Fading Thunder_A Historical Romance

  Fading Thunder

  In the Shadow of the Cedar

  Book 3

  Sheila Odom Hollinghead

  This is a work of fiction. Names and characters are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  This e-book is not for resale.

  Scripture taken from the King James Version.

  The Cedar’s Shadow Saga describes many events that actually occurred within a fictionalized story. It also tells of several south Alabama towns that actually exist. However, both the unfolding of the events and the descriptions of the towns are flavored with artistic license. This is not a history or geography book although I attempted to remain true to the times and places whenever possible. This is a work of fiction that tells a story, one that I lived, if only in my imagination.

  Copyright © 2016 Sheila Odom Hollinghead

  All rights reserved.

  To my readers:

  May you always find rest

  in the shadow of the cedar.

  Thus saith the Lord God; I will also take of the highest branch of the high cedar, and will set it; I will crop off from the top of his young twigs a tender one, and will plant it upon an high mountain and eminent:

  In the mountain of the height of Israel will I plant it: and it shall bring forth boughs, and bear fruit, and be a goodly cedar: and under it shall dwell all fowl of every wing; in the shadow of the branches thereof shall they dwell.

  And all the trees of the field shall know that I the Lord have brought down the high tree, have exalted the low tree, have dried up the green tree, and have made the dry tree to flourish: I the Lord have spoken and have done it.

  ~Ezekiel 17:22-24 (KJV)

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1—Calf

  Chapter 2—Zeke

  Chapter 3—Ft. Benning

  Chapter 4—Marla

  Chapter 5—Complications

  Chapter 6—The Drake House

  Chapter 7—The Accident

  Chapter 8—The Return

  Chapter 9—Argos

  Chapter 10—Michael

  Chapter 11—The Argument

  Chapter 12—The Visit

  Chapter 13—Aunt Liza

  Chapter 14—The News

  Chapter 15—Dan

  Chapter 16—Lies and Surprises

  Chapter 17— Aliénor

  Chapter 18—The Proposal

  Chapter 19—Michael and Dan

  Chapter 20—Explanation

  Chapter 21—Memories

  Chapter 22—Coby Returns

  Chapter 23—Unshucked

  Chapter 24—The Letter

  Chapter 25—Work

  Chapter 26—Another Pregnancy

  Chapter 27—The Fourth

  Chapter 28—Corporal House

  Chapter 29—Momma

  Chapter 30—Plainsville

  Chapter 31—Dan

  Chapter 32—Investigation

  Chapter 33—Marla

  Chapter 34—Momma

  Chapter 35—Shopping

  Chapter 36—Wedding Dress

  Chapter 37—Shelling

  Chapter 38—Fire

  Chapter 39—The Remains

  Chapter 40—Uncle Aaron

  Chapter 41—Fear

  Chapter 42—The Wedding

  Epilogue

  A Note from the Author

  Biography

  Chapter 1—Calf

  May 27, 1946

  My hands slipped around the spigot, failing to get a firm hold. There was too much blood.

  “Some help, Mrs. Welch?” I asked.

  She turned it on, and cool, clean water gushed out. The smell of the blood on my hands mingled with the scent of the water falling into the metal tub, creating an odd smell, a mixture of freshness and death. Mrs. Welch prattled on, asking questions I barely comprehended. A brood cow bawled from within the stall. Mr. Welch had led the poor cow there and then gone for his rifle. Her calf had been entangled in barbwire. I had done my best, but the calf was too badly hurt. The pitiful cries of the calf reached us, breaking my heart.

  “Mrs. Hutchinson?” Mrs. Welch watched me expectantly.

  If Wilbur Driscoll had been with me, he would have taken his cigar from his mouth and told her plainly that I was Dr. Hutchinson. I could hear him now — We might be veterinarians, but we are first and foremost doctors, Mrs. Welch. Unfortunately, Wilbur was having breathing problems. With his rotund figure growing daily and his constant puffing on cigars, it was no wonder. I had taken over many of his duties.

  I tried to focus on Mrs. Welch and recall her words ... something about when Michael would be home. Her fragrance tickled my nose. She must have doused herself with Cashmere Bouquet talcum powder.

  I hated when people asked about Michael. I never knew how to answer. I gave her a sideways glance. “I’m not sure.”

  She pursed her lips and placed her hands on her hips. I emptied out the tub, rinsed it, and turned off the water.

  Mrs. Welch handed me a rag to wipe my hands, her eyes following my every movement. “It was in the newspaper that all our men would be home by June. That’s only a week away.” She spoke slowly, emphatically, as if I were dim-witted and delusional to expect Michael ever to return.

  “Yes, ma’am.” I straightened and stretched out the kinks in my back. I had been on my knees, bent over the calf for a couple of hours before giving up hope. Turning, I fully faced the woman, staring her down, speaking as clearly and strongly as she had done. “As head veterinarian in the Pacific, he wants to examine all the dogs that have been in his care before he ships them home.”

  Mrs. Welch frowned at me. “Are they forcing your husband to stay? It’s been over a year since Germany surrendered! And months now since the war with Japan ended.”

  Her words rent my heart. Even when William came home at Christmas, I’d had to beat back pangs of jealousy. Sure, I was happy to see my cousin. And the way he hit it off with Joe Joe warmed my heart. He had been unperturbed by his wife’s absence. The joking and camaraderie overseas had helped him get through the worst of times, he told us. He had stayed focused on his mission, not dwelling on the carnage and misery all around him. And home at last, he wasn’t dwelling on the fact that his wife, Sylvia, had deserted her child while he fought in Patton’s Third Army. Instead, he was the same cousin as always, as if the war had only been a bad dream.

  Mr. Welch came out of the house with his rifle, headed for the pasture. So many of the farmers insisted on using barbwire, even knowing the risks involved. I wanted to climb in the truck and leave or at least cover my ears, but Mrs. Welch was still talking.

  “Are they forcing him to stay?” she asked again.

  “No, ma’am. He’s volunteered to stay until each dog receives the proper care.”

  Mrs. Welch wouldn’t understand; I barely understood myself. My heart ached for the dogs, but it also ached to see Michael. It had been so long ...

  The crack of the rifle sounded closer than it was, and I flinched. The cries of the calf immediately ceased, but the mother bawled louder. It was more than I could bear.

  Mrs. Welch’s look brightened. “At least we’ll have fresh veal.”

  I gagged but did my best not to change my expression.

  I mumbled a goodbye, swallowed down the bitterness, and almost ran to Michael’s truck. No, it wasn’t his truck — Momma had wrecked his. This was a replacement, but it looked so much like his that I often forgot. I cranked it, and when I threw it into gear, it made a horrible grinding sound. No matter. It drowned out the sounds of the brood cow. I sped away from her sorrow.

  When I got home, I barely had the strength to slip out of my
bloodstained overalls and pull on a housedress. My brother had picked up my three-year-old son on his way home from school, and now entertained him while I cooked us a simple supper. Zeke had built a fire in the fireplace at Momma’s insistence. Why she was so cold, I didn’t know. The end of May saw the weather warming. Lows were in the sixties and seventies, and the days climbed into the eighties. With the fireplace’s warmth reaching into the kitchen, already heated up from the wood stove, I was soon drenched in sweat.

  I set the table and called the boys. Momma wouldn’t come until it suited her, but I went ahead and fixed her a plate before we began eating. I didn’t have much of an appetite, probably because of the heat.

  “Zeke, do you need help with your schoolwork?” I wasn’t sure why I asked, except as a ritual. He never accepted my offers of help, and I rarely caught him studying. I didn’t worry about it since he always brought home perfect report cards.

  He sopped up the last of the gravy with his biscuit. “No. I finished my last exam today.” He was growing like a weed, and it was all I could do to keep enough food on the table for him.

  “Are you finished eating?” I asked.

  He nodded his head, taking a last swig of iced tea.

  “Since you’re through with school, you can help more around the house, starting with the dishes.”

  “I just remembered — I have my last spelling test tomorrow,” he said, grinning.

  “You had your chance, buster. Grab a dish towel and start drying.”

  I sent James Colton into the sitting room to play, and we cleaned the kitchen. Usually I chatted about the day when we worked together. The death of the calf was not a topic I wanted to discuss, so we worked in silence. Zeke was not much of a talker. Living with Momma alone for so long had changed him, made him wary, skeptical, and watchful. I often felt guilty, thinking I should have insisted he stay with me. But what was done was done, and there was no need dwelling on the past.

  We finished, and Zeke went out to wash up and get ready for bed. I wrangled J.C. into his pajamas and settled into the rocking chair, as far away from the fire as I could get. As always, it drew my eyes, and I watched the dying embers shift and fall, glowing brightly for a moment before darkening.

  My son squirmed in my arms as I attempted to read The Poky Little Puppy. He fought sleep while I longed to yield to it. Momma had dressed for bed, but she had still not eaten. She sat close to the fireplace, grumbling under her breath of the chill. I couldn’t understand how she could be cold. Sweat gathered on my upper lip, and I wiped it away, trying to hold James Colton with one hand. He almost escaped my grasp, but I caught him and pulled him closer.

  Thank goodness we had electricity now, but Momma didn’t like the bright light that flooded the room with a pull of the string. To pacify her, I had bought a small lamp that sat on the table by my chair. It and the glowing embers were the only light in the room. The dimness made my eyelids droop. I straightened and pulled J.C. into a more comfortable position.

  Now that we had electricity, I had splurged on a pump for the well. Uncle Colt had run pipes straight into the kitchen. I still marveled that I could turn a spigot and have water come out. He’d installed a faucet and enamel bowl on the back porch, too.

  I hoped Michael would agree to build an inside bathroom when he returned from the war. What luxury that would be, to not have to travel to the outhouse in the middle of the night. We had chamber pots, but I preferred not to use them if I could help it. It was one more morning chore I had to fulfill and my life was busy enough as it was.

  My brother returned from outside and now stood with his back toward the dying fire. He couldn’t be cold, but his hands shook slightly. He looked like Momma, with his blond hair and blue eyes, but something about his stance, his demeanor, constricted my heart. It could almost have been Poppa standing there instead of Zeke. I dipped my head to the book, to hide the stinging tears.

  I read the next words, my voice cracking with emotion. “‘Now where in the world is that poky little puppy?’ they wondered. For he certainly wasn’t on top of the hill.”

  Zeke let out a soft groan and my head jerked up. I set J.C. on his feet and hurried to where my brother stood. “What’s wrong?”

  He was bent at the waist, both hands grasping his right side. But even as I spoke, he straightened. “Nothing ... just a catch. I’m fine.”

  I put a hand on his forehead and felt no unusual heat. I touched both his cheeks with the backs of my hands. This could not be happening again. The memories of Poppa’s death from a ruptured appendix flooded my mind. I reminded myself that was many years ago, before penicillin was widely available. Things were much different now. My attempts to reassure myself steadied my voice when I spoke.

  “We need to get you checked right away. I’m taking you to Dr. Burch — I’ll call the doctor to meet us at the office.” I had gotten a phone since I was often called out for emergencies.

  Momma made a sound of disgust. “He’ll be okay till morning. No need to go traipsing off in the middle of the night.”

  When I turned to argue with her, Zeke caught my arm with a strong grip, surprising me. He’d been my little brother for so long, it was difficult to imagine him as a man. Sure he was only fourteen, but he already towered over me. I had to look up into his face.

  He nodded toward Momma. “She’s right. I’m fine.”

  I frowned and shook my head. “This is how it started with Poppa. We’re going to get you checked out.” Momma was his mother, but I had guardianship, and I would make the decisions as far as his health was concerned.

  Zeke lowered his voice and leaned to speak in my ear. “There’s nothing wrong that can’t wait till morning. I promise.”

  I studied his blue eyes. While Momma’s were icy, Zeke’s were the color of a warm summer’s sky. He contemplated me steadily, but that didn’t convince me.

  J.C. pulled on my hand. “Momma, I thirsty.”

  I moved my hand to the top of his head and smoothed back his hair. “Let’s get you some water.” I headed to the kitchen with Zeke and James Colton on my heels. After my son was settled at the table with his glass of water, I turned back to my brother.

  I studied him for a moment, noting that his color was fine, his face smooth, with no evidence of pain. Satisfied, I nodded. “We won’t go tonight, but first thing tomorrow, right after breakfast, you’re going in for a checkup.”

  He shrugged his shoulders, and that simple gesture told me everything I needed to know. He was worried, or else he would be putting up a fight. He hid it well, but he was as worried as I was.

  Relieved I wouldn’t have to argue with him, I nodded again. “That’s settled.”

  He ruffled J.C.’s hair, gave me a quick hug, and then went to the sitting room to tell Momma goodnight before heading for his bedroom. It was another upgrade I had made, fully walling it in and adding a door. Long ago, only a curtain had afforded privacy.

  “Time for bed,” I told J.C., taking his hand. He slid from the chair and followed me from the kitchen, protesting he wasn’t sleepy, yet rubbing his eyes.

  We went into the addition Uncle Colt had built — two adjoining rooms, my bedroom with its own door to the outside. I had made these rooms for Momma, but she wanted her old room back, and it had turned out for the best, affording me a retreat when her behavior overwhelmed me. As her dementia worsened, and with work and a young child, I needed a place of peace.

  J.C. climbed into bed, asked for another glass of water, wanted me to read another book, and refused to say his prayers. I ignored his begging, sang him a song, and tucked him in. His eyes slowly closed, and he was asleep before I left his bedside.

  I went into my room and slipped into bed, but sleep wouldn’t come. The worry over Zeke had me tossing and turning. Finally I gave up, grabbed a shawl, and padded through the house, pausing only to look in on Zeke. His face was bathed in moonlight, and he slept peacefully, his brow unfurrowed.

  He was a big help to me with Micha
el gone, entertaining J.C. and calming Momma when she took one of her spells. I smiled at his sleeping form, mouthed a silent prayer, and continued through our small house to the front porch.

  The May night held a cooling breeze, and I wrapped the shawl around me. My dog met me as I stepped into the yard. I absentmindedly rubbed Coby’s head as I looked into the clear sky. It was filled with stars, and the moon shone brightly. The grandeur of the sky reminded me of God’s power. Surely Michael would be home soon.

  Michael was a Marine, and his loyalty to his duty was admirable. But what of his loyalty to me ... to his family? Coby whined and pawed at my hand, wanting me to continue petting him. I obliged even as I continued to stare into the vastness of the universe, at its beauty. Words of praise reached my lips, and I bowed my head to thank God for Michael’s safety, trying hard not to let the bitterness of his continued absence creep into my heart.

  Chapter 2—Zeke

  Sweat dripped down my face as I cooked breakfast on the wood stove. I had gotten only a couple of hours sleep. I used the end of my apron to dry my face. The window was open, letting in a cool breeze, yet not enough to offset the heat from the stove. Zeke was standing at the kitchen table, getting J.C. in his seat. Momma was still in bed — not unusual since she rarely got up before we left.

  I was pretty good at making biscuits and was looking forward to slathering one with freshly churned butter and homemade blackberry jam. As soon as we finished breakfast, I planned to take James Colton to my cousin, Laurie, and then Zeke to Dr. Burch’s office.

  Zeke got down the glasses for the milk. I was pulling the baker of biscuits from the oven, their tantalizing aroma wafting up to me, when glass shattered on the floor. I slammed down the iron skillet and whirled around.

  Zeke was bent over, his hands gripping his right side, his face white.

  “We’re getting you to the doctor right away.” My voice trembled, but I managed to say the words calmly enough.

  He nodded as he straightened slowly, his face smoothing.