joel, of course, knew nothing of the sort. Focused initially on economic survival and then on wooing Grace Vandenberg, he had not given a lot of thought to what he would do after Pearl Harbor. Would he enlist? Was not enlisting even an option, even for someone so far off the grid he had yet to be born? He tried to picture a future with Grace, post-December 7, but each time he did that picture turned into a blurry mess brought on by three hundred fighters and bombers one quiet Sunday morning.

  As the band started back up with more swing hits, Joel took in the ballroom and saw more than forty happy couples hit the floor. Even more came in from the sea air outside and reclaimed unoccupied tables. Most of the military had hung around.

  Joel looked over his shoulder toward the rest rooms and saw a line that now worked its way toward the entrance. Ginny and Grace had barely moved in the queue but appeared no worse for wear. Returning his glance, they smiled and waved.

  Finally, he turned to Tom. He was no longer the cocky, cheerful man who had strolled into the Bigelow with Ginny on his arm but rather someone else. Talk of the Selective Training and Service Act of 1940 had left him depressed and beaten. For the first time in a long time, Joel had no answers for a friend in need. He had no suitable jokes or flippant advice. So he did the next best thing and commiserated. Lifting his glass, he gestured toward Tom, then the girls, and finally the crowd beyond.

  "Here's to us, here's to them, and to living for the moment."

  CHAPTER 50

  The ocean proved as predictable as a late summer day in the Pacific Northwest. It churned, surged, and roared, and produced a cool breeze and thick mist that prompted jackets even at noon. But to Grace Vandenberg, child of the jungle, it was as strange and wondrous as snow.

  "I could never tire of this place," she said, holding Joel's hand as they walked northward on the Promenade. "It's so different than any place I've known."

  "Haven't you ever seen the Washington coast? I'd hate to think you've spent three years of college hiding behind books."

  Grace smiled.

  "I spent only one year hiding behind books. But I've spent three in the library, which is essentially the same thing. When I was a freshman, some girls from my dorm went to Ocean Shores, but I did not go. Ginny did, though."

  "I remember that trip," Ginny said. She walked with Tom a few steps back. "We missed you."

  Looking at Joel, Grace realized that she had missed a lot of things: dances, dates, football games, beach trips, and certainly new friendships. Her thirty-six months at the university were less a full educational experience than a frustrating, self-imposed exile. With this interesting, extroverted man at her side, she vowed to change in her senior year.

  An hour later Joel bought her some salt-water taffy and led her to the historic Turnaround, where the west end of Broadway ran headlong into the Prom and gave pedestrians and motorists one of the best views on the Pacific coast. He put his arm around her as they gazed at the limitless water beyond.

  "Do you miss it, living overseas and all?"

  "I miss the simplicity. Life is so much more complicated here."

  "What was it like in all those places?"

  "For my parents, it was a lot of work. But for me, it was paradise. I never had a care. One of my earliest memories was riding an elephant in Ruanda-Urundi, in Africa. I must have been seven or eight. My father never had much time for what he called 'frivolous matters,' but he always had time for me. When I asked one day if I could ride an elephant, he made it happen later that week. We traveled several hours to reach a plantation run by the Belgians. He did all that for a ride that lasted only twenty or thirty minutes."

  "You miss him."

  "I miss both of them. My parents were my world. They poured everything they had into me, and into most of the people they knew. They were givers."

  "What do you think they would have thought of me?"

  Grace stepped out of his grasp and plopped on top of a concrete railing that ran the entire mile-and-a-half length of the Prom. Extending her arms along the barrier for balance, she answered Joel as if addressing an audience with prepared remarks.

  "My mother would have loved you. I have no doubt. She liked people who were different, people who defied labels and prejudices. She liked learning from those who could teach her new skills and new ways to think. That's how she was able to adapt so well from place to place. She looked at each assignment as an adventure, not a burden."

  "What about your father?"

  Grace paused and flashed an impish grin.

  "He would have had many questions. He was very protective."

  "That doesn't sound like a ringing endorsement."

  "My father was a very traditional man. He would not have approved of many of the things I've done this summer. He would not have approved of my breaking off an engagement for someone I've known a very short time. But I think he would have liked you. He would have appreciated your intelligence and how you care for me."

  "I'll take that."

  Grace hopped off the railing, put her arms around Joel's neck, and gave him a tender kiss. If she ever had any doubts about returning Paul's ring, they were gone, long gone. Locking arms with Joel, she turned toward Broadway and dozens of shoppers who lined both sides of the street. Tom and Ginny approached with bags in each hand.

  "There you are," Tom said with his usual grin. "Are you two just going to watch the waves all day? How boring. There's some good stuff in the stores."

  "What did you do, buy a snow globe?" Joel asked.

  "Nah. I got something better. You'll see."

  Tom put a hand on his friend's shoulder.

  "Say, buddy, do you have a moment?"

  "Sure. I'll be right back, Grace."

  Leaving Grace and Ginny at the Turnaround, Tom guided Joel a few yards down the Prom to a bench that faced the beach. He put two bags on the bench and hemmed and hawed a bit before getting to the point.

  "Are you two having a good time?"

  "We are. What's going on?"

  "Well, how would you like to have a good time a little longer?"

  Joel cocked his eyebrow and gave Tom his complete attention.

  "What do you mean?"

  "Ginny and I have been talking and, well, I think we need some alone time. We were thinking about heading back to the house."

  Joel dropped his head and shook it.

  "You need some 'alone' time?"

  "That's right."

  "Tom, do you know what you're doing?"

  You want to make it with my gra
ndma.

  "Of course I know what I'm doing. I'm living for the here and now, just like we talked about last night. Or was that all just talk?"

  "No. It wasn't just talk. But I didn't think you meant something like this."

  "What did you think I meant? Emptying my wallet at the carousel?"

  "Just be careful."

  "What are you now, my mother?" Tom patted Joel on the back. "I'm not stupid, Joel. But I'm not passive either. I'm not going to wait for some draft board to determine how I spend the next few months. I'm going to take charge of my life, starting today."

  "OK. You do that. We'll be fine. We'll meet you back at the house around six."

  "Thanks."

  When Tom and Joel returned to the Turnaround, they found two best friends staring at each other with expressionless faces. They were not speaking. Ginny had a hold of Grace's hand but dropped it and walked over to join Tom.

  "We'll see you back at the house, Grace," she said.

  Tom and Ginny turned their backs and joined the flow of tourist traffic moving south along the Prom. Hundreds now crowded the waterfront to milk the second-to-last afternoon of the last weekend of the official Oregon summer.

  Grace walked to the railing and stared at the surf.

  "So are they going to the boys' room or the girls' room?"

  "Don't be too rough on them," Joel said. "This is a hard time for Tom."

  Grace turned to face Joel.

  "I'm not mad. Just a bit disappointed, that's all. I know Ginny's very independent, and I admire her for that. I just wish she would have picked a different weekend to express her independence."

  Joel moved closer to her and put a hand on her waist. In the distance, a lone surfer on a long board tried to ride a modest ripple all the way to the beach.

  "I know."

  "Are you disappointed that I'm not as progressive?"

  Joel grabbed both of her hands and turned her toward him.

  "No. I'm not. I love you and respect you for who you are."

  "I'm not a prude, Joel. I'm just a little old-fashioned. I believe you should save yourself for some things. I hope you understand."

  Joel smiled and embraced his old-fashioned girlfriend.

  "I do," he said. "I do more than you could possibly know."

  Feeling better, they marched arm in arm into the heart of Seaside for more taffy, bumper cars, and carousel rides. Joel won a teddy bear with ten throws instead of thirty.

  When they returned to the house with their own purchases and prizes, they found Tom barbecuing steaks out back and Ginny preparing salads and desserts in the kitchen. Joel and Grace offered to help with dinner but were politely refused. So they looked at the ocean from the railing on the deck until Ginny called them into the dining room. Tom followed moments later with a plateful of beef. He took off a chef's apron, joined his girl at the head of a well-appointed table, and threw an arm over her shoulders. Ginny smiled as she addressed her slightly puzzled guests.

  "The first thing I want to say is 'thank you.' I want to thank each of you for joining us here. You've made this trip complete. I've been to this house and to Seaside many times over the years but I can't remember a more enjoyable weekend. You've both been wonderful. I can't imagine better friends or better company."

  Joel was tempted to join in with something nice, but he knew a rehearsed speech when he heard one. She obviously had more to say. So he let her continue.

  "I also want to apologize for our hasty exit this afternoon. It was insensitive and rude. I normally have better manners. But Tom and I needed some time alone. We needed to work out a few things before we returned to Seattle."

  "Work out what?" Grace asked.

  Ginny placed her newly adorned left hand on Tom's shoulder and beamed at their friends.

  "Our wedding plans."

  CHAPTER 51

  Seattle, Washington – Saturday, October 4, 1941

  The bachelor pad was the undiscovered jewel of East Fifty-Second Street.

  The house had everything two young men could possibly want: a state-of-the-art kitchen, a full bathroom, a patio and a barbecue in back, and a large recreation room with a built-in wine rack, dartboard, and mahogany bar. Leather sofas and recliners sat atop a hardwood floor in the living room, while bedroom sets that had recently gained Doris Delamarter's seal of approval filled each of the two sleeping quarters.

  Tom Carter had found the gem in a classified ad in late August and cut a deal with the owner to move in on October 1. Joel had purchased the furnishings on September 30, two days after winning two thousand dollars on Ted Williams. The Red Sox slugger had batted six for eight in a season-ending doubleheader to finish with a .406 average and deliver serious cash to a time traveler he would never meet.

  "Are you sure you don't want to add a few lamps?" Mel Carter asked, falling into a loveseat that had once graced his showroom. "I also noticed that your dining room table is scratched in a few places. It may be time for an upgrade."

  "I think I've already contributed nicely to your bottom line."

  "That you have, Joel, and in more ways than one."

  Joel smiled. He had made Melvin Carter a wealthier man, just as he had made his son a happier man. Despite some reservations, he had agreed to be Tom's housemate until June, when Ginny had scheduled the wedding of the century. The furniture was an early wedding present for a couple that would almost certainly never marry.

  Tom's engagement to Virginia Gillette had taken nearly everyone by surprise, from Joel and Grace to the would-be bride's patrician family in Forest Grove, Oregon. When the two announced their plans to Ginny's parents on Labor Day, Victoria Gillette nearly fainted. Old money did not marry new. Good girls did not gamble on gamblers. Republicans resisted Democrats. Presbyterians did not mix with Methodists. The Carters proved more welcoming. They threw a reception for the couple the following weekend and offered to help Ginny prepare for an event nine months away.

  Joel laughed to himself as he replayed the last five weeks in his mind. He had forgotten how crazy weddings once were, not only for those planning them but also for those who had to live with the consequences of a "socially unacceptable" union.

  On October 4, however, he cared only about the socially acceptable gathering in the living room of his new digs and making his important guests comfortable. He stepped away from the loveseat when he saw Sandy Carter approach with a small plate of food and moved to a spot in front of the fireplace. The heat took much of the chill off a cold, rainy night.

  "Is there anything I can get you, Mrs. Carter?"

  "I have plenty, Joel. Thank you for asking."

  "How about the other lovely ladies in the room?"

  "I'm fine," Grace said.

  "Me too," Katie added.

  Sitting with Ginny on the larger couch with plates on their laps, they worked on a light dinner of finger sandwiches, deviled eggs, apples, and cake. When Tom made the rounds with a bottle of champagne, all three held out glasses.

  "Thank you for the furniture, Joel," Ginny said. "The pieces are beautiful, as well as comfortable. It was a generous gift."

  "Don't mention it. It was the least I could do for you. Besides, I got an excellent price from a trusted retailer."

  Mel smiled as he finished the last of his cake.

  "Next time you bet on baseball, give me some warning," he said. "I'll set you up right."

  "What are you going to do with the rest of your winnings?" Katie asked.

  Invest in war bonds.

  "I don't know. I might look at a car. I can't bum rides off this lug for the rest of my life. Or I might just sock the money in a bank. I haven't given the matter much thought."

  In fact, Joel had given it a lot of thought. But he decided not to push his luck. Thankful that Katie, like most of the others, had not asked many questions about three astonishing sports bets in less than four months, he tried to limit discussion to what he would do with his new windfall and not how he had obtained it.

 
Allowing himself to relax for the first time all evening, Joel grabbed a glass of champagne, sat on the hearth, and quietly reflected on those who had gathered in his cozy living room. He thought about how each had influenced his life and how they had become not only his friends but also his family.

  The Carters were easy to assess. When he glanced at the middle-aged couple on the settee, he saw his own parents: a man and a woman who occasionally bickered but who brought out the best in each other and those around them. He also saw in their faces the thin but clear line between a life of ease and life on the streets. Had he saved a poor or ungrateful man on June 2, rather than the son of a gracious and well-connected family, he might be diving in dumpsters. Their friendship and generosity defied value.

  The same could be said of Tom Carter and Virginia Gillette, who had welcomed him into their tight circle of kindred spirits. Because of them, he had made a near seamless transition from one happy, comfortable world to another. He wanted very much to be a part of their lives for years to come but wondered whether he would have the opportunity. He hated knowing that his existence was probably tied to their fortunes.

  Joel glanced at the couch and saw Katherine Kobayashi finish a piece of cake. He still did not know her well, but he knew enough to admire and respect her. He appreciated that she had accepted him unconditionally, at a time others had asked questions, and had exercised discretion when he had pursued the forbidden fruit. He also admired how she had stepped out of her own, largely segregated world to integrate into one that was about to slap her down. He wondered what would become of her next year when the passion and prejudices of her countrymen replaced empathy and reason.

  Then there was the woman at the center of the storm, the one who made him think differently and act more responsibly, the one he could not live without. Grace Vandenberg had made September one of the best months of his life by performing a dozen little courtesies, like bringing him cookies after long days at work, taking him for spontaneous spins in Uncle George's pride and joy, and gently weeding his eclectic wardrobe of orange ties, oversized shirts, and mismatched socks. Every Wednesday morning she had left a thoughtful note on the door of the Airstream. Every Thursday night she had made him dinner.