Homecoming Ch. 09

Once again, I want to thank Techsan for his patience and editing skills. Thanks one and all for keeping up with the story...and voting.

Now the disclaimer: Although Lt. Col. Benjamin Vandervoort is a real live person in history, this story is pure fiction and only borrows the name for accuracy of the historical facts surrounding the fictional story...and for dramatic effect.

Hope you enjoy. And vote...vote...vote!

Chapter 9

Ste-Mere-Eglise, France, June 6, 1944

The twenty-seven year-old Lt. Col. Benjamin Vandervoort stood in the doorway of the cottage's bedroom, his weight resting on a make-shift cane. The American officer stared in fascination at the slightly younger soldier before him.

Both of their legs were shattered; the Lt. Colonel eyed with envy the expert bandaging job the farm woman, Madame Renault, had done on Daniel's leg. With any luck, the soldier wouldn't lose his limb.

However, what fascinated Vandervoort even more was the look of concentration on the young man's ashen face. The soldier was suffering from a great deal of blood loss from look of his leg and the bloody remnants of bed linens underneath him. It appeared to the officer that the soldier was literally willing himself to stay awake and not succumb to the draining weakness visited on him by his injuries.

By some miracle, the Madame Renault had found Vandervoort as he was making his way to the town with the rag-tag group of straggling soldiers he'd found along the way. The able-bodied woman seemed relatively stoic but urgent as she described the incident at her home and demanded that the commanding officer follow her back to the house in order to help the young Lieutenant.

Out of concern for the woman's safety and in light of the heartbreaking loss of her husband, Vandervoort had commanded that the woman wait outside. He wanted to check to make sure that the cottage was still safe.

He'd expected to see the bodies of the two German soldiers and the farm woman's husband lying on the kitchen flood. However, seeing it with his own eyes and then observing the state of the solider responsible for such heroism instilled in the commander a sense of awe.

The meaning of this day and the sacrifice of these men made his heart swell with pride. This kid would live through today; the Lt. Colonel would see to it personally.

With this resolve, Vandervoort softly cleared his throat before speaking.

"Son, you've done quite a job here on your own," the officer's admiration was evident in his tone.

Unperturbed by the sudden interruption, Daniel turned to the Lt. Colonel. With weak and watery eyes, he smiled and replied to his superior.

"With all due respect, Sir, what took you so long?"

******************************

Raleigh, North Carolina— July 1, 1941

Lula and Jordan could do nothing more than stare on in horrified amazement at Daniel's approach. Both Lu and Jordan had witnessed the young man's legendary anger. But this was different.

Daniel was infuriated to the point of madness. Neither could imagine what could have possibly brought on this dark fury. Jordan instinctively stepped in front of Lula in order to protect her from Daniel's blistering wrath — a move that jolted Lula into action.

"Daniel," Lula sputtered as she tried to place herself between Jordan and the steamroller of fury that was barreling down on them, "...it's not Jordan's fault he came here to..."

Daniel didn't let her finish.

"Do you know how long we've been looking for your ass?" Daniel fumed.

"I'll tell you how long...three fucking hours!"

Both Jordan and Lula gawked in surprise. Where had this anger come from?

Lula had a good idea that he was transferring again, but wasn't in the mood to engage in another fight to the death. She was simply too tired to worry about Daniel and his new girlfriend.

Jordan on the other hand was having none of Daniel's misplaced rage. Jordan had always "known his place" except when it came to Lula. When it came to protecting her, all bets were off.

"Just a minute, Daniel," Jordan's baritone timbre carried over the fray.

"I know you're mad at her for running off, but that gives you no cause to speak to her like that."

"And you," Daniel growled, cutting off Jordan, "I come down here looking for her and here you are encouraging her to slack off. And what the hell was that kiss about?"

Suddenly, skin-color had factored out of this exchange and Lula realized that she had two alpha dogs on her hands.

"Just who the hell does Casanova think he is?" Lula wondered as she cut her eyes incredulously at Daniel.

"Okay, Daniel, I have no problem with you being upset about having to look for Lula, but what we were doing down here was none of your goddamn business." Jordan bellowed taking a step closer to Daniel who himself seemed eager to jump at his long-time friend.

"Oh, it's my goddamn business when I have to clean up after Lu's messes and hunt her down to make sure dogs like you aren't feeling her up," Daniel countered pointing a finger in Jordan's chest.

What the hell has gotten into these two boys?

Lula had never seen them act this way with each other. She was incredulous that Daniel had the nerve to act like she was acting inappropriately after what he'd done with her and what she'd guessed had happened between him and Justine.

Just who the hell does he think he is? In an instant, the two male adversaries were not the only ones whose temper was flaring.

"Okay, you two, just what the HELL is going on here?" Lula screamed over the two would-be combatants.

"Daniel, you and I have already had this goddamn discussion, so I suggest that you shut the hell up unless you want to rehash it all here in the open in front of Jordan," Lula ground out between gritted teeth, every muscle in her body tingling from adrenaline.

Daniel snapped his mouth shut at that sobering threat.

"Jordan, I appreciate your efforts, but I don't need rescuing from this jackass," she jerked a thumb at Daniel who was about to respond to the insult before being stopped dead in his tracks by a train-stopping, icy glare.

Lu silently dared him to utter another word. They'd have it out in private, but she wouldn't tolerate Daniel attacking Jordan just because his dick was in a constant state of flux. Moreover, she was petrified at the thought of these two goliaths tearing at each other over her.

Over her? When the hell had she become a femme fatale?

Although Daniel was slightly leaner than Jordan, both young men were evenly matched physically. Jordan didn't lose his temper often, but when he did, folks gave him a wide berth.

Conversely, Daniel was notorious for his temper. She'd remembered the bloody knuckles and black eyes he'd bring home as gifts to his mother whenever he'd decided to beat some poor slob into a pulp for some perceived slight. Those bloody knuckles and black eyes had lasted about a year. Thereafter, he was the one giving them away. He'd been sent to military school for his trouble.

Between the two of them a fight would be cataclysmic; and, Lula wanted to stop this before it even got started. She'd never have the strength to pull them apart if they ever decided to test each other's mettle. They'd kill each other.

Jordan's body visibly tensed at Daniel's challenging stance. He wanted to hit something — Daniel's smug face preferably — but anything would do at this point.

He didn't like the way the jerk had talked to Lula or his implications about what they'd been doing when he'd interrupted them. However, more irritatingly, he was decidedly unhappy about being interrupted and Lula's attempts to minimize their kiss.

"You know, if you aren't going to apologize to Lula for basically treating her like she's some kind of lazy tramp, maybe I'm the one to teach you some manners." Jordan rounded, his anger reaching critical levels.

"Oh, well, you're welcome to try...let's go," Daniel taunted as he crooked his finger in Jordan's direction, challenging him to step up and take a beating.

"Oh, the hell you will," Lula interrupted, clearly reaching the point of critical mass herself.

She raised her voice in order to get both men's undivided attention, "Neither of you two are going to do anything...do I make myself clear? Lift one finger and I swear to God I'll tell both our mothers, and your father, Jordan. You do not want my mother on your ass...trust me!"

Lula finished her threat by seizing the courage, or insanity, to step in between the two men. Neither man wanted to take the risk of hurting Lula or incurring the wrath of Caroline.

An uneasy détente had been reached without bloodshed. However, it was a silent procession formed by the unhappy three as they marched back up the path to the house.

Daniel's brooding silence was palpable as he struggled to clear his dark thoughts with each step he took back to the house. Lula, incensed at the possessive behavior of the two men, one of which had absolutely no claim to her whatsoever, gritted her teeth and dug her nails deep into her palms in an effort stay calm. Jordan, in all his dark and imposing glory, brought up the rear.

The striking black man was determined to finish whatever Daniel started and madder than hell that Lula had stopped him from "teaching" Daniel some manners. White man or not, Daniel had no reason to talk to Lula like she was a disobedient dog; and, in truth, Jordan had been shocked at Daniel's viciousness.

He'd never believed Emma's son capable of haughtiness or cruelty until today. Jordan was determined to make sure that none of it was visited on Lula while he was with her.

Back at the house, the three made half-hearted attempts to hide their contempt for their respective tormentors. The tension was so thick that Jordan didn't even need to make up an excuse for Lula's unexplained absence.

Both Caroline and Emma were simply relieved that all three of them had made it back to the house without killing each other by the looks each of them were giving the other. Try as they might, in the presence of the two intimidating matriarchs, the trio's unpleasant mood was impossible to hide, especially when Lula realized that Justine was still a plague among them.

There was going to be a full table for dinner; Lula grimaced. Both Justine and Jordan had been invited to stay for dinner and neither had dared miss the opportunity to spend time with the respective object of their affections.

Jordan had stopped by so that he could visit Lula and ask to be her escort to the July Fourth shindig at the Carven home. It was an invitation Caroline was happy to accept on her daughter's behalf.

Justine, who had wasted away the better part of the afternoon helping Emma with various chores around the house in preparation for the July fete, used the lateness of the day as an excuse to call her father and let him know that Daniel would be dropping her off at the house after dinner. No, "Papa Farewell" wasn't to wait up for her — she'd be along directly.

As both Justine and Lula set a formal table, each trying to be polite and avoid the other, Lula realized that this was the third meal in a row that she wasn't going to be enjoying. She silently prayed that nothing "eventful" would happen that would cause yet another "incident" during mealtime.

Daniel eyed the two young ladies as he tried to ignore Jordan's glowering stare. He cursed under his breath, angrier at himself and his short temper than Jordan.

He'd witnessed the intimate and otherwise innocent moment between the two and had begun to burn with irrational jealousy -- a jealousy that had fueled the confrontation with Lula and Jordan. Instead of simply waiting for the awkward moment to pass, like an ass he'd used Lula's perceived laziness as an excuse to confront the two.

A true gentleman, Jordan had defended his damsel in distress, an action that served only to further fill Daniel with more irrational jealousy and rage. He hated himself for letting those feelings overtake him.

Although he was well aware that he was being fickle and a hypocrite, he couldn't help himself for wanting to rip Jordan to shreds for touching her. Lula wasn't supposed to kiss Jordan. She was meant to kiss...some other man. Her sweet lips belonged to...some other man.

"What the hell is wrong with me?" Daniel muttered to himself as he continued to watch Justine and Lula attempting to get along for the first time in a long time.

"I made my choice...I'm with Justine now. So why can't I just let this be? What the hell am I doing?"

Shaking his head, Daniel resolved to sit down to another unpleasant meal and somehow apologize to Jordan and Lula for his behavior. He knew he owed Lula a hell of a lot of apologies for unrevealed sins he'd committed against her.

Watching Jordan take what he'd so frivolously thrown away made him sick inside. Realizing that he'd slept with Justine just to prove some ridiculous point to himself was even worse.

Whatever Justine was, she didn't deserve to be used as a place marker. Jordan didn't deserve to be threatened for taking care of the woman he was too much of a coward to claim for himself. Most of all, Lula didn't deserve to be jerked around by the capricious whims of an immature ass who didn't have the backbone to simply face the sour truth.

The man in Daniel knew he owned all three of them -- even his new faux girlfriend, Justine -- an apology. The boy in him didn't want to believe that he owed anyone anything.

but that was his demon to wrestle...wasn't it?

He'd apologize; he'd apologize to Lula and Jordan with as much sincerity as his male pride would allow. He'd make it up to Justine somehow. He'd made his choice, even if it was the wrong one.

He was so tired of making bad choices.

**********************************

Raleigh, North Carolina— July 4, 1941

As always, the Carven Fourth of July celebration was a success, even with the dark thunderclouds between Lula and Daniel -- post-apology. Somehow both had managed to stay out of each other's way for the previous four days after the initial forty-eight hours of bickering.

Sometime between the horrific confrontation at the tree house and the party, Lula had managed to find a beau in Jordan. Worse still, Lula had done the impossible. She'd blossomed even more than he'd ever imagined was possible.

Somehow the confrontation had made her more poised, mature and distant. And as a further turn of the knife, Lula now regarded Daniel's presence with marked disinterest.

For two straight days after their last confrontation, Lula had straightened up her act and taken on the responsibility of assisting the elder matriarchs of the Carven household. She'd gladly taken the responsibility of doing all of the "heavy lifting"— cleaning, dusting, weeding the garden, trimming the rose bushes and cooking.

Neither Emma nor Caroline would dare trust any caterers to adequately attend to the affair. All of the pies, custards, side-dishes and smoked-meats were prepared on the premises.

Daniel had been put in charge of barbecuing and smoking the meat. However, Lula, who had miraculously set aside her disappointment and anger with Daniel, insisted on seasoning everything and assisting him with making sure that the meats were cooked to perfection.

During the entire time she was with Daniel, she'd limited her conversations with him to strained cordial small-talk. The freeze-out was driving him crazy. Lula pretended not to notice; eventually she didn't have to pretend.

Apology notwithstanding, she'd gotten the message loud and clear. Daniel had moved on and so should she.

Daniel's date to the party, Justine Farewell, performed her duties as hostess-elect as if her future depended on it. At least in Justine's mind, it did.

Floating from one guest to another, making sure to exchange pleasantries even with the colored "guests" who'd been invited to the gala, Justine had become the center of attention. Everyone who'd had the good fortune to encounter her courteous demeanor patted Daniel on the back and congratulated him on a fine catch.

"Congratulations, young man," one tipsy reveler blustered with conspiratorial glee as he grabbed a reluctant and irritated Daniel by the hand and pumped vigorously, "You've managed to land yourself the prize filly of Wake County. Looks, brains, money, charm and experienced: what more could a fella ask for in a woman?"

Daniel shrugged off the back-handed compliment with more than mild annoyance. He understood how these parties ended on the Fourth — everyone eventually had a little too much to drink and everyone inevitably said something they'd wished they'd never said.

He watched with mild interest as Justine "worked" the crowd. She shook hands when presented with the raw paws of older gentlemen with lecherous eyes. She laughed appropriately, concealing a distinct discomfort, when confronted with awkward, inappropriate jokes from red-faced drunkards who insisted on telling her dirty jokes because, "she was just the type to appreciate them."

As much of an effort as Justine made that day to dispel her reputation as a "tarnished angel," there weren't many men who were buying the "new respectable" Justine Farewell. It was not for lack of trying on the heiress' part.

Daniel actually felt sorry for her, especially because he intended to tell her that he wasn't quite sure he'd be able to give her what she wanted. Over the past few days, it seemed that Justine expected him, a ring and respectability in that order.

It had been less than a week and her desperation to change her status from Justine Farewell to the future "Mrs. Daniel Carven" was palpable. Her over exaggerated graciousness with everyone who insisted on commenting on the "handsome couple" bordered on pathetic.

Given the stock from whence she came: a wealthy dysfunctional family with a distant cold mother, an overbearing alcoholic stepfather and an irresponsible brother, Daniel couldn't blame her for wanting out of that glass menagerie. Especially on days like today.

At least once he'd spied his date in a corner with her inebriated stepfather, who in fact had come to the party drunk, if truth be told. She looked decidedly uncomfortable, almost embarrassed in his presence.

Any other observer who didn't know the relationship between stepfather and daughter would have been uncomfortable. The main reason for this discomfort was that "Papa Farewell's" hands had a nasty habit of wandering. His rough paws would routinely find their way to Justine's arm, or her leg, or her back only to linger seconds longer than they should.

Daniel frowned at the spectacle and almost interrupted the two but was himself interrupted by another invitee. Another appreciative, inebriated guest had insisted on pumping Daniel's hand and congratulating him for snaring such a fine woman. When he'd turned back to find Justine, she was headed back over to his side, her unflappable smile concealing something unquestionably disconcerting.

He was about to question his escort about the awkward moment when he noticed Justine's attention was turned back in the direction of her father. The red-faced man was now approaching Lula with a look in his eye that Daniel decided he definitely didn't like.

Apparently, he and Justine were of the same mind. Before he could excuse himself to the cool blonde, she'd already left his side walking purposefully over to the two and calling out Lula's name. Daniel detected a bit of panic distorting her usual lilting tone.

"Oh, Lula...darling, there you are. You have simply got to come over here and talk to Mrs. Horace," Justine called out as she waived to get Lula's attention.

"She insists that I made those marvelous peach pies...I'm happy to take the credit, sugar, but I don't know the first thing about cooking. Would you mind giving this sweet woman the recipe? She's right over there."