Chapter 17

January 22nd, 1964

Aragon, Georgia

7:00 AM

She wondered what she had been doing that quiet day. Cleaning up after some powerful winds had messed up their yard, yes, but had it been leaves or clothes set out to dry? She was almost done, that much she recalled.

"Ma!"

She recognize the voice as the little boy ran over. Trailing after him was a pair of somewhat taller boys despite them being around the same age. Almost identical and equally worried.

Little Dennis had run up to her faster, something in his hands.

She put the rake down and paused to examine the injured animal.

A Mourning Dove. Very common and very injured. The spotted feathers were stained with mud, but the worst damage was likely hidden as it kept awkwardly flailing in the boy's hands, its head craning forward and back like a malfunctioning machine, its left wing shifting slightly enough in an attempt at flapping, it's right wing remained unmoving.

Dennis wasn't even holding it like one would an animal trying to escape, cupping the injured dove with both hands, almost balancing it in his palms rather than risking breaking it further by holding it.

She’d pursed her lips into a thin line, seeing the animal's movements weakening.

"It was under a bush, flapping around, and- and... Can we save it?"

She didn't intend to give her 8-year-old son the saddened expression she did, not even noting the other two boys asking similar questions in rapid succession, giving similar details in different words the way children do when excited. But the way his face dropped slightly told her she'd wordlessly answered him.

Still, she opened her mouth to speak, saying "Dennis, it... it looks like it broke something important..."

The twins rapidly began asking questions, but she ignored them.

Her boy already understood, and that fact hurt her.

"We can probably place it in a box, warm it up and see how it does but..."

He only nodded.

The other kids quieted down then, but her mind remained on him. That quiet look of acceptance where the other kids had still seen hope... it shouldn't be something a child had to know of, yet there it was…

There alone…

Agatha Orville woke up with a start, sitting up slowly, noting how empty and silent the house felt still. She didn't dwell on it, instead turning to eye the bright rays of sunlight entering through her window. Letting out a sigh, her headache began flaring up once more.

Again, she didn't dwell on it.

With the occasional chirp of birds outside, she got dressed, combed her hair, and moved downstairs.

She paused at the kitchen's entrance, eyeing the photo on the wall without a word. Her late husband's smile shone even in the black and white photograph.

Without a word, she exited the house, shuddering slightly at the colder-than-usual breeze. Spring was still weeks away, and despite Georgia being far warmer than most northern states, she still felt the difference.

No matter, she bundled up and went to the mailbox, half expecting a newspaper or some advertisement.

She stopped, noting the letter inside.

Seeing the printed letters read "U.S Army", she quickly tore it open.

A warm smile grew on her face.

1:03 PM

Agatha hummed softly to the tunes on the radio as she washed the countertop.

Vicky Jones shook her head as she sat down, keeping her arms away from her cleaning as she eyed the letter in her hands before saying “Well, while that sure is something, I can’t say I’m a fan of how secretive this seems.”

Agatha turned to her, grinning as she said “He’s going to be an interpreter. It should keep him out of most direct combat, and pay more.”

Vicky shrugged.

“Sure, he's not saying much but it's probably because of some delicate matter. Maybe he’ll be helping with the negotiations! Think we’ll see his photo in the paper or something, Miss Jones?”

Vicky again shrugged, saying “He’s your boy, I’m sure he’d get some reporter’s attention even if he didn’t wind up translating for Kennedy and... whoever’s in charge of that God-forsaken evil empire.”

Agatha let out a sigh, saying “I just feel that this is a step in the right direction. He’ll be safer, maybe work with diplomats. Big important work. Where he's safe… I’m just glad is all.”

“The paycheck he sent helps too, I’m sure.”

Agatha shook her head with a bright smile, saying “He’s a good kid. But I appreciate you and Terry’s help as well.”

“Bah, it’s nothing.”

“Don’t say it like that, I’m grateful." Then, pensively, she added "Tell you what, why don’t you and Terry drive me to Atlanta one of these days? My treat!”

“Oh, don’t tempt me like that. I’ve been eyeing up a new television set and Terry has a dozen things he wants to get for his truck.”

"I can help with that."

"Oh, come on. There's no need."

“I insist.”

Vicky Jones sighed and folded the letter, handing it back, saying “Well, if you’re so insistent. How’s next Sunday sound? Terry has some time off and I don’t think there'll be anything to do at home.”

“Sounds great! You can bring your boys, as well and we can have a nice outing.” She concluded, placing some warm food into a basket and handing it to Vicky.

“Thanks, I’ll be sure to tell the boys you said ‘hi' and send Dennis my regards.”

“I will. See you, Ms. Jones.”

“Good day.”

Agatha’s grin didn’t vanish as the older woman exited her home and the house fell relatively silent once more, the music on the radio being the only sound for a moment.

Agatha glanced at the letter, smiling as she left the kitchen.

Oh, Stephen... if only... if only...

She stopped as she got to the stairs, steadying herself, as if the ground beneath her had shifted suddenly, causing her to waver.

She put a hand to her forehead, unable to finish the thought.

Then her knees gave way under her.

She stared at the cleaned floor, barely managing to keep herself on one knee, having dropped the letter to hold her head. Waves of pain were hitting her, as though there was a pounding drummer in her head, trying to shatter her from within.

She lay down on the stairs, taking heavy breaths, briefly glancing at the photo of her family.

“S-Stephen...” she shakily whispered before her mind reminded her where she was and what was happening.

She rolled to her side, trying to stand back up, barely managing to sit up as her arms reached for the railing on the stairs, grabbing them to try and get up, but the task felt nearly impossible.

“Help...” she tried, stopping as she remembered she was alone. She shut her eyes tightly, the pain failing to dissipate as the room began to move in circles around her. She sat down on the steps before opening her eyes again, shutting them quickly upon seeing the room was still spinning.

A short drawing of breath, a quick gasp, her voice barely a whisper as she mumbled incoherently to no one in particular.

Then she collapsed onto the stairs and everything went black.

February 15th, 1964

Fort Benning, Georgia

2:04 PM

Running had not become any easier than when he first started and now… at least, not any less annoying. Up and down the hills and dales, through the creeks and mud, bent joints, dirty ground, screaming sergeant; same misery, different week.

Such was the Army life, it seemed.

Amongst the grunts as the group continued down the same trial, only slightly shorter than the rest, he felt that he was doing… well. Not great, but well enough.

The back of his mind was still on those damned nightmares he kept having.

It wasn't every night, sure, but still.

The thought almost made him miss a step and trip over a particularly loose section of trail.

He corrected himself, his only slightly shorter size made it so that no one noticed some of his easily correctible screw-ups amongst plenty of proud men who were larger in width… at least that's what he thought.

The run ended, and the men began to unwind and put away the gear they had carried most of the day before stepping in for the shower.

Once outside, his dark hair almost dry, he stopped as he bumped into an Army officer.

“Captain Rhodes?”

The man smiled, telling him “Private Orville, I presume. You’re being attached to my company.”

“Y-yes, captain! I thought-”

“I know, I know, I just like to meet my guys before working with them is all. You’re from Georgia, right?”

“Yes, captain.”

“Ah, must be nice. Had to move down here back in fifty-seven. I’m actually from Tennessee. Nashville. Ever been?”

“No, sir.”

Captain Rhodes nodded, looking him over, not betraying any thoughts, a polite smile on his face.

“It’s a good place, I think. Though the last few years here have been just as good. Your work with a rifle seems to be passable, at least for what you’re being assigned to... plus, this new rifle seems to be easier to handle. Let me tell you, it kicks much less than the Garand back in Korea.”

Dennis winced; his eyes went wide.

“You were in Korea, sir?”

“Ah, technically. Here and there... you had family that served?”

“Yes, captain, my father. He died during the Red’s big push down south back in 1950.”

Dennis noticed the man winced when he said that.

“Oh, my condolences. We lost a lot of good guys back there."

“I’m proud he did his duty, sir. I’d hope to do the same if asked.”

Confusingly, the captain didn’t seem enthusiastic about his dedication or opinion. He gave him a familiar look of uncertainty.

"Doesn't that… bother you?"

Then he woke up, the memories fresh in his mind still.

Dennis opened his eyes yet again, the images of the dream dissipating slightly as it was replaced with the library and the dull lights above illuminating his material. He brought his focus back to the book on the desk. By now the words were familiar, but still he read and re-read them, committing their pronunciations to memory again and again.

But his captain’s question popped into his mind again.

Doesn’t that bother you?

What kind of question was that?

As he pondered this, the library’s doors opened and closed. He ignored it at first, but the footsteps began to approach him and he turned around to see two officers.

Captain Rhodes and another man he hadn’t seen before but the stripes made it clear he was also a captain.

Dennis quickly began to straighten up, but before he could do anything the man walked over and said "At ease, son…"

He paused, keeping his breathing under control. Something about the way they were looking at him was setting off alarm bells in his head.

After a second, Rhodes spoke up.

"Son, there's no easy way to say this, but the miner's kept writing and… well, some of them know the right people. Your mother is... sick, son."

Dennis only winced at the statement.

"Sick? H-how sick, sir?" he asked feeling an odd sense of numbness as if the weight of the statement hadn't quite hit him yet.

The other man spoke.

"She collapsed a couple of weeks ago and refused to go to the doctor. She'd been very weak if the last call was any indication, but when she was taken to the doctor...” then, as if frustrated to say it aloud, “Look, she doesn’t have much time."

Dennis only stared in silence, frozen in place.

The statement felt too vague, too open-ended, and yet not at all. The numbness he’d been feeling quickly became a coldness that crawled up and down his body. His heart rate accelerated, his throat grew dry, his mind went blank.

“What?” he finally croaked out.

"It's too late is what I'm saying. Doctor said she has an inoperable tumor that had been unknowingly growing for months. Now look, you've completed essentially all the tasks necessary to qualify with E Company. You’ll still be part of the special operation, so don’t worry about that right now. Now, we plan to get you home and… if you're lucky, spend some final hours with her."

Dennis glanced at the few other men in the library, all of them were now eyeing him from a distance, none making eye contact, just staring in his general direction, none saying anything.

A deathly silence filled the library.

"But… the mission, it-" Dennis muttered.

"We consider your knowledge of the local tongue valuable enough. We need people like you in the front, coupled with the training you've been undergoing, well… right now guys like you are in short supply. You being guilt-ridden by not visiting your dying mother isn't going to help us. Do you understand?" Rhodes said.

The 18-year-old sagged ever so slightly; his eyes still wide as he tried processing the information in his tired mind.

"Go pack up." Came the quiet order.

Dennis only nodded.

He felt a few pats on the back as he moved to do just that.

And yet, to the confusion on his mind, despite feeling them, he somehow didn't feel them. Nor did he hear the words spoken by those trying to give him some consolation. He felt suddenly farther away from people than ever before.

Aragon, Georgia

6:07 PM

The bus stopped and Dennis hopped off, having been waiting by the door already, immediately turning and starting to run in the direction he’d gone so many days after school. The landscape rarely changed, the same trees, the same homes, the same patches of dirt on the road, the same setting sun giving the same sky an orange tint.

Running was now easier.

He kept his breaths steady, his mind focused. His black boots did their job, he didn’t trip or drop his rucksack, and just as he turned and saw the familiar home...

He slowed down, then stopped.

Terry Jones was sitting on the doorstep, hunched over, hands clasped together under his chin, eyes having already met his own as though he’d been silently watching him for a while.

Dennis approached slowly now, swallowing the knot in his throat.

Giving an unsteady wave he called “Mister Jones!”

The man waved back, then stood up.

Neither spoke as he walked over.

Dennis waited a moment, seeing the man’s pained expression made him want to ask but his mind refused to do so.

Not yet.

But he didn’t have to ask.

“You missed her.”

It had only been three little words. One syllable each. Said in less than a second. And that was it.

Dennis didn’t cry.

Not yet.

He only stayed silent, staring at Jones, lost as to what to say or do. If Jones had any advice to give he kept it to himself as he walked on, following the road away from Dennis without another word, the sound of slow, heavy footsteps trailing after before eventually becoming inaudible.

Dennis stood there, the sun setting to the west, the sky darkening as it followed.

He wasn’t sure how long he was out of it. Staring in silence at a house he knew was empty, but there were still some rays of sunshine out when he finally took a step toward it. The door was unlocked, and he stepped inside without a word.

Inside was no different than when he had left not even three months prior.

The counter was clean, the lights were off, the framed family pictures were in their place…

But it was empty.

Quiet.

Dennis closed the door behind him and sat on the floor, dropping his rucksack, not moving as he took in his new reality.

He didn’t cry.

Not yet.