Voyage of the Dreadnaught: Four Stella Madison Capers (19 page)

“Whatever you think, I won't blame you. No
doubt about that.”

“What I think is... this might be just the
right time to tell you why my driver's license says I'm eighty-two,
instead of sixty-three.”

“Whatever the reason, I can't still blame
you,” the colonel insisted. “Not now. Not knowing the way you are,
and loving you so much for it.”

A statement that went a long way in giving
Stella the courage to tell. “Well, it's a story that goes back a
long time. So, I guess I should start at the beginning.”

“Always best to start at the beginning,” he
agreed. “Always.”

“All right, then.” Now, it was her turn to
take a deep breath, and she took one before plunging in.

“I was raised in the most wonderful,
fun-loving family, Oliver,” she began. “I really was. My parents
were both teachers, and they loved each other immensely. They
married late in life, and I was their only child.”

“I knew that delightful optimism had to
come from somewhere,” he replied. “Go on.”

“Well, with a childhood surrounded by books
and so much enthusiasm for the pleasures of learning, I ended up
following the teaching profession, too.”

“Only natural.”

“Yes, I suppose. Anyway, by the time I
graduated college and got my first contract—teaching English at the
Harristown School for Girls, in Pennsylvania—my parents were
getting on in years, and I decided to move back in with them.”

“Also quite natural.” He opened the picnic
basket they had brought out earlier, and took out two mugs and the
thermos. “Cream and sugar, this morning?”

“I'd love cream and sugar, this morning. I
just might have cream and sugar from now on.”

“Under the circumstances, I think it's a
fine idea. Might as well enjoy ourselves. So, you moved back in
with your parents. Then what.”

“Then my Aunt Mad—she was my father's
younger sister, and our only living relative—went back to Broadway.
She had been living with them while I was away at school, and
teaching drama at the Harristown School, too. But she missed the
real theater.”

“A true actress, then.”

“Only in small supporting roles. But you
know they kept her busy all the time? She was quite a character in
real life, too. I was named after her. And I loved her very much.”
Stella felt another catch in her throat (what an emotional morning
it had been!), and waited for it to pass. “She gave me everything
she had.”

“I suppose you inherited, later. Being her
only family.”

“You could say that.” She blew on her
coffee and took a sip. “She was married once, but it was way before
I came along. Her husband died in the war. World War II, it was. He
was a navigator on a B-17 bomber. Anyway, she never married, again.
She was the eccentric old aunt, like you read about in books.
That's why we called her, Aunt Mad. Although it was really short
for Madison. Now, I'm going to skip ahead, because absolutely
nothing happened for the next twenty something years.”

“Nothing at all?”

“Nothing to do with the story. Anyway, the
years went by. First my father passed away, and then—not even a
year later—my mother.”

“Often happens when people are close.”

“I've heard that, too, and that's just how
it was. Well, for the first time in my life, I was all alone in the
world. You can't count college, because no one's really alone
there. Always somebody around. But after Mom died, too, I was so
despondent. I knew I needed a complete change.”

“Understandable.”

“So, I packed everything up and went to New
York, to live with Aunt Mad. Who was in her late sixties, by then,
but still taking on a few roles just to keep herself in shape. She
was always dedicated to staying in shape.”

“Ah, that's where you get those
tendencies.”

“Goodness, she had me doing morning
exercises since I was twelve.”

“It shows.”

“Thank you, dear. It wasn't difficult. I
admired her, and always wanted to be like her. But it was truly
providence that I moved in. I can see that now, looking back on it.
Because less than a year later, she was diagnosed with heart
disease, and I ended up taking care of her the way I had my
parents. You know, when you live with someone that has an illness,
your life becomes enmeshed with doctor's appointments and hospital
stays. Not much time for anything else.”

“Lonely, too, I imagine.”

Stella realized he knew where she was going
with all this, and probably even knew how much she was avoiding the
actual point. Then it occurred to her (funny how a person's mind
can jump ahead to conclusions at the very time they're busy doing
something else) that Colonel Oliver P. Henry knew her as well, if
not better, than she knew herself. At least as thoroughly as she
had come to know him. Which was her favorite, all-consuming
pastime, these days. Getting to know him. At which point, such a
feeling of love washed over her for this man she had married, that
the rest of the story came out all in a rush. Practically without
thinking.

“Oliver? I married the most wonderful man
in the world—that I knew nothing about—who turned into the most
horrid man in the world, not two months after I married him. He was
either a spy, or insane. I don't know which. He actually tried to
kill me—twice!”

“Stella!” The way he whispered it, along
with the look on his face, indicated he was thinking of never
having met her, rather than how she could have possibly made such
an error in judgment.

It was the only thing that gave her courage
to get to the hard part. Because all those old dredged-up emotions
were now beginning to churn inside her like the rumble of thunder
before a storm. “He was terrible to Aunt Mad, too,” she pressed
on.

“So, I... I had to put her in a home until
I could straighten things out. Except I never did get things
straightened out. They only got worse and worse. I even had to take
a leave of absence from my job and move. In the middle of the
school year! But he followed me. Next I tried moving out of state.
But he found me that time, too. I don't know how. I actually think
he was trying to drive me crazy. For my savings, maybe. Not that I
had so much, but I lived a simple life, and did have a small
inheritance from my parents. By that time, I was close to a nervous
breakdown. I'm almost sure of it.”

“Did you ever go to the police?”

“I couldn't make myself. He was always
threatening to kill Aunt Mad if I did. Then he got more reasonable
for a time—probably because I'd moved her around so much by then,
he couldn't find her. Anyway, he said if I turned over my
savings...”

“Oh, Stel.”

“He'd at least give me a divorce and leave
us alone. Of course, he didn't. I got the divorce, though. Because
I didn't turn over any money until it went through. But...” She set
her cup down on the wood block and looked out at the meadow, again.
There were three black-tailed deer grazing out there, now. “It
wasn't long until he wanted Aunt Mad's money, too. And she had
quite a lot.”

“You should have gone to the police. Seems
you both would have been prime candidates for a witness protection
program.”

“But I couldn't prove anything. Other than
incompatibility, and there's no law against that. He was very
cunning. Almost like a politician. Only worse. Anyway, one day, I
woke up with the most urgent feeling that I should move Mad, again.
Just as fast as I possibly could. You know, I wonder if that came
from the Lord.” She looked back at the colonel. “Do you think God
intervenes in people's lives that way, even before they become
Christians? I know he does afterward. I believe that with all my
heart.”

“Most definitely. He knows our end from the
beginning. Who will choose him, and who won't. I'm sure all
believers can look back on times when someone—or
something—intervened at a vital point in their lives before they
ever knew him.”

“I think so, too. And it definitely
explains a lot of things to look at it that way. Like my hair
turning prematurely white before the age of fifty.”

“Indeed. So, did you get Aunt Mad moved
then?”

“She wouldn't go. She was scheduled to have
her pacemaker replaced the following week, and felt she'd be
perfectly safe in the hospital until she recovered. Instead, she
came up with another idea. A brilliant one, actually. Except... it
backfired on us.”

“She wasn't really mad, you know,” Stella
insisted. Just eccentric. Had her own ideas about things.”

“Nothing wrong with that,” the colonel
agreed.

“But she was independent, too. Didn't like
being told what to do. Having to be shuffled from one facility
after the other in such a short time... well, it was definitely
taking a toll on her. The poor dear wasn't well to begin with. You
know, Oliver? Sometimes I think people get misdiagnosed with
Alzheimer's when it's only a reaction to some drug they're taking.
Or maybe even a temporary response to a bad situation at an age
when they're not up to handling that kind of stress, anymore. Sort
of a defense mechanism, you might say.”

“I wouldn't be surprised.”

“I've thought a lot about it.” Stella held
her cup out for a warm-up when the colonel opened the thermos,
again. “I never for a minute believed she had Alzheimer's.” She was
quiet for a long time after that. Just sipping on her coffee and
thinking back over it all.

“I take it you had a more difficult time
getting her back out of those places than into them.”

“I certainly did. Except...”

“Except?”

“Except it was me that couldn't get out,
Oliver. Because we switched places.”

“Stella!” The coffee he was pouring into
his own cup spilled over the brim, onto his hand, and he nearly
dropped it before setting the thermos down. But he barely noticed.
“What were you—how could you even—”

“It was Aunt Mad, dear. She was so
convincing. Which was one of her gifts. You know what she
said?”

“I'd like to know what she said. Indeed, I
would!” He switched his cup to the other hand and shook the spilled
coffee off his other one. “You're a very reasonable woman, as a
rule. I can't imagine you'd be taken in by such a thing. Or that
something like that was even possible to pull off. Not for any
length of time, anyway.”

Which Stella couldn't reply to because she
didn't know the answer to that, either.

“What exactly did she say?”

“She said, Stella, my girl? This... could
very well be... our finest hour!”

“That's it?”

“Well, then she went into one of her long
stories about surviving the World War. How Churchill kept saying
everyone was going to be tapped on the shoulder at some
point—figuratively speaking—and called upon to do something only
they were perfectly skilled in, or had the talent for. That we
should all be working to perfect our skills and talents for just
such a time. What could be worse, he said, than not being up to it
at the moment your time came. You would miss your finest hour. Or
some such thing. I forget exactly how it went. Except I've been
looking for my finest hour ever since.”

Now the colonel was quiet for so long she
had to glance over to make sure he didn't think she might be crazy,
after all. That thing she had been afraid of all along, and the
reason she hadn't been brave enough to tell him she had spent so
much time in a mental institution in the first place. Which
suddenly made her wonder if such an omission might be grounds for
divorce.

She began to get butterflies.

“Dearest!” It was as if everything had come
clear to him, all at once. He set his cup down, then hers, so he
could take both of her hands in his own. “To spend one's life
looking for their finest hour... I can't think of anything more
noble!”

“But I've never had one, Oliver,” Might as
well be up front with it all, because she couldn't take another
session like this one, again. The thought of losing the happiest
times in her life over her mistakes of the past was practically
unbearable. “I've failed miserably at everything I've ever tried.”
She came right out and admitted it.

“Don't tell me your ex-husband found you,
again, after all that.”

“No. But I had nightmares about the
possibility for the rest of my life. Not to mention a phobia about
getting home before dark, every night.”

“Then—in spite of the dire consequences—the
brilliant plan worked. Did it not?”

“Not really, because I lost my Aunt Mad.
Entirely. I Never did see her, again. And because we had done such
a terribly good job of switching places—my white hair and all—we
could have been twins! Can you believe that? And she was so sure
they would let me out a few days later, after preliminary blood
tests for the surgery. When our blood type didn't match. Then I was
supposed to explain how she had tricked me. She told me to blame
everything on her, since it was going to be her finest hour. She
wanted to do it up right, she said. And she was sure they'd believe
it because she'd been pulling things like that over on them for
quite a while, anyway.”

A twinkle came into the colonel's eye, but
he kept a straight face.

“You know, she snuck out more than once to
see a Broadway show? Right under their noses! They don't watch
people half well enough in those places.”

“So, even if they didn't believe you, why
wasn't it just as easy for you to walk out? And I can't imagine the
hospital didn't release you the very minute they found out you were
the wrong person.”

“Because there never was a surgery
scheduled. It was only the story they told her, so she'd go
peacefully while being transferred to a lock-down ward at the,
um... state hospital.”

The colonel gasped.

“For hard-to-handle Alzheimer's
patients.”