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,