For Love and Honor (7 page)

Personally, I like to read my mail in the morning along with the newspaper, but of course, our mail doesn’t run any more until after lunch since Thelma Gilbert started delivering for all of the residents of Quemado, Datil, and Pie Town. She claims there were budget cuts and they fired the other county carriers. I tried complaining to the Post Office General that the village of Pie Town needed its own post office and letter carrier but like most of the complaints I lodge against our government, I didn’t hear no reply.

Frank told us at the diner yesterday that you were sent from Afghanistan over to Germany where you’re facing a few operations and that you’ll be back stateside in a few weeks or so. He said he hears from your doctors every couple of days and that you’re coming along real good. He was informed that your leg is pretty banged up but that your vital organs are strong and your head is clear. He was mighty worried about you when we first found out about the accident over there, closed the garage and everything. It was the middle of the week when he got the call and he told Trina that he was going out to walk the trails and that he’d return soon enough. A few hours after he left we had a real bad snow storm and everybody got some kind of worried about him. I told them all that Navajos know a whole lot more about surviving the elements than us settlers but they were still worried, sent out a few men to try and find him. Then three days later, he just showed up at the garage working on Christine’s brakes without a word of where he had been or how he was. You know your dad has his ways.

Before I go on I need to say that I’m not much for writing down things to other folks. I make grocery lists, pay my bills by check, keep a diary of money spent, money earned, a good record of my mileage on the Buick, revise my will every couple of months or so; but I can’t recall writing a letter to anyone except for maybe some school project in English class. Miss Dubois was a French lady, came over to the states with her sister who married a soldier during the last world war. She moved out here to Catron County in the late forties, was hard on our little band of students but I learned more from her than anybody else in my eight years of schooling. I believe she had us write letters once or twice, to the President of the United States, the governor over in Santa Fe, and seems like we had to write a letter to someone we admired. I can’t recall who I chose for that assignment, but now that I think about it, it was probably Miss Dubois because I do remember she was easy on the eyes and I was a little taken with her accent. But anyway, all I’m saying is that I not completely sure how this will fare since I don’t have much experience in this kind of thing. Usually, if I’m writing a letter, I’m complaining about something, however, since I know you’re trying to think on more pleasant matters, I’ll try to think of some news to write to you other than how I miss getting my mail and paper at the same time and how the Forest Ranger over at the El Malpais Recreation Area keeps hard liquor in his truck. I saw the bottle for myself when it rolled out from under the driver’s seat when he came into town for lunch.

Things in Pie Town haven’t changed much since you left for the army. My daughter, Malene, remarried her first husband, Roger, which doesn’t make a bit of sense to me. I never understood why they divorced in the first place and then why they would ever bother to go back through the trouble of marrying up again. But that’s their concern.

The church was rebuilt after the fire and though I’m still mad about changing the time of Saturday Mass, I did help put up a few walls, filled in the sidewalk with cement, and helped Bernie King level the parking lot. It was, after all, what Alex wanted for the town and Lord knows, I did anything for that great-grandson of mine when he was living and wasn’t about to stop after he died. He wanted that church rebuilt more than anything and no matter what I thought about the church and that new priest I couldn’t see his pleasures denied. I still miss him as much as I miss my beloved Alice, but that’s not anything to write to you about.

My Buick’s running good. Got it a few months ago and I think the trunk is even bigger than last year’s model. Frank just tuned it up and rotated the tires and I don’t mean to talk bad about your father but he charged me way more than they would have at the dealer in Albuquerque. I try to be neighborly and give him my business but you wouldn’t even know he notices my generosity by the amounts he charges. Maybe when you get home you can man the office and talk him into coming down on his pricing.

Trina does well at the garage. In the little bit of time she’s been working there, she’s learned a lot about engines and such. She can change a timing belt, flush out a radiator, switch out the brakes and replace the muffler without any help from Frank. You’ve picked a fine mate in her, I tell you. I don’t know if she can cook but I guarantee you this much, you’ll never have to pay for another oil change. She’s swift and hardworking and I think she’s quite sweet on you, talks about you every time I see you, seems to care a great deal about what happens to you. That counts for a lot, let me tell you. I miss Alice, my wife, more than anything because I always knew she loved me, cared for me. It’s the most tender part of life, having a companion, so I’m happy you and Trina found each other.

We still got a lot of winter left and the weatherman said we’ll get more snow this weekend. I’m thinking about asking Frank to put chains on my tires but Malene keeps telling me I got nowhere to go anyway. But just let there be some emergency around here and my Buick will be the only car up and running in this whole county. Roger’s squad car is so old I won’t be surprised if he doesn’t go on some sheriff’s call and have to be towed out. I keep telling him he needs a new vehicle but he claims the county can’t afford it. Maybe now that I’m writing this to you, I will have gotten the hang of letter writing and I’ll ask him if he wants me to write to the state and request more funds for the sheriff’s department.

Well, that’s about all I can think of to tell you right now. I suppose if Miss Dubois was grading, she’d probably say I needed to spend a little more time on my spelling and grammar. I reckon I’ll just take my chances with what I got and hope you’ll overlook the errors.

We’re proud of you, Raymond, for signing up in the army when there was a war going on, for fighting for these United States of America, helping us keep our many freedoms, showing honor and bravery in your service on the battlefield. You know my Lawrence has made a career in the military, fought in both Gulf Wars, served as an instructor overseas and now back here in the states but I want you to know that I feel as much pride in your service as I do my own son’s.

We got a fine picture of you on the wall at the diner and everybody here in Pie Town wants you to get well and come back home. We look forward to giving you a hero’s welcome, serving you some decent pie, and making sure you know just how much we appreciate all you have done.

Maybe when you get out of the hospital, come home to Catron County, and wear that nice soldier uniform, you can speak to the General of the Post Office and get my mail back running at a decent time. You take care now and hurry home.

Your friend,

Oris Whitsett

Dear Raymond,

Enclosed in this package that Trina is putting together is a pecan pie I made this morning. It has chocolate and lots of butter and brown sugar and of course, pecans. Frank said you didn’t care for coconut so I left out that ingredient and added half a cup more of the nuts. I thought the pecan pie would ship better than the meringue or fruit ones; and it should stay fresh since we serve it a couple of days past the bake day at the diner and nobody seems to notice.

I’m not sure if you heard that I now officially bake pies at the diner for Fred and Bea. You know, they used to serve just brownies, maybe a pound cake once in a while, but they’ve never been known for their desserts. I started making pies last year just before the festival, won the grand prize at the bake off, and took a class later that season at the community college on creating tasty desserts. I like fixing the pies and have even come up with a few recipes on my own. I just find one I like and add a little something else or take out an ingredient I don’t care for, replace it with something different, kind of like the extra nuts for the coconut in your pecan one.

Don Martinez from over at the steakhouse in Socorro drove all the way out to Pie Town last summer just to taste my banana cream. I heard it mentioned that he would like me to come down there and make the desserts for his restaurant but I think I’ll just stay where I am. Fred and Bea pay me a little more than when I was waitressing and when I get orders from customers at the diner, I am given the full amount received. We charge twenty-five dollars for a pie; so I can do real well when it’s a holiday season or somebody is hosting a family reunion. It’s a nice arrangement and I don’t have to drive so far to work.

When we heard about your accident, the bomb that blew up your army jeep, we all stopped what we were doing and we said a prayer, right then and there. Fred and Bea closed the diner early and then we all gathered at the church and said more prayers. I don’t go to Holy Family Church since I’m not Catholic, but that evening everybody in the whole town showed up. Even Oris came and he hasn’t been to church since they dedicated the building. He drove his Buick, of course, and even brought Fedora Snow, his neighbor from across the street, although he did make her sit in the back.

Father George read a few passages of scripture. Roger sang a hymn. We lit candles and we prayed. Out loud. Everybody taking a turn asking God to heal you, to let everything be alright, to bring you back home to us.

Your dad wasn’t there and we prayed for him too. Everybody knew he took the news real hard. Walked out of his garage and just went up into the hills. Stayed up there three days in the worst storm we’ve had all winter. Bernie took his truck up there to find him, but he said he never smelled a wisp of smoke or saw a single print in the snow and you know, Bernie’s pretty good at tracking.

Of course, Frank came back and even though he doesn’t talk much about it, he seems like he’s doing better now that we know you’re out of Afghanistan, in the hospital in Germany, and doing okay. He’s back to work, at least, which is good for Pie Town because most everybody needs help putting chains on their tires.

Trina said that I should tell you about me and Mr. King, Bernie. I know you worked some for him on his ranch when you were younger. She said that you would like to hear that we started dating because she hadn’t actually told you yet since it just became official only a few weeks ago. She says that, but I figure she already let the cat out of the bag because it was her pushing that really got us together. Bernie, Mr. King, is an old bachelor, set in his ways; and truth be told, I never thought he’d ask me out. But you know Trina. She said something to him and the next thing I know, I’m riding with him over to Silver City for dinner and a movie. It was some crazy western cowboy show that had aliens in it. That Harrison Ford was the main cowboy and Bernie knew I liked him in those Indiana Jones movies so he found out when this new film was showing at the cinema and asked me to join him. He came to the diner to ask and when I looked over at Trina, who was there eating lunch, she just grinned from ear to ear. I figure she knew what he was asking before I did.

Trina’s been a good friend to me in the last year. I know it seems strange, us being so different in ages, me being old enough to be her mother or even grandmother, but she’s just so easy to talk to, so down to earth, truthful. I find her to be a person of great courage and strength. She’s quite a gal, but I guess that’s news you already know, right?

She tells me about how you’ve been talking on the computer, how you write letters, send messages on that thing called Placebook or something like that. Maybe she wouldn’t want me to say this, but Raymond, the girl lights up like a Christmas tree when your name is mentioned. I don’t know how you can see each other on that little computer screen or how you can have a conversation of any real value when you’re so far away, but she sure seems like she knows you as good or better than those of us who watched you grow up. And if my friend is happy, then I’m happy too. Besides I told her this and I’ll tell you the same thing, she couldn’t find a better man anywhere.

I tell her about how you were as a boy, so quiet, like your dad, so interested in how things work. Always reading and learning. As I recall, you were also a sucker for any old stray dog or cat that wandered through town. I remember when you were about ten years old and you found a rabbit near my house. You wrapped it up in your shirt and brought it to the front door. You were so gentle with that little thing. You asked me if it was mine and when I explained I didn’t keep rabbits, you said it hurt his leg and you wanted to tend to it and asked me if it was okay if you took him home. I asked Frank about that rabbit a number of years later and he told me how you fed it and cared for it and then let it out at Bernie’s ranch. When I mentioned it to Bernie a couple of months ago, he told me that he would see that old rabbit near his back shed for years. He said it hung around there longer than some of the barn cats. He claimed you were still feeding it all those months you worked out there as a teenager. All my life living out in the country I haven’t ever heard of a rabbit living longer than a couple of months, maybe a year, especially out here. With all the coyotes and hawks and owls, a rabbit is lucky to make it through one mating season.

Maybe when you get home, you and Trina, the baby, and me and Bernie can ride over to Grants for a nice dinner or even down to Albuquerque for a ball game or a trip to the shopping mall or something. I know we’re old but it would still be nice to spend some time with the three of you. I guess Trina has showed you pictures of Alexandria, maybe held her up to that computer camera for you to see. She’s growing like a weed and jabbers on about as much as her mamma. She’s going to be a talker. But she’s so cute you just want to eat her up with a spoon.