Home at last, p.1
Home at Last, page 1
Dedication
In memory of my father, who knew how to live every moment.
Acknowledgments
Life happens, even while writing a book. I would like to thank my prayer partners who helped me make it through these pages while life happened. Thanks to Carol, Gail, Judie, Julia, Myrn, and Wendy. I love you.
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Dear Reader
Chapter 1
OCTOBER 1941
PEARL HARBOR
LUKE DROPPED ONTO HIS BUNK, GLAD TO BE ALONE. LEANING AGAINST THE bulkhead, he ripped open a letter from home.
“Dear Luke,” his mother began. “I hope you're well. Ray, the children, and I pray for you every evening, but I still worry. Is the navy feeding you enough? Next time you make it home I'll fix you a blueberry pie; hopefully that will help persuade you to take leave.”
Luke's eyes rested on Ray's name. If he weren't there, I'd be more than happy to go home.
“I miss you terribly. We all do. Brian and Susie say hello. Susie says to tell you she's making a card for you and that she picked a bouquet of wildflowers just for you. They're a bit ragged, being they're the last of the season, but if not for the Indian summer we're having, there wouldn't be any left. She also sends you a hug and a kiss. Brian wants you to know he caught a huge trout in the creek yesterday, ‘bigger than any you ever caught’—those are his exact words. He also says he wishes you were here to fish with him. He often tells us that when he grows up he's going to join the navy just like his big brother and be a damage-control man on the USS Nevada just like you. He's very proud of you.”
Luke smiled, envisioning seven-year-old Susie picking wildflowers in the field alongside the farmhouse and twelve-year-old Brian snagging his fish, blue eyes sparkling as he proudly held up his prize. It had been nearly two years since he'd left home and more than ten months since his last leave. He missed his family. Letters and photographs just weren't enough. It was time for another visit.
I'll have to see about putting in for holiday leave, he thought, then remembered Ray Townsend, and his anticipation evaporated. The thought of that man living in his house was more than he could stand. He has no right to be there. I'll never accept the marriage. Not ever.
Hatred embraced for years had become bloated. Luke envisioned the man he believed had killed his father, then married his mother, and the rage swelled. Time had not healed the hurt. Each visit home only fed his resentment and bitterness. Seeing the curly-headed mountain man rule in his father's home gouged his heart and worked to graft his resentment even more firmly to his soul.
Ray should be the one who's dead, he thought, envisioning his father and feeling the hurt of his death. “Enough,” he told himself. This line of thinking would only lead to more pain. He forced his eyes back to the letter.
“Laurel and Adam often come for supper on Sundays. Little William is no longer so little. He'll be four this Christmas, and it looks like he's going to be tall like his Grandpa Hasper and Uncle Luke. He has your father's easy-going way.” Luke smiled, remembering how the last time he'd been home his nephew had reminded him of his father.
“He's a regular little boy these days,” his mother's letter continued. “Always searching for bugs and special rocks, and even doing a little fishing. Adam's still writing for the Tribune. His stories are very popular in Chicago. I'm afraid he's getting itchy to do something for the war effort in Europe, however. I pray he doesn't do something foolish like travel overseas to write about the war. I don't know if I could stand having both of you in harm's way.”
Luke didn't consider himself to be in any real danger, not unless the Japanese attacked the United States, which everyone said was unlikely. He wasn't so sure he agreed with the consensus, wondering if people might be underestimating the Japanese.
Things seemed peaceful in the Pacific, and Luke wouldn't have minded being sent to the Atlantic to do some bona fide fighting. This is a good ship. We'd do some real damage against those Kraut U-boats, he thought, believing that sitting in port in Oahu was a foolish waste of gun power. He returned to the letter.
“Celeste came by yesterday and told me she and Robert are ‘very serious.’ Ray wonders if Celeste is too independent for marriage. I guess only time will tell.”
Luke's eyes wandered to the photograph of Mattie he'd taped on the bottom of the bunk above his. We should be married and having children, he thought, angry with himself for not having had the courage to tell Mattie how he felt about her. They'd written, but the letters had remained chatty and sociable. They never talked about anything serious, and she seemed happy to keep it that way. She's probably seeing someone else.
“What we had was nothing more than a childhood romance,” he told the photograph. He gazed at the beautiful native Alaskan woman and couldn't keep from wishing that someday they might be more than friends. With her brother Alex gone, Luke and Mattie didn't really have anything to bind them together. Alex had always been the one to make them a threesome.
Luke's mind returned to the day his best friend had died. He would forever live with the memory of Alex being swept away by the crushing ice flow. Even now it was hard to believe the spirited young man was dead. Alex had loved life. Everything Luke knew about native ways Alex had taught him. He missed his friend. If only I hadn't gone out on the ice that day.
For a few moments Luke's mind remained with Alex, then his eyes focused on the pages in his hand. His mother talked about their dog Spot and what a good watchdog he'd turned out to be, and about the fall harvest, which had been below expectations. Pests had waged a war of their own against the farmers. “We hope for better next year,” she said.
“Ray and I both brought down mountain sheep this fall. Now that Brian is old enough, Ray is teaching him to hunt. For a twelve-year-old, Brian does well. He's set on dropping his first moose this year. He's very determined, and I believe he'll do it.”
Luke clenched his jaw. I should be the one teaching him how to hunt, not Ray.
“Hey, you want a Coke?” Barry Randal asked.
“Sure,” Luke said, looking up at his best friend. Barry tossed him a pop, and Luke barely caught it before it fell to the floor. “Hey, watch it!”
Barry laughed and handed him a bottle opener. “You look awfully serious. That a ‘Dear John’ letter?”
“No. There's no one to send me one.” Luke pried the lid off his drink. “This is from my mother.”
“Must be bad news. You look like a storm cloud.” Barry leaned against the bulkhead and took a swig of his pop.
“Nah. Just wish I was there, is all.” Luke folded the letter, returned it to its envelope, and slid it into his shirt pocket.
“I thought you liked the navy.”
“A fella can like what he's doing and still miss his family. My brother Brian's learning to hunt. I wanted to be the one to teach him. We used to go fishing a lot before I signed up. I never really thought about missing out on the time with him.” Luke swiped black hair off his forehead and sipped his Coke. “It's hot in here,” he said, sitting up and swinging his legs over the edge of the bunk.
“Yeah. Well, that's Hawaii for you,” Barry said with a grin. “Balmy weather's hard to take,” he teased.
Luke heaved his pillow at his friend.
Barry grabbed it easily and fired the weapon back.
Luke ducked and left the pillow where it landed.
“How about heading into town tonight and seeing what's cooking?” Barry smiled broadly, displaying big teeth beneath an overly large nose. “I hate to think about all the young women in town who will be missing me if I don't show up.”
Luke looked at his buddy. His big, friendly face certainly wasn't handsome. “I'm sure they'll mourn your absence,” he said sarcastically.
“Not if I'm there,” Barry said confidently.
“I'd like to get off this tin can, but I've got duty tonight.” Luke walked to a table standing against the wall between two sets of bunks. He checked a roster on the wall above it. “I've got duty the next four nights. Don't like the night shift; it fouls up my sleep.” He glanced at Barry. “I'm not sleeping good anyway.”
“What's up?”
“Nothin' really. Just a bad feeling.”
“About what?”
Luke hesitated. He didn't want to be an alarmist. “I'm not so sure the Japs are as stupid as everyone thinks. They could be up to something. I got a feeling they're going to heat things up.”
“Nah. Security hasn't been tightened, and the officers are out playing golf every day.”
“Yeah.”
“The Japs know better than to start a war with us. They're no matc h for our navy or military. And if they're stupid enough to try something, we'll flatten them.” Barry took another gulp of his Coke. “They might be stupid, but not that stupid.”
“They've been gaining ground against the Chinese. And I heard their navy is tough and prepared.”
“The Chinese aren't us. Besides, they're still negotiating with Washington. Nothing's going to happen as long as they've got ambassadors on American soil.”
Luke finished his drink and tossed the bottle into a trashcan. “Maybe.” A siren sounded and he jumped.
“What a time for a drill,” Barry said, ducking through the small door and stepping into the passageway.
“If the Japs aren't up to something, why all the drills?” Luke asked. “Someone's nervous.”
Luke wolfed down the last of his mashed potatoes, then finished off a glass of milk.
Barry shook his head. “You eat like there's no tomorrow, but you never put on a pound.” He patted his own stomach. “I've gained ten pounds since joining.”
Luke forked apple cobbler. “It's a curse,” he said with a grin, shoving the dessert into his mouth. He chewed. It wasn't as good as homemade, but it wasn't bad either. “I sure miss my mother's cooking. She puts on a real spread for Thanksgiving.”
“Yeah, there'll be more food than even I can eat at my house,” Barry said. “Sure would like to get home for the holidays. I put in for leave.” He leaned on the table. “You going home?”
“Nah. I figure I'll stay put. I like the weather better here.”
“You hate the heat. So, what's holding you here?”
Luke poked his cobbler, then looked at Barry and said simply, “Ray Townsend.”
“What about him? You gonna' let him keep you from seeing your family?”
“It's just easier to stay away.” Luke pushed his plate aside. “He'll sit at the head of the table, slicing up turkey or some other wild carcass he's shot—as if he owns the place.”
“Well, he does kind of…own the place, I mean. Since he married your mother and he's taken on the work. What's hers is his, right?”
Luke glared at the table. Finally he growled, “He lives there and he works there, but me and my father are the ones who proved up that place. He stole it out from under us.”
Barry glanced at Luke's half-eaten cobbler. “You gonna' eat that?”
Luke shook his head no.
Barry slid the plate in front of him and scooped up a large bite. “Seems from what you've told me, your mother loves him, and they decided to move in there ‘cause it would be easier on your brother and sister. Sounds reasonable to me.”
Luke's anger swelled. Barry's practicality wasn't helping. He glowered at his friend. “Just because something's reasonable doesn't make it right.”
“What do you think would have been better?”
“It would have been better if that bear had killed Ray Townsend and not my father.”
Barry finished the last of the cobbler.
“Doesn't anything ever get you steamed?” Luke asked. “Don't you hate anybody?”
Barry thought and chewed. “I get mad when I have reason to. And no, I don't think I hate anyone. Oh, a few folks who get my dander up, but I figure getting into a sweat over someone else's stupidity ain't worth the trouble. I like to live peaceably with the world.” He picked up a metal cup in his big hand and drained his coffee. “I have an uncle who's kind of irritating. He's always snorting.” Barry did an imitation of his uncle's snort, and Luke couldn't keep from laughing. “I think he has a sinus condition,” Barry said with a grin.
Luke's laughter died, and he turned serious. “That's not the same. Your uncle didn't kill your father.”
Barry was quiet a long moment, then leaned on the table. “Isn't it time you let go of that? It's been how many years since your father died?”
“Four. And he was murdered.”
“Maybe you should think about your mother instead of yourself. Your hating her husband can't be easy on her.”
Luke stared at the table.
“Maybe you ought to talk to her. Obviously she doesn't blame this guy, or she wouldn't have married him.”
Luke didn't have to talk to his mother. He knew how she felt and that his resentment hurt her. He remembered the relief he'd seen in her eyes when he'd shown up at their wedding…and the disappointment later when he'd made it clear nothing had really changed. But even the thought of forgiving Ray Townsend made him angry. The man didn't deserve it. He was taking advantage of his mother's tolerant, forgiving nature. Luke looked at Barry. “You don't know this guy. He's sleazy, and he's a murderer. How can I just let loose of the fact that he killed my father? If not for Ray Townsend, my father would be alive right now. My dad would be taking my little brother fishing and hunting, not that phony.”
Barry leaned back in his seat and folded his arms over his chest. “From what you told me, your father's the one who decided to stand up to that bear. Ray didn't make him do it.”
“Yeah, but it was Ray's fault that my father was in that position to begin with. I can't forgive him.” He pushed away from the table, picked up his tray, and plodded toward the kitchen where he unceremoniously dumped his utensils and tray. Without looking at Barry, he left the crowded mess hall and headed for his berthing compartment.
Grabbing his mother's letter out of his pocket, he plopped down on his bunk to reread it. He could see the farm with the forests and mountains bordering it; he could smell the pungent fragrance of rich loam; he could feel the fight of a fish at the end of his line. A longing for home settled over him.
Shortly after his mother's wedding, he'd decided to leave and never return, but he had moments when he craved the northern wilderness despite its brutality, even though it was a place that stole lives. He'd lost his brother, his father, and his closest friend. He could still see his brother Justin weak and dying, his father's closed casket, and hear Alex's calls for help as he was carried away amid ice and frigid water. Luke squeezed his eyes closed, trying to shut out the images.
When he opened them, his gaze settled on Mattie's face. Her brown eyes drew him in. She was living in Anchorage, but that wasn't far from Palmer. He needed to see her. He had to tell her how he felt. Ray Townsend could be ignored.
He rolled out of his bunk. He'd put in for leave.
Chapter 2
LUKE CARRIED A CHAIR FROM THE FRONT ROOM INTO THE KITCHEN AND SET it at the table. “Sure smells good in here. You're sure there's enough? I'm plenty hungry.” He grinned.
“I've made enough, even for you,” Jean said, closing the oven door. Her face flushed from heat, she straightened and looked at her son. “It's so good to have you home. I've really missed you.”
“I've missed you too,” Luke said, inhaling the aroma of roasting turkey. “And I've missed your cooking.”
Jean gave him a once-over. “You could use some fattening up.”
“I'll do my best. An early Thanksgiving should help.”
Jean stirred the gravy. “I wish you could be here for Christmas.”
“Yeah, me too. But the navy's not letting loose of many guys, not even for the holidays.”
Brian ambled into the kitchen. “I wish you could stay for the real Thanksgiving. Celeste and Robert will be here then.”
“I'm sorry I missed them,” Luke said. “Why did they decide to take a trip now?”
“You know how hard farmers work all through the summer. Robert figured this would be a good time—before the weather turns real cold.”
Luke headed for the front room to get another chair. “Robert's been a good friend.” He stopped at the doorway. “I wonder what would've happened if he and Laurel had gotten married.”
“Oh, they'd have been happy enough, but not really content, not in love,” Jean said. “It wasn't meant to be.” Her eyes twinkled. “I remember Laurel telling me how Celeste had a thing for that young man right off the bat. Those two are a good pair.”
“Too bad they're out of town. Make sure to tell them hello for me,” Luke said, disappearing into the living room and reappearing a moment later with another chair.
“I'll tell them.”
Brian walked to the stove. “Hey, Mom, we get to have two Thanksgivings, right?”
“Maybe. We'll have to see how Ray feels about it.”
