Chapter Text
After the war, Carwood means to go home directly, but it doesn’t quite work out that way. He and the rest of the boys are back in England through November, and then the whole unit is officially disbanded. The boys start going home, most of them pushing to get there in time for Christmas.
“When are you leaving?” George asks him one night as they sit outside the barracks and smoke English cigarettes that taste different, but neither of them seems to be able to smoke Lucky Strikes now that they're not in the rations. It’s January, cold as all get out, and he and George are both in their blouses but no jackets. They don’t even have to be smoking outside, but once the flurries started, they’d gone out without thinking.
“Soon, I think,” Carwood answers. “Just want to make sure you all get on your way.”
“You don’t need to keep track of us anymore, Lip,” George says. “We’re nearly civilians now.”
“Well, old habits,” Carwood replies, and they finish their cigarettes and step back inside.
George is on a troop ship two weeks later, Malarkley and Babe with him. They all give Carwood torn half-pages with their address, and he promises to write. They wave goodbye from the railing, and he misses them fiercely even before they’re out of sight.
He eats at the Officer’s Club that evening and has the first beer he’s drunk in three years. He’s halfway through his meatloaf when Ron walks over, raises his eyebrows, and sits across from Carwood at his nod.
“Who went home today?” Ron asks.
“Luz, Malarkey, and Heffron,” Carwood replies. “They were my last three.”
“That explains the beer.”
Carwood smiles. “Suppose it does.”
“How much longer are you here?” Ron asks.
“Not sure. A few more weeks at least or maybe longer. Major Winters says he could use me on a project if I wanted to stay a few months.”
“Why would you stay?” Ron asks. “You’ve got a wife waiting.”
“So do you,” Carwood replies, and they watch each other for a long moment.
“Go home,” Ron says. “See your family.”
“I made a promise,” Carwood says, and he sees the way Ron’s hand tightens on his fork.
“Do you want to make good on it?” Ron asks, voice even, with just a touch of disinterest like he might not really care.
“I don’t know,” Carwood admits. “It doesn’t feel like the war’s over yet.”
“The papers are signed.”
“That only means something to the generals.”
“I suppose that’s true.”
The silence they drop into is companionable. They finish their meals, and Carwood stands first, saluting sharply. “Sir.”
“Lieutenant,” Ron replies, but he does not salute in return.
Carwood takes himself for a walk, tracking along the edge of the base as he tries to get his thoughts in order. He thinks of Huntington, but when he closes his eyes, all he sees is Europe. It’s burned or frozen or gleaming too perfectly, high in the Alps. He doesn’t want to go home if he can’t picture it. He’ll carry the war with him forever, he knows, but he doesn’t want to carry it like this.
*
The next morning, he goes to Major Winters and asks about the project. It’s organizational, just helping with all the final paperwork required to finish waging war.
“It’s dull work,” Winters tells him. “You won’t be thinking much.”
“Sounds like exactly what I need, Sir.”
Winters gives him a considering look, and Carwood waits him out. “Okay,” Winters says in the slow way he always does when he doesn’t want to pry. “I’ll let command know.”
“Thank you, Sir.”
*
He calls his mother when it's early afternoon in Huntington. "I'll be staying awhile longer, Mama," he tells her.
"If that's what you need to do," she says.
Carwood closes his eyes and feels her pride in him wash over him. She's always had it, even before he became a paratrooper. "Thank you, Mama. How are things there?"
"Oh, they're as they ever were. Jack and I have handled it all just fine."
Carwood tries to picture what Jack might look like right now, but it's been a good long while since he's seen his little brother, and all he can picture is the angular, reedy boy who hadn't hit his last growth spurt before Carwood had gone to Toccoa.
"Well, you tell him I say hello."
"I will, honey. Don't forget to write."
"I won't, Mama."
*
The work is exactly as rote as Major Winters warned, but Carwood finds it soothing in the way it turns off his thoughts and lets him concentrate on a single task at a time. The filing especially helps clear his head, focusing so much on repeating the alphabet over and over that he can't think of anything else.
He writes his mother every week, letters full of nothing of interest.
Dear Mama,
I'm doing well. It's warming up in England and getting pretty nice. I'm still doing that work for Major Winters, and it's nothing exciting, but it's necessary. Major Winters says I'm the most patient person he's ever seen take it on, and I explained that growing up making beds and sweeping floors sort of got me ready for it.
I hope you're well and healthy. Tell Jack hello for me. I promise to send word as soon as I know I'm headed home.
Your Son,
Carwood
*
In early April, Major Winters tells him the work is nearly done. "Probably be done by the beginning of May," he says. He pauses, looks down at his desk, and says, "I'm sure I could lend you out to another Major if you need to stay busy awhile."
Carwood considers the offer. Huntington is starting to push back into his memories when he closes his eyes. It's not all Europe when he tries to think of home. "Can I let you know in a week, Sir?"
"Of course, Lieutenant."
"Thank you, Sir."
*
"Well?" Ron asks that night, sitting across from Carwood in the Officer's Club without asking.
"Well?" Carwood repeats.
"There's a rumor that you may be headed stateside, soon."
"Maybe," Carwood says. "Who's gossiping?"
"I think he calls it gathering intel," Ron replies.
Nixon, Carwood thinks with a grin. A man who should have been gone long before Carwood himself, and yet, he's still here doing paperwork and staring holes in the back of Major Winters' head when he's not looking. It's a hell of a friendship they have, Carwood thinks. He wonders if he'll ever have something like that.
"Well?" Ron says again.
"I think so," Carwood tells him. "It's feeling less like the war is still on."
"And that promise?"
"Still not entirely sure about that," Carwood admits.
"All right," Ron says, and it's the last they say to each other as they eat dinner.
*
"That's it," Major Winters says at the end of April.
"Are you certain?" Carwood asks.
"I'm afraid even the Army runs out of paperwork, sometimes," Winters says. "You might consider leave, Lieutenant."
"Leave?"
"I was looking at your records just yesterday, and you haven't taken leave since Toccoa."
"The men needed me, Sir." Carwood can't read the expression on Winters' face, but he feels proud even without being sure.
"You've got weeks and weeks piled up, and I know it's funny to hear this come from me, but take some of it, Lipton. Take a breath."
Carwood can't stop the smile that slides across his face. "That is funny coming from you."
Winters grins in return and waves a hand towards the window. "Go out there. See England without bombs falling on it. Maybe go to Paris. Even I've been to Paris."
"Did you enjoy it?"
"As much as I could."
"Well, I'll think about it."
*
He goes to London, then Paris. London feels melancholy, the holes still in the streets and buildings making him feel empty in his own chest. Paris is better but only because the scars aren't quite so obvious. The cafes and the hotels are all still there, but there's a look he gets that he knows is a response to his uniform. The war is over, and the people of Paris would clearly prefer to put it behind them. Carwood can't blame them, but even after weeks on leave, he closes his eyes and thinks of Huntington, and the image of the boarding house still gets overrun with snow and ruined churches and bodies piled in train cars.
"Go home," Ron tells him when he's been back a week and in the Officer's Club for dinner again.
"I'm finishing a project for Colonel Sink," Carwood says. "Cleaning up some reports and the like."
"Carwood," Ron says, and Carwood's head snaps up from looking down as he cuts his meat because Ron has never said his name. "After that, go home. Go back to West Virginia and be Carwood Lipton again."
"Something wrong with Lieutenant Lipton?" Carwood asks.
"No," Ron says immediately. "But it's Carwood Lipton who has to make the decision on that promise."
Carwood doesn't have an answer to that. It's the first awkward silence they've shared in a very long time. He finishes his work for Captain Sink in the third week of June, and he books passage on a passenger ship three days later after his discharge papers have all been signed.
"Thank you for your service, Lieutenant," Major Winters says to him after he signs his name.
"Just Carwood now, Sir."
"Carwood, then," Major Winters replies. They shake hands, and Carwood salutes without thinking. The smile the Major gives him before returning the gesture makes Carwood feel good.
Ron comes to his quarters as he's packing the last of his things the next day. "Here," he says, and he gives Carwood a half-page of torn paper with an address in Boston.
"Boston?" Carwood asks. "I thought your wife was English."
"She is," Ron replies. "But I'll be in Boston soon."
"All right," Carwood says. Ron stares at him, but Carwood doesn't feel awkward, just stares back until Ron breathes in deep and leaves.
*
The passenger ship isn't crowded or loud enough, Carwood decides. He has a small, windowless room to himself, but it doesn't feel right to not have another man jammed in next to him. He walks the deck every day, making idle conversation with other passengers who ask if he has cigarettes or knows the time. He wishes he'd gone home earlier, if only to be crammed on a troop ship with men who would understand him and say more than comments about the weather.
He spends a lot of time in his room, exercising and reading books and trying to write letters to the boys. He never finishes the letters, but he finishes his books. He spends one full afternoon in a deck chair with the sun on his face, and if he closes his eyes, he can see the balcony of that hotel, the smile on Major Winters' face as he'd announced V-E Day. He remembers Harry trying to stay upright and failing. He remembers Ron.
It's three and a half weeks to get to New York from London. Carwood calls his mother long distance from a pay phone when he arrives. "Do you want anything from New York?" he asks her.
"Just my son if he feels the urge," she replies.
It makes Carwood smile. "I'm going to spend a couple of days in the city, then I'll get on a train. I'll send a telegram when I leave, all right?"
"All right. You be careful."
"I will, Mama. Love you."
"I love you, too."
He takes a bus to Central Park and finds a hotel with a reasonable rate as long as he doesn't want a view of the park itself. "That's fine," Carwood tells the desk clerk.
"Enjoy your stay, Sir," the clerk replies, and Carwood stands still for a moment waiting for a salute. "Sir?" The clerk asks.
"Nothing," Carwood replies. He takes the room key and goes upstairs. It's a nice, clean room, and Carwood lays on the bed and looks at the ceiling and falls asleep in his clothes. When he wakes up, it's dark, and he goes out and finds a diner.
"You're not from around here," the waitress says when she takes his order.
"No," Carwood agrees. "West Virginia."
The waitress makes a disinterested noise and walks away. Carwood looks around the diner and feels very alone in a way he's never felt in his life. He turns the feeling over and examines it, wondering what's so different about being solitary in this diner from being solitary anywhere else.
He misses his boys, he realizes. And his mother, and Jack.
He misses just being Carwood Lipton, because even though the war's over and he's a civilian again, he's still not the Carwood Lipton he was. He looks down at his wedding band and turns it around on his finger. There's a letter in the bottom of his duffel that tells him he doesn't need it anymore, and a promise from the war that he thinks could make him happy if he decides to go through with it.
He eats dinner and goes back to the hotel and sleeps badly. When he wakes up just before dawn, he smokes three cigarettes before he gets out of bed, and then he goes out and sees the Statue of Liberty. She's not as grand as he was expecting, and somehow that feels right.
He sends a telegram that night.
Coming home. Be on the afternoon train day after tomorrow.
He closes his eyes to go to sleep and sees the wrong kind of snow falling on the boarding house and figures it's as close as he's going to get right now.
*
He wears his uniform on the train, and Mama and Jack greet him at the train station. Mama sits as tall and proud in her wheelchair as she always has, and Jack hugs him tight.
“Look at you in that fancy uniform,” Jack says.
“You look very handsome,” Mama adds. “Even that scar gives you character.”
Carwood runs a thumb over his scar and smiles at them both. “You both look wonderful,” he says. “I’m glad to be home.” He means it.
They drive to the boarding house in the same beat-up car they’d driven him to the station when he’d left, and his room, when he opens the door, is almost exactly how he remembers it, save the picture of himself on the nightstand and the star in the window. “I’ll take that down tomorrow,” Carwood tells Mama.
“I’m so glad you can,” she says, and they hug again.
Carwood sleeps hard and deep, coming awake ten minutes before dawn without an alarm of any kind. He lays in bed and stares at the ceiling and thinks of his men. They were jovial and relaxed after the surrender of Japan, ready to scrub themselves up like new pennies and look like handsome men in uniforms and not plain old soldiers who'd been on the line so very long. He rolls on his side and looks at the picture of himself in his dress uniform. He feels so much older than that picture, but he knows he’s not very old at all.
The sun starts to peek up over the hills, so Carwood gets up and gets dressed. He brushes his teeth, washes his face, and combs his hair, and then he goes into the big kitchen in the boarding house proper and ties on the apron to start breakfast as he had most of his life before he’d left for the Army.
“Oh,” Jack says when he walks in a few minutes later while tying on his own apron. “Didn’t think you’d be up and around already.”
“They teach you to be,” Carwood says. “Though it’s not hard after so many years of Mother.”
They smile at each other, and Carwood steps back from icebox with a wave of his hand. “Show me your routine,” he says. “I’ll work around you.”
“All right,” Jack says, and together they make breakfast for the boarders.
It’s all new faces when Carwood brings out the plate of eggs. There’s two students from the university, a young woman here looking for work, a man passing through to visit family, and a new high school teacher who hasn’t found a place to call home just yet. They all say good morning, and none of them ask after Carwood or his return. He 's glad they don't, and when he goes back into the kitchen in the private part of the house to have his own breakfast, Mama is at the table in there, sipping her coffee and looking over the morning paper.
“I’m glad you kept the house full while I was away,” Carwood says when he sits across from her, his own coffee in one hand, an egg on toast on a plate in the other. “It’s nice to come back to.”
“We had a few bare patches here and there, but since the war ended, it’s all come back around to what it was,” she replies. She sets down the paper and reaches out for his hand. Carwood meets her halfway, and they give each other a long look. “Vanessa told me she sent you a letter while you were away,” Mama says. “But you never mentioned it to me.”
“I got it,” Carwood replies. “I didn’t want to worry you with it, and I thought she’d let you know in her own way. She’s always liked you.”
“And I’ve always liked her.”
Carwood squeezes Mama's hand and lets go. “It hurt, but the boys were going through the same sometimes, so we could lean on each other.”
Mama shakes her head. “You haven’t leaned on anyone in your whole life, Carwood. You’re the one we all lean on, and you know it.”
“I’m glad to do it,” he says. It’s true. Even with having to become the man of the house so young, he’s never felt resentful. It’s just his nature to take care, he supposes. Just what he does.
“Vanessa came by day before last and wanted me to give you her best. She said if you’d like to talk before you sign the papers, she’d be happy to come over and see you.”
“I’ll call her in a day or so,” Carwood says. “We’ll get it sorted out.”
“I’m sure you will,” Mama says, and they finish their breakfast in a comfortable quiet.
*
Late in the afternoon, having done his laundry and hung it on the line, and having served up lunch to the boarders who pay extra for it, Carwood sits on the back porch of the private part of the house and smokes a cigarette slowly. He makes a list of all the things he needs to do to get resettled into his life, a pad of paper balanced on his knee:
- Call the VA office about GI Bill benefits
- Call the college about starting again
- See Vanessa to get the papers signed
- Fix the shutter on the left front side of the house
- Get the garden dug up for winter
- See about some part-time work in town
He looks it over and considers the next few weeks. It’s late July, and classes will be starting in a few weeks. He could rush and get a schedule going, but without the surety of his benefits, he can’t be certain he can pay what he’ll need to secure everything. He’ll call the VA first tomorrow morning, then the college. He’ll take care of the shutter and garden the day after that, and meet Vanessa in the afternoon to clear the air between them, get everything finished. If he’s feeling up to it after that, he’ll stop by the hardware store. He’d seen a Help Wanted sign when they were driving past, and wants to see if it’s still there.
He flips the page to a clean sheet and starts to make a list of his boys who he wants to send letters. Let them know he’s okay and see if they’re doing well themselves. He wonders when Harry and Kitty will marry and if Mama could make them a little something as a gift. She’s always had a fine eye for lacework, and he knows she’d love to help a young couple get started right.
He finishes his cigarette and stubs it out on his chair leg, dropping the butt in the slit between the edge of the porch and the ramp he put in when he was younger so Mama could get in and out as she pleased. He goes inside and puts away his notebook and pencil and decides a nap is in order.
*
The VA office gives him all the information he’ll need to call the college, and the college promises they’ll have someone call him back to help him figure out when to start. Probably not until January, they say, and Carwood tells them that’s fine and gets off the phone.
“Well?” Mama asks when he’s off the phone.
“Probably won’t start until January,” Carwood says. “But I’ll have the rest of my back pay until then, plus whatever work I pick up.”
“We’re doing just fine here. Don't worry yourself.”
“I’ll do my best, Mama,” Carwood says, and he spends the rest of the afternoon on the porch reading a book until the sun starts to set, and then he goes for a run in the twilight. He thinks about his boys, about training, lets the war as a whole mess of moments swim through his head. He smiles remembering Buck Compton showing up for the baseball game, remembering Harry crowing with delight the night before he shipped out to go home. He thinks about Muck and Penkala, and his heart hurts in his chest, but he remembers how they smiled and laughed, and that makes it easier. He thinks about Luz, the way they bonded in their foxhole that terrible night, the way Luz was always ready to light his cigarette because he’d never planned to pick up a bad habit in the middle of war.
As he crests a hill and stops to catch his breath, Carwood looks into the valley below and thinks about Ron. It goes through him like an electric current as he remembers. The night at the covenant, the weeks on the road, that camp they found and the one next to it they liberated as well. He thinks about the lodge in Austria, going up with Winters to give Harry and Nixon and Ron the good news. He remembers Winters and Nixon walking away somewhere, and Harry stumbling towards the doors to write Kitty that letter. He remembers Ron on that lounger, drunk as three men, staring at his mouth and saying, “Well, the war’s over.”
“It surely is,” Carwood had agreed. His palms had gotten sweaty, and he’d wiped them on his trousers.
“You made me a promise, Lieutenant,” Ron had said, swaying forward just a little.
“I did,” Carwood had agreed. “But you’ll need to sober up first.”
Ron had smiled and flopped back on the lounger, throwing an arm over his eyes. “I won’t be sober again until I hit the States,” he says.
“I suppose I’ll fulfill my promise then,” Carwood had said and stood up and walked back into the lodge.
Carwood’s breathing regulates, and he turns to go back down the hill. The dusk is coming on fast, and he finds himself checking over his shoulder as he jogs back down, just in case someone’s trying to come up behind him.
*
It’s easier to repair the shutter than Carwood was expecting, and getting the garden prepped for the winter helps clear his head like it always does. He finds himself with some extra time when he’s finished and figures getting a start on the gutters is a good use of his time. He’s on the ladder, wrist deep in leaves and dirt, when he hears someone call his name from the ground.
“Carwood!” Vanessa says, giving him a little wave.
“Hi,” he says, coming down the ladder and wiping his hands on his work pants. “Is it three already?”
“Just before,” she says. “Lost track of time?”
“Afraid so. Sorry.”
“That’s all right.” She waves it away, but it looks wrong, more jerky than forgiving. Carwood realizes she’s nervous to see him, and he supposes that makes sense.
“It’s good to see you,” he says. “You doing all right?”
“Just fine,” Vanessa replies. “I’m working at the library. I like it a lot.”
“That’s good to hear.”
They fall into an awkward silence, and Carwood looks at Vanessa in her dotted dress and sensible heels and thinks to himself, I won’t be married to you anymore after this.
“Carwood?” she asks.
“I’m here,” he replies. “Just thinking.”
“I’m sorry I did it by letter,” she says. “I want you to know that.”
“There wasn’t another way, really,” he says. “I wasn’t the only fella to get one.” It comes out a little biting, and he lowers his head. “I didn’t mean it like that.”
“Sure you did,” she says, sounding hurt. “But you never like to admit you get mean sometimes.”
“Suppose I don’t.” He looks at her again, and she’s reaching for the clasp of her purse. He watches her open it and pull out some papers and a pen.
“We can just sign them, and I can go,” she says. “Get right out of your way.”
“No,” Carwood says, shaking his head. “That’s no way to do this. You weren’t a war bride, Ness. We know each other more than that. Come on into the house. I’m sure Mama’s got the kettle on.”
“I don’t want to disrupt anything,” she says.
“You’ve been letting the back door bang close since you were knee-high,” Carwood says. “Come on in. You’ll always be welcome here.”
She looks indecisive for a moment, then she looks up at the house. “All right,” she says. “If you’re sure it’s all right.”
“It is,” Carwood says, and he holds the door open for her and lets her lead the way to the kitchen.
“Vanessa,” Mama greets when she glances up from chopping vegetables. “Carwood said you’d be by today.”
“Hello, Mama,” Vanessa says, and then she looks uncomfortable again.
“If you think signing those papers makes me stop being your mother, you’ve got another thought coming, child,” Mama says.
“Yes, Ma’am,” Vanessa says with a small smile, and she sits down at the table.
“Carwood, rinse up before you sit down. I just scrubbed that table.”
“Yes, Mama,” he says and goes over to the big kitchen sink where he washes up to his elbows and splashes water on his face as well. “Gutters are about half done,” he says. “I’ll get them finished tomorrow.”
“That’ll be fine,” Mama responds. She dumps chopped carrots into a mixing bowl, puts the bowl in her lap, and wheels over to the kitchen table to set it down. “I’m going to the parlor for a bit,” she says to Vanessa. “You come find me when you’re all done in here. I’d like to catch up if you’ve got the time.”
“Of course,” Vanessa agrees.
Carwood sits at the table as Mama leaves the room. He leans back in his chair, hands on his thighs, and watches Vanessa get the papers out again. “Are they difficult?” he asks. “What do you need from me?”
“Just a couple signatures,” she says. “It just says we’re mutually agreed to end the marriage, and that all the worldly goods we came into the marriage with separately will go back to us.”
“And here I was sure you married me for the contents of my sock drawer,” Carwood says. It makes her smile, and he feels all right. He signs where she’s marked, and then he looks up. She’s watching him, her chin in one hand. “What?” he asks.
“You look so much like you but so much not,” she says. She reaches out and touches the scar on his cheek. “And that doesn’t harden you at all.”
“No, it’s the one on my leg that did that,” he says. “Nearly lost my faculties, Ness.”
“Well, I suppose that won’t be the great concern it would have been,” she says, tapping the papers in a meaningful way.
“Oh, I don’t know,” Carwood replies. “Perhaps it’ll mean a lot more. A single man back from war and all that.”
Vanessa laughs and pinches his arm lightly. “You’re still a rascal, Carwood.”
“I’m just glad I could make you laugh,” Carwood says. He folds the papers and slides them over to her. “Guess you’ll be Miss Bale again unless you’d like to keep my name. No hardship for me if you want it.”
“I think Miss Bale suits me better.” Vanessa tucks the papers and pen back into her purse and looks at Carwood again. She stands and leans over, kissing him on the cheek just to the side of his scar. “But I’m glad to still know Mr. Lipton.”
“Thank you,” he says, and he watches her walk out of the kitchen to the parlor, sagging against the table only after she’s struck up a conversation with Mama.
*
He smokes late that evening, unable to fall asleep though he’s surely tired. It’s dark around the back of the house, only shadows and the breeze. Carwood sits in just his trousers, his shirt draped over the porch railing just in case someone comes around, though it’s a slim chance.
The back door opens silently, and Jack walks out on tiptoe, his shoes in one hand. He stops cold at the sight of Carwood and looks guilty even in the mostly dark. “Um…”
“You feeling guilty because you’re about to do something wrong or feeling guilty because Mama’d whup you up one side and down the other if she caught you sneaking out?” Carwood asks.
“Mama’s never laid a hand on either of us,” Jack says. He steps away from the door, making certain it latches with barely a sound.
“You getting into trouble?” Carwood asks.
“Just going to a place I know,” Jack replies.
“The Honky Tonk just through the woods?”
Jack sticks his chin out, ready for a fight. “Might be.”
“Well, if old Ross is still behind the bar, tell him your brother said to give you a beer on him.”
Jack’s jaw drops. “You…you went out there?”
“Whole town’s been out there,” Carwood says with a smile. “Hell, Mama probably went out there when she was young.”
Jack wrinkles his nose, clearly not wanting to think about it. “I don’t go out there all the time, but—”
“There’s a girl.”
“Yeah.” Jack smiles, sweet and wide. “She’s something else, Carwood.”
“That’s the best kind of girl,” he says.
Jack watches him finish his cigarette and reach for another. “Mama can’t believe you took up smoking,” he says.
“Neither can I,” Carwood admits.
“Can I have one?” Jack rolls his eyes when Carwood gives him a look. “You think I ain’t been sneaking a few at the Honky Tonk?”
That makes Carwood chuckle, and he holds the pack out to Jack so he can take one. He flicks open his lighter, lights his, then leans over to light Jack’s as well.
“Fancy lighter,” Jack says. “You get that from the Army?”
“No,” Carwood replies, running his thumb over the engravings on the side. “Just from a fella I fought with.”
“What’s all that fancy stuff on the side?”
“Just vines and flowers and things.” Carwood hands it over so Jack can inspect it close up. “He found it somewhere in Germany. He said he thought I’d appreciate it.”
Jack hands back the lighter, and they smoke half their cigarettes in silence. “Are you glad to be back?” Jack asks.
“Yes,” Carwood replies.
“You’re not bored?”
“Not yet.”
“Did you really jump out of a plane?”
“Yup.”
“Huh.” Jack finishes his cigarette and puts it out on the underside of the railing. He bends down and wedges it between two slats of the porch until it drops underneath. When he straightens up, he starts to pull on his shoes. “I did my best while you were gone,” he says. “The shutter and the gutters and the garden were on my list.”
“I believe you. It’s no bother for me to help around here. Nothing much to do until I get a job or school starts up for me again.”
“You’re really going, huh?”
“I really am.”
“Huh,” Jack says again. He looks at Carwood with a sort of awe he hasn’t had since they were young. “I’ll be back later. I won’t miss breakfast.”
“All right.” Carwood watches him leave, walking away in the dark like he has a plan besides going to the Honky Tonk and getting that free beer and a few more. He tries to remember being like that, but even in his own Honky Tonk days, he was still planning ahead so far he doubts he looked so carefree. Jack will come home, make breakfast, and get a mid-morning nap, then wake up and decide what to do next. There’s a list of things for Carwood to take care of from the time he gets up the next morning, and so he puts out his cigarette and gets himself back to bed.
*
The college calls him the next day. The advisor he talks to explains that while he can start in January, many classes won’t be available to him because they’re two-part classes, and the required first part is being taught this fall semester.
“Is there anything in the summer?” he asks.
“Nothing you’d qualify for, I’m afraid. It looks like it’ll just be some hurry up and wait.”
“That’s fine,” Carwood says, and it really is. He spent years thinking he’d never go back, and there’s a real chance now. “Anything I can do in the meantime?”
“I’d suggest reviewing any old textbooks you might have, just remind yourself what you learned last.”
“I’ll do that. Thank you.”
He tells Mama the news as she shells peas on the front porch of the boarding house proper. “Oh, well,” she says. “Next August will be here faster than you know, and that’s just for classes starting. It’s less than a year, really, if you consider all the prep work.”
“I suppose it is,” he agrees. He watches her shell peas with the methodical grace she’s always had for it. It’s one of her favorite chores, she’s always told him. It helps her clear her mind. “I think I’ll write the boys,” he says. “Let them know I’ve made it home.”
“That sounds fine,” she says.
Carwood goes inside and gets a pen and paper. He gets into the small side pocket of his duffle where he’d put everyones' quickly scribbled addresses, and gets his address book from the bedside table. He goes back to the porch with his supplies and sits down.
“Looks like quite the stack of names,” Mama says, eying the scraps he’s sorting through.
“They were all good men,” he says. “I’m glad they want me to write them.”
“Well, of course they do,” Mama says. “You’ve always been the sweetest boy in three counties.”
Carwood shakes his head but doesn’t argue. He pulls Luz’s address from the stack and starts there.
Dear George,
I am back in Huntington and doing fine. The boarding house is about the same as I left it, though all the boarders are new to me. My mother and brother are doing fine, and the weather is warm and sunny. I hope you've settled into being home and are enjoying it, and I hope you’ve had plenty to keep you busy. Please give my best to your family.
Your Friend,
Carwood Lipton
He writes the same basic letter to most of the boys. When he gets to Buck’s, he adds a paragraph about his divorce, but he leaves it out of the others. It’s for another time, when he and the boys have exchanged a few letters and are on a more equal footing as civilians. It’ll take some time, he figures, for them to stop thinking of him as the man in charge, and he doesn’t want to overwhelm them. It’ll be talked about when it’s ready to be talked about.
Carwood puts Buck’s letter aside and turns to a fresh sheet of paper. There’s only one man left to write to, and he’s not sure how to start.
Dear Ron,
He stares at the salutation for a few minutes, the quiet sounds of Mama shucking peas soothing him as he considers what to say. He could just recreate the same paragraph he’s been starting with, but it feels wrong to do it.
I’ve arrived back in Huntington. The weather is good, and my mother and brother are doing fine. I’ve been doing some work around the house, and I spoke to the college about starting classes again. It looks like I won’t begin again until next Fall, but it seems a short wait in light of everything else.
I hope this letter finds you well. I hope your wife and son are doing fine. I hope
Carwood stares at the page for a long time and wonders what he hopes.
you’ll still want me to fulfill that promise sometime.
Yours,
Carwood Lipton
He tears the sheet from the pad and places it with the others. His heart thumps hard in his chest as he stands up and gathers the stack. “Envelopes still in the desk?” he asks Mama
“Yes, but we’re short on stamps.”
“I’ll walk up to the post office in a bit,” he offers, and she nods agreement as he walks back inside. Addressing the envelopes takes a while, and his heart doesn’t stop thumping hard the whole time. Once he’s licked the last envelope, he neatens the stack and flips through it, making sure there’s a letter for every man who wants one. He pauses when he gets to the one for Ron and stares at it before moving on to the next.
“Need anything else while I’m out?” he asks Mama as he comes back onto the porch, the letters tucked under his arm.
“No, dear. Have a nice walk.”
He buys two books of stamps at the post office, one for his own letters, the other to take home. The clerk behind the counter is Murray Nelson; he and Carwood went through school together, and they were always friends.
“You don’t look much like a soldier,” Murray teases as Carwood double checks the envelopes one last time. “Heard you fellas were supposed to be tough.”
“I’m tough where it counts,” Carwood says with a grin, and Marty laughs and claps him on the shoulder.
“Eh, you always were. Give my best to your mom.”
“I will. Same to your folks."
“Thanks, buddy. Sorry to hear about you and Vanessa.”
The hurt runs through Carwood like someone’s plucked a guitar string, but it fades quickly. “Sometimes, these things just happen,” he says. “Not an easy job, being a soldier’s wife.”
“I wouldn’t know. 4F because of that busted ear drum.”
“Aw, they just didn’t need you because you already had a good story about an injury,” Carwood says. He and Murray shake hands, and Carwood heads for home.
*
The next week is similar to the first. Carwood reads and works around the boarding house. He goes to the hardware store, but the job’s been filled even though the sign’s still in the window. He goes home and tells Mama and Jack, and they assure him they’re doing just fine, Mama making it clear that, yes, he will take payment for helping with the boarders, same as he always has. They have dinner, and afterwards, Carwood sits on the back porch and smokes his cigarette, watching the sun go down.
Jack comes out the back door and sits on the railing. He doesn’t request a cigarette, just looks across the backyard and then at Carwood. “Mama doesn’t want you to know, but we got a weird call today.”
“What kind of weird?”
“A man asking for you, but he wouldn’t leave his name or number. Mama said he sounded uncomfortable, like maybe he wasn’t used to phones.”
It’s Ron, Carwood knows. It has to be. None of his boys would ever be uncomfortable; they’d make a point to be the most charming man possible to Lieutenant Lipton’s mother and then brag to him about their skill. “Well, I’ll stay near the phone tomorrow,” Carwood says. “We’ll see who it is.”
*
Carwood stays indoors the next day. He sweeps the whole first floor and scrubs the windows. He straightens up the bookshelves and checks the wastepaper baskets, and he’s just running out of excuses to get away from the phone when it rings.
“Lipton Boarding House, this is Carwood speaking.”
“I was expecting your mother,” and the sound is fuzzy, but it’s clearly Ron.
“I could always go get her, Sir.”
“No. I was expecting her, but I wanted to speak with you.”
Carwood can’t help but smile at the way Ron sounds both authoritarian and awkward, like he doesn’t want it to sound like an order but doesn’t quite know how to speak otherwise. “Well, then here I am, Sir.”
“It’s Ron,” he says. “That’s how you addressed your letter.”
“Yes, it is. So, it reached you.”
“Yes.”
“So, you’re in Boston.”
“Yes.”
“Are you wife and son with you?”
“My wife’s husband, who was presumed dead, was not dead. They have reunited, and it was decided it was better if I was not in my son’s life.”
“Oh,” Carwood says. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
“She’s keeping all the silver I sent her,” Ron says. “I don’t find that entirely fair, but it will help provide for my son, I suppose.”
“I suppose so, yes,” Carwood says. “Forgive me, S-Ron, but you sound more upset about the silver than your wife and son.”
“Hrm,” Ron replies, and there’s silence on the line for a few seconds. “I don’t know that I can say that I had any real connection to them. It’s not my nature, you know.”
“You connected with the men,” Carwood replies.
“That’s not the same,” Ron says like Carwood has said something incredibly stupid. “That’s not nearly the same.”
“Okay.” There’s another silence. Carwood leans against the wall and scratches the back of his neck while he waits it out.
“Huntington is treating you well?” Ron finally asks.
“Yes. I'm helping around the boarding house same as I've always done.”
“Good. Is there a backyard at the boarding house? A private one, I mean.”
“Yes,” Carwood says, surprised by the question. “There’s a fence around the back of house where we live. Nothing out front."
“Is it fully fenced?”
“Yes.”
“Good. That’s good.”
“You seem quite concerned about the state of my yard.”
“I’d like to send you something, if I might,” Ron says. “It’s rather large, but I think you’ll have room for it.”
Carwood isn’t sure if Ron is changing the subject or continuing it. “Is it bigger than a bread box?”
“Yes.”
“Oh.”
“I can put it in the mail tomorrow, overnight. It should reach you by the afternoon the day after. Will you be there then?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Good. It was good to talk to you.”
“You too,” Carwood says. A question to keep the conversation going is on the tip of his tongue when he realizes Ron’s hung up the phone.
He tells Mama and Jack about the call that evening, explains to them that Ron is just the way he is. “He can be very personable,” Carwood says, “but you have to sort of wait for it.”
“He has terrible telephone manners,” Mama says.
“Yes, he does,” Carwood agrees.
“What’s he sending you?” Jack asks.
“I don’t know,” Carwood says. “He says it’s bigger than a bread box.”
“Well, won’t it be fun to guess?” Mama says, and begins the game herself.
*
It’s a dog.
“It’s a dog,” Jack says when Carwood just stares dumbly into the box trying to make sense of things.
“It’s a damned dog,” Carwood says.
“It’s ugly,” Jack says.
Carwood just nods. The thing’s got three legs and is missing an eye. It’s fur—what there is of it—is a scraggly combination of grey, brown, black, and tan. It’s ribs aren’t showing, but it’s close, and it's crouched in the back of the crate it’s been shipped in, clearly terrified and ready to fight.
“Why would he send you a dog?” Jack asks.
“I have no earthly clue.” Carwood reaches into his back pocket for the letter that came with the crate. He’d stuck it there when Jack had peeked into the holes in the sides and announced whatever was in there was breathing and then went running for the crowbar. He opens the letter, not sure what to expect.
Dear Carwood,
Her name is Panzer. I found her around the back of my place in Boston. She is clearly unwell, but I do not have the capacity to care for her. As you have a fenced backyard, I thought she might be happier with you. I am uncertain if she has ever been trained. She tried to bite me twice when I rescued her. I sedated her for the journey. I hope this letter finds you well.
Ron
“Well?” Jack asks.
“I still have no earthly clue,” Carwood says. He looks from the letter to the dog to the letter again. “Panzer?” he tries. The dog’s hackles do not go down. It cowers further back into the corner of the crate.
“What do we do?” Jack asks. He leans down to get a better look at the dog, and the dog snaps at him in warning. Jack wheels back, nearly tripping over the stairs.
“Easy,” Carwood says, pulling Jack upright. The dog is standing now, growling and snarling, clearly trying to show it’s in charge. “I need you to run and send a telegram for me, Jack.”
“Sure.”
“But before you do, go warn Mama, would you?”
“All right.”
Carwood crouches next to the crate, moving slowly until his chin is even with the edge and he and the dog are something like eye-level. “Hey, little girl,” he says softly. “Did you know you were named after a tank?”
The dog continues to growl and snarl. It jumps when Jack comes out the back door and starts barking and showing its teeth when Jack comes within eye sight.
“Hey!” Jack yells.
“Don’t yell; it’ll only make her worse,” Carwood says. He crab walks back a few steps and stands up, pulling Jack back a few more steps until the dog stops barking. “Whatever she’s been through, it’s been rough. Makes sense she’s on the defensive.”
“Makes sense to put her in a sack and drop her in the creek,” Jack replies.
“No,” Carwood says. “She's probably just scared and hungry.”
“Mama’s making her some dinner right now,” Jack says. “She figures we can get her some food tomorrow if you decide she stays around.”
“Did she have an opinion?”
“She figures it’s up to you. It’s your dog.”
It’s not, though. It’s some angry stray Ron’s sent him in the overnight mail. “Get me a piece of paper and a pencil. I’ll write the telegram for you.”
“You could go,” Jack says. “I’m not going near that box again, anyway. I’m sure she’ll be here when you get back.”
“Her name's Panzer,” Carwood says, the humor of it making him smile.
“And she's a girl?”
“Tanks are ladies,” Carwood says, and Jack gives him a confused look. “Just grab that pencil and paper, will you?”
Jack does, and Carwood scrawls the message (A dog??) before sending Jack on his way. By the time that’s done the dog is back in the corner of the crate, looking exhausted but still on the alert. Carwood crouches down again and risks curling his fingers over the edge of the crate. He stays very still, waiting her out. She watches him with her one eye, suspicious and ready to fight. Carwood just stays put until he hears the door open behind him.
“Stay there, Mama,” he says softly as he stands as slowly as he can. The dog watches the whole time. “She’s nervy.”
“I would be to if I’d been shipped overnight,” Mama replies.
Carwood walks over to her and takes the plate of meat she has ready. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. Any idea why that man sent you a dog?”
“Not a one. But that’s…that’s his way sometimes.”
“Does he send many dogs?”
“I hope not,” Carwood says, and that makes her smile.
He walks back over to the crate and sits next to it, balancing the plate on one hand. Panzer—and oh, but there is a letter reserved for just the naming, Carwood thinks—lifts her head and sniffs the air. “Got some dinner for you,” he says. “Maybe we can be friends, yeah?” He picks up a slice of meat and holds it out. Panzer stares at it, obviously hungry, but doesn’t move. Carwood drops it into the box and takes his hand away. Panzer goes for it then, eating it down in two bites.
“We’ll just wait a minute,” Carwood says, thinking of the prisoners in that camp. “Make sure you can handle that.” Two minutes pass and nothing happens, so Carwood drops in another strip. He checks out the crate while Panzer chews. There’s straw and an army-issue blanket. No water or food in sight, no sign of Panzer having gone to the bathroom either.
“I’ll be right back,” he says and stands up, taking the plate with him when he goes. “She’s got no water,” he says to Mama. “And it looks like she didn’t soil the crate.”
“From the way Jack described her, she’s probably about half-gone on the inside,” Mama says. “I’ll get her some water, you keep getting that food in her.”
“All right.” Carwood goes back to work, sitting next to the crate and dropping in strips of meat. He stops on the fifth strip when he realizes Panzer’s stomach is starting to look a little distended. Mama comes out to the porch with a bowl of water, and Carwood risks putting it in the crate. Panzer growls but doesn’t snap. Carwood watches her drink, then whistles softly to make her back away so he can take it back.
“She’s probably still thirsty,” Mama calls from the porch.
“It’ll make her sick,” Carwood says. “I’ll stay out here with her awhile, give her some more if her belly goes down.”
“If you think it’s best.” Mama goes back inside, and Carwood goes up to the porch to get a chair. When he comes back down, Jack is headed back down the street, a yellow telegram in one hand.
“He responded right away,” Jack says. “Kind of creepy he was just waiting at the telegram office in Boston like that.”
Sort of right on the mark for Ron, Carwood thinks, and it makes him grin a little as he reaches for the paper.
A dog. Please send reports weekly.
“I read it on the way back,” Jack confesses. “Is he serious?”
Carwood laughs under his breath. “Oh, yes,” he says. “No question.”
“You have odd friends.”
“I suppose so.”
*
Carwood ends up sleeping outside next to the crate that night. There’s no other way to be sure Panzer will be safe. She seems to have no interest in leaving the crate, and doing more than sitting next to it agitates her. Mama just gives him an amused look when he pulls his sleeping bag from the back closet.
“Sure you’ll be warm enough?” she asks. She looks like she wants to argue with Carwood’s plan to sleep outside, but she’s resigned herself to it just being his way.
“It’s August, Mama. I did this all through the winter in France.”
“Well, at least the yard is fenced off in case she does get out,” she says. “Glad the mailman didn't leave her on the front stoop. She might have scared the boarders.”
“Yes,” Carwood agrees. He kisses the top of her head and goes outside to lie down. He gets settled easily, stares up at the stars while Panzer snuffles in the crate. He looks over and sees her nose poked against one of the holes in the side, obviously sniffing at him. “Hey, there,” he says, but he makes no move to pet her. Better she get used to him on his own terms.
He falls asleep facing the crate and wakes up once, looking around to figure out what set him off. It’s a scratching sound, and he realizes it’s Panzer lifting herself over the crate edge. It takes her a couple of tries, but she makes it, and she sniffs around the backyard for a few minutes before peeing and then getting back into the crate.
“Good girl,” Carwood says. He puts the water dish in the crate, and she drinks some before going to the other side and curling up again. Carwood takes the bowl out and watches her fall asleep. “Good girl,” he says again.
*
“I thought he was lying,” Vanessa says when she walks onto the back porch the next morning. She has two cups of coffee in her hands, and the screen door bangs behind her. Panzer, sniffing the yard again, looks up and dashes behind the crate.
“Who was lying?” Carwood asks, taking the coffee she holds out to him.
“Jack, of course. I came over to get your mama’s help with some mending, and he told me this tall tale about someone shipping you a dog.”
“A fella I knew in Europe,” Carwood says. “Captain Speirs.”
Vanessa sits in the chair next to Carwood’s and watches Panzer come back from around the crate and very carefully go back to sniffing. “And she’s named after a tank?”
“Yup.”
Vanessa shakes her head and takes a drink of her coffee. “Haven’t seen you around town much,” she says. “You all right?”
“Oh, I’m fine. Just not much reason to go in right now. I'm taking a little more of the work around here to give Jack a break.”
“You should come by the library and get some books,” Vanessa says.
“I’m re-reading my old textbooks,” Carwood says. “A chapter a night from each of them. It keeps me busy.”
“As long as you’re busy.”
Carwood hums agreement and watches Panzer sniff near the garden plot. He gives a short whistle, and Panzer backs away.
“She’s just the saddest little thing,” Vanessa says. “All skin and bones like that.”
“There’s fight in her,” Carwood says.
“Are you really gonna keep her?”
Carwood shrugs. “She was a gift, I think.”
“You think?”
“It can be hard to tell with Ron.”
“Is that Captain Speirs?”
“Yes.” Carwood reaches into his pocket for his cigarettes. He pulls one from his pack and offers the pack to Vanessa. “Oh, come on,” he says when she tries to demure. “You’re the one who tried to get me on these things down at the Honky Tonk.”
“That was years ago, and I’m certain I was never there,” Vanessa says, but she takes a cigarette and lets Carwood light it for her. “That’s some lighter,” she says after she’s taken the first drag.
“Yeah,” Carwood agrees, turning it over in his hands. “It was a gift, I think. Kind of like the dog." He remembers Ron pausing in digging through a tray of silver and spotting the lighter on the desk. He’d walked over, picked it up, and pocketed it without a word. Carwood hadn’t thought anything of it until he’d gone to his room that night and found the lighter on the bedside table on top of a fresh pack of smokes. They’d never spoken about it, but Carwood had lit up plenty of cigarettes in Ron’s line of sight, so he’s certain Ron saw he’d accepted it.
“What else could it be?” Vanessa asks, pulling him from his thoughts.
“A reward, maybe,” Carwood says. “Or something else like that.” He looks into the yard. Panzer is near her crate again, curled up and watching everything go by. Carwood leans down and whistles softly to get her attention. She looks at him, and he taps on the porch with his fingertips. “C’mere, Panzer. C’mon.”
Panzer doesn’t move, but she doesn’t shy away.
“Is that progress?” Vanessa asks.
“A bit, yeah.”
“You’re a soft touch,” Vanessa says, giving him a knowing grin. “I think this Ron fella knows you’re a bit of a sucker.”
Carwood thinks about the conversation in the convent, Ron telling him that he’d been Easy’s leader all along. “Maybe,” he agrees. “Let’s see if the dog can figure it out.”
*
She does figure it out. Two days later, while Carwood sits on the back porch and reads, Panzer comes up beside him and presses her nose to his arm.
“Well, hey there,” Carwood says. He shifts his arm very slowly and drops it so his palm is out. Panzer leans in and licks his hand once, then she backs up a few steps, curls up, and goes to sleep. She stays there until Jack comes out the back door on his way to a date, and startles so hard she upends herself off the side of the porch.
“Oh!” Jack shouts, laughing but concerned. “You think she’s—”
She’s on her feet and growling before Jack can get closer than five feet. “Seems fine,” Carwood says. “Just give her a wide berth.”
Jack does so, moving quickly for the gate. Panzer only relaxes again when the latch is down and Jack’s completely out of the backyard. “You’re going to have to learn to share,” Carwood tells her. She comes back up to the porch and sits near him. Carwood doesn’t try to pet her.
*
Dear Ron,
Panzer seems to be doing well for her first week. She’s a jumpy thing prone to growling at my brother, but she’s slowly trusting the backyard is safe and is eating well. My mother’s wheelchair scares her, but she has stopped barking at it. Mother estimates she’s put on a pound or two. Mostly, she sleeps and eats. I haven’t tried to pet her yet. She seems the type to bite rather than run.
Reminds me of someone else I know.
Huntington is fine. The weather is finally starting to cool as September comes in, and the nights are getting nicer.
I hope you’re well. There’s not much more to report here. Feel free to write when you have the time.
Yours,
Carwood
*
Nine days after arriving, Panzer joins Carwood on the porch as she generally does, but this time, she tucks her head under Carwood’s hand and looks up at him. “Good girl,” he says as he scratches her behind the ears. He lightly strokes her neck and down her back, and she allows it for a couple of minutes before walking out of reach and curling up to sleep.
“I think you’re getting somewhere with her,” Mama says quietly from the closed screen door. Panzer doesn’t stir. Carwood stands and walks over to the door so he and Mama can talk.
“I think she’s a good dog underneath,” Carwood says. “Just have to be patient.”
“Maybe that’s why he sent her to you,” Mama says. “Most people would see a lost cause, but never you.”
“Oh, I’ve seen a few,” Carwood says, thinking of that camp, of the night he was shelled in Bastogne and came to the end of it with Muck and Penkala just flat gone.
“You see fewer than the rest of us,” Mama says. She gives him a fond look. “You always were my sweet boy.”
“Well, I had a sweet Mama to teach me how.”
She smiles at him then looks at Panzer again. “She’s going to start following you around soon, I think. You’ll need to get her washed up before she comes in the house.”
“You sure we want her in the house?”
“We’ll keep her to our side of things. It shouldn’t bother the boarders any, and if she shows signs of preferring the outside, we’ll make sure she has a good house.”
“Thank you, Mama.”
“You’re welcome, dear.”
*
Three nights later, Carwood hears a yell and a thump and is only halfway to the back door when he runs straight into Murray. Carwood can hear Panzer barking from the back door, obviously angry.
“Do you know you have a wild beast back there?” Murray asks.
“She’s just scared,” Carwood says. He goes to the back door and crouches down so they’re eye level. He whistles low, and Panzer stops barking and looks at him. “Good girl,” he says. He opens the door just enough to slip out and sits on the porch steps. Panzer comes over and sits next to him, and he scratches her behind the ears.
“That is the ugliest dog,” Murray says from the safety of the house.
“She can’t help the way she looks,” Carwood says. Panzer thumps her tail once before moving away and curling up next to where Carwood usually sits. “And she spooks easy. She didn’t get you, did she?”
“No, just scared me up the wall. Is it safe to come out?”
“Sure. Sorry about that. I should post a sign.”
“And put in a bell so I can just ring from the gate,” Murray says as he steps outside slowly. Panzer raises her head and looks at him, then lowers it back to her paws. “For a one-eyed mutt, she’s got a creepy stare. They're usually cute when they're missing an eye.”
“I like it,” Carwood says. He looks at Murray. “What brings you over?”
“I was gonna drag you down to the bar for a beer or two. I realized I haven’t seen you since you came by the post office, and so I figured it was time to shake you loose.”
“Which bar?”
“Lenny’s. Figured an old haunt is the best haunt.”
It’s Friday night. Lenny’s is bound to be packed. Carwood can’t decide if it sounds fun or mildly frightening. “All right,” he agrees because it doesn’t sound so frightening that he feels like coming up with an excuse. “Let me get my jacket.”
They walk to Lenny’s, and it’s just as packed as Carwood was expecting. Murray grabs him by the arm and leads him to the big back table, and it’s only as the crowd clears that Carwood realizes Murray’s pulled one over on him and invited all the guys they knew in high school and a few of the girls as well. Vanessa's there, and they smile at one another.
“All hail the conquering hero!” Murray shouts, and everyone cheers.
Carwood doesn’t know what to do except smile as people gather around to shake his hand. It reminds him of getting his First Sergeant promotion, all the boys gathered around to say nice things and buy him beers. It reminds him of his promotion to Lieutenant, the way that Nixon and Winters had shaken his hand, and then Ron had pulled him away to buy him a drink. His pneumonia had been mostly clear by then, certainly much better than the night--
Carwood comes back to himself with a hard mental jerk. No one seems to have noticed he wandered away for a moment. They sit him at the head of the table and present him with a beer. They want to hear about the war.
“And don’t leave anything out,” Murray says. “We gave you plenty of time to get settled back in before we dragged you out. You owe us the good stories from the Paratroopers. We haven't heard those from anyone else, yet.” Everyone around the table cheers in agreement, and Carwood takes a long drink of his beer.
“Well, I suppose I should start with jump school, then.”
*
He wakes up the next morning with a hangover, even though he knows he's only had three beers. The boys always assumed he didn't drink much because he was being good. Truth is, he could drink plenty and be fine before the war, but had abstained to keep a better eye on all of them. Looks like he'll have to rebuild his tolerance.
"Aspirin?" he asks when he walks into the kitchen long after breakfast should have been made.
"In the bathroom like always," Mama replies. "You're on lunch by yourself to pay back Jack for handling breakfast on his own."
"Yes, Ma'am."
"Also, the dog's looking mighty worried through the door there."
Carwood looks at the screen door. Panzer is sitting right in front of it, nose practically pressed against the wire. She's looking at him like he might be hurt. It makes him smile, so he goes over and opens the door, planning to go on the porch. She scampers in instead, feet sliding on the tile, and she bumps against his leg before she lands on her butt. "Well, hey there," Carwood says, leaning down.
"She whined for you when you left last night," Mama tells him. "She sleeps under your window when you go to bed."
"Does she? I've never seen her."
"She waits until you're asleep, I think. I saw her the other night when you turned in early."
"Well, I suppose we're friends then," Carwood says. He scratches Panzer behind the ears, and Panzer's whole body wiggles. "But I've got a headache, pup, so you be good for a minute." He stands up and turns to leave, and Panzer runs right into the back of his legs.
"Think you'll have to teach her to stay," Mama says.
"I suppose so."
The whole day, Panzer follows him around. If he goes into another room, she has to go too. When he serves lunch, he leaves her in the back of the house to go work in the big kitchen. When he gets back, she laying in the corner, head on her paws, looking awfully depressed.
"She missed you," Mama says.
"I can see that." Carwood drops into a crouch and slaps his knees. Panzer comes running over and jumps onto him, trying to lick his face. "Never seen a dog turn around quite like this," he says.
"Oh, some dogs do. They get sort of attached, and then the person they're attached to does something different, and then suddenly it's like that person's the only person for them."
Carwood mulls that over as Panzer settles down and rests her head on his knee. "You think some people are like that, too?" he asks.
"Of course," Mama says. "Your grandfather had a bit of that in him. Grandma always got onto him for being distant with the neighbors, but Grandpa just couldn't be changed. He liked who he liked and dash all to anyone else."
"Dash all," Carwood mutters. He looks down at Panzer. Panzer's watching him, tail wagging slowly, ready to do whatever Carwood wants. "Let's see if you know how to fetch," he says, and Panzer follows him to the backyard.
*
Dear Ron,
Panzer continues to do fine. She's an inside dog as of yesterday. I opened the door to go out to her, but she came in the house instead. She still growled at Jack when he came home yesterday evening, but it's half-hearted, I think. Mother's chair still scares her, but I caught Mother giving her scraps under the table, so I think they'll be fine pretty soon.
She's learned to fetch, and I got her to sit once. She hasn't figured out stay at all, but it'll come with practice.
I am starting to think the dog is a metaphor.
Yours,
Carwood
*
Panzer learns stay, but she doesn't like it. If Carwood's in the house, she wants to be next to him. If he runs an errand or spends time with friends, she'll stare out the window a few minutes before curling up on her blanket. When he goes into the big kitchen, she waits in the hallway that connects the boarding house to the living space, so Carwood puts another blanket there. He gets her a baseball to play fetch, and sometimes he lets her walk to the store next to him. He goes when it's quieter, less chance of people. She's still pretty much a one-man dog.
One afternoon, while Carwood's sitting on the back porch having a cigarette, Jack comes to give him a piece of mail. Panzer looks up when Jack comes out but doesn't growl. Jack ignores her. He's given up on the dog being a friend. Carwood turns the letter over in his hands. It's from Boston, and he recognizes Ron's handwriting. Ron hasn't responded to any of his letters, even though he sends them weekly as ordered, and it has been seven weeks now since Panzer arrived. Carwood opens the letter and unfolds it. It is many pages long.
Dear Carwood,
I have received all your reports. I knew Panzer would do well with you. I hope she has been good to have around. I have always enjoyed having a dog around myself.
Carwood pauses at that to reach down and pet Panzer. He also pauses to think of Ron sharing something so clearly close to himself. It's not like him, but it makes Carwood feel good.
I am still in Boston for the time being, just another soldier waiting for another war. The weather has been fine, though the air is starting to get chilly as we move into late fall. It used to bother me some, but since Bastogne, I do not think anything but bitter cold will ever truly affect me again.
Carwood snorts at the truth of that. Mama has been giving him concerned looks when he goes out at night in just his shirtsleeves, but it simply doesn't feel that bad.
I have not replied to your letters for a variety of reasons. I hope the length of this one will allow for forgiveness of my rudeness on that matter.
Carwood smiles at that. It's endearing a man like Ron does have a sense of propriety, even if it's generally covered over by everything else that makes him who he is. He reads the letter slowly. Ron writes like he talks, so at times the stories are short and to the point and at times he gets a bit more eloquent. He has a familiar tone Carwood remembers from the nights they spent making plans for the boys, and there are even a few sly jokes scattered throughout. It feels, really, like Ron is seated across from him, leaning back and having a cigarette after they've had a long conversation about the business at hand. They didn't have them often; there just generally wasn't time, but Carwood remembers them well.
I hope your health is good. Pneumonia can strike again as the weather cools, so be aware of possible symptoms. It might be good to have a bottle of preventative schnapps in the cupboard.
That makes Carwood chuckle, but the final line before sign-off makes him pause:
The dog is a dog.
Yours,
Ron
"Hrm," Carwood says. He reaches down and scratches Panzer down her back. She flops over so he can get her belly, and he pats here there a few times. "I think he's lying," he says to Panzer. Panzer licks his hand. "But I like you no matter."