Rally of a Purple Heart

RALLY OF A PURPLE HEART

by

Brittany Batong

SMASHWORDS EDITION

***

PUBLISHED BY:

Chances Press, LLC at Smashwords

ISBN: 9781301805686

Copyright © 2013 by Brittany Batong

All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners. Publication of the photograph of any person in this publication is not to be construed as any indication of the sexual orientation of such person.

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This story is dedicated to the memory of my grandma, Gladys Marie Brown, who bravely came to California with her small son; and to Glenn Brown, who became the father her son so desperately needed.

These people made the man who is my father today, not just through biology, but through quiet hours spent carving a desk, or fixing a car, or baking a pie. If not for them, I may not have been blessed with the incredible, positive male role model that is my dad. Not to mention the yummy barbecued ribs, fudge, and pies.

Prologue – 1950

He sits on the steps to the County Courthouse, a pink rubber ball in his hand. His chubby, four-year-old hands can make the ball bounce on the step below—that is not the problem. But to catch the ball before it bounces irretrievably down the steps—now that is another issue. He tried once and it rolled down onto the street, and Mr. Spence of the hardware supply store gave him a sound yelling after nearly running over the ball. Huey saw the tires of the truck barely miss the ball, 'cause he was right there in front of it when it almost happened. Then Mr. Howe didn't even say he was sorry for almost running over the ball. Grown-ups sure are funny sometimes.

Now he is unsure whether he should try again. Daddy always says you can't learn anything new unless you practice...but Mommy said to behave while she and Daddy are away; and he doesn't want anyone else to yell at him. These things always have a way of getting back to Mommy. Anyway, he wasn't supposed to leave Gramma's house at all. But he likes to explore, and figures as long as he doesn't do anything too bad, he'll be able to get back before anyone knows.

He decides to keep the ball safely clutched in his hand while he instead tries to jump from step to step on just one foot. He's seen some of the older girls in town do it before, and he's pretty sure that even though he's younger he can do anything a stupid girl can do. With one hand holding the ball and the other holding his left leg behind him, he starts to give it a try. He makes it down the first eight steps successfully (counting all the way, 'cause Mommy taught him to count to ten already). But then he loses grip of his ball, and it throws him off balance as he tumbles to the bottom of the steps, right in front of Mrs. Muller and Mrs. Simpson.

Mrs. Muller stumbles. Hugo Brewer, you naughty little boy! You've nearly tripped me.

Mrs. Simpson is crouching down to help Huey. Now, Clarissa, you're fine. We need to see if little Huey is okay...Why, Huey, you've scraped your chin!

Feeling jarred but not wanting to show that to crummy old Mrs. Muller, Huey holds in the tears that are starting to form and stands as tall as his 3-foot figure will allow, chin jutting forward and blond hair shining in the afternoon sun. It's all right, Miss Simpson. I'm awful sorry about trippin'.

Where on earth is your mother? Mrs. Muller shakes her head.

Huey scowls at his interrogator with icy blue eyes. Gramma said they're here.

Well, as if it wasn't bad enough that she's flouting at God's will, she leaves her young son outside to wreak havoc on the town!

Mrs. Simpson pulls at Mrs. Muller. Clarissa, don't make a bad situation worse. I'm sure she had little choice, given her people are all the way in De Soto. It probably didn't seem right to have Mrs. Brewer look after him, given the occasion.

What's a 'casion? asks Huey inquisitively of Mrs. Simpson.

Ignoring his question, Mrs. Muller pulls away Mrs. Simpson. Come now, Nancy. We don't want to be mixed up in any of this business. With an apologetic look, Mrs. Simpson follows her less sympathetic friend. Huey watches them go, until he realizes that now his ball is gone completely. Aw, nuts. It must have rolled down into the sewer from the gutter. Darn that old Mrs. Muller and her fussin'. No way Daddy's gonna get him a new one now. He tromps up the stairs and sinks once again onto the top step. There's gotta be some way to get into the sewer. He looks hopefully over at the manhole cover, and then over to the courthouse. Doggone it. Mommy is just now coming out of the courthouse. Huey frowns to himself—he has to get back to Gramma’s before Mommy finds him gone. It’s now or never. He makes a purposeful stride towards the manhole.

He does not know that a pink ball is the second thing he will lose today. He does not know that, inside, his parents are finalizing the papers that will change his life forever. As he looks over at a nearby tree, devising a way to break off one of the branches in order that he may use it as a lever, he does not know that in two week’s time he will never again sit on these steps, never again get yelled at by Mr. Spence, never again have heads shaken at him in this small county seat. And he does not know that this is the last day he will ever spend with his father.

Chapter One

She emerged from the courthouse once again just plain old Hilde Graham. It seemed such an anticlimactic ending to what she had imagined was to be a great love affair.

She remembered the first time she had seen him, just before the war. She was 21 years old. He was tall and rather attractive—not movie star handsome like some of the celebrities she had dreamed of back home, but a sturdy and confident man that seemed to fit so well into this town she had stumbled into in search of a new life. She had visited Kennett, Missouri some years before as a child, when her father had business for the farm to attend to; it seemed a sensible place to seek a new life—far enough away to feel as if she was gaining a sense of independence, but not so far that she couldn't still visit her family if she needed. She had taken a job as a waitress at a soda shop counter.

As soon as she saw Martin Brewer, she knew that he was going to change her life. It was that clichéd thunderbolt moment for her; but she could not sense what emotions lay behind his cool blue eyes, which seemed to look straight into her soul under thick brown eyebrows and closely-cut brown hair. He ordered a coffee with a wink. Her heart pounded so hard in her chest that she was sure it could be heard throughout the soda shop; but she tried to cover her emotions with casual conversation. I don't recall seeing you around.

He raised his eyebrows in what might have seemed mocking on other faces but just seemed playful on his. I was going to say the same thing to you, Miss—?

Graham, she supplied, pushing away a stray brown hair that had fallen over her forehead from underneath the pink cap she wore as part of her waitressing uniform. Hildegarde Graham, but I hate that name. Everyone calls me Hilde. I'm new to town. Just started working here last week.

I'm Martin Brewer. I grew up hereabouts, but nowadays just make my way to town every so often when Mother's letters become especially fatalistic.

She giggled. It must be nice to be missed. She thought with longing of her own departed Mama, who met her end when Hilde was just a 10-year old child.

I generally tend to be missed only when I go away for awhile. I have that effect on women—even my mother. He broke into a smile, straight white teeth gleaming and eyes crinkling with the full effect of his expression.

I can't imagine not missing you, she said before she even realized what she was saying. She cast her brown eyes downward and immediately walked away to see to another patron. She could feel his eyes still burning their gaze onto her tall, slender figure. For the rest of his meal she served him quietly, keeping her eyes averted and only smiling slightly to avoid showing the gap in her teeth, which she was suddenly nervous he would notice.

He didn't say anything more to her until he was paying the check, and then just simply, Meet me after your shift. It was a command, not a request. Hilde couldn't resist.

Okay—I'm off in two hours.

I'll be outside.

In two hours she found herself climbing into the truck of a man she barely knew. In another two weeks she found herself entwined in his arms, receiving his whole body as if in a revelation. She had never known it was possible that a woman could be made to feel that way. Every kiss was perfectly synced; every stroke released a shudder that seemed to tax every muscle but bring a relief that she had never in her life felt. Making out with the boys back home, with their sloppy kisses and flailing arms, had never brought her anywhere near the feeling of complete and utter wholeness he brought her to. She knew, once they had done with their lovemaking, that she would gladly follow him to the ends of the earth.

Of course, as with anything in Hilde's life, there were complications. He told her early on about the wife who kept his home across the Mississippi, and his baby boy. Hilde understood, from hours of Bible study and preaching, that this should have been an automatic deterrent. But she also knew, for the very first time in her memory since her Mama had died, how perfect life felt when they were together. She felt, when she was in his arms, that the world was a beautiful and safe place—she who had known so little of true beauty. And in her mind, though pure logic told her otherwise, she could not conceive of a God that would damn their connection. And so she waited, patiently, for a time when they could truly be together.

***

The world had other plans. On December 7, 1941, Hilde, Martin, and the rest of the world turned their collective gaze to Pearl Harbor and to the war effort. No one would forget where they were when they heard the unconscionable news that America had been attacked. Hilde had traveled for over four hours the day before to be with her oldest sister, Clarimonde, in St. Louis. Clari had telephoned Hilde on Friday that she had finally left her philandering husband and was boarding at a rooming house near Union Station. She wanted to be close enough to the train station the minute she had enough money to leave Missouri. Hilde thought that maybe Clari was having one of her irrational and willful tantrums, and went to St. Louis to see what could be done to talk her back into some sense of normalcy. But she soon saw that Clari was quite resolved in her decision.

Hilde, I found him with some trollop in the very bed we shared on our wedding night, she disclosed almost as soon as Hilde had removed her winter coat. He did not even have the decency to find another place to go. I knew then I had a choice: stay and forever be made the fool, or leave and find some sense of dignity again.

Hilde's eyes were wide. Her sister was only five years older, but already her brown hair was peppered with gray, the lasting effect of a youth burdened by emotional trauma. But, Clari—what will you do now? You've not ever held a job in your life, besides helping out on the farm. Bill has supported you since—

—Since before I was 18. I know. It was one of the reasons Hilde had set out in search of an independent life in Kennett. Only one of the reasons, she thought. She wanted to prevent herself from a life of dependence. She looked over at her big sister, whose eyes showed tears of disappointment, heartache, and anger. I have given the past 9 years of my life to a man I knew was less than I deserved. Hilde, I did it to get away from Father. Hilde looked down uncomfortably, and moved to interrupt. No, Hilde, I will not avoid that subject, either. My marriage is and always was an escape from Father's home. I know that you still condescend to speak to him, and I know you are immovable on that. But I went from one intolerable situation to another, and all because I did not believe I could ever do anything to help myself. Well, no more. If I have to scrub floors or take in laundry, I will get out of this place. My mind is made up.

Hilde looked over at her sister’s robust frame, and suddenly saw a new strength emerge from the once stooped frame. Clari’s posture had suddenly become straighter, her stance as if ready for battle. Hilde knew she would never convince Clari to retreat—nor did she want to. Hilde had been trying to escape these last few years, as well. And her mind wandered to Martin and the sweet escape he provided. She thought about telling her sister all about this exciting man that she had fallen in love with; but thought the better of it. Clari was not a fan of men who were unfaithful to their wives, and Hilde did not want to be perceived in the same light as the trollop that was found in her sister's bed.

The next day, the sisters were sharing a simple lunch in Clari's small kitchen after attending Sunday service. They were listening to Sammy Kaye on the radio. Despite the insistence of the church that dancing was rooted in lustful and ungodly practices, Hilde and Clari had always enjoyed listening to music together, and more recently to the songs of the sweet bands. Any time they happened to be together on a Sunday, they would inevitably go to church and then end up in front of the radio, listening to the big bands play their magical melodies. Hilde always found that her feet involuntarily tapped to the beat. I can't help it, she thought to herself this afternoon, Now I suppose I'm a sinner in more ways than one.

Clari finished her lunch first. She got up to grab her plate and looked to Hilde to see if she was done with her sandwich. Hilde, mid-tap, looked up and was about to tell her sister that she was finished, too, when the music came to an abrupt end and a newscaster interrupted.

From the NBC news room in New York, Clari's hand went up to hush Hilde. President Roosevelt said in a statement today that the Japanese have attacked the Pearl Harbor—Hawaii—from the air. I'll repeat that, President Roosevelt says that the Japanese have attacked Pearl Harbor in Hawaii from the air. This bulletin came to you from the NBC news room in New York. The programming continued, but now they were talking about Adolf Hitler and the war in Europe.

Wait, did I just hear that clearly? They said that the Japanese attacked—Hawaii? She continued to listen to the radio, but now they were talking about defense committees and Canada. Whatever the bulletin was it was over now.

Here, Clari rushed to the radio to tune it to another station. After some fiddling, she came to a different station, which they caught in the middle of a report.

The details are not available; they will be in a few minutes. The White House is now giving out a statement. The attack apparently was made on all naval and on naval and military activities on the principle island of Oahu. The president's brief statement was read to reporters by Steven Early, the president's secretary. A Japanese attack upon Pearl Harbor naturally would mean war.

War! exclaimed Hilde. She thought of her brother, Archibald, who was lost in the Great War two