July, 1986
Savannah, Georgia, Free States of America
It was the night before Tricia's wedding. Jean Wyatt was not thinking about what she did yesterday, not thinking about what she was going to do tomorrow, just thinking about the job she was doing right now. There were things she had to do, and she was doing them, that was all.
Rosa was taken care of. Jean made sure she was ok earlier today. There would be no problems there, not for a while at least. Now she was finishing dinner: a light meal so that her mind would be clear. Dad taught her about that. Fresh greens and fruit salad, and water, that's it. No alcohol, not a drop. Maybe tomorrow night. Maybe never again.
And she was going down her checklist. She wasn't looking at the things she'd already crossed off, because if she did she wouldn't be able to sleep. She was just looking at the things she had left to do. Not much left on the list.
After dinner she carefully washed the dishes, thinking only about washing dishes. Then she went to her luggage and took her gun and checked it. It was cleaned and ready. She put the gun and ammunition in her purse and left the house, locking it behind her with Rosa's keys.
She drove Rosa's car up the street to the florist's shop. It was very late, and of course the shop was closed, but she unlocked it (after all, she was one of the managers) and went in. She didn't turn on any lights. She went to the back and opened the big refrigerator and located tomorrow's bouquets. And there was the particular bouquet she was looking for.
Her hands were barely shaking. She took the gun and ammunition from her purse and loaded the gun.
She'd loaded this gun so many times. She remembered loading her father's gun when it seemed so big, and her father's hands so strong and rough, cradling hers. She remembered loading this gun just this morning, and then, before she could rein in her thoughts, she remembered Rosa's face.
But it was way too late to stop now.
She placed the gun in the bouquet and carefully adjusted the flowers so that it was completely hidden. Picking it up, she tested the weight: it was a small gun, not heavy enough to be noticed.
She put the bouquet back, locked up the shop, and went back to the house. I should sleep, she thought; I should be well rested for tomorrow. She couldn't bring herself to sleep in the bed, though. She lay down on the couch and stared up at the dark.
Showing posts with label Savannah Georgia. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Savannah Georgia. Show all posts
Monday, July 19, 2010
Saturday, July 3, 2010
August 1918
Aug 1918
Dearest Dorothy,
I am writing to you from the naval base at Gibraltar. It is really terribly hot, and we do not have enough water, but this is nothing new. I just thank God I am not in the army! The U-boats are bad enough, but it's better than dying like a rat in a trench.
I have to tell you that morale is not so good here. Paris has not fallen, but everyone says now that we have lost the Marne, it is only a matter of time. For a while it looked like the Yanks would save us, but President Wilson did not enough troops. We got 50,000; we would have needed at least 300,000, I think. Why the Yankees think they can fight wars against the Germans and the reds both at once, I have no idea. The Germans are plenty enough for us all, now that the Russians are out of the war.
Speaking of the reds, I heard yesterday that that red man Bright Path has been selected keeper of the council fires, or whatever they call their big chief over there. I was told this is the same man called Jim Thorpe who won so many events for the reds in the Olympics last time. Is this true? I can't believe it! To be sure he was a magnificent athlete, it's something you would expect from savages, but to lead a whole nation of Indians? They are sure to collapse of mismanagement in a few years; that would be the time for the United States to invade them. Not now, when Europe is burning!!
I know things are bad for you back home, too. I have heard that there are protests and riots against the war in some places? I'm afraid I'm not that familiar with American geography, but I think I heard Savannah mentioned. That's nowhere near where you are in Idaho, is it? Please stay safe, and when the war is over we will find a quiet place in America and settle down.
When the war is over! It looks like it will not be long now, for good or ill. I pray it is over soon, whoever wins -- may God forgive me.
Love always,
Darien Wyatt
Dearest Dorothy,
I am writing to you from the naval base at Gibraltar. It is really terribly hot, and we do not have enough water, but this is nothing new. I just thank God I am not in the army! The U-boats are bad enough, but it's better than dying like a rat in a trench.
I have to tell you that morale is not so good here. Paris has not fallen, but everyone says now that we have lost the Marne, it is only a matter of time. For a while it looked like the Yanks would save us, but President Wilson did not enough troops. We got 50,000; we would have needed at least 300,000, I think. Why the Yankees think they can fight wars against the Germans and the reds both at once, I have no idea. The Germans are plenty enough for us all, now that the Russians are out of the war.
Speaking of the reds, I heard yesterday that that red man Bright Path has been selected keeper of the council fires, or whatever they call their big chief over there. I was told this is the same man called Jim Thorpe who won so many events for the reds in the Olympics last time. Is this true? I can't believe it! To be sure he was a magnificent athlete, it's something you would expect from savages, but to lead a whole nation of Indians? They are sure to collapse of mismanagement in a few years; that would be the time for the United States to invade them. Not now, when Europe is burning!!
I know things are bad for you back home, too. I have heard that there are protests and riots against the war in some places? I'm afraid I'm not that familiar with American geography, but I think I heard Savannah mentioned. That's nowhere near where you are in Idaho, is it? Please stay safe, and when the war is over we will find a quiet place in America and settle down.
When the war is over! It looks like it will not be long now, for good or ill. I pray it is over soon, whoever wins -- may God forgive me.
Love always,
Darien Wyatt
Friday, June 25, 2010
Just Asking a Favor
April, 1986
Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, USA
It was unusually warm for late April, and raining. Jean Wyatt, standing by the phone in the fluorescent-eggplant-colored 1970's kitchen she hated, took one last drag on the cigarette and stubbed it out. She took a few breaths to calm herself, and tried to focus on being friendly, open, not pushy. Just asking a favor. A simple favor.
She called the number.
"Hello, who's there?" The voice was of a middle-aged woman, with a very slight Spanish accent.
"Hello, this is Jean Wyatt. Is this Rosa Kees?"
"Yes..."
"Well, you don't know me, but..." Jean paused, and then pushed on -- too late to back out now -- "well, we're actually related."
"What?"
"Look, I'm from the United States, I'm -- I'm emigrating. I'm really sorry to bother you. It's just -- well, I don't have any family, and I'm moving to the Free States, and I was doing some genealogy and I found out I had relatives... and I found your name."
Rosa didn't say anything, so Jean kept going: "I don't want to impose on you or anything, I'm sure you're very busy with your family and all... But I thought maybe you'd be interested in getting together and comparing notes, and maybe you had some advice on helping me settle in?"
There was a long pause, and then, "Well sure, Jean. As it happens I don't have any family, either. I mean, I was married, but my husband died a few years back, and I have some cousins, but I don't see them much. So yes, that would be lovely. Do you have a place to stay?"
"Not yet. Immigration is going to help set me up with an apartment and a job, but I need to choose the city, and I haven't decided where I want to live yet..."
"So why are you emigrating, may I ask? I mean... since the United States and the Free States are going to reunify anyway?"
Jean breathed in, out, tried to relax. She'd never been any good at lying. So... tell part of the truth. "Oh sure, but who knows how long that will take? You see, my father just died last year, and he was sick for years, and really I don't have much money left. It's been so hard here in the US. I don't know if you've seen on the news, but after the troubles a few years ago the economy has just been awful and the welfare checks are never enough..."
Rosa accepted Jean's half-lie, and started asking when she would be visiting and for how long and whether she'd been to the Free States before and how, exactly, they were related, and talking about how beautiful her home in Savannah was, and how wonderful her cats were, and...
Jean listened, the phone cradled on her shoulder, while her hands slowly took her pistol out of her pocket, and unloaded it, and reloaded it, and unloaded it, and reloaded it...
Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, USA
It was unusually warm for late April, and raining. Jean Wyatt, standing by the phone in the fluorescent-eggplant-colored 1970's kitchen she hated, took one last drag on the cigarette and stubbed it out. She took a few breaths to calm herself, and tried to focus on being friendly, open, not pushy. Just asking a favor. A simple favor.
She called the number.
"Hello, who's there?" The voice was of a middle-aged woman, with a very slight Spanish accent.
"Hello, this is Jean Wyatt. Is this Rosa Kees?"
"Yes..."
"Well, you don't know me, but..." Jean paused, and then pushed on -- too late to back out now -- "well, we're actually related."
"What?"
"Look, I'm from the United States, I'm -- I'm emigrating. I'm really sorry to bother you. It's just -- well, I don't have any family, and I'm moving to the Free States, and I was doing some genealogy and I found out I had relatives... and I found your name."
Rosa didn't say anything, so Jean kept going: "I don't want to impose on you or anything, I'm sure you're very busy with your family and all... But I thought maybe you'd be interested in getting together and comparing notes, and maybe you had some advice on helping me settle in?"
There was a long pause, and then, "Well sure, Jean. As it happens I don't have any family, either. I mean, I was married, but my husband died a few years back, and I have some cousins, but I don't see them much. So yes, that would be lovely. Do you have a place to stay?"
"Not yet. Immigration is going to help set me up with an apartment and a job, but I need to choose the city, and I haven't decided where I want to live yet..."
"So why are you emigrating, may I ask? I mean... since the United States and the Free States are going to reunify anyway?"
Jean breathed in, out, tried to relax. She'd never been any good at lying. So... tell part of the truth. "Oh sure, but who knows how long that will take? You see, my father just died last year, and he was sick for years, and really I don't have much money left. It's been so hard here in the US. I don't know if you've seen on the news, but after the troubles a few years ago the economy has just been awful and the welfare checks are never enough..."
Rosa accepted Jean's half-lie, and started asking when she would be visiting and for how long and whether she'd been to the Free States before and how, exactly, they were related, and talking about how beautiful her home in Savannah was, and how wonderful her cats were, and...
Jean listened, the phone cradled on her shoulder, while her hands slowly took her pistol out of her pocket, and unloaded it, and reloaded it, and unloaded it, and reloaded it...
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