Liddy parked in front of Tully’s Market where Raymond Tully sat in a rocker on the sidewalk. The old man rocked and scanned the sky through binoculars. It had been over two years since Pearl Harbor had been attacked, but an uneasiness still lived in every man, woman and child that some people were set on killing Americans. Such uncertainty was foreign to people who had only known living on peaceful soil. Liddy left the Dodge and stepped up on the sidewalk where she sat in the empty chair next to the man.
“Hey, Mr. Tully, anything up there?”
Raymond Tully tremored with the frustration and helplessness of a man who could no longer take the battlefield but had a personal knowledge of the battle. In some form, war seems to make itself available to every generation, and he was well acquainted with the moments that were being lived out by the young men of his family and of his friend’s families, many who were young enough to do the job and at the same time, too young to do the job.
“Hi, Liddy. Nope, don’t ’spect there will be. Ain’t gonna catch our boys off guard more than once. Better be safe though. How’s Jack?”
“Ornery as ever.”
“Tell him Ray says hi.”
“I will.” Liddy patted his hand and went into the store. As she pushed open the front door, the bell jingled over her head and she was met instantly by the smell of cellared apples and Lysol. The floor sparkled and the shelves were scrubbed clean where they were ration bare. She took three bottles of Coca-Cola from the icebox and slipped a newspaper from the rack.
Raymond Tully’s granddaughter May brushed past the burlap curtain to the back room and greeted her customer and friend, “Hi, Liddy.” She swept crumbs from her mouth and off the white apron that was wrapped twice around her tall, slender frame.
“Hey, May. How’ve you been?”
“Tired, bored and bloated from eating so many potatoes. When this war is over I plan to never even look at another potato. How are you?”
“Great!” Liddy laid her purchases on the counter and peeled a bill from the wad she dug out of her pocket.
May pushed down on the register keys. “Heard you’re goin’ to the dance in Kirksville next Saturday with Frank Paulson?”
“Who told you that?”
“Frank.”
“He asked, but I’ve gotta work, I told him that.”
“Still shuffling plates at the diner?” May stowed the pop in a brown paper sack and the exchange was made.
“Still,” Liddy said as she scrunched the bag opening in a clutch and slipped the newspaper under her arm. “You and Harlan going to the dance?”
“Yeah, I don’t know why though. He’ll just perch himself on his car outside the hall with the Shelley boys and smoke and drink Clarence Kimmel’s hooch. I’ll end up driving him home, leave him parked in front of his mama’s house and then walk myself home. Quite a life I’ve mapped out for myself, don’t you think?”
“Well, May, you could always get a different map.”
“Wish you were goin’, Liddy. We could have some laughs.”
“Me too. You make it a good day, okay.” Liddy left the store, snapped a salute to May’s granddaddy and climbed into the Dodge.
Beneath the big cottonwood trees that lined the drive, Liddy drove slowly toward the large white building on top of the hill. Spring was drawing out the leaves and Liddy looked up at the specks of green that dotted the sunshine breaking through the web of branches.
The local hospital was housed in the old Newell mansion. The Newell empire had included banks, land and railroads until Arthur Newell decided to go into the oil business—in Missouri. The man was sure he sensed the bubbling brew beneath him, or it may have just been the tumor that was pressing on his brain. Before Arthur died of brain cancer, he had dwindled the family’s fortune hunting for the black gold, so when the coffers emptied most of the Newells scattered around the country, trying to make a way for themselves. Had the family not left the business solely to Arthur, the second eldest of the surviving matriarch, the plunder may have been avoided. But the eldest son and the rest of the family were too busy living on family money, which was a full-time job.
Old Mrs. Newell still lived in a little house in the center of town where she managed to keep herself with the money she made from the sale of her childhood home. The big house she grew up in wasn’t something she could afford to rattle around in, so she sold it and it was turned into a hospital, the only hospital for a hundred miles.
Carrying the sack of pop and the newspaper, Liddy walked down the hall of the hospital where a nurse was sitting at a desk.
“Hi, Liddy, good show today?”
“Always. How’s my guy?” Liddy asked as she sailed by.
“Keepin us on our toes.”
Liddy turned into the room at the end of the hall and side-stepped Ruth who was changing the sheets on the bed. Liddy’s father was sitting in a chair by the window. His robe hung off his right shoulder and wisps of hair floated above his head. Struggle tensed his face as he studied the day, straining to catch his thoughts before they escaped. Life and hard living had swallowed Jack Hall’s mass, even before illness took hold. His sixty-three years sat on him like seventy-five plus. He had big opinions and a big voice that didn’t match his current size, which seemed out of balance to anyone who had just met him.
“Hi, Daddy.” Liddy kissed the top of Jack’s head. “Hey, Ruth.”
The nurse grunted as she swung the corner of the bed up and flipped the sheet under in one fluid motion.
“Crik says hi, Daddy.”
“How’s the old man?” Jack growled.
“Missin’ you. He’ll be by this week sometime.”
“Good crowd?”
“Thick as corn.” Liddy laid the newspaper on Jack’s lap and removed one of the pop bottles from the paper sack. She took a bottle opener from the drawer of the bedside table, popped off the cap, zinged it into the trash can and set the bottle within his reach.
Jack loved his Coca-Cola. It had become one of his familiars. Routine of the senses and of time become an even greater comfort during seasons of change. His body could no longer take his old familiars and the hospital didn’t allow most of them. When he took the bottle and tipped it up for a swig, Jack coughed and some of the pop dribbled down his chin. “Dammit!” he cursed.
Ruth tossed Liddy a pillowcase and she quickly wiped up the spill, until Jack batted her hand away. She pulled up a stool and scooted next to his chair.
“Hey, Daddy, I’m sending out my application today.” Liddy pinched a phantom object between her fingers and pushed it into the fabric of her shirt. “Wings!”
“Did you know my little girl’s gonna be an Army pilot?” Jack asked Ruth.
“A WASP, they’re not enlisted, not yet that is, and—” Liddy tried to clarify.
“You’re gonna serve your country? It’s Army.” Jack took another, more careful, gulp.
Liddy tried again, “Women’s Airforce Service Pilots and—”
“I know, I know, wasps, bees, whatever. You’re gonna fly to protect this country from them damn Japs and Krauts. I know that!” Jack shook with agitation.
“It’s not combat, Daddy, and I have to get in—”
“Hey, Ruthie, did I ever tell you ‘bout the first time I took my Liddy skyward?”
“Only a hundred times,” the nurse answered as she moved efficiently around the bed lifting, tucking and fluffing. Ruth wore the banner of an ill-temper, but Liddy knew Jack and she went at it like two old pals. He trusted her, and she was the one he preferred to take care of things for him. They were like-kinded.