“Yes, sir, Capt’n Jake.”
Some of the straw from the hat crumbled off into Simon’s hand, and he quickly brushed it against his pants leg, letting it drop onto the ground.
“Then I guess I’d better get on home before she has my hide.” Jake walked over closer to where Simon was standing. The dog growled menacingly.
“You’d better tie that mongrel up. Otherwise something might happen to it.”
“Yes, sir, Capt’n Jake.”
Jake slapped the old man on his back and smiled.
Simon, relieved that the message he had delivered to Capt’n Jake hadn’t caused him any trouble, smiled too.
“Yes, sir, Capt’n Jake,” he repeated. Then he laughed as though it were some sort of joke, even though he didn’t fully understand it.
* * *
Leona Kruger smiled graciously at her guests sitting around the beautiful dining room table impeccably set with crystal, china, and silverware on a field of white linen – things that had been in her family for generations. The centerpiece, bracketed by green candles in silver sticks, was a large bowl of yellow daffodils and narcissus which Leona had taken from the yard that morning. Glimmerings of iridescent light from the crystal chandelier, centered over the table and depending from the high ceiling, gave everything a glow of elegant congeniality.
Jake, facing her on the opposite end of the table, was amusing everyone with the story about the sand shark he had caught off the pier at Topsail Beach and brought back to give to Tater, one of the field hands. “To this day Tater believes that Capt’n Jake caught that huge “fish” in the pond at Old Town Farm.” Everyone laughed: Bill Jenkins, the mayor of Rocky Mount, and his wife, Beverly, Burt and Sandy Strickland who owned the large tract of land west of town, and Doug and Anne Carter, also large land owners but who had lately been discussing selling off their property. Leona assumed that was why Jake had wanted them invited for dinner this evening.
Jake looked at Leona in the way that suggested it was time for the gentlemen and ladies to retire to their separate rooms. That way the men could smoke those filthy cigars Jake insisted on, sip brandy, and discuss business matters. And the ladies could talk in private about whatever interested them, usually local gossip involving some of the other ladies in town, while sipping coffee from the delicate porcelain cups Leona had inherited from her great grandmother. Occasionally, if Leona felt the need, she would offer a little “sweetener” to her female guests to add to their coffee. The sweetener was usually in the form of orange liqueur, but there had been a few occasions since becoming the new Mrs. Kruger that she had used some of Jake’s Wild Turkey instead. This evening she would offer the Wild Turkey. It had upset her when Jake hadn’t been there to greet his guests. With so many last minute details for her to take care of, the very least he could do was show up on time. After all, he was the one who insisted on having this dinner to begin with. It was just plain bad manners to come in late to his own party.
In the end she had finally asked that feeble-minded old man who was always hanging around to go find Jake and tell him to get on home. She didn’t like doing that. It made her feel like she was hen-pecking him. But the entire thing had made her tense, and to make things a little better, she was going ease her tension by adding to her coffee a couple of healthy shots of Jake’s Wild Turkey.
Before leaving the dining room Jake made a big show of kissing Leona fully on the mouth and patting her playfully on her bottom. Leona wouldn’t have minded so much if he did it when they were alone. In fact, that was one of the main reasons she had been attracted to him in the first place. He could make her feel things her late husband never could in all the years they had been married. He made her feel young again. But they weren’t ever alone that much. Jake worked such long hours, and often at night after a late supper he would drive out to check on what had been done in the fields that day or go back to the office. So if he showed any affection, it was usually when someone else was around to watch, almost as though he had to make some point like she belonged to him. Which, of course, she didn’t. People didn’t own other people. And talk about owning, it was her money that had paid off the mortgage on the large home in which they were living. It was the home he and his first wife, Lara, had bought when they first moved to Rocky Mount. After their divorce, Jake had insisted on keeping the place, even though Leona would have preferred they start off their marriage in another house altogether.
Leona believed Jake had paid Lara some sort of settlement since the house had been listed in both their names. But she didn’t know how much. She did know that he wasn’t paying any alimony, something that Lara had refused, and in spite of it, Jake still didn’t seem to ever have any money. She thought it had been disarmingly charming at first – one of the most powerful men in North Carolina always showing up a day late and a dollar short. But lately his constant need for money was starting to wear a little thin.
It had been easy to move all of her own beautiful furnishings and accessories into his house once they were married. The house itself was just as grand as what she had been living in with her late husband, bless his soul. If anything, it was a little more convenient to the center of things, whereas her house had been so far out in the country. And Jake had encouraged her, in fact insisted, that she do any redecorating she wanted to do so she would feel like it was her home. She had made a few changes – the wallpaper in the dining room for one thing so her antique Queen Anne chairs would fit in and not have to be reupholstered. Of course, she redid the master bedroom and bath, changing the soft ivory and Persian blue to the rose and teal she had loved since childhood. But overall, Leona liked what she found in her new home.
Jake never mentioned Lara, which was a little strange to Leona since she knew they had been married for nine years. Jake didn’t even tell her that much. She had picked it up at one of the “circle” groups that met from church. Lara still lived in town, Leona had also learned during one of the church circle meetings, but across the railroad tracks in a newer development. Leona had driven over there one day to see where Lara lived just out of curiosity, and she had liked the area. Leona’s friend, Beverly Jenkins, told her about Lara working at the college, and that she was Vice President for Development. Leona wasn’t quite sure what that meant, but she felt a tinge of jealousy. After all, a vice president of anything was pretty high on the hog, especially if you were a woman, and especially in Rocky Mount.
* * *
Lara slowed down at the entrance of Hawthorne Way before driving through. Randall, the homeless veteran, was standing in his usual spot, partially hidden, just outside the entrance. His cardboard sign with the words “Will Work” was on the ground by his feet. Lara waved and drove on. It was late. Following the meeting, she had stayed on to watch the basketball game and it had gone into double overtime. But the Piedmont College Blue Bulldogs had managed to come out on top. Tyree had been the leading scorer.
Lara had gotten Randall, along with Tyree, to help her when she moved from the motel to Hawthorne, placing furniture, lifting boxes, and fixing a leaking faucet among other things. And he had been there when Jake showed up with four of his field hands unexpectedly, presumably to help Lara get settled into her new home. It was bad enough having to deal with him when she picked up her things. Lara hadn’t wanted his help then or now, but as usual Jake was determined to control things. That is until Randall stepped forward.
“The lady says she doesn’t need or want your help. I suggest that you leave.” Randall had a soft voice, but it was loud enough to make the vein on Jake’s temple stick out, the way it always did when he became upset or angry.
“We’ll just see who needs help around here,” Jake had spit out with that smile Lara knew so well. Jake wouldn’t forget that he had been put down in front of his hired help, just as he wouldn’t forget that Lara had broken up their marriage. There would come the time when he would try to get even. She knew it just as well as she knew after today’s meeting that the Board was g
oing to close down the college.
The day Randall helped Lara move in, she didn’t have much food on hand to cook – she never did it seemed. But he had been appreciative of the canned tomato soup she heated up and the grilled cheese sandwiches. She wanted to fix another sandwich for him to take with him when he left, but he refused, saying if she had more work for him later on, she could fix it then. She had gotten him to help her several times since then with different things that always come up with owning a house. A broken garbage disposal, some loose tile, the yard.
She thought of Randall again as she turned onto her driveway and wondered why he was out so late. She didn’t know where he slept at night. She had heard that there were some homeless people camped out near the interstate overpass. But that was more than two miles away. She hoped he had something warm on under his military camouflage jacket. The month of March still brought unexpectedly cool temperatures at night, and sometimes even a late snow. Tomorrow was Saturday. Maybe she would ask him to help her in the yard again. The pine trees were shedding unmercifully now and the pine straw needed to be raked up around the azalea beds.
Lara pressed the remote control to the garage door. A light flicked on automatically when the door raised, and she drove in. She loved this house. A simple Cape Cod painted white with a weathered gray cedar shake roof. What furniture she had were things she had found at flea markets and garage sales. But she had a good eye for quality and a talent for making odd pieces look like they belonged together. Many of her things were antiques and quite valuable. But Lara loved them simply because they had been a part of someone’s history, something she didn’t have, and now they were a part of her. The house, the furniture, and the eclectic assortment of other things helped her to feel grounded and that she belonged. This was home.
After dressing for bed Lara remembered she hadn’t closed the garage door. She padded barefooted through the utility room leading to the garage. When she reached for the control button, she saw the dark green jeep drive slowly past her house. The way it hesitated, she thought at first it was someone looking for a particular house nearby. Everyone in the neighborhood had their house number painted on the mailboxes at the end of the driveways. But it was awfully late for someone to be visiting. When Lara stepped into the garage, the vehicle picked up speed and turned at the next corner. Lara closed the garage door and went back inside, making sure all of the doors and windows were locked.
* * *
Lt. Colonel Randall Hinshaw – US Marine Corps, recipient of two purple hearts, a silver star, and the Congressional Medal of Honor; retired after thirty-five years in the military that included three tours of duty in VietNam – watched the lights in the Cape Cod house go dark. Lara Kruger had returned home late again. As usual, she had smiled and waved when she saw him.
He had first seen Lara the day a realtor brought her to the neighborhood to show her the house. He was standing outside the gated community looking for work that day as well. The next day she had asked him to help her move. He was glad she had. It wasn’t that he needed the money, but there could have been trouble when her ex-husband showed up. He recognized all the signs. Having made a career in the military and worked with soldiers for as long as he had, he was a pretty good judge of character. This guy liked to control everything and everyone, and he was dangerous when something prevented that from happening. He definitely wasn’t someone Randall would have wanted under his command.
Lara was a nice young woman, but she worked too hard. Probably to keep from worrying about her personal life. She didn’t talk about it, at least not to Randall, but he sensed her fear. He had experienced it in the jungles of Nam when the threat of death surrounded him and his men. It wasn’t something he could see or touch; more, it was the feeling that something invisible had invaded his personal space making it difficult to breathe; and the air stirring around him for no apparent reason, making him more alert, his heart beat quicken, and the hairs on his arms stand on end.
Since moving into her home, she had asked him to help her with other things. Normally, he would have moved on to another location in town by now, but he liked the area where she lived and being near just in case she needed something. Apparently, other than the big black college kid who helped her – a nice-enough guy, she didn’t have anyone else she could or would ask. Sometimes she gave him something to eat, and what she paid him, he took back to the YMCA where he was living and gave it to the men. They needed it; he didn’t.
Following his discharge from the military, Randall had returned to his one-and-a-half story brick four-bedroom home situated on three acres of land near the North Carolina-Virginia border to find that he no longer had a wife. At age fifty-three, she had decided that she wanted more, and that didn’t include a stranger who had spent most of their married life stationed overseas somewhere. Their two sons had completed college long ago and were on their own. There was nothing left to keep her in the role of wife and mother, and the mountainous area where they had chosen to live – the place they thought they would retire to – simply didn’t offer any excitement. “Now it is my turn to do what I want – to find myself,” she told Randall in that tearful emotional outburst that he hated.
It really didn’t surprise him. They hadn’t been together in any sense of the word for a long time. Except for still throwing a crying fit whenever she wanted something, she had changed. He had as well. It was impossible to have the experiences he had and not change. He signed over the house to her and everything else that supposedly belonged to the two of them – it was all hers anyway, as far as he was concerned – and then left so she could “find herself,” whatever in the hell that meant. With nothing but his military pension and a flute he had played since high school, he returned to the last place he had any fond memories of, not knowing where else to go. Rocky Mount was a small rural town in Eastern North Carolina where he had spent long, hot summers with his grandparents as a teenager helping them in the tobacco fields. His own parents had lived in West Virginia at the time; his dad a coal miner. But Randall didn’t want to be like his dad. Even now after more than forty years he could still remember his dad’s violent coughing spells brought on by the coal dust that ate away at his lungs. As dirty and hard as it was working in the sweltering sun topping and suckering tobacco, he preferred being outdoors to being in some dark, dank hole in the ground, coughing so hard it would make him vomit black pitch. And his grandparents needed the help.
With the money he managed to save over the course of several summers, and a partial scholarship, he was able to attend the University of West Virginia where he majored in history and played his flute in the school’s big-ass marching band. That was where he met Claire. They got married their senior year, and following graduation, Claire got a job as a paralegal. Randall, not knowing what to do with a history major other than teach, which he didn’t want to do, enlisted in the Marine Corps; and after completing boot camp at Paris Island, South Carolina, he was sent to Officer’s Candidate School in Jacksonville, Florida.
Randall was a natural-born leader. Intelligent, quick on his feet, with a strong dose of common sense that often comes with a less-than-privileged background, he quickly rose through the ranks. Every two years he was transferred to a new base, a new school, a new command. Claire went with him as long as he was transferred stateside. The tours of duty that took him out of the country, however, forced her to stay home – often a year at a time or more. It wasn’t easy, especially with two small boys to take care of. She did the best she could, though, working at different jobs, making both personal and financial sacrifices, all the while dreaming of the time when they could put the uncertainty of military life behind them and become a “real” family.
The years added up, as did Randall’s promotions. When the Corps asked him to serve for a third time in Nam shortly after giving him the silver oak leaf insignia of Lt. Colonel, he didn’t even hesitate. He remained there until the war was declared officially ended and the troops could return home;
they had achieved peace with honor supposedly. The problem was, too many changes had occurred back home while the war was going on. The adjustment to civilian life was difficult for the men and women who had fought in the war as well as for those who had been left behind.
For Randall, it really didn’t matter. His inner strength was what he relied on to get him through each day; not the attitudes and perceptions of others. Except for the metal plate in his head and the occasional pain in his left leg and hip caused by flying shrapnel injuries, he still had his health, he had his pension, he had his flute, and he was resourceful. He could pretty much do anything he wanted, and right then it seemed like a good idea to return to the town where his grandparents had lived. They were long dead, of course, as were his parents, but the memories were still there, and they were a hell of a lot better than the memories he had of Nam. He quickly settled into a room at the new YMCA and kept himself busy by doing odd jobs around town. The room suited him just fine. He didn’t want the responsibility of looking after another home no matter how small, and the idea of having to work at a job on someone else’s fixed schedule simply didn’t appeal to him. Before long, other men – men who had served under him in Nam – followed him to Rocky Mount and stayed at the YMCA as well. Having barely survived physically and mentally from the indescribably cruel demands and hardships that had been placed on them in an unpopular war, they found that they now couldn’t survive in peace. They didn’t know how to live in an environment that didn’t include pain and the stench of death. They respected the Colonel; in fact, they loved him. He had taken care of them under the worst possible conditions and not let them down. He had even put his own life on the line for them. It was only natural that they would seek him out again, even as civilians. And so they came, bearing their scars, seeking his strong leadership and sage direction.
Gospel According to Prissy Page 9
