Buffalo Valley (4 page)

His mother was finishing the dinner dishes when he entered the kitchen. “How was your visit?” she asked, rinsing a pan before setting it on the drainboard.

“Wonderful.”

“How's Hassie?” she asked, looking expectantly at him as she reached for the towel to dry her hands. “You did give her my love, didn't you?”

“She was exhausted.” He explained that the pharmacist had been at a meeting when he arrived and that her assistant had convinced him to wait until she got back. Neither she nor Carrie had mentioned the reason for the meeting, but whatever it was had drained her, emotionally and physically.

His mother's brow furrowed with concern. “She's not ill, is she?”

“I don't think so, but I didn't want to tire her out any more than she already was, so I told her I'd be back on Sunday.”

His mother's face clouded and he knew what was coming. The subject of Vaughn Knight always distressed her. Every time his name was brought up, she grew quiet. He suspected she'd postponed a promised visit to Hassie because, for whatever reason, she found it hard to talk about Vaughn. More than once he'd
seen tears fill her eyes. His mother wasn't the only one; his father also tended to avoid conversations about Hassie's son. All Vaughn knew was that both his parents thought a great deal of the friend who'd lost his life in a rice paddy thirty-three years earlier. So much that it still caused them pain.

“I'm glad you're doing this,” she said. “Over the years I've wanted to talk about Vaughn, but I get choked up whenever time I try.”

She grabbed a bottle of hand lotion and occupied herself with that for a few moments, but Vaughn wasn't fooled. She didn't want him to see that her eyes were brimming with tears.

“Hassie will do a far better job of telling you about Vaughn than your father or I could.”

Impulsively Vaughn hugged his mother, then joined his father, who was watching television in the living room.

 

On Sunday the drive into Buffalo Valley seemed to go faster than it had on Friday. He knew exactly where he needed to go, and the very landscape he'd found monotonous two days earlier now seemed familiar, even welcoming.

When he pulled into town, Buffalo Bob was spreading salt on the sidewalk in front of his own place and
the businesses on either side. He waved, and Vaughn returned the gesture, then eased into a parking spot near the pharmacy. Once again he was struck by what an appealing town Buffalo Valley was. It felt as though he'd stepped back in time, to an era when family and a sense of community were priorities, when neighbor helped neighbor and people felt responsible for one another.

A sign on the door stated that the drugstore was open from noon until five on Sundays during December. When he walked inside, Vaughn found Hassie behind the counter. He automatically looked for Carrie and wasn't disappointed when he saw her over by the cash register, checking receipts. She paused in her task as soon as she saw him.

To his surprise, his mind had drifted toward her a number of times since Friday. He was attracted by her charm, which was real and uncontrived. She was genuine and warm, and he liked the pride in her eyes when she talked about her town.

She froze, as if she, too, had been thinking of him. That was a pleasant thought and one that sent a shiver of guilt through him. He was as good as engaged to
Natalie, and the last thing he should be doing was flirting with another woman.

“Right on time,” Hassie said, sounding much livelier this afternoon than she had two days earlier.

“I'm rarely tardy when I have a date with a beautiful woman,” he teased, and watched both Hassie and Carrie smile. He generally didn't have much use for flattery, but occasionally it served a purpose. In this case, his rather silly statement had given everyone, including him, a moment of pleasure.

“You going to be all right here by yourself?” She turned to Carrie.

“Of course. You two go and visit, and don't you worry about a thing.”

“I'll just get my coat,” Hassie said, and disappeared to retrieve it. While she was gone, he had a few minutes with Carrie.

“I'm glad you're doing this for Hassie,” she said. “It means so much to her to be sharing her son's life with you.”

“I'm not doing it out of any sense of charity.” Vaughn was truly interested in learning what he could about his namesake.

Hassie returned, wearing a long, dark coat, and they walked over to her house, which was one street off Main. Vaughn slowed his gait to match hers, tucking her arm in the crook of his elbow. Together they strolled leisurely down the newly shoveled sidewalk.

The house resembled something out of a 1950s movie. The furniture was large and bulky, covered in thick navy-blue fabric. Doilies decorated the back of the chair, and three were strategically placed across the back of the matching sofa. Even the television set was an old-fashioned floor model.

“It'll only take me a minute to make tea,” Hassie announced heading toward the kitchen. He was given instructions to sit down and to look through the photo albums she'd already laid out.

Vaughn opened the biggest album. The first photograph he saw was a black-and-white version of a much younger Hassie standing with a baby cradled in her arms. A tall, handsome man stood awkwardly beside her, grinning self-consciously. His hand was on the shoulder of a little girl about four or five who stood in front of them, her dark brown hair in long braids.

Thereafter, photograph after photograph documented the life of Vaughn Knight. He was in Boy Scouts and active in his church. His school pictures
showed increasing growth and maturity. When he reached high school, Vaughn had grown tall and athletic; a series of newspaper articles detailed his success on the basketball court and the football field. The year he was a senior, Buffalo Valley High School won the state football championship, with Vaughn Knight as the star quarterback. Another article named him Most Valuable Player.

His high-school graduation picture revealed the face of a young man eager to explore the world.

Hassie rejoined him, carrying a tray with a ceramic pot and two matching cups, as well as a plate of small cookies.

Vaughn stood and took the tray from her, placing it on the coffee table, and waited while she poured. He noticed that her hands were unsteady, but he didn't interrupt or try to assist her.

When she'd finished, she picked up a round, plain hatbox and removed the lid. “The top letter is the first one that mentions your mother.”

Vaughn reached for the envelope.

“The Rick he's writing about is my dad?” Vaughn asked.

Hassie nodded. “Here's another one you might find interesting.” She lifted a batch of letters from the box.

It was apparent from the way she sorted through the dates that she'd reread each letter countless times.

Vaughn stopped reading. “Did you want him to wait before marrying my mother?”

Hassie closed her eyes. “His father and I thought they were both too young. In the years that followed, I lived to regret that. Perhaps if Vaughn had married your mother, there might have been a grandchild. I realize that's terribly selfish, and I hope you'll forgive me.”

“There's nothing to forgive.”

“I always wondered if Jerry would've lived longer if we'd had grandchildren. Valerie was still in college at the time and wasn't married yet. A few years after that, she moved to Hawaii to take a job and met her husband there, but by then it was too late for Jerry.”

“So your husband took the news of Vaughn's death very hard?”

“Once we received word about Vaughn, my husband was never the same. He was close to both children, but the shock of Vaughn's death somehow made him lose his emotional balance. Much as he loved Valerie and me, he couldn't get over the loss of his son. He went into a deep depression and started having heart problems. A year later, he died, too.”

“Heart attack?”

“Technically, yes, but Vaughn's death is what really killed him, despite what that death certificate said. He simply gave up caring about anything. I wish…” Her voice trailed off.

“I'm sorry,” Vaughn said, and meant it.

“Don't be.” She patted his hand. “God knew better. Had your mother and my son married, you would never have been born.”

It must have hit her hard that her son's fiancée and closest friend married each other within a year of his death. “Were you upset when my parents got married?” he asked.

“A little in the beginning, but then I realized that was exactly what Vaughn would have wanted. He did love her, and I know in my heart of hearts that she loved him, too.”

“She did.” Vaughn could say that without hesitation.

Hassie plucked a tissue from the nearby box and dabbed at her eyes. “I'd like you to have this.” She reached for a second box and withdrew a heavy felt crest displaying the letters BVHS. It took Vaughn a moment to recognize that it was from a letterman's jacket.

“Vaughn was very proud of this. He earned it in wrestling. He was a natural at most sports. Basketball and football were barely a challenge, but that wasn't the case with wrestling. Many an afternoon he'd walk into the pharmacy and announce to his father and me that he was quitting. By dinnertime he'd change his mind and then he'd go back the next day.” She paused, dabbing at her eyes again. “Our children were the very best of Jerry and me. Vaughn was a good son, and losing him changed all of us forever.”

“I'd be honored to have this letter,” Vaughn said.

“Thank you,” Hassie whispered. She smiled faintly through her tears. “You must think me an old fool.”

“No,” he was quick to tell her. “I'm very glad you showed me all this.” For the first time Vaughn Knight was more than a name, someone remembered who'd been lost in a war fought half a world away. He was alive in the words of his letters, in the photographs and in the heart of his mother.

“His letters from Vietnam are in this box,” Hassie said. “They'll give you a feel for what it was like. If you're interested…”

Having served in the military, Vaughn was, of course, interested. He sat back and read the first let
ter. When he'd finally finished them all, it'd grown dark and Hassie was busy in the kitchen.

“What time is it?” he asked.

“It's after six.”

“No.” He found that hard to believe. “I had no idea I'd kept you this long. I apologize, Hassie. You should have stopped me.”

She shook her head. “I couldn't. Your interest was a pleasure to me. Everything was fine with the store—Carrie's fully capable of handling anything that might come up. Besides, we're closed now.”

“He could've been a writer, your son,” Vaughn said, setting aside the last letter. For a few hours he'd been completely drawn into Vaughn Knight's descriptions of people and landscapes and events. Although the details were lightly sketched, a vivid picture of the young soldier's life had revealed itself through his words.

“I often thought that myself,” Hassie agreed. After a brief silence she said, “I didn't want to interrupt you to ask about dinner. I hope it wasn't overly presumptuous to assume you'd join me.”

“I'd like that very much.”

Hassie nodded once, slowly, as if she considered his company of great worth.

While she put the finishing touches on the meal, Vaughn phoned his parents to tell them he'd be later than anticipated. “Be sure and give Hassie my love,” his mother instructed. “Tell her your father and I plan to visit her soon.”