Bluegrass Dawn: Bluegrass Single #2 (Bluegrass Singles) (5 page)

CHAPTER SEVEN

Jake felt the sweat rolling down his back in the hot tent. The month of May in the jungle put Kentucky's humidity to shame. Eight months was all he had left until he could get home, but that felt like an eternity. He had talked to Marcy for his allotted two minutes in March. She had moved into the farmhouse and told him everything was fine. How she could say that, he didn’t know. Marcy didn’t know anything about farming and he tried not to worry about coming home to debt and a ruined family farm.

If anyone could pick up the reins and run a farm, it was Marcy. She was so smart—it was one of the things he admired most about her. That, and she was blessed with a will of sheer determination. If she didn’t know how to do something, he bet she wouldn’t give up until she’d mastered it. His mother’s fried chicken recipe was proof of that. She’d burnt two pans getting it right. But when she did, it was mouth-watering.

Jake had gotten a letter from John that week that had been written a month ago. In it, John assured the young soldier that Helen had thoroughly approved of Marcy as a wife and loved her as if she’d been her own daughter. The town, he said, had been helping Marcy when she needed it. Tabby was over there twice a week and apparently Jake had been replaced in his marital bed by a pig named Bertha. He didn’t know what that was about so he made sure to ask Marcy about Bertha in his next letter to her.

“If we move troops here,” his commander pointed to a map spread out on the table, “and have bombers hit here, then we may be able to take out the train and nearby ground troops.”

Jake tilted his head and looked at the map. Something was off. It was too easy. “I don’t think so, sir.”

“What is it, Davies?”

“It doesn’t seem right. They’ve hidden their transportation so well. Why would they be so out in the open about transporting missiles?”

“Do you think it’s a trap?”

“I do. Look.” Jake pointed to the map. “This section of the railroad is surrounded by mountains. Granted, they’re not the Rockies, but they would be more than enough to support an ambush.”

“And we’d be stuck in a funnel. Good thinking, Davies.”

“If you don’t mind me saying, we could try something different,” Jake started. His commander gave his approval and Jake studied the map. He looked at the topography, the elevations, and the surrounding terrain for a long time. “Here.” Jake pointed to the map. “And here. We could outflank them. There’s dense jungle for coverage and the elevation would be to our advantage. I say you bomb the mountains that they are most likely hiding in. When they run for cover in the jungle, they have to cross this open area and our troops could intercept them."

The men in the room studied the map and whispered among themselves. His commander tapped the map and grinned. “We could catch them by surprise and we’d limit ground fighting to protect our men. Good job, Davies.”

*     *     *

Marcy twirled around in the fanciest dress she had ever seen. “How do I look?”

“Fab!” Betsy laughed as she also twirled around. “What about me?”

“Amazing!” Marcy laughed. The two of them were decked out to the nines for the Derby. Marcy had sold her first round of alfalfa hay. She decided to use the extra money to increase the cattle herd, she cleared one of the backfields on the property, and she’d also planted the tobacco and soybeans. She saved enough by working the dinner shifts at the Blossom Café to buy her beautiful sky-blue dress. She hoped to wear it when Jake came home.

“Do you have any spare money to bet on Meggy?” Betsy asked.

Marcy rolled her eyes. “Why would you call him that? Poor horse, his name is My Megavolt.”

“Pish, he likes it. The horse gives me a kiss every day when I watch him train.”

Marcy walked over to where Big Bertha, no longer the cute little piglet she was a couple months ago, sprawled. “Up, Big B.” The pig gave her a sad look as if she couldn’t believe Marcy was actually interrupting her nap on the kitchen rug. Finally Bertha got up and trotted slowly out the open kitchen door.

“What are you doing?” Betsy asked as Marcy kicked the rug away.

“I figure my money is safe under Bertha. She doesn’t move for anyone but me.” She loosened the floorboard and pulled out a cookie jar. “I saved one hundred dollars. That’s how much faith I have in your training ability.”

Betsy laughed and pulled out her money. “It’s the same amount of faith as I have,” she laughed.

A couple of hours later, they were sitting under the twin spires of Churchill Downs. The infield was filled with free-spirited men and women grooving to the music and cheering on the races. Men and women from every level of society and political beliefs crammed into the racetrack to share their love of horse racing. On this day, the war wasn’t discussed. Instead, it was who was going to win—a long shot from the mutuel field or one of the favorites? The flowers adorning the long hair of women were roses in honor of the Derby, instead of flowers of peace. The tension of the world stopped at the gates of Churchill for just one day.

Marcy grabbed Betsy’s hand as they raced through the crowd and into the paddock. Meggy stood in his stall with his trainer and jockey. People walked by, taking pictures and cheering on their picks as the other races thundered on the nearby track.

“There he is,” Betsy dragged Marcy through security and ran up to her horse to give him a hug. “Mrs. Wyatt has been helping me with the horses. She and Beauford have been so kind to me. They, along with William’s mother, have taught me all about racing, training, and breeding. I couldn’t have made it this far without them.”

Meggy whinnied and tossed his head back as he nuzzled her hand for a sugar cube. “See, I told you you’d have the horses doing anything for you. And here he is getting ready to run in the biggest race of the year.”

“Well, don’t get too excited yet. We are in the mutuel field.”

“What does that mean?”

Betsy rolled her eyes. “It means two things. One, it means they haven’t updated their betting machines. They can only take bets on a limited number of horses. And two, a committee picks which horses they think are the best and those are the ones you can bet individually on. The last extra horses are placed in the mutuel field and you bet on them as a group.”

“But Meggy has been doing so well,” Marcy said as she worried about placing all her savings on a group of horses the committee had basically lumped together as the losers.

“It’s because I’m a woman. I can’t tell you how much I’ve had to listen to them patronizing me. It took Beauford helping me to even get a reputable trainer. It’s enough to make a feminist out of me,” Betsy joked. “But I have faith in Meggy. He’ll do great.”

The band played “My Old Kentucky Home” and Marcy sang along with the other 123,000 racing fans in attendance. Marcy felt foolish as silent tears fell from her eyes as she sang, “Weep no more my lady. Oh weep no more today; we will sing one song for My Old Kentucky Home. For My Old Kentucky Home, far away.”

Betsy squeezed her hand and she didn’t have to tell her best friend that she was thinking of Jake so far away from his old Kentucky home. The song ended, the crowd cheered, and Marcy gripped Betsy’s hand as the field of twenty horses entered the starting gate.

The bell sounded and the race was on. The horses in the mutuel field fell to the back of the race. Marcy groaned and closed her eyes. This was going to be the longest two minutes of her life.

“It’s a battle for the lead a
s they hit the first quarter in twenty-three seconds,”
the announcer said excitedly.

Marcy had her hand over her eyes. “Where’s Meggy?”

“Er,” Betsy mumbled. Marcy had to strain to hear her friend over the announcer. “Sixteenth.”

“Sixteenth!”

“Wait! Fifteenth!” Betsy tightened her grip. “Fourteenth. They just hit the half-mile mark and he’s gaining on the outside. Go, Meggy! Come on, baby!”

Marcy moved her fingers so she could sneak a peek through them and sure enough, My Megavolt was on the move. “My Megavolt is thundering along the outside as they make the final turn at the three-quarters mark, but wait, here comes Courtier.”

Marcy gave up trying to hide her eyes and joined in with the crowd as they cheered on their horses. “He’s gaining! Oh my gosh, come on, Meggy!”

“Courtier blows through the field to take the lead!” the announcer screamed.

“Oh no, he’s pulling away and Meggy is in fourth! Come on, Meggy!” Marcy screamed with desperation. All her money rode on this race as Courtier’s lead grew and Meggy struggled to hold onto fourth. Marcy’s stomach dropped when Courtier crossed the finish line first.

Betsy’s head fell back as she laughed. Her beautiful red rose-themed hat bounced as she just laughed harder.

“I don’t see how losing all our money is funny,” Marcy snapped.

“But you don’t know who Courtier is, do you?” Betsy said as she gasped for air.

“He’s the one who cost me my savings,” Marcy mumbled. She should never have bet more than she could have afforded to lose.

“He’s the longest shot in the field and he just won the Derby. He was in the mutuel field with Meggy. Remember, we couldn’t bet on Meggy individually, so we had to bet on the whole mutuel field.”

Marcy blinked. The pieces were fitting together. “We won anyway!” Marcy fell into her seat with relief. Never again would she bet on anything.

The scoreboard flickered as the official results were posted and Betsy screamed, “We won almost two thousand dollars!”

Marcy practically fainted upon hearing Betsy.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Jake tore into the mail he had just received. Marcy wrote him a letter for every day of the month. Some soldiers could be patient and read one a day, but not him. He read them all and then re-read one at a time each day. Her first letter was dated over a month ago telling him she sold some alfalfa for a pretty good price. Apparently his wife was a pretty good negotiator.

Beauford and Tabby had written him as well, telling him they were helping Marcy run the farm, but she needed them less and less. She had taken to farm life like a duck to water. His chest filled with pride. He couldn’t wait to brag to the guys about how amazing his wife was.

By the tenth letter, he dropped it to the ground and laughed until tears threatened to spill. It had taken her a couple of days, but she’d finally told him she gambled with her savings and ended up winning on a fluke. When he picked up the letter, she surprised him further by telling him she put half into savings and half into the farm. She’d gotten a loan for some new equipment and was clearing even more fields in the back of the property. Gone was the young high school graduate he had left behind almost eighteen months ago, and in her place was a resilient woman.

He opened the next letter and read how Bertha, a pig Tabby had given her, was almost fifty pounds now. She also read how Violet kept eyeing the poor animal for the breakfast menu. Soon he was laughing again as Marcy recounted a story about one of the high school seniors taking a bet to pinch Violet’s behind. He ended up with a spatula to the face. It left a mark for almost a week.

His mood lifted as he tore into the twentieth letter. The crops were growing, the cows were fat, and the new tractor was a dream. Betsy had even ridden it in a sundress and pearls. Inside, he found a picture Betsy had taken of Marcy standing next to the tractor with a huge pig at her feet. His heart clutched with the pain of missing his beautiful wife as he looked down at her smiling face. She’d changed some. Her hair was longer, her breasts a little fuller, and her hips a little rounder. But her body was trimmer from all the hard work on the farm. She glowed with a tan, and some freckles had appeared on the bridge of her nose. And she had worn a miniskirt in the photo just for him. He picked the letter back up and continued to read.

I broke my promise. I had sworn I would never bet again, but I did. I made a five-dollar bet with the Rose sisters. See, Lily Rae had been vexed with John about how he found out the governor was coming to visit Keeneston before she did. Daisy was taking Mr. and Mrs. Wyatt’s order when Mrs. Wyatt told them that she knew a secret about the reason for the governor’s visit. Well, Lily Rae overheard and told them that she’d bet five dollars that she could find out the secret before John. And so it began. Daisy took the bets and Violet collected the money. After seeing what John has done to keep us connected, I hated to do it, but I bet against Lily. The good news—I won!

John came rushing into the diner two days later and announced, much to Lily’s dismay, that the governor was here to honor the Keeneston Ladies for the array of volunteer work they do. He was naming May 30
th
Keeneston Ladies’ Day. Needless to say, Lily was not pleased. She’s now challenged John to a bet of picking the day Tabby’s sow will give birth. I’m not placing a bet on that one.

Jake chuckled as he read the rest of the letter. The explosion ended what would have been a great day. The letters dropped to the ground and were trampled into the mud as all hell broke loose.

*     *     *

Marcy’s small radio was attached to her tractor with an old belt. It played Carole King’s “I Feel the Earth Move” as she worked in the fields. The sun was beating down on her, but she didn’t care.  She sang for all the plants and cows as she worked. She’d never thought that she would enjoy this type of life, but the truth was she had never felt so fulfilled. If only Jake was here with her, then her life would be perfect.

She looked at the sweet corn swaying in the light breeze and sang louder for it. She’d planted those crops. She’s helped them grow and now she had full fields. She stopped singing and tilted her head. Had she just heard something?

Looking around, she saw off in the far distance something shiny and then she heard it again. She turned off her tractor and put her hand across her brow to shield the sun. The sheriff was speeding along with lights flashing. His cruiser was sending up a dust cloud that only partially hid Betsy’s Mustang, Lily’s Volkswagen Beetle, and John’s Mercury Cougar close behind.

The sheriff’s cruiser slid to a stop in the field. Lily was close behind. Marcy watched wide-eyed as Violet and Lily leapt from the front seat and Daisy struggled to climb from the super-tiny space in the back. But it was the two men who stepped out of the cruiser and the one that remained inside that drew her attention away from the Roses’ car.

A member of the Army in dress uniform, followed by Father James, walked toward her as her friends scrambled from the cars.

“Good afternoon, ma’am. I’m Officer Whitlow with the Army.” Marcy didn’t even realize she’d climbed down from the tractor. “I have news about your husband, Second Lieutenant Davies.”

Marcy felt foolish as
Oh, he got his promotion
ran through her head. She knew what was coming. She’d seen too many of these notifications to not know. She felt dead inside as she willed herself to remain standing.

“Your husband’s unit was attacked. During the attack, your husband saved the life of his commanding officer and most of his unit. He tossed a grenade and took out a machine gun, giving his unit time to launch a counterattack. In the process, he was wounded.”

Marcy didn’t hear the gasps from everyone clustered behind the officer. She only gave a small nod to let him know she heard him. Her husband had died a hero. She wasn’t surprised. He’d always been her hero.

“He was shot in the leg and is listed as seriously injured.”

Marcy stopped mid-nod. “Injured? He’s not dead?”

“No, ma’am. As I said, your husband was wounded saving the life of his commanding officer and many in his unit. He’s being awarded the Purple Heart and probably more commendations. He is at a field hospital. He’ll be fine, but his injury is severe enough to send him home once he’s stable.”

“He’s coming home? Alive?” Marcy gasped.

“Yes, ma’am,” the officer said with a large smile.

Marcy ignored the tears in her eyes and leapt onto the officer. She wrapped her arms around him and hugged him for all she was worth. “I thought…”

“Unfortunately, many people think that. We’re not always the bad guys. We’re commissioned to notify the family of any reason the soldier is unable to serve in the Army. It could be from illness, missing in action, injury, and so on. Not just death. I’ll be returning to give you updates as I get them.”

“When is he coming home?” Marcy asked as her friends surrounded her.

“I don’t know yet. I'll be out here as soon as I find out. Have a good day, Mrs. Davies. And here is my card. Call me if you need anything.”

“Thank you!” Marcy grabbed the card and held it tightly in her hand. Her husband was coming home alive.

The officer got back in the car with the sheriff and Father James who had a smile so wide she could hardly see his eyes. Today was a happy day. Today, the earth had fallen from beneath her feet but had been rebuilt stronger.

“We have to plan a party,” Lily said as she wiped tears of joy from her eyes. “John, work your magic and find out when our boy is coming home.”

“Yes, ma’am!” John saluted happily before picking Marcy up and swinging her around in celebration.

Marcy laughed and shook her head. “Should we be celebrating that Jake was shot?”

“We’re celebrating his life and the fact that he saved others. Helen would be so proud. I’ll put flowers on her grave on the way home for all of us tonight,” Daisy sniffled.

“What are his favorite foods?” Violet asked. “Make a list and bring it to work tonight. We’ll share the news with the whole town—that is, if John hasn’t already.”

After hugs and happy tears, the Rose sisters crammed back into the Beetle and tore out for town. Marcy turned to Betsy and confessed.

“I’m so excited. But Betsy, what do I do?”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m not the same person I was eighteen months ago. And I’m sure he’s not either. What if we don’t love each other the same anymore?” Marcy had never thought about it before. She’d been too worried about Jake coming home alive to worry about it, but now he was coming home. “What if he’s disappointed in the farm? What if he no longer finds me attractive? What if…”

“Marcy!” Betsy laughed as she held up her hands. “I understand your fears. I do. But you’re worrying too much. You have a love that runs deep. It doesn’t just disappear. It simply forms a new bend as it winds through life. And those bends are the interesting parts.”

Marcy let out a long breath. “You’re right. I’m going to get a haircut. And I need to clean the house and bathe the pig.”

“You do know it will be a while before he’s home, right?”

“I don’t care. It’s going to be ready for whenever he gets here. I can’t believe it; my husband’s coming home!”