Delia Page 13

  Delia nodded her assent. “But what are we going to do? How do you know we’ll find jobs? Will we live in the city? I don’t want to be on a farm again. I want to leave that behind me.”

  “Dee, I own a cottage in Florida. That’s where I’m taking you.”

  Delia pulled out of their embrace and looked at Alice with a stunned expression on her face.

  “What do you mean you own a cottage? You’re so young – how can you afford that?”

  Alice sighed and dropped her arms to her side. “I never told you my secret. It’s not really a secret I guess, plenty of people know, I just don’t advertise it, because then people don’t look at me the same.”

  “Well, tell me.”

  “My father is a U.S. Senator.”

  Delia looked like she was caught in the lights of a car at night.

  “My family is very wealthy,” she paused, “including me. I don’t need to work, Dee, and neither do you if you don’t want to.”

  “But, then why are you doing this? The nursing, I mean?”

  “ I took the nursing job to get away from the house – and some other stuff too. I wanted to experience the world. I wanted to help our country and our soldiers. I wanted to get away from the same old men in my town and make a real connection with someone.”

  Delia was looking down, a little embarrassed by the stories she had told Alice about her own very humble upbringings.

  Alice reached out and cupped Delia’s face in her hands. “I found what I was looking for Delia, I found you. I am not a different person than I have always been; I just don’t need to worry about money. You can work anywhere you like, do anything you like, just like I can. My family is a bunch of politicians and lawyers, they aren’t going to understand what we have together, but that doesn’t matter at all to me.”

  Delia was still very quiet for a long moment. When she finally spoke, it was softly. “I don’t want you to think you need to take care of me.”

  “Honey,” Alice said with a stern tone, “you are the one who takes care of me. Money is nothing. Money just pays for the house we live in. The important things are right here.” She placed her palm on Delia’s chest, over her heart.

  “Tell me what you’re thinking Dee, you’re too quiet.”

  Delia, who had spent so much of her life trying to maintain control over herself, her emotions and her future, felt lost. Her emotional floodgates had been opened for the first time when she and Alice had started seeing each other. Now she was finding out that the driving purpose she had beaten in to herself, to be the best so she could get a good job and have security, was no longer important. It was a lot for her to process.

  “I think,” Delia began hesitantly, “I think I want to go shoe shopping in Florida.”

  Alice just stood staring at Delia for a moment with her mouth agape. Then she burst out in laughter. “Oh baby, you’re going to have so many shoes!”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Francis watched Delia approach with eyes that burned with hate. She and the woman she was consorting with had suitcases and looked to be leaving. He was still in a great deal of pain, but now Francis was finally able to start moving again. Not that he could, since his wrists were secured to the sides of his bed rails and had been for a long time now.

  It was not fair to keep him trapped like this. He was a warrior. He was a hero for his country and they were treating him like a prisoner. He had not seen a mirror, but he knew that his face was badly burned. His torso was mostly scar tissue from the explosion burning his skin off. When he shifted positions in bed, the fresh skin that covered his abdomen still complained loudly, but it was much more bearable now. His right hand and arm had been unharmed. His left, however, was not as lucky. His left arm was burnt all the way from fingertips to his neck. The tissue was shiny and twisted, with only a few mutant patches of hair poking out.

  His left hand was also missing three fingers now. Only his thumb and forefinger remained, which, Francis thought was very fortunate for him. Those were the fingers he felt were the most important anyway. Unfortunately, his left leg was truly fucked. The blast went off at street level, and because of his close proximity, his left leg was torn off right at his knee. Not cleanly. It looked as though when the blast took apart his leg, the muscles and tendons tried to stay attached and tore up into his thigh as well. A doctor had come in and told him there were many new advances in something called prosthetics.

  “It’s like a wooden leg, only much better. We can never replace your limb, but with this new prosthesis, you will be able to wear normal pants and shoes. You’ll even be able to walk.”

  Francis tried to take it all on an even keel, but inside he was roiling. It was her fault. She did this to him. He never would have even joined the army if it were not for her. She was the one that wanted to leave their farming community; Francis had been happy where he was. She pulled him away from his home, the home where he grew up, the home where his mother had taken care of him. He loved his home, and now he was here.

  She took him away from everything he knew, and then left him when he needed her most. She did it on purpose. She knew what it would do to him. She tricked me. She tricked me into thinking she loved me. Then she found that - that woman. It was disgusting. How could she be with a woman? It was unnatural. That was the kind of thing God did not forgive. There was a special place in hell for that kind of woman. And I’m going to send her there. I‘m going to send both of them there. It would not be soon though, as his injuries would keep him in this bed for weeks or months more, he did not know. That was fine, he could be patient.

  Delia was walking toward him now, he noticed with some surprise. She had been avoiding him ever since he tried to strangle that whore she was with. As she came closer Francis thought he would feel those same feelings of love he used to have for her. He did not. She didn’t even look like his Delia any longer. She looked defiled. She didn’t smell like his Delia. Francis shifted his head to the side so that he did not have to look at her.

  Francis could feel her standing near him now. Then she spoke. Her deep voice rolled out, smooth and defiant.

  “I’m sorry this happened to you,” she said.

  Then she walked away. That was it? That was her apology for everything she had done to him? Well, there would be no forgiveness for her on this day or on any day as long as he lived.

  *****

  As Delia turned away from Francis she was crying. Alice was there waiting to take her hand.

  “I’m sorry honey,” she said.

  “There is nothing but hate left in him.” Indeed, the rushing of whispered angry voices was buzzing angrily in her head. It was painful because it was so loud, and now there was something new. She had gone over to Francis to apologize to him. After she said her peace she saw something. The rushing inside her head had become so great she thought she could almost see it starting to materialize in front of her, near Francis.

  It was as if a murky gray skein had fluttered to life, then dissipated again. She shook the frightening image from her head. It was bad enough she heard the strange sounds; she did not want to start seeing things as well. She had a feeling that what she saw was either her imagination, or the hatred Francis felt was so strong that it was actually taking form.

  Alice led Delia from the hospital to the cab waiting out front. Normally they would wait for some type of military transport to take them where they needed to go, but Alice was forgoing any pretense of frugality now.

  “We just need to get on the train and get the hell out of here, before something bad happens.”

  Delia agreed. She kept getting the feeling that something awful was going to happen - again. She was eager to leave Europe and the war for good. So many millions of young lives with so much promise had fallen victim to this war. I’m sorry, Francis, she thought. I really am.

  She held Alice’s hand on the way to the train station.

  “Will we have our own car?”

  “Ha! I’m not that loade
d honey! Well I am, I guess, but no. There aren’t any private cars on this train. The regular cars are very comfortable, so we’ll be fine.”

  “Okay,” Delia responded. “I guess I’m just a little concerned about what people will think of us being - together.”

  “Oh, I see. Well, are you ashamed to be with me?”

  “I am not.”

  “Then let’s not worry what the rest of them think about it. We may have to be a little less affectionate when we’re around others though, just in case. I’ll take care of you. Look, I know you are worried. I know this wasn’t the plan you had in mind. It wasn’t my plan either. How can anything that feels this right be wrong?”

  “I’m sorry, Ali, I’m just a little emotionally frayed right now. I think once we get off this continent I’ll start feeling a little more normal again.”

  “I’m not worried about it honey, I love you.”

  The cab driver was observing them curiously from the rearview mirror. He said nothing though.

  It was four hours on the train to the airport. Delia spent most of the ride watching out her window as the hills and fields rolled by. It was a timeless landscape. No matter how much the people fought, or how much human tragedy happened, the world would turn. It was comforting for Delia; to know that she was not responsible for making sure things were perfect out there.

  “I liked being a nurse, Ali, but I think I’m ready to be done with it.”

  Alice patted her on the leg. “We are going to write some brand new chapters.”

  *****

  “What’s your name, soldier?” A tall gray man was sitting next to Francis’s bed.

  The night before, the doctors had unwired Francis’s jaw. He could not stop rubbing his face. It was sore, of course, but he would take that any day. That morning he had eaten food through his mouth for the first time in months. It was only a weak chicken broth, but the sensation was amazing, and the warm soup warmed his mouth and throat.

  Now an army Major was here to debrief him on his accounts of what happened the day he was injured.

  “Francis Marks, sir.” Speaking was still painful and the corner of Francis’s eyes twitched.

  And what is your rank?”

  “Corporal, sir.”

  “Did you receive these injuries during the Ardennes Counteroffensive?”

  “Yes sir, it was the first week of the counteroffensive.”

  “My notes state that you were in the target area of an artillery strike by our forces. Explain to me why that was.”

  Francis thought for a moment before he continued. The events of that day were jarring and chaotic, but they were also crystal clear in his mind. He had to tread carefully with this officer though.

  “Sir, I was pinned down by a contingent of German soldiers. I was trying to fight my way out when our forces had begun to fall back. The Germans dispersed when they heard the heavy artillery begin. I tried to make a run for it, but I was unsuccessful. An artillery shell landed within twenty feet of my position. I am told I was picked up by the troop that succeeded me.”

  The man nodded. “You were with the 2nd Battalion?” he asked, his voice rising a little.

  “I was.”

  “At Point Du Hoc?” The officer said the words almost with reverence.

  “Yes, sir.”

  The man paused for a moment before continuing, “You have received recommendations from the commanding officers of the army Ranger divisions for the Distinguished Service Cross. You will also finish your career with the title of Staff Sergeant.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  The man stood. “Thank you, son, for your service to our country and to this world. It is men like you that led us to win this war.” The older man held a hand out, which Francis shook.

  “Sir, do you know if I will be able to go home soon?”

  “You are being discharged from service immediately. You will not be reassigned, on account of your injuries.”

  “Yes sir.”

  “I will arrange for you to have transport back to the United States.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “One other thing, Staff Sergeant. The doctors told me there were some incidents while you were in recovery here. I was told you attacked a nurse.”

  Francis did not speak at first.

  “A lot of young men have a hard time adjusting to life after the war.”

  “Sir, I woke up from a nightmare and in my sleep I had attacked the nurse. I could not speak or I would have explained myself to her then. I’m terribly sorry about the incident.”

  “I understand. I served in the trenches during the Great War – though it may not be called that after this one.” The man’s eyes seemed to search into his past and then snapped back to Francis. “Sometimes I have nightmares that seem more real than life. Good luck, son.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  The sergeant left Francis there. Before he went, the man handed Francis a large, heavy envelope.

  “These were all the personal effects they had for you.”

  Francis sat up on his bed in the quiet, nearly empty ward. He no longer wore restraints. Francis opened the envelope. Out slid his KA-BAR knife in its sheath. There was an inventory slip inside that read: Unknown soldier. One large black knife. One pair leather boots. The boots were clearly not in this envelope. That was fine. He had walked four lifetimes in those boots across Europe; he was ready to be rid of them.

  He held the heavy knife in his palm, turning it over again and again. This blade had seen a lot of blood in the war. He was very glad to have it back. The KA-BAR was not standard issue for the army. Francis had only used his army issued knife for a few weeks before breaking off the tip of it. He needed something sturdy, something he could rely on to get the job done when it really mattered.

  That’s when a friend in the marines told him about the KA-BAR. It was a new blade they had begun using. It was long, tough, and had a matte black finish that didn’t reflect light. The blade was a true warrior’s weapon. He had purchased the knife with his own money and carried it as his personal weapon. Francis slid the knife from its sheath and traced his finger over the blade. It was still sharp, but definitely needed to be sharpened, and polished.

  “You will see action again, my friend,” Francis said to the blade. “I promise.” A scarred, painful smile crept over Francis’s face. His skin stretched and buckled unflatteringly at the expression, which made him look like he was grimacing.

  Chapter Fifteen

  FIVE YEARS LATER

  The warm sun soaked into her skin as Alice slept. It was only ten in the morning but she and Delia had been up late. Her lawn chair was a nylon fabric mesh that cushioned her skin just enough for her to rest without causing her back to hurt. Since their move to Florida five years ago, Alice and Delia had lived what she felt was as close to a perfect existence as they could get.

  Large brown sunglasses shaded her eyes from the Florida sun, and as the warmth caressed her, Alice dreamed. The dream’s embrace, however, was not a peaceful one.

  *****

  Prohibition had ended only four years prior. Alice was seventeen. She was tall, thin and very attractive. She was also a headstrong bitch – her mother’s words, not hers. So she left. She left her home in Lansing – their father had uprooted them once he had been elected to the senate. She had always hated Lansing. With her lustrous brown hair in long, waving curls around her porcelain skin it did not take long for her to find a place for a woman of beauty to be appreciated.

  She ended up in Chicago, on the arm of a former bootlegger and real life mobster who was called Fast Bennie. Fast Bennie was a hard man with a nice suit. He had money and a shiny black car. Alice lived the wild life for months with Bennie. As those months turned into a year, Bennie started to treat her a little differently. The first time he hit her was in the back of his car, when she had complained she wasn’t in the mood for sex.

  She had thought about running then, but Bennie had taken her out for a new dr
ess the next day. She should have followed her instincts that night in the car, before he ever brought her to the River Bottom Lounge. Bennie had been drinking hard all evening. He wasn’t alone, Alice was hammered as well. She tried hard to act like a lady, but a drunken lady is no lady at all.

  Alice got up to go to the ladies room but stumbled over her own drunken feet. She sprawled out on the floor, the hem of her already short dress flying up to her waist, giving the five men drinking at the table a fine view of her unmentionables. Bennie scowled down at her, then slowly stood up from the table. He helped Alice up off the floor, then motioned for the other guys to follow him.

  He brought her to a small stockroom behind the kitchen. In the center was a stack of pallets with several large sacks of potatoes on it.

  “What are we doing in here, Bennie Baby?” Alice’s words were slurred.

  To answer, Bennie turned her around so she was facing him, then slugged her in the face.

  When she awoke, she was bent over the potatoes, being raped from behind. She tried to lift herself up but large strong hands clamped down on her wrists and held her in place. She looked up to see their owner, it was Bennie.

  “Baby?” she cried.

  Bennie flashed his signature bright-toothed smile at her but said nothing. The man raping her came loudly, slamming into her as he deposited his ejaculate into her. Then he pulled out with a groan. Alice felt relieved. It hadn’t been so bad, she thought. She must have been unconscious for most of it.

  She had been, but her relief was premature. Moments after the man pulled out she felt someone grab her hair and pull her head up. A whiskey soaked voice growled in her ear.

  “My turn now, slut.”

  She didn’t know the man, he was just another mobster turned almost businessperson in a pinstriped suit. The man grabbed her exposed butt and spread the cheeks apart wide – wide enough to hurt at the seam. Then he spit on her, right between her cheeks. Alice didn’t understand - until he slammed himself into her. She screamed out loudly, and then Bennie hit her in the face. She didn’t black out but felt woozy.