The Homecoming (17 page)
A look of horror came over Patrick’s face. “That would be awful.”
“Yes, it would. It would hurt really bad; it would bleed a lot, and you’d have to go to the hospital.”
“I would?”
“And your daddy would be so mad at me, he wouldn’t let me ever teach you another thing about carving.”
“That would be bad.”
“Look again at my fingers, even closer this time. Tell me what you see.”
Patrick got his face within a few inches of his hands. “Lots of lines and cracks.”
Collins laughed. “But do you see any scars?”
“No.”
“That’s your goal. To be so careful you never even get cut with these tools. For your whole life.”
“I already don’t want to get cut now.”
“That’s good, you’re on the right track. Just one more lesson and we’ll go in and get washed up for dinner. Bring me that little stick over there, the one with the bark still on it.” Patrick obeyed.
“Now, push down on that stick with your finger, real hard. Then push down on a finger on your other hand. How hard is that compared to the stick?”
“My finger’s real smushy and the stick is real hard.”
“Bring the stick here.”
Patrick handed it to Collins, and with one motion, Collins sliced off a big section with one of the knives. “See that?”
“Wow,” said Patrick.
“See what this knife can do? Imagine what it could do to your finger.”
Patrick winced. “I don’t want to. It scares me.” He took a few steps back. “Maybe you shouldn’t teach me yet.”
“No, Patrick. It’s okay to be afraid when danger is present. That’s a good kind of fear, the kind of fear God gives us so we don’t do stupid things.”
“You’ll teach me how to carve so I never get cut?”
“That’s the plan. But just a little at a time. Right now, we better get ready for whatever Miss Townsend is cooking.” He reached over and pulled on the light chain. As they walked toward the door, Collins said, “Let’s keep this a secret, just between us for now.”
“But I thought you said my dad said it was okay.”
“He did. But I gotta think of a way to tell that to Miss Townsend and Mrs. Fortini.”
“Okay,” Patrick said. As they walked toward the kitchen, Patrick reached up and grabbed hold of Collins’s hand, giving it a gentle squeeze.
Collins looked down, smiled, and squeezed back.
The train arrived at Boston’s South Station right on time. It was already dark. Shawn’s instructions were to make his way through the terminal toward the center. There he should find his liaison officer, Lieutenant James Winston. He didn’t have a picture, but the paper said Winston knew what Shawn looked like and would be holding a sign with his name. Shawn weaved his way through the multitude in that general direction.
He saw a number of military personnel, but no one standing still or holding a sign. He looked at his watch to confirm he wasn’t late or early. He set his bag and briefcase on the floor, then laid his overcoat over them.
As he looked around, he noticed a photo machine off in the corner, one of those little booths where you get three pictures for fifteen cents. He suddenly remembered he’d forgotten to bring a picture of Patrick. He’d have to call Miss Townsend and fix that.
Fifteen more minutes passed.
He was just about to head to the men’s room when he heard someone call his name from the front of the terminal. He turned and saw an officer waving, slicing his way through the crowd. Shawn smiled weakly and picked up his things.
“I’m so sorry, sir,” the man said when he made it to Shawn. “Lieutenant Winston, James Winston.” He looked to be about thirty, very fit and trim.
Shawn was just about to hold out his hand when Winston saluted. Shawn saluted back.
“It took me a little longer than I planned to grab a car from the pool. Thought it would give us more freedom than riding cabs everywhere. I’ve got it double parked out front, so we better hurry.”
“Lead the way, Lieutenant.”
“Better put on that coat, sir, it’s a bit nippy outside.”
As they made their way toward the doors, they heard a commotion behind them. Shawn turned and saw the crowd parting as they murmured and pointed. An MP led a number of shackled German soldiers through the terminal, shouting for people to clear the way. Most of the crowd just stared, some jeered and shouted insults. The Germans ignored them, their eyes fixed straight ahead, almost in defiance. Shawn noticed they were marching, though not doing the goose step he’d seen in so many newsreels.
Shawn backed out of the way to let them pass. Just then he noticed one who instantly reminded him of the young officer he’d killed back in Holland. He turned away.
“C’mon, sir. Let’s follow them out the door.”
When they got outside, Shawn saw two army trucks at the curb. “Where do you suppose they’re from?” Shawn asked, pointing at the Germans.
“They’re infantry guys. My guess is from the fighting in Italy.”
“I didn’t know we kept POWs in the States,” Shawn said.
“They got a base filling up with them just outside of town a few miles. My car’s just over there.”
A minute later, Shawn and the lieutenant were at the car, a shiny black Studebaker Coupe. As Shawn walked his things to the trunk, a yellow cab pulled in behind them.
“Here, let me take that, sir.” Winston tossed Shawn’s bag and briefcase in the trunk and walked to Shawn’s side to unlock the door. Shawn got in. It was freezing outside, but inside it was warm. The cabbie beeped his horn. “Don’t blow a fuse, mac,” Winston shouted. He got in, turned the car on, and inched his way into the flow of traffic around Dewey Square.
Shawn detected an accent. “From Chicago, Lieutenant?”
“Very good, sir. You been there?”
“No,” Shawn said. “Just bunked with a guy from Chicago for a few months.” Lieutenant Winston had a very engaging smile, one of those optimistic faces, a born salesman.
“I grew up there,” Winston said. “Went to college there, but after I graduated I went to work for Colonel Simmons’s marketing firm in New York. Course, he wasn’t a colonel then. When the military asked him to sign on, he talked me into coming along. We’ve got uniforms and different titles, but it’s like we’re doing the same thing as before.”
This sounded strange to Shawn. He wondered if Winston had ever even fired a gun. “I guess we all have to do our part.”
The car stopped suddenly. Shawn grabbed the dashboard. “I’m sorry,” Winston said. “The traffic around this place is nuts.” He looked in the rearview mirror, then started moving again. “I know what you mean, what you said about doing our part. I thought about joining the navy or some infantry outfit, but Colonel Simmons talked me into this job. Said I’ve got a gift for this kind of thing, and it was my patriotic duty to do what I’m best at. I don’t feel like that when I get around people like you, even when I watch the newsreels. But he can be pretty persuasive.”
“I know,” Shawn said. “So where we going? The hotel?”
“I’m hungry, thought we’d get a bite to eat, maybe have some fun at the same time.”
Shawn liked the eating part of his answer. “So where we going?”
“Just a couple more blocks, a place called Scollay Square. Great night spots and bars, the whole place caters to the military. Dinner and a show, you know?”
“Lieutenant, to be honest I’m pretty tired. Know of any places that serve dinner without the show?”
“We won’t stay there long, sir. Man’s gotta eat, right? It’s just a few more blocks from there to the hotel where we’ll be staying.”
How could Shawn say this? “When you say ‘show,’ are we talking about girlie shows?”
“Some of them. That a problem?”
“I’m guessing you haven’t done any reading about me.”
“Sir?”
“The colonel gave me a folder with a page about you. I guess he didn’t give you one on me.”
“He did, sir. But it didn’t say much about your personal life. Mostly covered your war record.”
“Okay. Let me explain just a couple of things. I’m not trying to make you feel bad here, but I’m a Christian. I mean . . . more than a guy that just goes to church. Girlie shows are something I try to avoid. And I’m not really interested in picking up girls. I just lost my wife in a car accident about a month ago—”
“I am
so
sorry, sir. I had no idea. If I did, I would have never considered bringing you here.”
Winston turned right onto a wide road; cars seemed to be going every which way. The place was lit up like a miniature Times Square. “Scollay Square’s just up ahead. I’ll find a place to pull over. There’s got to be someplace here that just serves a good meal.”
“I appreciate it, Lieutenant.”
He pulled up beside a gray Packard, left the car running, and got out. He talked to a fellow on the sidewalk dressed in navy garb, nodded several times, then smiled. He ran back to the car and got in. “Bingo, Major. That guy’s been on leave here for over a week. Told me about a place up ahead on the left that’s just about food, a cafeteria called the Waldorf. Let me park this thing and we’ll be eating in no time.”
“I really appreciate you going out of your way here.”
“Don’t thank me, sir. I’m here to help make things smooth. Now that I know the lay of the land, I’ll plan accordingly.”
After a few minutes riding around, someone pulled out. Winston wasted no time grabbing the spot. “That sailor said the food here’s not the best but there’s plenty of it. I’m picking up the tab, so order whatever you want.”
“Sounds good,” said Shawn. It really did. Two themes dominated his thoughts at the moment. He was starving and exhausted. “Where we staying tonight?”
“The Hotel Kenmore, sir. A really swank place, close to Fenway Park. It’s where all the visiting teams stay when they play the Red Sox.”
Winston was just about to turn the car off. “Before we go in,” Shawn said, “I was reading over the schedule tomorrow on the train.”
“Big day, our first rally.”
“Right, but it said something about me giving some kind of fund-raising speech. There wasn’t anything else about it in the folder.”
“Don’t sweat it, sir. That’s my specialty. Got the thing written out, really just a single paragraph. I’ll give it to you at the hotel.”
“So what, I just get up and read it?”
“No. We don’t have anything else scheduled tonight. I figured you could take some time to memorize it. Not word for word, just close. I’ll be introducing you to the crowd before each rally, then you just come out and say your bit. Won’t take five minutes.”
“Any other surprises I should know about?”
Winston thought a moment. “Don’t think so. You read about the radio and newspaper interviews tomorrow, before the rally?”
“No.”
“Not a big deal. I’ve written up some things you can say, and I’ll be giving all the interviewers the skinny on what questions they can and cannot ask. It will all be very controlled. But we’ll make it come off like it’s all spontaneous and patriotic. After doing a few of these, you’ll be able to pull it off in your sleep.”
Great, Shawn thought.
Let the games begin.
A few hours later in Allingdale, Shawn’s father was ready for bed. It was early, a full hour before his usual bedtime. Miss Townsend had already cleaned up the kitchen, got Patrick ready for bed, and headed next door. Collins had to admit, it was a passable dinner. Not quite up to Mrs. Fortini’s cooking, but it gave him a good feeling about his immediate future.
He had planned to get comfortable in his chair and listen to
The Burns and Allen Show
, but he was just too tired. He stood at the foot of the stairs and gave the living area a quick once-over. Everything was in place. Patrick was already asleep upstairs. He eyed the top of the stairway. Lately it seemed further and further away, like climbing a steep hill. Some nights he entertained the idea of just sleeping downstairs on the davenport.
He took a deep breath and started putting one foot in front of the other. Only way to do it. About halfway up, he couldn’t believe it, but he had to stop and catch his breath. He held the banister with one hand, the other hand on his knee. His head was down. He could feel his chest beating hard, like he’d just run a city block. This is ridiculous, he thought.
He looked up, tried to clear his head, but the stairway was moving. He waited a moment, straightened up, then lifted his foot toward the next step. Instead of moving forward, he felt himself falling back. He
was
falling back. He reached for the banister but only brushed it with his fingertips.
“Oh no.”
For a moment he was in the air, a sickening feeling. The next moment he hit hard on the wood landing. His head banged against the closet door. Something cracked. From the inside. He didn’t hear well, but he heard that. An excruciating pain rushed up from just below his hip, filling his whole body.
He yelled out loud, there was just no stopping it.
As he lay there, he wondered . . . was he about to die? He couldn’t imagine ever moving from this spot. Just then, from the top of the stairwell, a light turned on.
“Grandpa? Are you all right?”
The hospital smelled terrible. The seats were hard. The waiting room cold. The look on every face one of fear or dread. Katherine was sure hers was no exception. The waiting was killing her. She got up to check with the nursing staff again. They had said the doctor would tell them something over an hour ago.
“Where you going, Miss Townsend?” Patrick asked. He had such a rough night. None of them slept a wink.
“I’m just going to ask the nurse something. I’ll be right back. See them right over there?”
He nodded.
“Don’t worry, Patrick,” Mrs. Fortini said, patting his hand. “Would you like something to eat?”
“No, thank you.”
“You haven’t had any breakfast.”
“I’m okay. I just wanna see Grandpa.”
“Well, you remember, dear, they don’t allow children in,” said Mrs. Fortini. “Which is really very stupid, if you ask me,” she whispered. “Especially nice ones like you.”
Katherine walked toward the nurses’ station. They had rushed Collins to the hospital last night, the poor thing. He was in so much pain. She’d felt so helpless. When the ambulance came, it awakened the entire neighborhood. Everyone came out to view the spectacle. When they started wheeling the stretcher down the driveway, Collins pulled the sheet over his head so he wouldn’t have to see them staring. The neighbors out by the sidewalk, seeing this, were certain he had died, and that rumor had begun to spread.
