by Dan Walsh
“Maybe,” Jack said. “Thanks for the offer.” He couldn’t remember the last time he’d fished.
“Well, I better git. Glad you weren’t an intruder. Would a-hated to have to shoot ya. You need me, just head west through the woods a bit. I’m the next place over.” He smiled and walked off the porch the way he came.
Jack closed the door. So…Mr. Bass would become his permanent neighbor if Jack bought the place. Should he put the checkmark for that in the pro or con column? He walked toward the living area, mostly thinking about the things Bass had said about old man Wagner. Had to be some kind of a story there. A moment ago, this cabin was just a cozy little place on a quiet lake. Now, it had some history.
Hmmm. Old man Wagner.
He may have been dead for decades, but Jack was all about history. He loved snooping into stories about interesting old guys who’d been dead for decades.
13
The following morning, Jack decided he would head outside and enjoy this fresh air, but first he wanted to improve the quality of the air inside the cabin. Last evening and all the way until bedtime, he’d noticed how musty and stale it felt in here. Another evidence the cabin hadn’t been used in a while was the little dust cloud that lifted off the braided, oval throw rug in the living room whenever he walked across it. The same thing happened with the rug upstairs in the loft.
He carefully grabbed both throw rugs, brought them outside and laid them across the wood railing. He’d found a broom in the pantry, brought it out and started whacking them. Kept it up until no more dust came out. The porch quickly filled with a thick gray cloud. He had to step off it every thirty seconds or so to catch his breath. Then he used the broom to break up the dust cloud, get it moving out into the yard. That accomplished, he opened up all the downstairs windows.
Now he could relax. He walked his coffee out to the fire pit facing the lake, sat in one of the adirondack chairs. A few charred logs had been left in it from the last time it had been used. He guessed maybe a year. He didn’t notice what time it was, but judging by the lack of mist on the water and the height of the sun, it was after nine. On these writing retreats, he generally ignored bedtimes and wake up alarms. That was part of their charm.
He could get used to this view, that’s for sure. The water was a soothing dark blue, a nice contrast to the sky. The properties that bordered this part of the lake were set on rolling hills. Enough trees that he could see only a few traces of the other cabins. Except for the boat docks sticking out here and there, he could feel he had the lake all to himself.
Tapping an icon for a Bible app on his iPad, he spent the next few minutes reading the Proverb for the day. Something he’d done off and on through the years. Most months had thirty to thirty-one days and there were thirty-one chapters in Proverbs. Made it easy to know which one to read.
A singular theme emerged in today’s chapter that had to do with the wisdom of listening to others and getting counsel before making decisions. That seemed to confirm something he did last night before turning in. The main reason he was out here was to settle on the topic for his doctoral dissertation. Then to hammer out the basic outline. If possible, maybe even write the first few chapters.
As he’d told Rachel on the phone yesterday, he had narrowed the list down to three choices. She said she’d come out here and see him once he’d narrowed it down to one. Last night, Jack had crafted an email to send out to his students at Culpepper. Not all of them, just the ones who’d taken two or more of his classes the past year.
He’d explained his dilemma and asked for their help. He listed the three topics, wrote an intro paragraph to each and asked them two questions:
Which of these three subjects would interest you the most?
Which of these three do you know the least about?
He wasn’t looking for them to make the decision for him. He just wanted to see if the majority of students would pick the same topic he was leaning toward already. Setting his coffee mug on the little table in between the chairs, he tapped on the email app to see how many of them had responded.
His inbox was filled with responses already.
Over the next forty-five minutes, he read through them all and tallied up the votes. It wasn’t unanimous but something close. A clear majority had selected the Dresden topic as their main choice for both questions. That was the topic he had been leaning toward, too.
So it was official: he would write his doctoral dissertation on the Dresden bombings in World War II. He picked up his coffee, which had now grown cold, and headed back into the cabin to get his cell phone.
When he picked it up from the dinette table, he realized he’d forgotten to eat breakfast. There was the frozen breakfast meal unopened, sitting on the table. The box felt plenty cold, so he popped it in the microwave. Before hitting the start button he decided to call Rachel first.
Walking over to the recliner in the living room, he plopped down and tapped the screen to start the call. It rang three times. “Hey, Rachel. Can’t believe I got you, first try.”
“Am I that hard to reach?”
“In the mornings you are. Sometimes.”
“Well, you know I’ll always pick it up if it’s you, unless I’m in class. So, how was your first night in the cabin? Anything go bump in the night?”
Jack laughed. “No, but I got spooked by an owl for a few minutes. Till I figured out it was an owl. It is pretty dark out here. I just came in from that fire pit I told you about yesterday. Had a nice time out there. Really beautiful view in the morning.”
“Getting any work done on your dissertation?”
“I am. As a matter fact, that’s why I’m calling. You said you’d come out once I figured out which topic I was going to do my dissertation on. I just made the decision a few minutes ago.”
“Really? That fast? I was thinking it would take a couple of days.”
“Well, I was going to go through a detailed analysis, but I’ve been leaning toward one all along.” He explained to her what he did with the email survey of his students, and the results. “That really firmed it up for me.”
“Well, I’m glad. You’re going to be spending a lot of time on whichever one you picked, so I’m glad you’re sure about it.”
“I am. So…does that mean you can come out tonight? I can fix you a nice dinner. Then we can take a walk, maybe a sunset canoe ride.”
“Jack, that sounds nice. But…”
“But what?”
“It doesn’t sound like your mind’s too much on this dissertation. That’s the main reason you’re on this retreat.”
“My mind is on the dissertation. It’s just not the only thing. I mean, look, I’ve already picked out the topic. That’s huge. Some people take weeks on something like that. I’m just decisive. When I know what I want, I go for it.”
“Okay, I guess I can come out there. I just don’t want to be a distraction. You getting that dissertation done is a big thing for our future. I know the regents at the school love what you’re doing, and this past year your classes have all been full. But having that doctorate is part of the deal, right?”
“Yes, you could say that.” Wait, he thought. Did she just say our future? She did, didn’t she? Jack had definite plans about popping the question to Rachel, but he wasn’t quite there yet. He had been dropping hints here and there about his intentions. So far, she hadn’t said anything negative when he did. But this was the first time he’d heard her say something like this. Should he say something? Should he point it out?
“Jack?”
“What?”
“Sounded like you had something more to say.”
“No. I’m just wanting to see you, Rach. That’s all. I didn’t rush this decision just for that. Dresden really is the topic I want to work on. And I know how important this dissertation is. This retreat is all about getting that outline done and turned in, not just to the regents but to my publisher. That’s my goal before my time out here is through. I won’t let an
ything get in the way of that, I promise.”
14
Jack had spent the last four hours reacquainting himself with the research materials he’d gathered over the years on the Dresden bombing. He already knew more about Dresden than the average WWII buff, even more than the average military history major, but nowhere near enough to create a detailed outline for a doctoral dissertation.
More than that, Jack had to catch himself up on all of the new things about Dresden that had come to light since he had last studied it in college. There were new books to read, new websites to explore. And some serious controversies to examine. One side claimed the Dresden bombing was totally immoral, actually referred to it as a war crime by the Allies. The other side presented evidence that Dresden was a justifiable military target. Jack would have to get his mind around all of this and navigate around these delicate matters as he sought to make his own mark and offer his own contribution to the historical discussion.
But right now? Right now he needed a break. His brain needed rest, and his body needed some exercise.
He got up from the dinette table and headed outside. When he woke up this morning, knowing at some point he’d do a workout, he’d dressed appropriately. Now seemed like a good time. He walked around the cabin once, mainly to make sure he really did have the whole area to himself. His eyes scanned the woods and perimeter of the lake again. Jack was a little self-conscious about doing his Muay Thai routines out in the open like this. Especially the stretches. Rachel laughed out loud the first time he’d done them in front of her. Confident he was alone, he found some level ground under a shady tree and started.
Jack had begun learning Muay Thai nine months ago, about three months after Nigel Avery had tried to kill him. It had taken that long for Jack’s gunshot wound to heal up to where he could work out without pain. During that ordeal, Jack realized how helpless and defenseless he truly was. He’d never thought about owning a gun. And he was 100% sure he couldn’t properly defend himself in a fistfight. He’d be knocked out in the first ten seconds.
Neither of those things were true of him now.
In Muay Thai, Jack was still considered a novice, but he felt reasonably sure he already knew enough to adequately defend himself. And with the help of Sergeant Joe Boyd, the police detective who’d saved his life, Jack now owned a 9mm Glock and a concealed weapons permit. The gun made Rachel a little nervous, but considering what they had been through, she completely understood.
Jack finished with his stretches, then moved into his stance and started shadow boxing, working on his footwork then his basic punches. After several minutes, he added in some elbow strikes and knee kicks. It had been awhile since Jack pretended he was whopping on Nigel Avery during his workout. When he’d first started, he imagined beating the crap out of Avery every time. Eventually, the reality that Avery was dead and could never hurt Jack again took hold, and he was able to let it go.
But he knew, he never wanted to feel that helpless again.
After thirty minutes, Jack finished his workout and headed inside for a shower. As he got dressed, he noticed the time. There really wasn’t enough time to dig in and do more research. Not with Rachel coming for dinner. Sizing up the kinds of food he had brought with him, sometime in the next hour or so he really needed to head down to the store and buy a few things. He walked over to the dinette table and began carefully placing everything he’d spread out back into the plastic container. They needed to eat on this table in a couple of hours.
The last thing he picked up was the one fiction book he’d brought along, a copy of Kurt Vonnegut’s novel, Slaughterhouse Five. Jack had read it many years ago but thought, in light of his decision to pursue the Dresden bombing for his dissertation, it might be a good idea to read it again. It wasn’t exactly a war novel and not exactly about Dresden. Vonnegut had elected to depict the Dresden bombing, which he experienced firsthand as a POW, in bits and pieces throughout a unique, if not bizarre, sci-fi story about a guy named Billy Pilgrim who gets “unstuck” in time. One of the scenes Pilgrim keeps revisiting is the bombing and aftermath of Dresden.
Jack walked the novel over to the recliner and sat down. It was pretty dog-eared and the pages had yellowed, but it wasn’t falling apart. He started to read the back cover when his eyes glanced above the book toward one of the two bookshelves on either side of the fireplace. People’s bookshelves had always fascinated him. You could tell a lot about a person by the books they kept in their personal bookcases. Of course with his generation and the ones coming up behind him, it was something of a dying art. Nowadays, people could store several bookcases, even entire libraries on their tablets.
Jack set the novel down on the armrest and stood. His head tilted and his eyes began to roam slowly across the top shelves, taking in the titles. Interesting. As he’d noticed before, most of them were hardbacks. Quite a few books about World War II. Some about the aftermath of the war, the creation of the Iron Curtain and the Cold War era with the Soviets. In some of the middle shelves, Jack noticed several books weren’t written in English. Some were in Spanish. Quite a few were in German. Judging by the age of the collection, Jack guessed the books were put here by old man Wagner, not the son.
He was about to pull out a few then paused. The dad had been dead for years, but Jack had no idea what the son was like. The Senator. Was he the kind of guy that would notice if someone had been fiddling with his father’s books? Maybe, maybe not. He had rented the place out to Jack. He knew it was for a month. He had plenty of time to come in and take out anything he considered too personal for rental guests to see.
Jack looked down at the bottom shelves. Wasn’t that his answer? How much could the son care about privacy if he’d left family photo albums on the shelves? Jack wouldn’t even do something like that. And hadn’t Mr. Bass said that The Senator hardly ever came out here anymore?
Jack walked back to the dinette table and picked up his phone. Just to be on the safe side, he decided to take pictures of the books in place first. Then he wouldn’t have to worry one way or the other about getting them back in their proper place.
After finishing that task, he started thinking more about old man Wagner and his son, the Senator. He suddenly didn’t care so much about thumbing through all those first edition hardbacks. Squatting down, he pulled out one of the photo albums. There were just two. Not a matched set. The one he pulled out, judging by its condition, looked to be the oldest.
He straightened up and walked backwards holding it in his hands. Suddenly, his right heel banged into the edge of one of the floorboards. Fortunately, he was shuffling his feet slowly or that could’ve hurt more than it did. He bent down and rubbed his heel, then looked at the cause of his pain. Sure enough, the floorboard was slightly higher than the ones around it. Looking at it more closely, it seemed a slightly different shade than the other boards, too.
He’d have to watch out for that one, at least until he brought the rug back in from airing out.
He stood, stepped over the board and plopped into the recliner. He was just about to open the photo album when he remembered the time. He still needed to run down to the store and get some things for his dinner with Rachel. Pulling out his phone, he checked the time, then smiled.
He had a good thirty minutes before he needed to leave for the store. Knowing how quickly he could get lost once he opened the album, he tapped his alarm app and hit a thirty minute pre-set button he used quite often.
Then he sat back and carefully opened the first page. The pages were made of thin black paper and so brittle. All the pictures on the first page were very small and all were black and white.
15
The first thing Jack noticed about the pictures was that they were all children. They appeared to be elementary school-age. A few girls but mostly boys. The boys’ haircuts were short and choppy. The girls wore braided pigtails. They were of differing heights but all looked uniformly thin, gaunt even. None of the children smiled in any of the pictures
. If anything, they looked worried. The word pensive came to mind.
The next thing he noticed was how dirty and dingy the scenery was. Granted, the pictures were all black and white, but it was more than that. The roads were grimy and dirty. He saw no trees or bushes, certainly no flowers. There appeared to be no sunshine reflecting on anyone’s faces. In every photo gray, cloudless skies.
He wondered when and where they were taken. No obvious clues from the pics themselves. His first guess was the 1940s or 50s. Then again, judging by the apparent poverty, it could be from the 1930s, during the Great Depression.
Carefully turning the page revealed much the same thing on pages two and three. More pictures of children looking poor and disheveled. They weren’t playing with games or toys. If anything, they were standing around or else doing chores. In several pictures, some children pulled and others pushed what looked like a handmade wooden wagon filled with scrap metal. One showed two boys sweeping a concrete floor. Another showed four boys filling up burlap bags with rocks—or were they potatoes—picking them up by hand. The odd thing was, Jack didn’t see any parents or grandparents in any of the pictures.
Whenever he looked at their old family photo albums, they were mostly filled with adults, posing. Relatives from every branch of the family tree. Kids might be in a few of them, but not every one. If they were, they were smiling. Everybody smiled. Even in pics Jack had seen taken in the black-and-white era.
But no one smiled in these. What had they gone through and what were they still going through when these pictures were taken that could take away all of these children’s smiles?
Another thing Jack remembered from his family’s old photo albums was that people often wrote things on the back. The pics were usually glued to the paper, the corners tucked into little tabs. But over the years, some would break loose. He turned another page and saw that one had broken free and was tucked into the center crease. He lifted it out and looked at the front.
