Old Wounds (15 page)

A conspiracy of silence was born. The three—Phillip, Sam, and Delfino—were the only ones left to tell the tale. Of the two men Landrum had saved, the boatswain’s mate, Vernon “Vermin” Monroe, had died the next day and John Hayes, the gunner’s mate known as “Gabby,” had been flown stateside, where he would undergo numerous surgeries and several years of rehab. It was said he remembered nothing of his last day in Nam.

Landrum too had been airlifted out, leaving both legs and most of one arm behind. He had not been expected to survive, and the three who remained simply agreed to forget…if they could.

The horrible grace of the dead girl, cartwheeling in a lazy arc, long black braid streaming behind her—that was the image that Phillip had found impossible to erase. Sam couldn’t either. On the few times the two had met since Nam, they had talked of their shared experiences, at first tentatively, neither wanting to summon up bad memories if the other had somehow managed to outrun them. But then, as they admitted to each other the truth—the reality of the nightmares, the flashbacks—meeting every few years to talk about the past had become a therapy. A burden that could not be acknowledged to any who did not carry it was somehow lightened by their occasional meetings.

And then, that last time, six, seven years ago. Sam…

They had met in DC: Sam, Phillip, and Delfino. Del, to everyone’s surprise, not least his own, had stayed in the navy and had soon been selected for officer’s training. He had excelled; promotion had followed promotion and he was now attached to the Pentagon in some highly classified capacity. When Del’s wife had planned a trip to Florida with their five children to visit her mother and nearby Disney World, Del had seized the opportunity to invite Sam and Phillip for the weekend—to visit once more the great half-sunken Wall that memorialized the dead of the Vietnam War, and “to catch up on things.”

They were settled in his spacious kitchen, well provided with cold beer and Thai takeout, when Del had said quietly, “There’s something we need to talk about. Do you guys know that Landrum is still alive? He’s got more money than God, he’s got the Medal of Honor, and he’s got the President’s ear. Word is, if the administration wins the next election, Landrum will be calling in his markers.”

Del took a long pull at his beer, then clapped the empty bottle down. “I don’t know about you guys, but I think it’s time for us to go public with what happened—
before
Landrum became a hero. It’ll mean the end of my career, but I can’t see that sick bastard getting away with it any longer.”

He had fixed Sam with a steady gaze. “Red, I hope you still have those pictures.”

I
N THE
W
INTER
W
OODS

February 1985

R
OSIE
I
’M GOING
for a walk. I need for you to stay here with Laurel.

Mum was putting on her heavy blue jacket. Rosemary’s Christmas gift, the knitted hat, the kind the kids at school called a “boggin” was pulled down over her ears, and her boots were already laced up. Dinah frisked clumsily at her feet, alerted by the magic words—going for a walk.

Rosemary laid down her battered copy of The Dark Is Rising. Can we go too? Where are you going? I’ll go get my
—

No, sweetie, Laurie’s taking a nap. Plus, she has the sniffles—she shouldn’t be out in the snow. And you played outside with Maythorn all morning. Now it’s my turn.

Where’s Pa? He could watch Laurie.

Her mother’s face took on the look that had become too familiar recently. I’m being patient but don’t push me, the face said.

Your pa is down in his shop working on the kitchen cabinets, Rosie. And all you have to do is stay here and read, just like you’ve been doing. I’m going to take Dinah and walk along the path into the woods. I won’t be gone more than an hour. And when I get back we’ll make popcorn and hot chocolate. If there’s a problem—a real problem—you can go out to the porch and ring the big bell.

You didn’t argue with Mum when her face and voice were so stern. Rosie nodded a brief okay and returned to her book, quickly losing herself in the wonderful adventures of the boy who, all unaware, was born to a special task. She was deep in the story when the scrape of boots at the front door made her look up.

Hey, Rosebud, her pa called. The shoulders of his jacket were dusted with melting flakes, and little white waffles of snow sprouted on the doormat when he stamped his feet.

Pa, I want to go outside. Mum went for a walk and said I had to watch Laurie, and Laurie’s still asleep
—

Sure, run along. I’m done in the shop for the day. Pa sat down on the chair near the door and started pulling off his boots. I’ll take over here. You wrap up warm.

It would be fun, Rosie decided, to track her mother, just like a real Indian would. Maythorn had bragged so often about all the Indian lore she had learned from her uncle and grandmother that Rosemary felt the disadvantage of her own upbringing weigh heavy. She’d show Maythorn that she had skills and powers too.

Snow was falling lightly. As she crossed the icy little branch that flowed beside their road, she could see the indentations her mother’s boots had made, slowly filling up. Nodding wisely to herself, Rosemary pursued the footprints along the road at the top of the pasture. Dinah’s pawprints circled and looped and ran off and came back, while Mum’s headed straight for the woods.

Maythorn sat quietly in the old deer stand. It was little more than a rough platform wedged into the branches of an ancient maple, but it had makeshift sides and the remains of a roof. Spikes had been hammered into the smooth bark to make a ladder, and once inside, she knew she could not be seen from the ground. She had discovered this hiding place, near the path where the wild things walked, and had found that if she sat very still and waited, something would come along. Only yesterday two does, followed by a male yearling, had tiptoed so close beneath her, she could hear the huff of their breathing.

Though she had dressed warmly, she knew she would not be able to remain still for much longer. Her feet already felt like they were asleep; perhaps—A crunching sound alerted her and she leaned forward to peer through the crack between the boards. Dinah, Rosie’s dog, was circling the base of the maple, snuffling loudly. Her quivering nose covered every inch of the whitened ground, and then she began to sniff at the trunk. Suddenly she reared up, put her front paws against the tree trunk, and released a mournful howl.

Maythorn sighed and stretched. Might as well go home and get warm; no wild thing would approach now that Dinah had made all that noise. She started to lower herself through the hole by the trunk, then stopped. Someone was coming—and they were crying.

On the path below her, she saw Rosie’s mom. She had pulled off the bright knit hat from her head and was using it to wipe her eyes. She stood there sobbing for a few minutes, her head bent, then she straightened. Dinah, she said, in a wobbly voice, is there a possum or something up that tree?

Maythorn stayed just as still as she could, not even breathing. This was interesting. Rosie’s mom crying? Rosie always talked about how happy the Goodweather family was—everyone loving everyone. And that’s how they all acted, at least whenever she’d been around. This was very interesting. She began to wish that she had brought her notebook.

More crunching, more footsteps, but from the other way this time. Dinah stopped scratching at the maple’s trunk and darted toward the approaching figure.

Well, you caught me trespassing, neighbor. Mike smiled that white toothpaste smile at Rosie’s mom, who hastily wiped her nose with the back of her hand and smiled back.

Hey, Mike, this is a pretty place to walk, isn’t it? How’d you happen to be over this way? Rosie’s mom’s eyes were all red and her voice was wobbly, but Mike didn’t seem to notice. He came up closer, still smiling that toothpaste smile.

Like the bear that went over the mountain, I guess—to see what I could see. I was following the trail the girls use and just kept going.

Maythorn wondered if it was worth freezing her butt off to hear any more of this. But then Mike said, Do you mind if I walk with you? and Rosie’s mom said, That would be nice, and they started down the path that led deeper into the woods. Briefly, Maythorn thought about shadowing them for practice, but decided it would be impossible, even for an Indian, to stay hidden from Dinah’s busy nose.

She waited to make sure they were out of sight, and was starting down again when she heard Rosie coming. It had to be Rosie, because she was humming that dumb song she always liked to sing about a frog going courting.

…sword and pistol by his side, uh-huh, uh-huh, warbled Rosie in an off-key undertone, as she came slowly along the path. Her head was bowed and Maythorn saw at once that she was carefully following her mother’s footprints in the snow.

Hummph, let’s she what she thinks when she gets a little farther. Maythorn watched, grinning as her friend neared the spot where Elizabeth and Mike had stood talking.

There was someone else on the trail! Mum had stood and talked to them—a man, Rosemary decided, putting her foot inside one of the big footprints. Maybe that creepy Cletus—he’s always out in the woods. And they went this way.

She trotted down the path, smiling to think how surprised her mother would be when she appeared. A little way on and the path veered sharply as it wrapped around the mountainside. Just beyond that turn was one of the benches Pa had made for Mum so she could sit and look at the view. Maybe she would be there. Humming, Rosemary hurried on.

The brightly striped boggin was the first thing she saw. But the other person—it wasn’t Cletus. She recognized the fancy coat, all tan leather and creamy sheepskin. The arms were wrapped around her mother, almost hiding her blue jacket. It was Maythorn’s Uncle Mike. Kissing Mum. And Mum was kissing back.

All at once Rosemary felt bitter cold. Her mouth filled with salt saliva like she might be going to throw up. She stood there, feeling sick and sad, then spun around and ran clumsily back up the path. Her eyes were full of tears.

High in the deer stand, Maythorn waited. Soon Rosie came staggering along the path, out of breath with running and crying.

Rosie’s mother was a few minutes behind her, calling out, Rosie, wait, I need to talk to you. She was crying too.