by Dean Hughes
“No. That’s all right. I’ll just wait out here.”
That idea obviously didn’t please Sister Broadbent either. “Well, then, have a seat out there, and I’ll ask him to come down.”
LaRue sat in one of the wicker chairs on the front porch. The Broadbents lived in a two-story frame house, much like the Thomases’, with a similar front porch. Sister Broadbent kept the yard in beautiful order, with pansies and marigolds planted in neat little beds, and irises and four-o’clocks along the side of the house. Out back, Brother Broadbent had an extensive orchard of cherries and apricots, pears and apples. He was known for the quality of his fruit, and even for his own bottling, but he was also a professor at the University of Utah, some sort of scientist. He was a quiet man who came to church every Sunday but rarely said a word and never held a calling that LaRue was aware of.
When Cecil pushed the screen door open a few minutes later, he was already smiling. “Good morning,” he said. He didn’t voice his question, but it was in his face: What are you doing here?
What LaRue liked about Cecil was that he didn’t confuse their relationship. He knew he was her friend, not her boyfriend. When they had first started taking walks together, he may have wanted something more than that to develop, but he had obviously accepted things the way they were, and maybe he had even come to prefer the arrangement. Neither one of them felt a need to impress the other.
“I just had a fight with my dad,” LaRue said. “I had to get out of my house. I’m going to take a walk for a while; I just thought you might want to go with me.”
“Sure.”
“Is your family doing anything for the Fourth?”
Cecil laughed. “Not that I know of.”
“What’s so funny?”
“I don’t know. My family is sort of strange now. I’m the tail-end kid, and I pretty much keep to myself. I think my parents like the idea that they don’t have to do family things anymore.”
LaRue laughed. “That sounds wonderful to me. So what are you going to do all day?”
“I don’t know. Dad’s probably reading, or he’s out in the orchard. And Mother is puttering around. She was out weeding her flowers at some unthinkable hour this morning. I had my window open, and I could hear her humming hymns—’Today, While the Sun Shines’—before the sun had hardly come up. I had to put a pillow over my head.”
“My dad wanted to take us on a picnic, but I’m not going.”
“Just a second.” Cecil walked back into the house. LaRue didn’t hear the conversation he had with his mother, but she did hear the end of it, when Cecil said, “Not long. I don’t know.” And then he stepped out through the screen door again. “Come on. Let’s go,” he said. “You walk and I’ll follow.”
But their walks had become a kind of ritual. They almost always walked up the hill past the prison, and then either into the foothills or down into Parley’s Ravine. She thought she would take him into the ravine today, where it would be cooler.
“What was the fight about?” Cecil wanted to know as soon as they set out.
But LaRue didn’t tell too much of the story. She described the conflict over the picnic, but she couldn’t bring herself to tell the rest. It had all been a little too emotional, and she didn’t want Cecil to make fun of that.
Down in the ravine, the two sat on rocks along the creek, and they watched the water run. There was not much volume now. It was a quiet little stream, and LaRue liked the peace. The morning was beginning to heat up, but in the shade of some big cottonwoods, the temperature wasn’t bad.
Cecil sat and tossed little pebbles into the water and didn’t say much for a time. LaRue was going back over the conversation with her father. Usually, after one of their outbursts, she thought about all the things she wished she had said, how she might have made a better argument, but what she felt now was that there was no going back, nothing more for them to argue about—she had split them apart forever.
“LaRue,” Cecil finally said, “I don’t understand you sometimes. You don’t care that much about being with Reed. Why didn’t you just go with your family? What did you have to gain by making a big fuss?”
“I don’t like to be forced. Dad always thinks he can boss me around.”
Cecil laughed. “The more you buck him, the more he feels he has to keep you in line. Me, I don’t fight my parents, and they mostly just forget about me. Then I pretty much do what I want.”
“Do your parents like you?”
“Like me?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t know. I can’t imagine that they would.” He laughed again. “No one else has ever found me particularly charming.”
“Cecil, that’s the way you talk. But if you really thought your parents didn’t like you, you wouldn’t laugh about it.”
“So what are you saying? Do you think your dad doesn’t like you?”
“I know he doesn’t.”
“No. You don’t know that.”
Cecil was sitting on a rock that was higher up the bank. LaRue had to twist around to look at him. “Don’t you think I can feel something like that?”
“I don’t know. I doubt it’s that simple.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Cecil shrugged. He picked up another little rock and flipped it with his thumb, as though he were shooting a marble. LaRue heard the pebble plop into the water. “He’s your dad. He thinks he has to teach you things, guide you in the right direction—all that kind of stuff. It’s not a matter of him liking you or not. Probably no dad exactly likes his own fifteen-year-old kid.”
“Oh, and I’m being too simple?” She turned around and looked at the creek.
“Hey, all I mean is, parents think they have to control their kids. And kids get to an age where they don’t want to be controlled. So then the fight is on. It’s like that in most families.”
“Thanks, Uncle Cecil. You’re so old and wise. You’re seventeen.”
“Well, no—I’m not old and wise. But you’re acting like you’re about ten.” He changed his voice to a mocking falsetto. “‘I’m so sad. My daddy doesn’t like me.’”
“Shut up.”
Cecil was laughing again, and LaRue didn’t like that at all. But she knew she would only prove his point if she lost her temper, so she said, coolly, “You may call me a kid, but at least I’m standing up to my dad. Bobbi waited until she was a lot older before she finally did that. Now he knows that I’m planning to leave when I get out of high school. He even told me that he might be okay with that.” She bent and picked up a little handful of gravel, and she tossed one of the little stones into the pool, near her feet. It hit the water and set off a series of little circular ripples.
“Well, then, it sounds like you did just fine. You got what you wanted.”
“Shut up.”
“Now what did I say?”
“You don’t really think that. You’re being sarcastic.”
She waited for his laughter, but it didn’t come. In fact, he didn’t say anything for a long time. And when he did, he sounded serious. “LaRue, tell yourself the truth. You want your dad to love you. You don’t have to act tough around me.”
“Maybe I am tough,” she said. But suddenly she threw the rest of the rocks, a dozen or so, and they splattered across the surface of the water, like rain. “What my dad wants is for me to fit some picture he has in his head. If I can do that, then I qualify for his love.” She looked around at Cecil again. “But I don’t need that kind of love. I don’t want it.”
Cecil was merciful at that point. He didn’t say anything. And when she started to cry, he didn’t comment, didn’t even let on that he knew that’s what she was doing. She stared at the water and fought the tears, mad at herself that she was giving in that way.
“Look, LaRue,” Cecil finally said, “maybe your dad bosses you, but at least he takes some interest. If I’m gone all day, my dad won’t even notice.”
“That’s how you want it, is
n’t it?”
“Yup. That’s how I want it.”
She twisted to look at him. “Are you happy, Cecil?”
“I don’t know. I never ask myself that question. I don’t think I’m unhappy.”
“You don’t sound happy.”
“Yeah, I think I do. Most of the time. At least I don’t spend all my time trying to be someone I’m not.”
“You mean, the way I do?”
“Yeah.”
LaRue looked away from him, looked up toward the mountains. She tried to think about that. The strange thing was, she actually was happier when she was playing the role she had created for herself. It was like walking onto a stage, escaping reality. Cecil made her think too much. And her dad made her question herself, her behavior—made her think about herself in ways that she hated.
“You say your dad doesn’t like you, LaRue. But I know what you’ve told me at least a dozen times: You don’t like yourself.”
That wasn’t the first time that thought had crossed LaRue’s mind today. Maybe she just wanted to blame her father for her own problems. She was trying to think about that when a rock hit the water—a boulder. Water splashed everywhere, spraying LaRue. She cringed, automatically, but sort of liked the surprise, the change of mood. She looked around to see Cecil grinning at her. “What did you do that for?” she asked.
“I don’t know. It seemed like a pretty good idea at the time. I don’t go in much for slobbering and moaning.”
“Let me just say, one more time—shut up!”
“No thanks. I’ve got one more piece of advice for you.”
“Good. I promise not to listen.”
“Understood. But I’m still right. What you should do right now is go home. Then you should say, ‘Let’s go on that picnic. I’m sorry I got the day off to a bad start.’ Don’t make this into a fight when it doesn’t even have to happen.”
“You sound like those ‘young, red-blooded Americans’ they talk about on the Ovaltine ads.”
“I’m right, and you know it.” He sat down on his rock again.
“No, you’re not. You don’t solve problems. You avoid them. And you’re not happy. I know you’re not. So don’t try to tell me how to deal with my problems.”
Cecil was still trying to smile, but he wasn’t doing very well. He leaned over and put his elbows on his knees. “LaRue, if I say I want to go away to college, my dad will say, ‘That’s fine. Drop us a line sometime.’ And he won’t miss me for one second. I think maybe I’d rather have your situation than mine.”
“Cecil, you’re exaggerating. Your dad’s just quiet. He doesn’t tell you how he feels. But he’ll miss you.”
“No. You don’t know him, LaRue. I’ve never been close to him. We never talk about anything of any importance.”
“Maybe that’s just as much your fault as it his.”
“Oh, it is. I know that. I’m not close to anyone. These little walks we take—they’re the best thing I’ve got going in my life. The very best.” He nodded, forced a grin. “That’s pretty pathetic, don’t you think?”
LaRue knew what Cecil was saying. She felt the breath leave her chest. She didn’t want to hurt Cecil, too. He had always been so in control, so rational about everything. She hadn’t expected him to be as susceptible to her as other boys.
“Well, anyway, you should go home,” Cecil said.
“I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because Reed has started calling by now. If I go back, I either have to face my dad and tell him I’m going with Reed, or I have to face Reed and tell him I’m going on a picnic with my family.”
“You’re probably right. The best thing to do, in a situation like that, is to hide out in Parley’s Ravine. With me.” He laughed, but the sadness was still in his eyes.
“Let’s walk some more,” she said.
He nodded and then stood up.
“Cecil, maybe you ought to be my boyfriend. Is there any chance at all that you’re going to stop wearing such awful clothes?”
“What’s wrong with these?” He looked down at himself and really did seem to take the question seriously. He had on a worn-out pair of corduroys and a cotton shirt that looked like it had been in the family since pioneer days.
“I guess that answers my question,” LaRue said, and the worst thing was, she knew that clothes really did matter that much to her.
LaRue was gone for two more hours, and by the time she finally returned home, there was no question that the picnic had been canceled. The car was still out back, and the midday heat was on. She thought about going to her dad, opening up to him. Maybe a talk would make a difference—especially now that she had thought things through a little more. But she had said too much that morning. She didn’t know what she was ready to take back. Or whether, if she started talking, she wouldn’t get angry all over again.
LaRue stepped quietly through the screen door, and then she walked quickly upstairs to her own room. Not two minutes had passed before she heard her mother’s quiet little rap. “Come in,” LaRue said, but she walked to the window and looked into the thick growth of the apple tree outside her window.
“LaRue, Reed has called three times.”
“I’m sure he has.”
“Well, you’d better call him. He stayed home from the swimming party in hopes he would catch up with you. Our picnic is off, so you might as well do something with him.”
LaRue could almost always guess her mother’s motivations. It was like her to entice LaRue back out of the house so there would be no more Fourth of July fireworks at home.
“I don’t want to go with him, Mom.”
“Now? Or ever?”
“I don’t know. But at least not now.”
“That isn’t fair of you, LaRue. He—”
“I know, Mom. You don’t need to tell me.”
There was a long silence. LaRue waited and hoped that her mother would disappear, but she could hear Mom’s breath, coming in measured pulls, as though she were trying to control her anger. “LaRue,” she finally said, “some of what you said this morning was true. If you had talked to your dad the right way, you might have accomplished something. But what you’ve done all day is treat people badly. You let your tongue get away from you, and I know that you hurt your father. And then you left all of us hanging, not knowing what to plan. You ruined Beverly’s day entirely. I don’t know whether you care about any of that, but you should.”
Actually, LaRue did care, but she didn’t know how to make that claim, so she said nothing. But she made a decision. She would break up with Reed. She needed to let loose and allow him to go with someone who would treat him right.
“LaRue, your dad has changed a great deal in the last couple of years. And he’s worked at it. You give him no credit at all for that.”
LaRue thought that was probably true, too; she wasn’t sure. But she didn’t want to argue, so she said, “Mom, I don’t know what to tell you. I’m sorry—again. I wish I didn’t cause so many problems.”
It was her father who spoke. “I’m sorry, too.”
LaRue turned around. Her dad was standing in the doorway. She couldn’t think what to say, but finally she looked down at the floor and told him, “I don’t know why we have to go through this over and over.”
“I don’t either.”
“I just wish you didn’t feel that you have to change me all the time.”
“Is that what makes you think I don’t love you?”
“I guess so.”
“Well . . . that’s interesting. I’ve been thinking the same thing all morning. ‘Am I such a terrible father that she feels she has to correct me all the time?’”
“Maybe that’s what we both need to stop doing.”
“I suppose, LaRue. There are some things that just can’t be changed, and we don’t need to harp on each other about those. But I am your dad. I don’t know how to forget about that. I don’t think I should.”
“Dad, I
’m going to make some decisions for myself. I don’t mind living by your rules. I’ve stopped fighting you on that. But when I graduate from high school, I’m going to decide what I want to do with my life.”
“Wouldn’t you appreciate some advice from me and your mother?”
“I don’t know. Maybe. But you usually give a lot more than advice.”
“I know. But that’s something you’ll understand better when you have your own kids.”
That was fair enough. LaRue could admit that was probably true. She nodded and said, “I guess.”
“I do love you, LaRue.”
But she didn’t feel that. She wondered whether she ever would. And she couldn’t say the same to him, even though she knew how much he wanted to hear it.
Chapter 25
Alex Thomas was on his way to Karlsruhe. Since returning to Germany, he had spent most of his time in Frankfurt. His work was tedious and, to Alex, almost pointless. He interviewed local citizens, tried to learn the names of prominent Nazis in the area, and then tried to locate them. But everything was made complicated by the state of the destruction. Communication was still disrupted. Most information had to be passed along through military channels because civilian telephone and mail systems were still almost nonexistent. What he did have was more freedom than most military people. He could move rather freely around the American zone, and he had a jeep at his disposal. Fortunately, Karlsruhe was in the American sector. The only problem was, he hadn’t found a good excuse, until now, to justify a trip there.
It was a warm afternoon in July when Alex had finally gotten out of a meeting he had scheduled with the Karlsruhe police captain, and now he had a little time to seek out his father-in-law. He had letters from Anna, and he had important news that he wanted to carry in person.
Alex had struggled a little to find the bakery where Brother Stoltz worked. The streets were difficult to identify, and some were still blocked by rubble and craters. Eventually, however, he found the place. The bakery had taken some damage in the last weeks of the war, and the front window was boarded up, but the business was now back in operation. Alex was excited, even a little nervous, when he stepped inside. Anna had told him, in her letters, the name Brother Stoltz was using, so when he saw a tall, strongly built woman at the counter, he asked, “Does Herr Stutz work here?”
