A Weldon Family Christmas: A Southern Steam Novella (Weldon Brothers) (5 page)

“After the Dragon Lady fired us and before we got our jobs back.”  Emma explained what happened and John’s unabashed reasoning.

“A man after my own heart,” Maggie said, clutching her breast and pretending to swoon onto the bed.  “So, his kiss was amazing?”

Emma sighed and sat on the bed.  “It was more than amazing.  I can’t get John—or his kiss—out of my head.”

“That is probably why Craig’s comments made you so mad because he demeaned your man John.”

About to deny it, Emma shut her mouth.  Though she would have been upset over anyone disregarding the troops in Vietnam, she had to admit that she was especially incensed on John’s behalf.  It wasn’t rational but it was real.

Maggie sat up, grinning from ear to ear.  “See, I’m right.  Emma Rollins, you’re in love.”

Emma gasped.  “I’m attracted to John, but that’s all.”

 “It’s a lot more than that.”

“Well, I’m worried about him and I have empathy for his pain.  But I feel that way about all of the soldiers we meet.”

Maggie pointed to the letter Emma had started to write.  “You’ve written him every night.”

“I had to tell him about us getting our job back.  Then about meeting his friend in the hospital.  And tonight…well…I just…he needs somebody.”

“We all do.  Every man you’ve met since we got here does.  But John’s the first one you’ve written more than just a short note to.  It’s funny how our hearts choose our mates even before our minds can comprehend the idea of it.”

“Mate?”  Emma sputtered.  “Now I know you’ve lost your mind.  I don’t even know the man.  How could I love him?”

“The heart knows only love, not logic, especially in times like these.”

Emma rolled her eyes.  “Just because my country is at war, it doesn’t give me an excuse to abandon reason and common sense.  Act in haste and live a lifetime of regret.”

Maggie frowned.  “You don’t think when facing life or death one’s spirit and heart can connect instantly to another’s?  I do.  When you strip your souls bare of all pretense and expose your raw emotions to each other, the usual rules and barriers that keep people apart disappear.  You made the first step at the party, and he barreled through any sense of propriety the next day.

“He did do that.”

 Maggie stood looking too smug for Emma’s peace of mind.  “We’d better hurry and dress.”

“I’m not going to dinner.”

“Yes we are.  The only way to fix the wrong in Washington is to go there.”

“Maggie Shay!  How could you even suggest I’d do that?”

“Not you, Em.  Me.  When we get done with our Donut Dolly service in June, I’m going to Washington.  Somebody has to keep those men in line.”

Emma shook her head then smiled, really looking forward to introducing Maggie to Craig.  Mr. Mason had no idea what he’d just set in motion.  Maggie Shay had a mission, and Emma had no doubt her friend could turn Washington upside down.

Present Day

J
ohn was so cold
that he was sure death had come and taken all the warmth from his body.  He was in a dark prison and couldn’t move as if he was back in that tiny cage in the jungle waiting for his turn to be tortured to death.  Surely not.

He’d escaped that hell, hadn’t he?

His life, meeting and marrying Emma, hadn’t been a dream.  It had all been real.  He hadn’t just imagined it all.  Then why couldn’t he move?  Why did he feel as if he were buried underground?

Emma! His spirit cried for the woman who had saved him and filled his life and his heart with love.

Vietnam
December 1971

“W
eldon, a pack of
letters came for you.  Fancy handwriting and sweet-smelling, too.   Ooo-wee, the LT’s got himself a honey.”

A round of comments flowed from the men gathered in the tented mess hall as they paired him up with every woman from Minnie Pearl to Raquel Welch.

“Ha, ha,” John muttered.  “My cow died last night so I don’t need your bull, Be-Esser.  I’m not falling for your joke.”  The man’s name was Besser, but he spewed so much BS all the time that everyone called him Be-Esser.

Besser shrugged.  “Your loss, LT.  Just don’t say I didn’t tell you.”

John scowled.  Had Besser said a letter, he might have believed him, though he’d doubted Emma Rollins would have written him already.  It was less than a week since he’d been in Saigon.  Tonight was Christmas Eve and tomorrow he had no doubt she’d be getting on a chopper for Long Bình.  He downed the rest of his tasteless dinner in a hurry, needing to get out of the hot smelly tent and breathe some air.  Not that the air was any better anywhere.

He’d been right.  Meeting Emma, talking to her, worrying about her, kissing her.  It all made everything in this hellhole he lived just that much worse.  But then, whenever he closed his eyes and saw her face, remembered her lavender scent and the hot passion of her kiss, he felt more alive than he had since landing in Nam.

He didn’t smoke, so he whittled to take the edge off.  Pulling out his knife, he settled into his favorite spot to soak in the night’s heat and dream about what kind of Christmas Eve he could have had if he was still in Saigon.  He still hadn’t found out what was up, but all hands had been ordered back and there seemed to be a massive buzz of activity among the officers.  Grunts only got into the know when it was time for them to know.

He never had time to carve anything intricate, so kept to crude images, just enough shape and detail to make it worth his while.  Tonight though, as he caught a glimpse of the night sky through the jungle canopy, he found a delicate star take shape.  Emma.  The woman with stars in her eyes was a star in his dark life.

Suddenly a packet of letters landed in his lap.  “You owe me, LT,” Besser said.  “Some things even I can’t joke about in this place.  A man gets something like that, it’s sacred.  Merry Christmas, brother.”

John stared speechless at the letters in his lap.  Heart pounding, he put up his knife and pocketed the half-carved star before touching the letters.

Her lavender scent teased his senses.  Her writing was simple and graceful, just like her.  There were three letters clipped together.  He couldn’t believe it.  One letter this quickly would have been a miracle, but three?

Taking the letters to his bunk, he curled up with a light and opened the one dated the day he left Saigon.

Dear John,

I suppose, since the way we parted using a formal address would be much like shutting the barn door after the horse was loose and running wild.  You were correct in predicting that Maggie and I would get our jobs back.  It required taking the matter to the Dragon Lady’s supervisor, but my reputation has been restored.  The Dragon Lady lost her credibility when she said she didn’t need proof of my indiscretion.  That all anyone had to do was take one look at you and know that I’d been compromised especially given your concern for my safety.

I did express your concerns to my superiors and was told they would check into the matter with the appropriate people.  So I have done what I can to heed your warning.

More importantly at the moment, though, the Dragon Lady has been sent back to her previous post and another woman will be supervising us Donut Dollies for the rest of our time here.  I, Maggie, and the other girls thank you immensely.

I wasn’t sure what to write to you about.  I just knew that sleep would escape me if I didn’t try and put some of my thoughts on paper.  First, I pray that you will take every measure of care to keep yourself safe.  Though I haven’t exactly figured out why, it is important to me to see you again.  Even were I to discount our parting today as a fleeting moment of insanity to never be visited again, I would hope to see you.

Someday I will share with you why I know that man’s hell is only for a season.  My uncle shared that truth with me not because of his own suffering, but because of mine.  So I hope you don’t dismiss what I said without giving the words thought.

My uncle grew peanuts and bred horses just outside of Madison.  Nothing extravagant, just enough to pay the bills and to bet on a horse he could crow over as his.  My most cherished memories are riding horses on his farm.

What about you?  What is your most cherished memory?  Things I remember from Savannah are the marshes, the river, the moss covered trees and the old historic houses.  Where in Savannah did you live?

I seem to have so many questions, so I should end this letter before I overwhelm you with them.  I hope you will have the time to write me in return.  If that isn’t possible, I will understand.  Just know that I will continue to write to you until you request that I stop.

Good night, John.
Emma

John read the letter twice more before folding it neatly and slipping it into the shirt pocket over his heart.  There were two more letters.  His slid his fingers over her writing on the envelopes.  He inhaled her lavender scent, dreaming of sunshine and freshly laundered sheets that his mother used to scent with lavender.  Growing up, they hadn’t had much money on the farm, but his mother had done all of the extra little things to make their lives special.  Cancer had claimed her way too young, and had left his father a bitter man.  When John shipped off, his dad said he wasn’t much of a writer and he’d see John when the war was over.  John said he hoped to be back and the old man said John was too stubborn to die.  Seems as if the old man was right so far.

John debated on saving Emma’s two other letters to read on Christmas Day.  He couldn’t think of a better present, and they were just too precious to be consumed too fast.  Closing his eyes, he dreamed of a Christmas on the farm before his mom passed away.  He always got to decorate sugar cookies with lots of colored icing for Santa to have with a glass of milk on Christmas Eve.  John always made ten cookies, but somehow only two of them would be left for Santa.  His Dad would always kiss his Mom under the mistletoe on Christmas Eve, too.  He imagined kissing Emma beneath that same mistletoe.

He just couldn’t wait.  He had to read everything she’d written to him now.  He ripped open the other two letters like a kid anxious for Christmas.

Present Day

E
mma set down her
half-eaten hamburger.  She hadn’t had much of an appetite to begin, and after being lost in the past, that she’d forgotten to eat much.

“Eat more hamburger.  You don’t want me to have to lie to Jackson, do you?” James’ eyes gleamed with mischief knowing he had her between a rock and a hard place.

“I’m sure it wouldn’t be the first time you’d lied to Jackson,” she muttered, and reluctantly ate more.  What mother put her son in the position to lie?  James nodded his approval much as she used to do when making him eat his vegetables before leaving the dinner table every night. He’d always been the last one, more stubborn than the rest when it came to food.

Having finished his own fries, James snitched one of hers.  “So, go back to your story.  Even if this Craig guy was part of Washington’s political idiocracy, I don’t see how running into him made you realize what you felt for Dad.”

Emma smiled. “Guess it was a woman thing.  Let’s just say Craig touched my cheek, and I wanted to smack his hand.  Your father kissed the day lights out of me, and I wanted more.”

James winced as if she’d given him too much information.  “Seeing Craig gave me my first hint about how much Lieutenant John Weldon had gotten beneath my skin, but the full realization didn’t come until Christmas day. We flew to Long Bình to be included in Bob Hope’s Christmas Show.”

Vietnam
December 1971

E
mma gazed at the
sea of men surrounding the stage with tears in her eyes.  The men were laughing at Bob Hope’s jokes and cheering for the USO singers.  Some of the men were just unabashedly crying—overwhelmed by laughter, homesickness, or gratitude.  Maggie stood with her on the side of the stage, waiting to be introduced.

“These soldiers are starving for the least bit of anything from home.  It breaks my heart that so few of the men in the war ever get to see us or the show.  They’re stuck out there in that jungle with very little to ease their souls.  We need to do more.”  Emma felt all out of sorts.

Maggie gave Emma’s shoulder a squeeze.  “Don’t you know that no matter how much we do, it will never be enough?  We can never do or be enough to make a difference for every man here.  We can only do what we can then leave the rest up to God.  But I bet you are thinking about John right now, right?”

“Yes, I wish he was here.  And it’s not because I’m here and I want to see him.  It’s because he really needs something like this—a reason to laugh and smile for even just a moment.  He’s so lost in his own pain.”

“He’s going to be okay.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Yes, I do because I know you.  That man is in your heart, and somehow your heart will find a way to save John Weldon.”

Emma shook he head.  “My mother tried to save my father from his demons and got lost herself.  Only God can save.”

“God saves the soul, but love saves the heart.  You’ve said little about your parents before.  You better tell me the whole story when we get to Da Nang tonight.”

Emma’s attention was drawn back to that stage as someone read General Westmoreland’s Christmas day message to the troops:

Throughout the Christian world, the Christmas season is a time of joy and spiritual inspiration. Despite separation from our families and the hardships imposed by war, those of us in Vietnam will still share the traditional Christmas spirit this year. We can enjoy the spiritual satisfaction that comes from giving. As fighting representatives of the Free World, our gift is the help we give the Vietnamese people to secure their future freedom. Each of you gives a part of this gift and deserves the satisfaction of having increased the happiness of others — the true Christmas spirit.

My best wishes to each of you and your families for the Christmas season. May you enjoy good fortune during the coming year.

After the letter was read, the Donut Dollies were called onto the stage, and Emma didn’t get the chance to even think again until they were loading on Hueys for their transport.  At this point they were to split up into smaller groups to serve Christmas dinner at a number of forward area landing zones, or LZ’s before meeting up in Da Nang to join the Christmas festivities there.  Emma had checked the scheduled LZ that morning, but none had been near John’s location.

Maggie and Emma were about to climb aboard when a man called out.  “Maggie Shay, you’ll break my heart if you don’t come to my LZ for Christmas.  I came here today just for you.”

Turning around, they saw Luke Landry, a cocky pilot from Louisiana who was sweet on Maggie.

Emma nudged Maggie.  “See if Ginny will switch with you and I’ll see you in a few hours.”

Maggie frowned.  “Are you sure?”

“Yes.  You can’t break a man’s heart on Christmas.”

Maggie laughed.  “I bet he has a Donut Dolly at every base.”       

Luke grabbed his chest as if wounded.  “You’re my one and only, Maggie Shay.”

Maggie rolled her eyes, but Emma could see a bit of excitement in her friend’s smile.  It didn’t take long for Maggie and Ginny to switch assignments and they were all off.  Though loathe to admit it, flying always tied Emma up in knots and left her in a dark place.  It didn’t help any that they had to make a pick up at some landing field before traveling on to LZ Eagle.

As she watched the sea of green passing in a blur, she found herself thinking about the death and destruction hidden beneath the sun-kissed jungle with its snaking rivers and treacherous secrets.  None of the men ever really described the horror they’d seen or lived through to her.  But she knew it was bad.  From the looks in their eyes.  From the screams of their nightmares in the hospitals.  And from the stories of evil that kept creeping to the surface.  War gave the depraved a license to kill and the power to reign.  It could also steal the heart of good right out of a man.   

Like John.  She wondered how he was.  Had he gotten her letters?  Were they having a decent Christmas dinner at his outpost?  She thought back over every minute they’d shared from the moment her gaze had connected with his across the Christmas Party in Saigon.  The time they’d been together had been almost nothing, but the connection between them seemed stronger than anything she’d known before.   And his kiss...that had been unlike anything she’d ever experienced.

Suddenly the helicopter rocked violently, knocking her into Ginny and smoke billowed into the cockpit.  Dear God!  Help! Eyes wide with terror, Ginny grabbed for her, screaming, but Emma couldn’t hear anything but the roar of the engines.

Emma’s stomach lurched sickeningly as the helicopter began to spin.  They were going to crash.  She was about to die, and her one regret was that she hadn’t had more time with John.  Maybe she should have stopped him from leaving the Christmas party.  Or have asked him to stay longer the next day.  She wished she had kissed him again.  Had held him longer.  Had been able to gaze into his eyes one more time.

Present Day

“M
om?”

Emma blinked as James reached over and shook her shoulder.  She looked down to see that she’d eaten most of the hamburger.   She set the last bite down, her stomach still careening from the memory of the crash.

“You’re as pale as a ghost.  I’m sorry my questions sent you back to a bad time.  You don’t have to say more.  I think I get it.  In the middle of a war, facing death every day, I can see how you and Dad fell in love so quickly.”

Emma clasped her necklace charm, feeling the cool, hard metal of the Huey press into her palm.  “That Christmas was made up of my greatest highs and my lowest lows.”

“Mrs. Weldon.”

Heart thudding, Emma turned to see John’s nurse.   She shot to her feet.

James was already crossing the room.  “What is it?  What’s happened?”

Vietnam
December 1971

J
ohn woke on Christmas
morning, surprised to find he’d slept through the night.  It had been a long time since he had.  It was Christmas Day and Emma’s letters were stored next to his heart.  He had to read them again.  Her words last night had weighed on his heart.  He barely made a sound as he slipped from his bunk to face the early morning light streaming through the jungle foliage.  Fingers of steam drifted upward as the humid heat beamed in with the rising sun.  The scents of coffee and Christmas dinner teased his senses, making his stomach ache with an eager anticipation he’d thought forever lost.  He hurried to his favorite spot.  He wanted to hear Emma’s voice in his mind again before the day’s toil began.  A Christmas ceasefire had been called, but rather than lessening his sense of doom, it only made it stronger, like a heavy weight pressing upon his chest, making it almost impossible to draw an easy breath.

They were in a horrific war with no front line where success was measured by the number of dead and the sanctity of life had lost all meaning.  A ceasefire meant nothing.  For the only soldier who ever believed a word of what the enemy said was a dead soldier.

Even though he’d read them once, his heart still thudded like a boy on his first date about to kiss a girl.  He inhaled the lavender scent with relish as he focused his gaze in her flowing letters.

Dear John,

I pray this letter finds you well.  We spent the day at the hospital writing letters for those too injured to write themselves and delivering care packages to the other patients.  Being there is the hardest and yet the most rewarding work. 

 Fate seems to be entwining our paths closer than I imagined.  I met your friend, Lance Corporal Lance Dawson today and was more amazed by his inspiring humor than in discovering that I went to school with his sister Sheila at the University of Georgia.  We were discussing the odds of having a connection to another person halfway around the world when he mentioned that his football buddy from Valdosta State, JD Weldon, had been to see him a few days ago.  I mentioned meeting you and quickly learned that you, Mr. John Donovan Weldon from Savannah, Georgia had been an ace football player.  I hope you don’t mind, but LCL (as he likes to be called) shared some funny stories about your times together at FSU.  I imagined you’d just been to see him before the Christmas party.  I’m not trying to say in any way that I know how difficult visiting him must have been for you.  But I do know that when I write for a man who’s lost his arm, I feel guilty that I have mine.  When I bathe the brow of a soldier in a coma, I feel so underserving of his sacrifice.  These men are strangers to me.  To have a friend lose both his legs, had to have hit you hard, too. LCL seems to be making lemonade out of lemons.  But then again, he could be putting on a brave face for everyone here.  I know you must be worried for him and the things he’ll be facing when he goes back to the World.  I hope I’m not presumptuous in promising to contact his sister and guide her in ways to help her brother adjust to life.  Even for injuries as devastating as the loss of limbs there is a future to be had.