Love is a Wounded Soldier (45 page)

“Maggie, I really don’t want to live here
anymore,” I confessed to my wife one frosty winter night. As was our habit, we
were sitting in the kitchen and chatting after we’d put the children to bed. I
had never mentioned anything of the sort to Maggie, so she looked a little
surprised to hear me say that.

“You don’t want to live where? This house?
Coon Hollow? Kentucky?” she asked with a little smile.

I chuckled. “Maybe all of the above,” I
admitted. She studied me with her brow furrowed, as though she wanted further
clarification.

“Well, mostly, living here, this house,
this area,” I said.

“What’s wrong with living here?” she asked.

I had to think about it for a minute. I
knew I had reasons, but they had just been feelings up until then, not words.

“I don’t know, this place just . . .
depresses me sometimes. It’s like—it’s like the whole place is one giant museum
of bad memories. You know, it’s just filled with things I’d just as soon
forget.” I looked at her to see if she understood me. “Am I making any sense
here?” I asked.

“Yeah, I think I know what you mean,” she
nodded understandingly. She looked thoughtful.

“So, do you think you’d be happier if we’d
just find another place, or do you want to get out of this area altogether?”
she probed.

“I want out altogether,” I nodded. “I
really can’t see myself working at the sawmill for the rest of my life, and
there just aren’t many other opportunities around here.”

She nodded in agreement. “So what do you
want to do? What can you see yourself doing for the rest of your life?” she
asked.

“I don’t know,” I sighed. “I have so little
education and formal training—unless you count military training. I’m really
not qualified to do much more than menial labor,” I concluded, feeling down on
myself.

“But sweetheart, you’re hardworking and
smart. I’m sure if we’d move you could easily find work that you’d enjoy,” she
exhorted me.

“I know, darling, but people won’t hire me
just because I tell them my wife thinks I’m hardworking and smart. They want to
see official papers, diplomas, degrees. I don’t have any of that,” I replied
despondently.

“Well, why don’t you go to college?” she
suggested. “My cousin Arnold did when he got out of the service and the
government paid for everything.”

I let out an empty laugh. “At my age?”

“You can’t start any younger,” she pointed
out.

“I’d like to,” I admitted, “but it just
feels like it’s too late in the game for college. Maybe I should, but I’m just
not sure it’s right for me right now.”

“Alright, so maybe that might not be right
for you,” she agreed, “but whatever you feel like you need to do, I’m behind
you. I’ll move wherever you want, do what you want to do, as long as you’re
happy.”

“Oh, I am happy,” I said quickly, not
wanting her to think I wasn’t, “I couldn’t be happier with you, our marriage,
our family. But I really feel like I need a change of job, change of scenery.”

She nodded as though telling me she had
understood without my explanation.

“Well, have you prayed about it?” she
asked.

“No,” I admitted.

“Maybe you should,” she said.

“That’s more your thing,” I joked, “you’re
the one that’s on the first name basis with God.”

“Well, I will,” she promised. “But I think
you should, too,” she admonished. I just gave her a lopsided grin.

We didn’t really discuss it much after
that. I left the praying to Maggie, and I stewed and I fretted, and made plans
and discarded plans as quickly as I made them. I just couldn’t come up with a
feasible solution that wouldn’t jeopardize our family’s well-being, and it was
a very frustrating feeling.

~~~

Winter trickled away, and as spring drew
near, I was beginning to debate whether I should rent the land out or attempt
to try my own hand at farming again. It was a prospect that really vexed me,
since putting seed in the ground would mean I was bound to that patch of dirt
at least until harvest. I was beginning to feel trapped, and the more
imprisoned my restless spirit felt, the more restless it became. Finally, when
I had angrily given up hope for a more fulfilling life, things fell into place,
all on their own. Sort of.

I had decided to farm my land myself that
spring, but for some reason, I just didn’t feel right about it. I wasn’t sure
if I felt that way because it wasn’t the right decision, or just because I
really didn’t want to farm in the first place, so I decided to talk to Maggie
about it. She also said she didn’t feel I should, which was a huge relief,
since I simply had no desire whatsoever to work the soil, and so I notified our
neighbors that our land was once again available for rent. Mr. Matthew’s son,
Eric, was eager to oblige.

The crops were poking their green shoots
through the earth when I received a letter from Leroy Green, one of the few
surviving platoon members I had served with from basic training until discharge.
I hadn’t heard any news from any of them since being discharged, so I was
understandably eager to open his letter and read how he was doing.

Dear Robert,

I hope this
letter finds you and yours healthy and happy. I am doing quite well. Since
arriving home in Arlington, I’ve gotten married, and Alice and I are awaiting
the arrival of our first child.

You may recall I once told you I planned
to take over my father’s newspaper business once I returned. This transfer has
taken place, and I am now president of the Arlington Daily Herald.

I remember promising you that I would
put your name on the top of my father’s list of people to call if he ever
needed an entry-level reporter. Well, I can do you one better than that. One of
my reporters is retiring at the end of June. Your name came to mind immediately
when he gave his notice. I have no doubts about your abilities. I feel
privileged to have served with you, and under you, and so if you were serious
about wanting a reporting job, I have one waiting here for you. If you wish, I
could also arrange to have housing ready for you here in Arlington.

I also understand that circumstances
change, so if this is not something that interests you any longer, or if you
have other obligations, I understand perfectly, all I ask is that you give me
the courtesy of notifying me whether or not you accept this offer.

Best regards to
you and your family,

Leroy Green

“It’s an answer to prayer!” Maggie squealed
excitedly after I read the letter out loud to her.

“See, I told you that you have an in with
God!” I teased, feeling a little giddy myself. I knew the few feeble prayers
I’d prayed certainly couldn’t take any of the credit.

Maggie picked up the letter and read it
silently, holding it reverently as though it were a sacred document.

“Oh, Robert, he says he’ll help us find a
house and everything!” she sighed happily. “And you’ll be a reporter! You’ll be
so good at it, too! You must write him, right away!” She was simply exuberant.

“Oh, I’m so happy! Sometimes you just have
to trust God, ask and ye shall receive!” she babbled. She couldn’t seem to stop
talking.

“Yes, yes, I know, you were right again,
dear,” I laughed, amused at how wound up she was.

She opened her mouth again.

“Shhhh!” I said soberly. “This is not
something we should rush into. I think we should give it at least a few weeks
of careful prayer and consideration.” I tried to sound solemn and holy. She
looked at me like I was a ninny before seeing the twinkle in my eye I couldn’t
hide.

“Oh, you, stop it!” she shrieked, smacking
me playfully. “You know it’s what we’re supposed to do! Now you sit yourself
down and write that man a letter!”

“Yes, ma’am!” I chuckled.

~~~

As we prepared to move, things fell into
place. Our neighbor, Eric Matthews, purchased our land, as well as the house
with all the furnishings, for a favorable price. He was a bachelor who still
lived with his parents, and rumor had it he was writing a girl from Winchester
that was interested in settling down with him, so it seemed like a good deal for
both of us. It all seemed like—well, like it was meant to be.

I don’t know if I slept a wink the night
before moving day. It seemed I lay there all night, listening to Maggie’s heavy
breathing, wondering what the future held and restlessly contemplating leaving
a place that was such an integral part of my past. I had thought leaving would
be easy, but I was to learn that sentimental feelings most often apply to all
familiar things and places, even those we think we despise, even those we think
we can’t wait to be rid of. We hold those things dear, because those were
things that were part of our lives.

I didn’t feel like sleeping in the
slightest, so I impatiently waited for the night to end. As soon as I saw the
sky lighten through the crack in the curtains, I popped out of bed and got
dressed. I had some good-byes to say.

The stars were beginning to melt away
before the heat of the ascending sun as I walked outside that June morning. I
stopped outside the door, lit a cigarette, and began to stroll about the place,
quietly reflecting on memories, mostly childhood memories, but also things that
had happened more recently.

I opened the door to the empty barn and
remembered our horses, Shiver and Shake, and wondered if they were still alive
somewhere. I felt sorrowful as I looked at the spot where I’d found my dear,
dying Ma, so many years ago. I shut the door and felt twinges of sadness when I
thought that I may have just seen the inside of that old barn for the last
time. Then I felt childish for thinking silly thoughts like that.

Standing in the middle of the yard, I
looked around slowly. In my mind’s eye, I could see Pa in the fields. Ma
milking the cows. Me slopping the pigs. Ma working in the garden. Ellen working
in the garden. I allowed myself to think of memories I’d suppressed, things I’d
forgotten, and things I could never forget, and was filled with a sweet
melancholy.

Then, as though being drawn by an invisible
force, I began to ramble, over the pasture, up and down hills, and through the
woods. I realized I felt a bond with the land. A part of my soul was connected
to my childhood haunts, the places where a barefoot boy who only vaguely
resembled me had played eons ago.

I visited trees that had been old friends
and surveyed the valley from a rocky outcropping over which I’d mercilessly
hurled countless imaginary foes when I was a lad. Finally, I reached the place
that had drawn me, the place that had been my sanctuary and retreat for so many
years—my spring.

It had been many, many years since I
visited my spring. I was afraid it might have changed, but it looked as I
remembered it. Nature changes slowly without man’s interference.

I sat down on the familiar rock, removed my
shoes and socks, and dangled my toes in the water, for old times’ sake. The
water was cold, and the early morning cool, so I deemed a brief dabble to be a
sufficient reenactment. I dried my feet on my pants, put my socks and shoes
back on, and thought of all the times I’d sat on that very spot and hated my
pa. I remembered how I’d sat there with bloody knuckles, staring down at my
hands, wondering if they would ever have the strength to lash out at him. The
fearful rage I’d felt toward him as a child briefly coursed through me as I
thought about the times I’d sat on that piece of limestone and cried and cursed
him. Then I remembered how he was now, and what he’d done for me, and I felt
ashamed and guilty for having neglected to talk to him recently.

The rising sun reminded me that Maggie and
the children would be up before too long, and we would have to get moving if we
wanted to reach Virginia before nightfall. I bid adieu to my spring, and it
gurgled a reply.

As I walked away, I noticed a piece of bone
jutting out of the ground. I grasped it and pulled it out quite easily. It
looked like a short piece of rib bone, and I wondered if it had come from that
doe I’d shot on the night Ma died, the one that I’d never gone back to
retrieve. I decided it had, and put it in my pocket. It was a tangible part of
Coon Hollow that I held onto for the rest of my life.

I hurried back to the house, tarrying only
once to gather some wildflowers, which I placed in the car.

“Good morning!” Maggie greeted me cheerily
as I walked in the door.

“Mmm, smells good,” I commented, as I
smelled the bacon and eggs she was cooking.

“Mmm, tastes good,” I teased, after giving
her a kiss. She shook her head at me, but she blushed a little and a pleased
smile lingered on her lips.

Joshua and Lizzie ran over for hugs, and I
squeezed them both.

“We’re moving today,” I told them.

“I know,” Lizzie responded. “We’re moving
to Arlington, Joshua,” she explained importantly to her little brother, being
sure to speak slowly and clearly to avoid him missing anything.