“Hold me,” she whispered in their darkened bed room. “Put your mark on my flesh so I’ll always be yours. Love only me, Barry. Promise me that,” she murmured in his ear.
His response came quickly as he kissed her. With his lips still on her mouth, he breathed the words she needed to hear.
“Only you, my dearest Elyse, only you do I love, and always will.”
He kissed away the tears that squeezed beneath her closed eyelids, murmured softly, “I’ll be back. I promise you, I’ll be back and we’ll start all over again. First the house, then our family. It will be our new life, you’ll see.”
“I hope so,” she whimpered.
“Trust me, we’re going to have it all sooner than you think when this temporary setback is over. You’ll see,” he repeated as if to reassure even himself.
* * *
When morning came, neither of them wanted to say goodbye, so each acted as if it were an ordinary workday. The only difference was the military uniform Barry wore and the duffel bag that waited at the front door of their condo.
He cupped her face in his hands as he bent to kiss her. Tears flooded her eyes so much that she could barely see him, only nodded as he whispered, “I’ll always love you,my sweet Elyse, and I’ll be back.” And then he was gone.
She fell face down on the sofa in the living room, sobbed and screamed aloud in the empty apartment, “No! No! No! Don’t leave me! Please, don’t leave me-e-e.”
She cried until her throat was parched, her breath punctuated by dry hiccups. She got up, a sofa pillow clutched to her abdomen, went into the kitchen for a glass of water. She was in such severe pain she could hardly fill the glass. Her hands shook and her body quivered from the deep loss and despair that overcame her. She thought she was going to die.
She heard the clanging noises from the street that meant it was Tuesday, rubbish pickup day. Had Barry put out the rubbish cans last night? She rubbed her eyes and checked outside the front door. Empty space. Well, she wasn’t going to die just yet. She had to quickly put out the trash before the truck came.
Chapter 3
Elyse studied the computer screen. She had outlined the seven principles of Kwanzaa: unity, self-determination, responsibility, cooperative economics, purpose, creativity and faith. Each principle was blocked off individually and arranged in a circle around the central word Kwanzaa formed in large letters.
Satisfied with the wheel-like structure on the screen, she added the bright colors of the Kente cloth she had selected, then printed out her work, the store’s address and store hours, also the upcoming festival.
“That really should do the trick,” Emerald said over Elyse’s shoulder.
She placed a tuna sandwich and a steaming bowl of chicken soup on Elyse’s desk.
“I surely hope so,” Elyse said, stretching her shoulders to straighten out the kinks.
“I really want to do well this Christmas season.”
“You will. I know you will, and now looking at your flyer, I just had a thought . . .”
“About what?”
“We should place as many of these around the city as we can.”
“Like?” Elyse questioned.
“The churches, beauty salons, barber shops, convenience stores . . . you know, any place our folks tend to gather. That way word of mouth will get around.”
“Good idea, Emerald. Don’t know what I’d do without you.”
Emerald’s answer was quick. “Not to worry, kiddo, I’ll stick around. Always told you that.”
“I’m thinking that I’d like to offer a raffle gift for customers who come to the store.”
“You have something in mind, Elyse?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact I have. Remember I told you about the young brother who made up those fantastic vases?”
“The ones with the colorful fabrics decoupaged on ceramic vases and urns? Is that the one you mean?”
“Right. He’s a young artist, has a store on Mass Avenue, and I believe he has a distinctive eye. The way he cuts out his designs, adheres them to the selected object then seals it over with polyurethane solution really makes his finished product unique. I bought a lovely vase from him with some gorgeous colors that I think would be attractive in any home.”
“It would be great publicity for him if you were to display it in the front window or on a special table here in the store.”
Elyse agreed with Emerald, adding, “If we put it in the front window, it might really draw customers into the shop. I’ll bring it in tomorrow and together we can decide what to do, how much the raffle tickets should be, where and how to display the vase.”
“How much did it cost?” Emerald wanted to know. “I paid two hundred.”
“Then we should figure out the cost of the raffle tickets so you can at least get that money back.”
Emerald was pleased to see the sparkle in her friend’s eyes and she reached over to give Elyse a warm hug. “We’re goin’ to do just fine, sister-girl. You wait and see!” Emerald insisted.
Elyse recognized the cheerful support that her colleague/friend was offering to her, and she realized just how much she relied on Emerald.
* * *
She drove home that evening, parked her own car, a Toyota, in her assigned parking space, gathered up her briefcase, purse and a small plant that she thought might put her in a holiday mood, although she doubted the little plant placed on her coffee table would be able to do so. She knew she was asking almost too much of the little red and green plant.
Sebastian, as usual, met her at the door. His deep growl-like purring welcomed her home. She was glad she had not forgotten to purchase his favorite treat, canned tuna. The sale item, five cans for a dollar, had caught her eye at the check-out counter so she’d bought ten cans. That should hold Sebastian for a while, she thought.
“Hi there, old man, and how was your day?” She bent down to scratch his head as he wound his lithe, glossy black furry body around her legs.
“Okay, I know you’re glad to see me, and, yes, I have your treat.”
She watched as the large cat leaped up to his favorite perch on the living room picture windowsill. She dropped her coat on the sofa and retrieved her briefcase and handbag to take into her bedroom.
She went to her desk, booted up her computer and searched her e-mail. She scrolled down the usual trivia; then she saw it.
Hi, babe! All is well. Hotter than a firecracker, but I’m okay. The baby wipes help. Send more. Be home soon. Sorry, after Xmas. Next year is our year! Love you. Take care of yourself. It was signed B.
Quickly, she hurried to print out the message, tore it from the machine and pressed the paper close to her chest. She reached for the phone.
“Yes?” Emerald’s voice came reassuringly over the phone.
“I got it! I got it! He’s coming home in a month! Oh, Emerald, kid, I’m so happy. One month! Did you hear what I said?”
“I certainly did. Great news, and I’m happy as I can be for you both!”
“Oh, Em, I can hardly believe it. My husband’s coming home!”
“Believe it, honey, believe it.”
“I just had to let you know. I’ll see you in the morning. Don’t know how I’ll get to sleep tonight, I’m so keyed up!”
“My advice is to take a warm shower, have a glass of wine and go to bed.”
“Okay, good night.”
“Nite,” Emerald said. “See you in the morning.”
She fed Sebastian and then could not decide what she wanted to eat. Her stomach was roiling, from nerves, she expected. She opened a kitchen cabinet door and selected a can of clam chowder. With some milk and crackers, that should hold her. She knew that her stomach couldn’t take much more.
While she was sitting at the kitchen table, Sebastian wandered in and looked up at her as if to say, What’s up? He jumped into Barry’s chair as if he sensed a change in Elyse.
She reached over to rub his head and he twitched his tail in response.
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“Your master is coming home. Did you hear what I said?” She grinned at the animal.
The cat continued to purr. His sleek fur rippled with strong muscles as he leaped from the chair into Elyse’s lap.
“You miss him, too, don’t you?” she said.
Sebastian was Barry’s four-year-old cat. Barry adopted the stray animal he found one morning shivering in the parking lot of the pharmacy. With good care and love the animal had thrived. Although not a cat lover, Elyse knew that an important bond existed between the pair, and she accepted the relationship.
Sebastian had accepted her as well, almost as if he understood the relationship between husband and wife.
Elyse had not grown up with a household pet. Her mother was a city girl, had lived in an apartment where pets were not allowed. Her father had spent his childhood on a farm. The dogs that had lived on the farm were not allowed in the house. They guarded the house during the daytime and spent their nights sleeping in the barn.
Elyse was happy that Sebastian had accepted her in his life. He had become a comfort to her. With Barry overseas, Sebastian was a constant in her life, dependable and steadfast.
That night when she finally got into her bed after following Emerald’s suggestion of the warm shower and small glass of wine, she was grateful to slip beneath the cool, relaxing sheets. She pulled the down comforter up and tucked it under her chin. She couldn’t help thinking of all the thousands of miles that separated her from her husband. Where was he sleeping tonight?
“Nite, Barry,” she whispered into the darkness.
“Nite, babe.” She could hear his voice in her head.
She reached over to grab her husband’s pillow and held it close. She took several deep breaths, and comforted by the knowledge that her husband was returning soon, she slept.
* * *
“Didn’t I tell you that you’d have good news?” Emerald’s voice was cheerful and confident.
“You don’t know how happy I am now that I know Barry’s almost on his way home.” Elyse beamed as she hung up her coat on the coat rack.
Emerald gave her a warm hug. “The best is yet to come, sweetie. You can count on that!”
The day sped by quickly. They made decisions about the raffle tickets for the vase to be displayed in the front window of the shop and finished the flyers. Emerald told Elyse that her cousin who owned a messenger service would be happy to distribute them.
* * *
They came to her condominium at eight that night. When the doorbell rang, Sebastian accompanied her although she tried to push him to one side with her toe. “No, Seb, you can’t go out, not tonight.” She opened the door. When she saw them, two military men accompanied by her pastor, Rev. Kingman, she felt her knees turn to jelly. She staggered back away from the door as one of the men reached for her to steady her. Her hands clasped over her mouth with stark fear. Her eyes wide with disbelief, she could only moan, “No-o, no-o, no-o! Not my husband!”
Major Hawkins, she learned his name later, helped her to sit down on her living room sofa. Somehow in the depth of the dark pain that enveloped her whole body, she realized that she could not escape the searing horror that had come into her life.
She reached out her arms in supplication to the only person she knew.
“Oh, Rev. Kingman, what am I going to doo-o?”
Her face was wreathed in tears as she pleaded for some comfort.
“I’m truly sorry, my dear, that this had to come to you. I will try to help you in any way that I can.” He stroked her shoulders as she sobbed against his chest.
“Your folks?” he inquired.
“Be home Sunday,” she told him, her voice cracking with emotion. “They’re . . . they’re on vacation in Jamaica.”
“I see.” The minister turned to the military men who stood waiting respectfully, each man’s cap tucked under his left arm.
“I’m going to call one of Mrs. Marshall’s friends to come and stay with her. If you officers have additional information, you may call my office,” he said as he gave each man one of his cards. He resumed his seat beside Elyse, put her head on his shoulder and continued to try to comfort her.
The major reached into his breast pocket, retrieved a card which he handed to the minister.
“Anything we can do for Mrs. Marshall, anything at all, we will be honored to do. Anything. Our staff will contact you, Rev. Kingman, as soon as more details are forthcoming.” He bent to reach for the young widow’s hand, touching it lightly, saying, “Please accept my deepest sympathy.” Then the two men left.
Rev. Kingman walked Elyse to her bedroom and helped the distraught, weeping woman lie down. He covered her shaking body with a comforter from the foot of the bed.
“Em, Em, get Emerald,” Elyse gasped as she continued to shake in her grief. She gave her pastor the telephone number, her voice quivering with emotion.
“Please come. Elyse needs you,” she heard the man say.
* * *
A military escort led by Major Hawkins accompanied Barry Marshall’s body form Dover Air Force Base to Logan Airport in Boston.
Elyse was staying at her parents’ home, and the morning of the expected arrival, she approached her father.
“Dad?” He knew what she wanted from him and he held her close. Her eyes were brimming with tears, her voice weak from the burden of her deep sadness.
Her father kissed her on the forehead as her thin frame trembled in his arms. His heart ached for his daughter and he vowed inwardly to do all he could to ease the pain he knew she had to endure.
“Don’t worry, hon, I’ll be there when Barry comes home. I’ll take care of everything.”
He left the house a few minutes later to join one of his Masonic brothers, who was also the mortician responsible for the services.
“At least it’s a sunny, mild day,” Jerome Joyce remarked to John Louis, who grunted an agreement as he eased his bulky frame into the driver’s seat of the funeral hearse.
“How’s Elyse doin’?” he asked Jerome.
“As well as can be expected,” her father told him. He took a look at his long-time friend, whose forehead was shining wet with perspiration. The brother never seemed to lose any weight. Jerome wondered how the man could maintain the stamina needed to keep up with his business.
“If we can just get her through these next few days . . . right now we’ve got her on quite a bit of medication. Doctor’s orders, you know, and she’s doing pretty well, but well, you know . . .” His voice trailed off.
“I do know. All you can do, Jerry, is be there for her.”
“You know that she and Barry just bought land . . . planned to build, start a family. This is a really rough time right now.”
John Louis seemed to know. He had been in the business for almost forty years, had seen all kinds of grieving families. He was not at all surprised when Jerome told him that he would like to view the body. “For Elyse’s peace of mind,” he said.
“We can do that, but I understand there will be no public viewing.”
“Correct,” Elyse’s dad said. “There will be a photograph of him in full uniform on the memorial service announcement.”
John Louis drove the hearse to a special area of the airport and pulled up alongside a large military transport plane.
He got out of the vehicle, exchanged documents with Major Hawkins. After the legal transfer was complete, the military group transferred the flag-draped coffin from the plane into the funeral car. The squad leader barked his commands. Barry Marshall had come home.
* * *
The organist had concluded the prelude and Elyse heard the sonorous voice of Father Malcolm Ambrose, the priest who had married them, intone the introit. She wanted to scream, “Stop it! Shut up!” but at that moment, as if sensing her thoughts, her father squeezed her hand, whispered in her ear, “Easy, easy, it’s going to be all right. I’m right here.”
She nodded wordlessly, the scream dying in her throat while
tears washed down her face, blurring her vision. She saw only the stripes of the flag, and they seemed to be undulating, waving at her. She closed her eyes and listened as Father Ambrose’s rich baritone voice flowed seamlessly in her husband’s last rites.
Months later she told Emerald she remembered very little of that December day.
Chapter 4
Austin Brimmer eased his Toyota into his assigned parking space behind the mercantile building that housed his rented art studio and shop. His establishment was on the first floor overlooking Massachusetts Avenue near the Christian Scientist Mother Church. He was not too far from the Berkeley School of Music. He relished having young students pass by his store on their way to their classes. Their interest in music was akin to art, and he hoped to foster that relationship. It would be good for business.
It had snowed during the night, but the sidewalks were already cleared. He was pleased to see a slight rosiness on the eastern horizon. A clear, sunny winter day lay ahead. What could be better? he thought. It should be a good sales day, with Christmas coming soon. Maybe his new line of decoupaged ceramic ware would start to be a big sales item. The young woman from The Kwanzaa Book and Gift Shop had purchased one of the new vases just a few days before and had said she planned to exhibit it in her front display window.
She’d looked very sad when she first entered the store, but seemed to brighten when she spotted the large vase he had set on a table near the store’s entrance. There were two smaller companion pieces arranged on either side.
He thought it was an attractive display with the vases resting on a black crushed velvet table runner.
Bold bright stripes of Kente cloth, brilliant blues, golds, azures, plus warm enticing hues of orange, red and yellow, had been artfully glued to the ceramic vessels. The glistening heavy lacquer enhanced their unique appearance.
Austin got out of the car, retrieved his briefcase from the passenger seat and set the car alarm. He pulled his coat collar up around his ears and hurried into the warmth of his store.
Inside, he shrugged off his overcoat, thought ruefully of the warm days he had experienced in Cameroon. He was a tall man, athletically built with olive brown skin. Upon meeting him, receiving a firm handshake from him, no one would believe that this tall, strong, young man who looked like a linebacker was an artist.
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