As people began to finish their meals, Mr. Peet stood up and caught everyone’s attention. “Alright people. Let’s do a quick business meeting, if that’s okay. Robin, do you have the itinerary?” She passed a piece of paper down the table to him and he pulled on his small frame glasses before he started reading. “Okay, first off, start of the year, everyone is supposed to pay dues. It’s just a few bucks; so give those to the unit treasurer, and husband of the secretary, Daniel, down there on the end. Do that as soon as possible, please. They just help support the website and dinners that we have at the reenactments. Secondly, the Stock Show is always a good start to the new spring season, but our first real event is about three weeks away, down in Madisonville. It’s always a nice little event that the 20th puts on so let’s have a good turnout. Umm, is there any new business we need to take care of?”
On the opposite end of the table someone said something that I couldn’t hear, but Mr. Peet shook his head in agreement. “Yes, yes. I agree. We do need to have an annual election, people. I did send out an email about this a couple weeks ago, asking all those who wanted to run for a spot to let me know. But, guess what? No one did. So we can open it up to the floor to see if anyone wants to be nominated for either the captain, sergeant, or the two corporal spots.” A couple moments passed without a word. “Come on, no one wants to be the captain? It’s a hard job with no pay where everyone yells at you. People, I have been waiting for someone to take my place for a few years now, but if there are no nominations for any of the spots I will assume that those currently holding these positions will continue to do so. Is that right?” Mr. Peet looked around, making sure he was doing the right thing. “Mike, Daniel, are y’all still going to be corporals?”
“If we must,” said Mike.
“Jason, you still going to be sergeant?” Jason said nothing, but gave a nod.
“And if no one wants the job then I will have to be captain again, I guess.”
“We like you as captain, Robert. You get us into some of the worst fights around.” A few chuckles and agreements were concurred upon and Mr. Peet took a small bow. He was as animated here as he was in the classroom. His second calling could have easily been something in theatre.
“My only job is to make sure all my men end up dead on the field at every reenactment. One hundred percent casualties is what I say,” he said, his fist punching the air as if he’d scored a touchdown in the Super Bowl.
“As long as you join us, then that’s fine, sir,” someone else noted.
“Alright people, with that the meeting is adjourned. Again, please see Daniel about the dues before you leave today,” Mr. Peet said reclaiming his seat.
About ten minutes passed when a few chairs began to be pulled away from the table, and then it was a rush with everyone getting to their feet, shaking hands, giving hugs, and saying their goodbyes. Lizzy had already moved in an open area with Julie’s little hand leading the way, her brother and parents not too far behind. I began to push my seat away from the table, feeling the chair stick as I tried desperately to budge the hoop skirt from underneath, still a little annoyed that Lizzy chose to run around with a six-year-old instead of keeping me company. Quickly, the thought of that would be exactly what the spoiled little Jody would have thought flashed in my mind and I shook my head, knowing I didn’t want to be that shallow. She had been friends with these people much longer than I had and had the right to enjoy their company as much as possible.
My frustration must had stayed with me, though, for when I went to stand up, my foot caught on the under part of the dress, causing me to lose balance and stumble backward. It felt like slow motion. I heard the gasps escaping people’s mouths as they watched me tumble, saw the expression on Lizzy’s face as I threw the shawl off my shoulders and my arms reached down to brace my collapse in a heap of linen, feeling my feet take to flight and waiting for the inevitable thud as my backside was certainly to hit the floor. I was about to make a big splash in the reenacting world or at least in the Huskies restaurant.
Then everything stopped, like Luke Skywalker had used the force on my derriere to hold me in place. I opened my eyes and stared straight up into Jason’s baby blues. His face was smooth yet stern, but his deep eyes were caring and reliable. Even looking at him upside down was tranquil and I could’ve hovered there as long as he was willing to hold me, with his arms wrapped around me from behind, strong, and determined. His firm hands pressed into my waist with just enough pressure to have a grip, yet felt soft against the fabric of the dress. He held me there with no more power exerted than if I was a small, scared puppy in the middle of a thunderstorm. We just gazed at each other, not knowing what to say, upside down and eye to eye.
“Oh, Hope, are you okay?” I heard Lizzy’s voice at the end of the table, but I didn’t break eye contact with Jason.
“I’m fine,” I finally muttered. Slowly and effortlessly, he pulled me up to where I could put my feet back under myself. I turned to him as those around us began to close in to see about my safety. “Thank you,” I gulped, the adrenaline from the fall just now reaching my system.
He nodded at me. “Are you okay?”
“Yes, I believe so.” I still held on to the back of the chair, more out of feeling secure than anything else. “Thank you,” I repeated.
“You’re welcome.” A small grin emerged upon his face giving a hint of his straight-lined teeth and salacious lips, ones that had probably known more women than I cared to think about. He looked over my shoulder as Lizzy approached me from behind, handing me the shawl that I had flung to the floor
“Are you okay?” She whipped me around.
“Yes, he...he caught me.” I looked back over my shoulder, but Jason had already moved far to the other end of the table and was lost in the sea of other gray reenactors.
“Man, I just saw those feet go up and knew you were going to hurt yourself. I’m glad you’re okay, though.”
“Yes, just a little embarrassed, but I’m fine.” Even with feeling like such a buffoon, my mind was already passed the fall and was concentrating on him. Who was this quiet, reserved young man? Where did he go to school? Why didn’t he have much to say during lunch? There were so many questions about the motorcycle-riding, confederate rebel. Others began to make sure I was okay as we made our way around the table towards the cash registrar, where the rebels pulled out their Federal greenbacks to pay for their meals. No Confederate script would be taken here.
“You okay?” asked Mr. Peet, more out of being polite than anything else.
“Yes, I just...yes.” Why should I explain it? I fell, I was caught, end of discussion, right?
“Give me your ticket, Miss Kilpatrick. It’s the least I can do for you,” he demanded, holding out his hand to accept it.
“Um, that’s okay. I have the money. Besides, you and Lizzy have done enough for me already by bringing me and letting me wear this dress. And you are giving me extra credit, aren’t you?”
“I’m a man of my word,” he said, feigning a sneer, “and I appreciate you coming with us. It gives Elizabeth someone to hang out with besides us old fogies. She has enough trouble making friends, with me being a teacher and all, and she needs to have another girl to hang out with here, anyway.”
“Well, I was going to say, there is Hunter and Jason.”
Mr. Peet looked over his shoulder to see if Lizzy was in earshot and then whispered. “I’m not quite sure she is all that boy-crazy just yet.” He straightened back up. “Besides, boys will be boys and Hunter is always worrying about the upcoming battle and not worrying much about the pretty girls his age, either. They are good friends, but I’m not sure either have any interest in the other. As for Jason, well, you sat next to him; he’s very introverted, probably even more than you are. He always has been, but was even more so since he’s come back.” He shook his head as if disappointed.
“Come back?” Oh, now here are some answers. “Come back from where?” Jail? Hiking across Europe? Off t
o college? Where did he go?
“Iraq,” he whispered again, this time with a sigh. The word hung like an ominous cloud and was enough to bring a pause in the conversation. My eyes widened as I put it all together. The handsome young man sitting next to me had been a soldier, a veteran of the war my generation had been sent to. Mr. Peet continued. “You know, war, real war. It will do things to you.”
“Did you know him beforehand, before the Iraq war?”
He nodded. “He was one of my students, a pretty good kid. Raised on and off between a mother and grandparents, I think. He wasn’t the greatest of students but he tried, and usually that’s half the battle with us teachers getting students to do anything,” he quipped. “Anyway, I know he was wounded, got the Purple Heart, some shrapnel in the leg, of which you probably noticed his limp. But, even worse than that, when he came back, he was distant, practically lost. Something changed him over there.” We both stared at Jason in the distance as if he was some piece in an art gallery that we were trying to wrap our minds around. By Mr. Peet’s own account, Jason was hurt, definitely physically, but perhaps emotionally as well. I could feel my facial expression change with this news, my mouth beginning to droop, saddened by what he had to endure in some far away land. What had happened to him in that devastating war?
With a quick flip of his wrist, Mr. Peet snagged the check from my hand and proceeded to the counter to pay both of our bills.
“Hey, really, I have enough money to pay. It’s not that big of a deal.”
He didn’t know how good I was with money, how much was in store for me because of my own tragic loss. I didn’t even fully understand all of my parents’ dealings and assets myself, but knew I had led a comfortable life before and could probably do so for a very long time. Compared to my aunt, working for a friend in their antique shop, and Mr. Peet, the high school history teacher supporting a daughter, I was going to be very wealthy when I turned eighteen. I hated that he was paying for me—someone who, with a few quick text messages, could have paid for all of the meals without batting an eye. I tried to take the slip of paper back before he placed it on the counter, but it was no use.
“Miss Kilpatrick, can you just accept that I’m going to do something nice for you?” he said and smirked. The idea stumped me for a moment. Was I really so broken, so shut off that I was unwilling to accept a nice gesture? I was virtually alone in this world and yet the few people willing to be kind to me were turned away or held at arm’s length. The observations made me feel sick as I relented, allowing Mr. Peet to slide forward and pay my share.
As we walked out the entrance, Mr. Peet and Mike carried on a conversation about the upcoming reenactment, discussing what had to be done before the actual event. Much more planning went into it than I imagined. I thought it was just a bunch of people with guns that showed up and started shooting at each other. But their conversation carried into tents, extra gear, maps of the location, anyone needing rides, campsite, and more. As they continued, I noticed Lizzy speaking to Hunter on the corner sidewalk, waiting for their parents to end their conversation. They smiled at each other as she stepped forward, running her hand down his arm, a classic move of interest for women that even I picked up on. Hunter smiled at her, continuing to talk and laugh, and I only hoped he was not oblivious to her flirty actions. Lizzy was showing interest in her fellow reenactor, indicating that Mr. Peet was wrong about his daughter. Not that she was boy-crazy like everyone in high school seemed to be, with not enough brains and too many hormones, but maybe she was looking for the right kind of boy and Hunter was it. And why not? He was a nice looking young man, just a few inches taller than her, a little on the husky side with short blond hair. Still, he had nice features, a cute smile that brought out his dimples, wide shoulders, and he just seemed to be an all-around kind person. You could really see aspects of his father in his appearance.
“Hey, Hope,” Lizzy called me over, “I just wanted to formally introduce Hunter.” He stuck his hand out and I shook it. “He goes to Northside High, one of our rivals,” she grinned.
“Yeah, we kicked the crap out of y’all in football this year.”
“I think I could beat our football team,” joked Lizzy, a smile spreading across her face that I had never noticed before in any of our conversations, even when she was ripping Jody, which was quickly becoming one of our all-American pastimes. This was not the Lizzy surrounded by her own little protective bubble at school, not the girl that was playing with the six-year-old inside. This Lizzy was vibrant and flirtatious. She was like a chameleon, interweaving her colors to her surroundings, like she was doing with Hunter here. I guess in some way, shape, or form we all did that in life, making ourselves to fit in place, going astray when caught acting differently than what was expected of us. There wasn’t anything wrong with it; it wasn’t like we all were selling out. It was just easier for some than for others, and I was part of the others. I couldn’t change on a dime like my fellow teenagers, mad one moment, smart the next, funny or sexy after that. And since the tragedy and the move to Texas, I really was stuck in place, not able to move forward with my emotions, my responsibilities, or my life. It was like waiting in purgatory, waiting to be prayed out and sent on to heaven, but I wasn’t sure if there would be a paradise for me anymore, a time where I would be back to my normal self, where I would be happy again. There was no light at the end of my tunnel that I could see. Right now in my life, I was on the road to die a hermit and be eaten by my seventeen cats. I was still stuck in my cave without a Tom Sawyer in sight.
Looking down the street, Jason had already started his engine and was backing his motorcycle onto the road, his black helmet visor blocking any sight of his face. He raised his legs and took off again, not staying around until the last moment to make small chat with the others.
“There goes James Dean,” Hunter wisecracked.
“Yeah,” I said with a sigh, hearing my own smitten-like sound for the rebel without a cause. Or maybe he did have one? Was what he went through during the war making him as introverted as me? What had this poor boy witnessed or done that was tearing him apart? The question saddened me. Jason couldn’t have been over twenty. Why did he, or anyone, have to go through something like that at such a young age?
Mr. Peet walked up and looked at our little teenage ensemble. “Oh, no, nothing good can ever happen when you get three or more teenagers together. I’m sure you’re planning global domination or something just as evil.” He glanced at Mike. “Is your boy polluting the minds of my young ladies over here?” He nudged him with his elbow.
“God, I hope so,” he jeered.
“Don’t worry, Captain, they’re in good hands with me.” Hunter leaned forward and gave Lizzy a big hug, one which she accepted and returned, a smile on her face, flushed with embarrassment.
“Hunter, that’s what I’m worried about. Now unhand my daughter before I go get my Remington from the truck,” he said and smiled. Hunter released her and backed away, his hands in the air as if he was about to be arrested. Mr. Peet patted him on the shoulder. “Girls, are y’all ready to go home, away from these hoodlums?”
“Sure, dad. Goodbye Mr. Matlock,” waved Lizzy. “See you around, H-Dog.” She leaned in and gave Hunter another hug before retreating away with Mr. Peet and me towards the car. He smiled at her but didn’t say bye, watching our little group head toward the car. Piling in once again, we were off, this time heading east, back across DFW, back home.
The mood was somber on the way home, more like we were leaving a funeral than a parade. Lizzy was quiet, which in turn made me quiet as well. Mr. Peet asked a few questions: Did we have a good time? What did I think of the parade? Of course, my answers were short and concise as usual. There was no need to over-embellish anything with him, anyhow. Other than that, little was said. It might have been that we were tired from getting up so early in the morning then going on a two-mile hike around the city of Ft. Worth, either of which was not the norm for our usual Saturdays
.
Mr. Peet pulled into Mags’ driveway just past three o’clock and both he and Lizzy began to unbuckle and proceed to walk in with me.
“Oh, that’s okay. You really don’t have to walk me to the doorstep or anything.”
“Nonsense. We brought you outta the house and we are going to take you back in,” said Mr. Peet. They escorted me up the walk and just before we reached the porch, Mags opened the front door, this time wearing blue jeans and one of her cute little pink T-shirts, all of which were a little more appropriate than the PJ bottoms she would’ve probably stayed in all day if she knew she wasn’t going to have company again.
“I’ve returned her safe and sound, Margaret,” said Mr. Peet as he smiled up at her.
“Thank you very much.” She nodded, looking at him then at me, casting an eye over the costume that I still wore. “Hope, why don’t you come inside and change so you can give them back their dress.”
“Okay.”
“We can get it back later, Hope,” explained Lizzy. “As long as it’s before Madisonville. They always have a nice little dance under a big tent and I’d like to wear it then.”
“Yeah, that’s not a problem. Then I’d have time to have it dry cleaned for you, if that’s okay.”
Lizzy shrugged. “Sure, that’s fine. Thank you, Miss Kilpatrick for letting Hope go with us today. We had an excellent time.”
I didn’t want to point out that legally Mags’ name had about four other variations, but it wasn’t a big deal since she wasn’t hitched at the moment.
“You’re very welcome and thank you, Mr....Mr...”
“Peet,” I whispered embarrassed.
Finding Hope in Texas Page 10