Return to Holliday Creek (18)

There is a tide in the affairs of men

                                                            -By Robert Faulkender ©

The next few days were jammed with turning in gear, paper work, farewells; all squeezed between the war time events. Ted focused all of his attention to processing out of the army, and not until he and Bill sat across from each other on the train to El Paso, did the pain seep back into his consciousness.

     Hicks had purchased a newspaper at the station; he sat studying the front page. “Where the Hell is Verdun? .... France?” 

    Skillman stared out the window. “Um.”

    “You know America’s going to get into this; we may miss the big one.”

     “Um.”

     Time slipped away without conversation. Ted stared sightlessly out the window; eventually he spoke. “Bill, listen to me a minute.”

      Hicks put down the newspaper. “You sound serious, partner.” Bill smiled at his use of the word “partner”.

     Ted spoke matter-of-factually, “I’ve some unfinished business before I can join you in Cincinnati.”

     For the first time in the last ten days Bill Hicks examined his friend’s face and saw the sadness. “Anything I can do, Skilly?”

    “Not really, Bill. Thanks.” Ted looked Hicks in the eye. “I’m leaving the train at St. Louis.” Bill’s expression was unreadable. “Don’t wait for me; you just go on.” Hicks sat motionless, like a hunting dog on point. “I’ll catch up in a week… or so.” 

     Something showed in his manor and speech that Bill had never seen before. They sat in silence.

     In time, Ted spoke again. “I have some personal business to settle in St. Louis...” He swallowed hard. “And, I must say good-by to a special loved one.” His eyes shifted to the window, focusing on the distant desert.  He choked down all emotion.

     The conversation was over. 

     His new life was still out there; just not the way he envisioned it. 

    He could begin again. He was the master of his own destiny. He'd done that before. It was up to him.

     Only not for awhile...

Return to Holliday Creek (17)

When Fate Steps In

                         -By Robert Faulkender ©

Dear Sergeant Skillman, 

I am Leitha’s Aunt Angela and business partner. I feel like I have known you for years, since Leitha first mentioned your name when she moved to St. Louis. These last few months have been the happiest I have ever seen her—even in the knowledge that war has delayed your union. I wish this letter could be my congratulations on your marriage. Alas…

On 29 August, influenza stole our Leitha from us. What started as a headache and runny nose, steadily assailed her body.  In three short days, she died. This horrid flu is approaching epidemic levels.

Her last concerns were for you. She knows how much you love her and she feared that her death might destroy you, too. Her last conscious words were, “Tell him I know he always loved me. And, we had our time. We must be thankful for that. I am in his heart forever.”

You will recall that Leitha recently sold her father’s store. She placed the proceeds of the sale in a joint account with your name. It was to be her dowry. As the executor of her estate, I have enclosed the proper documentation for you to claim the entire proceeds; this is what she intended. You are loved.

May God bless you, Edward Skillman, and help you through this time of grief.

Most Sincerely,

Angela Samuelson,

Executor to the Estate of Leitha Samuelson

     He wasn’t sure how long he sat there. Mechanically, he folded and returned the letters to the envelope.  He rolled over on his cot, laid there, still in uniform, eyes closed, in time tears, then sleep.

 

     Two days later Skillman introduced First Sergeant Krantz to Bill Hicks and relayed the news that Hicks was about to be a civilian. Bill irrupted with excitement, and talked all the way back to Camp Furlong about the things they would do in Cincinnati. 

    He barely noticed Ted’s quietness. Ted was always quiet.

Return to Holliday Creek (16)

Letters from Home

                      -By Robert Faulkender ©

The mission of Skillman’s section was protecting troop and supply convoys. By summer, action consumed him, body and mind. He received one letter from Leitha in the first of June, written in April. She had not yet received his note. The store sold and she returned to St. Louis to await his coming. The memory of their last night rushed back; hope returned.

    This war can’t last forever, she’ll be there.

 

    In the second week of September, after an uneventful supply run to Chihuahua, Sergeant Skillman returned to camp tired, bored, and dirty. The charge-of-quarters handed him a large envelope and another small one in Leitha’s hand. He was ecstatic, no more bored. “Cap’n wants to see you the second you come in,” chirped the CQ. 

    Skillman, with a grin on his face, reported to Daily. The captain looked at him quizzically, “You already heard the news?”

    “What news?” Skillman’s smile faded.

    “Your orders for severance are approved effective 30 September—Hicks’ too.”

 

    Euphoria swept over the sergeant. He could hardly hold his salute. Daily returned the gesture, “Get out of here. You’ll take one more truck run day-after-tomorrow. Deliver Hick’s orders and his replacement, First Sergeant Krantz.”

   Skillman’s mind was out of body. At last his life was about to begin. He would savor the moment: wash up, put on a fresh uniform, and after supper, read his mail.

   But he couldn’t wait. Right after the canvas Lister-bag shower and a fresh uniform he opened Leitha’s letter and sat down on his cot to read. She had received his first note; said she wept at the news of his deployment, but she understood; she loved him, she could wait for whatever time it took. He re-read it three times, some parts four. He could not remember this much happiness.

     He reached for the large envelope. The handwriting was not Leitha’s. He emptied the contents onto his cot: three letters, his own unopened letter to Leitha, a second, unmarked; and a third on personal stationary addressed to him. He turned the third one over in his hands before he slowly opened it.

Dear Sergeant Skillman,

Return to Holliday Creek (15)

Think about Poncho Villa. 

                              - By Robert Faulkender ©

Skillman forced his mind back to Villa's raid on Columbus... Corporal Grimes locked onto his machine gun, the rattle of gunfire...

     Ted nearly jumped out of his skin when felt the bed covers part as she slipped in beside his stark naked body. Even in the darkness she was the most beautiful thing he had ever imagined.

     She snuggled up beside him. “I didn’t promise to stay in my room.” 

 

   Giggling, they self-consciously explored each other.  Then suddenly, intensely, without any reservations, they reconciled each other’s emptiness and fulfilled the mutual longings of nine years. Ted Skillman did not know that his body could give and receive such excruciating pleasure. If he hadn’t fully loved Leitha yesterday, he certainly did today.

    

Poncho Villa  circa 1912

Chaos gripped Camp Furlong. As Skillman signed in from leave, the charge of quarters gave him a message to see Captain Daily immediately. Ted was dead tired: the night with Leitha, the trail ride to Tarbuttons, the train ride last night. He needed sleep.

    Two raps on Captain Daily’s door and he entered.  “Sergeant Skillman reporting as ordered.”

    Daily’s mustache went up, “Glad you are back, Skilly. Things are crazy—worse than we guessed.”

   Captain Daily proceeded to bring Skillman up to date. President Wilson had assigned General John  Pershing to command the Mexican Expedition -- 10,000 men strong. B Troop, including First Sergeant Hicks, left three days ago for Chihuahua under the command of Captain George Patten.

     Daily was animated. “I have you slated to secure a resupply convoy down to B Troop, 24 hours from now. Clock’s ticking, sergeant.”

     Skillman was stunned. Of course, he knew this could happen, but… “What about the completion of our enlistment term?”

     Daily nervously shuffled papers on his desk top. “All leaves, passes, and enlistment contracts have been suspended.” Daily looked up, mustache drooping, “That will be all, sergeant.”

     Washed, shaved, and rested, Skillman buckled down to do his job. But, before he left on mission, he wrote Leitha and asked her to wait a little longer. He didn’t write much. He wasn’t much of a writer. 

     The war was on. He and Hicks met almost every two weeks on supply link-ups. They still had great plans for some day. And, ever in the back of his mind, there was Leitha.

Return to Holliday Creek (14)

A Promise is a Promise

By Robert Faulkender ©

Ted believed in his head that he had put Leitha out of his mind in the same way he did Holliday Creek. In those days had no trade, no job, no prospects. First things first. Just south of Little Rock, Arkansas, he took seasonal work as a weigh station operator during the cotton harvest. The pay was good which would build up his stake. 

     Unfortunately, a few weeks into the job a teamster decided that Skillman had cheated him on a weigh-out. The man couldn’t read or write or recognize proof of an honest deal. But he was big and a bully and used to getting his own way. The first punch knocked Skillman down, but when Ted rose up and stood his ground the man pulled a knife. He was slow and not accustomed to challenge. He relied too much on his size. In two swift movements the full eight inches of blade wound up in the man’s side just below the rib cage. Not a good start.

     Skillman ran back to the warehouse; reported a man bleeding to death out at the weigh station, and immediately went into town. It was time to go; he was very familiar with small town justice: home town boy against an out-of-towner doesn’t play well. By nightfall he was camped along the Arkansas River on the way to Fort Smith.

     In the morning, a troop of cavalry passed by his camp. He decided to ride along with them to Fort Smith. By the time they arrived at the Fort, Skillman had enlisted in the army and continued on to Fort Riley for training and assignment. It wasn’t the life he dreamed of, but it drew on his experience, promised adventure, and offered great camaraderie. Dreams of a trade in the industrial east were sealed away with the memory of a girl named Leitha.

     Her note had blown open the vault. Now, by the glow from the  fireplace, the two worked out that Ted would come for Leitha in St. Louis, and stay until she sold out the hat business. They would marry, and, together, head east to catch up with Bill Hicks and his family business.

     The happiest days of both their lives flew by... and time ran out. Ted must leave in the morning.

    They sat in the little parlor. Ted was gentle but persistent. He had worked through the first six of the umpteen-button blouse when she suddenly wiggled out of his grip, stood, and pulled him up by the hand. His heart leapt. Still holding his hand, she led him to the door of Dad’s room. His heart sank. “You promised to stay in Dad’s room.” She kissed him warmly good night, and disappeared down the hall.

 

     He shut the door behind him. She is, of course, right; a promise is a promise. He pulled off his clothes and slid into bed. He needed to change his mind.

Return to Holliday Creek (13)

If only....

          -By Robert Faulkender ©

Ted had been away from Leitha for over nine hours and it felt like another nine years. He left Clara on her own cloud, and hurried back to the Emporium. The first kiss expressed the excitement of good news; the second, longer kiss, had the power of passion. When he released her at last, she did not pull away and they lingered, entwined. 

     He said with a soft chuckle, “Did you know that Millie is Clara Maud’s niece?”

     Leitha drew back slightly, “No. Does this mean Clara knows about us?” Concern in her voice.

     “Are you kidding? If Clara Maud knows the whole town knows. The secret to my success as sheriff here was her uncanny ability to always know what’s going on.”

     Leitha pulled away altogether. “Oh, my; it’s probably good I don’t live here anymore.” She nervously straightened her hair.

    “Not to worry. Clara says the whole town is basking in the romance of it all.”

    That evening the two closed the store and left by the front entrance -- arm in arm.

     The following days were intense. Ted joined in the inventory project.  Customer traffic increased. Town folk dropped by to “browse” and, of course, to observe the fabled couple.  The meeting with Clara and Howard went extremely well, with both parties taking a like to each other – in ways beyond business.

    In the evenings they shared their life adventures: Leitha; about the millinery business, her aunt, and St. Louis; Ted, about the army, Bill Hicks, and plans for life in the east.

     Ted asked, “Did you ever go back to Holliday Creek?”

     “Oh, yes. After my aunt defused my anger, I returned home and made-up with my father; but you were gone without a trace; nothing for me in Holliday; never was except for you. I went back to St. Louis.”

     Ted wanted to ask why she hadn’t married, but she guessed the question before he screwed up the courage to say it.

     “My uncle was a tailor.  Aunt Angela kept his books and customer records. I helped by taking care of their two small children. When a runaway horse and carriage killed Uncle Charles, my aunt was suddenly the owner of an established tailor shop: except, she was not a tailor. 

     The idea of a millinery shop came from the wife of one of my uncle’s wealthy customers.  It was our salvation. But, starting a new business and raising two children kept us fully occupied. Time slipped away; entertaining suitors wasn't a part of it. 

     And you, Sheriff Skillman, were just a maiden’s dream.” Her smile was wistful, “I wished; I hoped; I told myself someday…”

   They sat in silence a few moments. Ted was lost in "If only... " thoughts when Leitha brought him back. "And where did Sheriff Skillman go, Sergeant?"

Return to Holliday Creek (12)

Where there is a will there is a way.

                                                    -By Robert Faulkender ©

Colorado River Crossing

Ted walked Leitha to the store. Millie had already opened up, and when she saw the two together, romance beamed from her face. Leitha scolded, “Now, don’t you get any funny ideas, Millie. The sergeant here, used to be the sheriff of this old town and a friend of my father’s. No spreading gossip all over the place.”

 

   Ted smiled sheepishly at Millie, tipped the wide brim of the hat that he lifted from Samuelson’s hall tree, and turned to Leitha. 

   

   “I’ll take a trip out to the XBARX, see if I can plant a seed in Howard, and I’ll drop in on Clara afterwards.”  He awkwardly shook Leitha’s hand; she smirked.

    By early afternoon Skillman had returned from the XBARX . He stabled his horse, and walked across the street to the café. Clara Maud turned away when he entered; without a blink, “Your table’s waiting for you, sheriff, or should I say, sergeant. Been a while either way.”

     “Good to see you, too, Clara Maud.” He ambled over and sat. 

     She produced a coffee cup. “No Hassen pfeffer, today. Meat loaf.” 

 

     “Just coffee, Clara. I want to talk to you about something.”

     “If it’s about you and Miss Leitha, you got my vote-- whole town’s vote, for that matter. You sure are slow.” She tried to look cross, but couldn’t pull it off. “Better late than never, I always say.”

     Skillman looked shocked; he turned red. His mouth moved, but the words stammered. 

    Clara observed Skillman’s pain with mild amusement. “You, of all people, should know it’s a small town. And you should also know that Millie is my niece.”

   Ted collected himself slowly. Eventually he came around to the purpose of his visit. The restaurant was quiet; Clara sat down, definitely intrigued by the thought.

     “But I haven’t enough money to make it happen,” she said. 

     Ted could see in her face the dream turning fuzzy. She fiddled with the salt seller.

    

     He leaned over an conspiratorial manner. “Not if you had a backer or partner.”

    Skillman told her about his meeting with Howard, and the idea that the cowboy might be a strong partner. 

   “Howard has a little money, and would be a good inside man while you are the face of the Emporium.” By the end of the third cup of coffee Clara Maud was on fire. She agreed to meet Howard who would be in town day after tomorrow.