Old Secrets Never Die

by Lois Blackburn

  “I need to tell you some of it–Hiram, I don’t think you know him, do you? Well, his name is Hiram Lazarus and everyone thinks we’re married. We’ve been together a long, long time, raised my two children, but we never got hitched as we used to say in Pennsylvania. Now, I think he’s having a left-handed honeymoon and it’s making me crazy and I need to figure out who he’s playing around with because it has to stop. I need him. I just can’t make it on my own.”

  “A left-handed honeymoon? That’s a new one–you mean an affair?” Dottie didn’t laugh at the euphemism until Lucinda explained that she saw it on a Lefty’s Calendar hanging on a dry cleaner’s wall.

  As Dottie thought about it, Lucinda appeared to be a contradiction. Extremely thin, she always stood with her shoulders square, making her appear taller than her five-feet seven-inches, but she let her head hang downward much of the time as if trying to hide her striking beauty.

  Lucinda continued, almost without a breath between sentences, detailing her life with Hiram Lazarus. He and her husband, Louis Litchman, had been best friends, joined the Army together, were in Special Forces, and Hiram was wounded in a firefight that killed Louis. Hiram spent several months in the Veterans Administration Medical Center in Philadelphia and Lucinda kept him company to help him through several painful operations on his shattered arm.

  She and Louis had always discussed every big and little event and idea together. She grew to feel she could love Hiram over time, although he was not very communicative about how he felt or what he wanted from her. Lucinda felt some of this was the result of the horrors of war and the nasty political climate surrounding it. He would tell her a little about himself and Louis in Vietnam, then he’d stop abruptly and say, “Enough about that.”

  Hiram, she related, had let slip that he and Louis both used drugs overseas, as did many Vietnam soldiers. Quitting cold turkey in the hospital had seemed almost as painful to Hiram as the exercises to restore some use of his arm.

  “It was just awful, Dottie. You can’t even imagine the shape he was in. He would get so angry that he couldn’t use that right arm and they wouldn’t give him the drugs he wanted. He’d ask me to go get him some on the street but I’d just talk and talk, sing songs, tell jokes and riddles that made my little boys laugh. Then he would become angry. If his temper got too fierce, I’d threaten to leave and never come back, but we were growing dependent on each other, so he would back off.

  “A couple of their strung-out old Army buddies visited a few times. But they didn’t really come to see him. They wanted him to give them some of his prescribed drugs or they offered to sell him some street dope. He never introduced them. I just told them to leave or I’d report them.”

  “That’s terrible, Lucinda,” said Dottie.

  “But that’s only part of it,” Lucinda sobbed, flexing her hands into fists as if she wanted to punch somebody. “I’ve never been on my own and I don’t want to start now. I went from my parents’ house, to married student housing at Philadelphia University with Louis. I moved back with my folks when the guys went overseas and I didn’t have much of a job the whole time ’cause of no skills. My parents weren’t very encouraging. They didn’t think I should have married Louis to begin with, even though I was pregnant then. And then when he died…

  “Oh, I can’t do this! You don’t want to hear my whole life story. I’m sorry I bothered you; I should…” Lucinda began walking around and around the large table Dottie’s students would encircle later. Head down and elbows out, she pressed both palms to her temples as if she could squeeze out her anguished thoughts without speaking.

  “Ohmigod, Lucinda, stop! Stop walking and stop talking. Pull out a stool and sit down. The tea is ready and here is some nice seedless raspberry jam for the scones. Eat. Try to relax,” Dottie pleaded.

  “Don’t pour it yet. Here, read this article. I need to walk off some steam. I’m ready to curse a blue streak, but I was raised to believe that if a person cannot express herself without resorting to foul language, she has no imagination.

  “Boy, I sure am getting my exercise this morning,” Lucinda added. “I’m climbing the walls and swallowing my pride to tell you all this. I spend a lot of time running in circles. Now I’ve opened this can of worms to you and I’m probably putting my foot in my mouth, but I’m hoping that by starting this ball rolling, you’ll be able to help me pick up the pieces. What a workout this is, eh?”

  In another day or time, Dottie thought, she might have laughed but there was little to smile about in Lucinda’s low frame of mind. Still, she admired Lucinda’s attempt to inject levity into the situation.

  Lucinda plopped a folded, yellowed newspaper article in front of Dottie, strode quickly out the door and slammed it behind her.

  CHAPTER TEN

  “Okay, if that’s the way you want to be,” Dottie said to empty space as she carefully opened the newspaper. The article was nearly ten years old:

  Touching Posthumous Tribute to Alum

  By Traci Greene, Frankford Star reporter

  A special butterfly garden was unveiled at Frankford High School Saturday “in loving memory of the beautiful spirit of Louis G. Litchman who gave his life in the service of his country in Vietnam, May 27, 1972.”

  For his widow, Lucinda Litchman, it was the 25th year reunion of their class, but it was the first time she had attended. “This is so wonderful,” she said, of the tribute by Class President Lawrence J. Davis. “I can never get my boys to go anyplace with me when I’m at home in Connecticut–ha, ha!” Her two sons, Tom and Chad, had surprised her by attending the ceremony honoring her late husband.

  “Our class was almost lucky, but not quite,” Davis had remarked. “Louis Litchman was the only member of our class on the Killed in Action lists we read every day during that catastrophic and nation-dividing war. He was special to all of us. We all felt so badly for Lucinda during that time but most of us didn’t know how we could help. But we never forgot this special couple who inspired us with their deep love for each other and frequently entertained us with their crazy antics, which only they could think up. We won’t go into that just now–maybe later, when we’re a little more relaxed. For now, we’ll just ask Lucinda to share her thoughts as we thank the Lord for both her and our good friend Louis G. Litchman.”

  “Well, Larry, let’s not get sappy. As the cliché goes, a lot of water has flowed over the dam since then,” Lucinda began, smiling weakly as she looked around at her former classmates.

  Ms. Litchman, voted “Class Clown” in the class yearbook, was very serious in her remarks at the reunion. She and her husband were each other’s “first and always love.” His tragic death when their boys were so young was “almost enough to keep me from ever laughing again,” she commented.

  Stunning in a pink floral print, jacketed sundress that complemented her flaming red hair, Lucinda discussed her struggle to regain her life as a young widow with two small children.

  “I didn’t have much to smile about but, thankfully, another hero came to my rescue and somehow we managed to make a life together and we’re still doing that,” she said. Her reference was to Hiram Lazarus, Louis’ lifelong best friend who was a year older than the Litchmans. Lazarus was invited to the garden dedication, but was unable to attend due to business obligations. He is a renowned antiques dealer in Connecticut.

  “I consider this to be as much a tribute to the special qualities of friendship, and to my wonderful Hiram Lazarus, as it is to my beloved Lou. If Hiram hadn’t transferred his commitment of friendship from Louis to me and my boys, I can’t even imagine where I would be today.”

  She told the assembled group that Lazarus had worked in his father’s Persian rug shop for a year after high school so that he and Louis could go to Philadelphia University together. Both joined the Army ROTC and dreamed of having fun as members of the elite Green Berets during their military service.

  “They believed the movie versions of that era in which these commando-st
yle troops always triumphed. Despite the hazards of war and nighttime firefights, success and rescue always followed the charmed Green Berets, at least in their imagination. Like the cowboys who wore the white hats, they believed that Green Berets always came back alive,” Lucinda recalled, fighting tears.

  “Except the ‘always’ of their dreams didn’t happen–my Lou didn’t come back alive, and it was a squeaker for Hiram, too.”

  Dottie paused. She felt like a peeping Tom. It was one thing to hear the tragic, confidential details of Lucinda’s life in person, but it jarred Dottie to realize it was public knowledge. She continued to read.

  When Louis went to Vietnam, Lucinda moved in with her parents, who helped with the children while she worked in the wedding gifts department at Macy’s.

  “The Army major who came to tell me Louis was coming home in a box was vague about how Louis had died, but said he had a special escort–his fellow Special Forces Lieutenant Hiram Lazarus, who would be admitted to the Veterans’ Hospital. That raised my sagging spirit a teeny bit; little did I realize how much it really would mean over time.”

  Lazarus, it turned out, was seriously wounded while trying to retrieve Litchman’s body from the bloody scene, Lucinda added. She had pushed him in his wheelchair at Louis’ funeral and she began to volunteer at the hospital to be close to him. She needed to hear his tales of their “fun” in the Army. They did have some fun, it turned out, although the end result was so tragic. Lazarus suffered massive shrapnel wounds in his right arm and side. He was hit while dragging Litchman to cover. Months later, Lazarus began to recover although he never regained use of his right arm, the widow related.

  Lucinda and Lazarus, however, became much closer than they had been before the men went in the service.

  “Hiram and I became each other’s best friend as I tried to help him forgive himself for being unable to save Lou during the battle, and he tried to help me forgive Lou for signing up for that stupid Army duty, leaving me with two little kids,” Lucinda recalled. Tears streamed down her face. “We quickly became more and more important to each other as we realized we both had to go on living. And the rest, as they say, is history.”

  “Hiram and I got an apartment together as soon as he was able to leave the hospital. He still needed a lot of TLC and I was happy to provide that. We grew closer and closer. Hiram loved my boys as well as anyone besides Lou could–you can see how much Tom looks like his father. The boys were so young, they hardly remember their Daddy, but we both told them all about him.”

  Lazarus had some of the post-war trauma common to Vietnam veterans, Lucinda added. A few years ago he decided they should get away from the Frankford area and its memories. The family moved to a secluded home in the woods of Northeastern Connecticut, which Hiram promptly filled with antiques, while Lucinda claimed an old summerhouse on the property for her craft projects.

  “I bet I’m the only one in the room who has price tags on all the furniture in her home–Hiram tells everyone that everything he has is for sale, except me, of course.” A few listeners joined Lucinda’s weak laughter.

  As a volunteer at the veterans’ hospital and in subsequent activities at her children’s school art department, Lucinda had established a reputation as an artist, this reporter learned. She downplayed her talents, but confirmed that two years ago she had a one-woman show at a decorative arts gallery in Woodstock, Connecticut near her home. Her specialty is china painting–statuary as well as pitchers, trays, bowls, place settings and incidental pieces.

  “To make a long story short, which it’s way too late to do already,” this drew a hearty laugh from the crowd, “Hiram Lazarus and I have been together through many years of thick and thin. As you can see, I’m the thick; you’ll have to take my word for it that he is the thin.

  “But seriously, my sons have been the beneficiaries of this long-term arrangement. Together we have lived the Frank Capra production, ‘It’s A Wonderful Life’. And today, I know my sons and Hiram join me in thanking you for this lovely garden in Louis’ memory.”

  Despite Lucinda’s efforts to end on a light note, there were few dry eyes in the crowd when she finished. Her fellow Class of 1966 alums gave her a standing ovation. Most of them were hearing the Litchmans’ story for the first time.

  When organizers of the reunion decided to surprise Ms. Litchman with the special tribute to her late husband, they enlisted the high school’s Green Thumb Club. Club members researched the many varieties of butterflies found in this region and created the beautifully landscaped arrangement of flowers and plants to attract them. Mrs. Marsha Browning, environmental science teacher and club sponsor, said, “The garden will be enjoyed by students for years to come as both a teaching tool and a place of quiet and beauty.”

  Dottie was close to tears. She marveled at the detail in the article. Definitely a small town newspaper. In Trenton, a high school reunion would get a one-paragraph advance notice, maybe two graphs if something special like this were scheduled.

  Dottie suddenly realized that her friend was still outside and rain was pounding like machine gun fire on the flat metal roof. The cement block building only had narrow long windows high along all four walls and Dottie could see that it had become very dark outside. Just then a flash of lightning lit up the western sky.

  She poked her head out the door just as Lucinda rounded the corner, running quickly beneath the overhang, both arms over her head as if that would keep her hair dry. “Don’t you know enough to come in out of the rain? My land, as my grandmother used to say, you’ll catch your death of cold. There’s an afghan on the couch there. Wrap it around yourself to get rid of that chill. Now you really need some tea.”

  Lucinda cuddled into the afghan and warmed her hands on the cup.

  “You are such a kind person, Dottie,” she said. “I’m so bewildered; I didn’t know who else to turn to. I can’t figure this out alone. What are my alternatives? I don’t want to lose a good thing or be alone. But trust has always been important to me in a relationship and my trust has been violated. It doesn’t make sense to me so I’m not sure if it will make any sense to you.”

  “Well, let’s start at the beginning, Lucinda. That’s a beautiful article and a wonderful story about you and your family,” Dottie said.

  “But that’s the whole problem, it’s not a wonderful story any more. You know, when we moved here the boys were old enough so I didn’t make the friendships that come so easily when your life centers on your kids. You know, the PTA, Boy Scouts and baseball leagues bring the adults together as well as the children.”

  Lucinda said she felt isolated when they moved to their home outside Woodstock because there wasn’t another house within sight or easy walking distance. She wasn’t a natural joiner so, until she saw Dottie’s ad in The Norwich Bulletin for her ceramics class, she hadn’t made a lot of friends. She knew a few women in the Artist’s League but they were acquaintances, not friends. They all had lived in town their entire lives and were slow to accept newcomers, she felt.

  “I just know Hiram is having an affair and I can’t stand it. It’s been going on for months–he travels a fair amount, mostly in Connecticut but throughout the northeast. Curiously, he recently started traveling a lot on weekends instead of just during the week. I’ve been worried something is going on.”

  “What do you mean?” asked Dottie, hoping to get to the crux of this matter soon. She was so enthralled by Lucinda’s story, she wasn’t getting her class preparation done. She didn’t want to be uncaring, but Lucinda seemed to be settling in for a long session. Dottie hadn’t taken the time to feed Misha and Sarafina. They were social creatures who didn’t like to eat alone and had missed their morning snack. She knew they’d be unhappy with her for being away so long.

  Lucinda continued by saying how important honesty, trust and openness had always been in her life and she missed some of the openness with Hiram. But she thought they had honesty and trust going for them–until one day she was
cleaning their bathroom and his bulging leather shaving kit was sitting on the toilet tank, unzipped and spread open. She noticed a pill bottle she didn’t recognize.

  She wondered if he was taking sleeping pills again, which he had done in past years to prevent nightmares, or perhaps his arm had started bothering him more. Through the years she had felt compelled by his past history to monitor his drug use. She didn’t want him reverting to illegal drug activity.

  “You know how they say men change habits if they have a wandering nature? They dress more sharply, shave twice a day, things like that? I don’t know all the signs, but I’ve started paying more attention.” Lucinda continued stirring sugar into her tea, but hadn’t taken a sip.

  Hiram, she related, always dressed casually when he traveled in case he had van trouble or found interesting dust-covered antiques to buy. Sometimes he didn’t use a suitcase, just took his shaving kit, dress shoes and a clean shirt and pants on a hanger. Since Lucinda had started paying closer attention, she noticed he was taking several changes of clothing, sometimes even his suit. And while he normally went to Essex once a week, lately he’d been traveling more often without explanation.

  “Dottie, he’s not a suit and tie man and his customers are mostly people he has dealt with for years, so they know he’s a casual guy. I can’t tell you the last time I saw him in a suit. It is totally out of character for him. And once when he said he was going for his quarterly examination at the VA hospital in West Haven, I called and he didn’t answer his cell phone. When he called me back, he said he wasn’t there yet because he had stopped en route to take a customer out for lunch. You know, Dottie, I hate cell phones. You never know if a person is where they say they are because you don’t hear any background noise, just the awful static and breaking up of his voice.”

  “Okay, Lucinda, I get the message. You feel you can’t trust him, but couldn’t there be someplace he visits that requires business attire? Aren’t you maybe making a big deal out of a little detail?”