War without End

"Jim, I don't know your sisters, but from the way you talk about them, they sound like wonderful girls. They'd want to see you no matter what shape you're in. In fact, they'd be overjoyed to see you because of that. They love you. They'd want to help more than anything. You shouldn't deny them that opportunity."

I knew she was right, but I still hadn't worked it out in my mind.

Next day, I turned the subject back on her; I finally got the nerve to ask her about Will.

"Tell me about your husband. Hank over at the diner said he was a great mechanic."

"Oh yes, Will was very mechanical...if he could have afforded the schooling, he would have been an engineer. He loved getting his hands dirty. Big hands, too. And tough. He kept a five-gallon bucket of kerosene in the shop; he'd dunk his hands in there to get the grease off, but he still had it under his fingernails all the time. I didn't mind, though. I came to love the smell of grease and oil and brake dust. I loved him."

"Why'd he go off to Port Chicago?"

"Think about how you feel right now...about your leg...you feel useless, right? Will felt that way too. He tried to enlist right after Pearl Harbor, but he failed the medical exam -- he had a slight heart murmur. He waited three months and tried again. Three more times. Same result. He sat here and watched David's uncles and the other local boys going off to boot camp. And he just dried up. It was killing him. Finally, he heard the Navy was hiring civilian contractors as welders up at Port Chicago in California. I couldn't hold him back...he didn't want to sell the station...so I had to stay here and run it. He went. And he never came back. Not even in a box."

"That's a tough break, Maggie, but he'd have been miserable if he'd stayed. My Ma tried to get me to stay home -- I could have probably gotten a deferment. But it would have killed me to watch my friends and relatives go off without me. Heck, two of my cousins hid out from the draft board and ended up in the pen for two years -- they didn't hide too well, did they? Now, nobody in the family will talk to them; Mama says they can't even show their faces in public. I had to sign up -- for my own peace of mind. Will had to go -- for his. It didn't mean I loved my Ma and sisters any less because I went. And Will didn't love you any less either."

I left her with that and went back to patching an inner tube. Over the next few weeks, we had several more conversations like that. I told her more tales about my sisters and growing up on the farm. She responded with stories about how she met Will and came to live in Lordsburg. I could tell she was starting to loosen up and feel a little better. I was too. I think both of us needed a sympathetic ear.

March flew by. Spring weather brought more business -- farmers started planting, townsfolk got out more, and rationing was over, so I was pumping more gas and doing more tune-ups. One morning, I walked into the office from the garage and found Maggie talking to a young lady. I could see two little dimpled arms wrapped around the lady's knees.

"Dolores, this is my mechanic, Jim Murphy. This is Dolores Johnson -- she's with the American Legion Ladies' Auxiliary. They're having a May Day barbecue to benefit veterans' families. I've been volunteered to bake some cakes and pies. And this little angel is Sadie -- she's three and a half years old and sugar sweet."

I grinned at the brown-eyed beauty. She slid between her mother and the counter and buried her face in her mom's skirt.

"Good to meet you, Jim," her Mama said. "You be sure to come along to the barbecue. It'll only cost you a dollar and you won't go away hungry. Come on, Sadie, we've got a few more stops to make."

"What a cute little girl," I told Maggie, after they'd gone. I could see her wistful gaze following Sadie as the child walked out the door. I decided to cross that line.

"I know this is none of my business, but why didn't you and Will have any children?"

I could see tears filling her eyes as she answered: "We both wanted babies -- we discussed it before we married. Will wanted three -- I said we'd start with one, then we'd see...but nothing happened. After a couple of years, I went to the specialist doctor over in Deming. He examined me and couldn't find anything that would prevent me from having a baby. Doc said just keep trying and let nature take its course. I didn't dare suggest that Will get checked out...it would've devastated him to find that out. Better to not know. I'd rather be childless than hurt him that bad. "

"What about adopting? Did you think of that?"

"Sure, after a couple of years, I suggested it, but Will wouldn't hear of raising a child that wasn't his own...maybe, if he had lived, he might have gotten past that...but it's too late now."

With that, she grabbed a stack of outgoing mail, told me she was heading for the post office, and took off out the front door. I thought about the tears in her eyes and the sob in her throat, and wished I'd kept my mouth shut.

Business stayed steady at the station and, before I knew it, May Day was upon us. It fell on a Wednesday, and no busses stopped on Wednesdays, so Maggie closed for the day. I piddled around the station, cleaning and straightening until almost noon, then I walked the three blocks to the American Legion hall. Its double doors were propped open and folks were lining up to pay their dollar to Dolores, who was sitting at a folding table just inside the door. Maggie sat next to her, balancing Sadie on her lap. I grinned and spoke to her again - "Hey, Sadie, darlin' - how are you today?" Again, she hid her face -- this time in the bosom of Maggie's dress. I laughed and walked on over towards the food tables. The Auxiliary ladies were arranging all the side dishes for a buffet line, while several of the men were bringing in platters of meat from out back. They had chicken quarters, pork ribs, and what looked like beef brisket. At the end of these tables were two more covered with cakes and pies. At the back of the hall, next to the back door, were several beer kegs and a couple of wash tubs filled with bottles of Coke on ice. The center of the hall was cleared for a dance floor; tables and chairs were arranged around the walls. By 1300, most that were coming had arrived, so the Legion commander blessed the food, and we all started lining up. I noticed most of the men held back to let the women and children go first. Mothers were filling plates for the kids; daughters were fixing plates for the elderly. Just like back home, it was a small town family taking care of its own.

I finally got a plate and went looking for Maggie. I found her again sitting with Dolores and Sadie at a back corner table. She was holding the little girl on her lap and letting her eat off the plate in front of them, giving Dolores a chance to eat undisturbed for once. As we ate, we chatted and watched Sadie eat her lunch. She reminded me of my little sisters at that age and, for a moment, I thought about what I was missing back home. From our conversation, I learned that Sadie's dad Bobby was dead -- killed at Monte Cassino in '44. He never saw his little girl. His parents still lived in Lordsburg, so Dolores had stayed there to have help with Sadie. I also found out that Maggie's mom and dad were alive and living in Kansas. Her dad had come out of retirement to help build B-25s for Boeing at their Wichita plant. Her married sister had two kids and lived in Wichita too. Her sister's husband had gone to Europe with the Signal Corps to work on radars and came home unharmed.

We talked on for some while; several folks came by to talk to Maggie and Dolores. I took a trip to the sweets table and came back with a sampler of cakes and pies for the ladies and me. I even found a coffee urn and brought us back three cups. Sometime after dessert, a four-piece band set up and started playing music. They had a guitar player, a fiddler, piano player, and a stringbean playing an upright bass. They were doing mostly country and western swing stuff, like Spade Cooley and Bob Wills. Occasionally, they would throw in a slow country song; I remember hearing "The Kentucky Waltz". Several young men came by and asked Dolores to dance. After all, she was a young, curvaceous war widow. At first, she refused, but after Maggie assured her that we would watch Sadie, Dolores agreed to dance a few numbers. Sadie had warmed up to me some and even sat in my lap for a while. In fact, I noticed she was nodding off and took her from Maggie and cradled her in my lap. Without a whimper, she drifted off to sleep.

"You look like you've done that before," Maggie said.

"I consider myself an expert...like I told you before, Mama had my three little sisters within five years...she needed a lot of help. I was six years older than the oldest girl, so I did a lot of rocking. A baby girl is God's gift to us all."

Her eyes glistened when I said that. "Did you see Gone With the Wind? You remind me of what that Mrs. Merriweather said about Rhett Butler: 'There must be a great deal of good in any man who can love a child so much.' Something tells me you're a good man, Jim Murphy."

I felt myself blushing and I didn't respond. Dolores came back red faced and out of breath. She thanked her partner and sat down. The band started up a slow waltz. I looked at Maggie and said, "What about you, Maggie, do you dance?" With that I stood up and passed the sleeping child back to her mother. Maggie looked at me doe-eyed and shook her head violently. "No, I-I haven't danced since Will...", she stammered out. I stood there with my hand out, "Come on, I haven't tried out this new leg; I probably can't do more than stumble around like a drunk, but let's give it a whirl." Dolores egged her on, "Go ahead Mag, do it for a wounded vet...it'll be good for you too." She shook her head again, but less violently this time. I dramatically held my hand out again.

Biting her lip and looking down, she took my hand and stepped out from behind the table. I led her out to the dance floor, took her right hand in my left, put my right on her left shoulder and started a semblance of a waltz. All I could do was a rough 1-2-3 pattern, standing pretty much in the same spot. Luckily, even though I stumbled a little, I managed to avoid stomping on Maggie's toes. Of course, I told her she could stomp the hell out of my right foot, but she was a trooper; she kept me from falling a couple of times and tried hard not to look miserable.

But I could tell she wasn't enjoying herself. She wouldn't really look me in the eye and her whole affect was forlorn. It occurred to me that this was the first time I had touched her. I also realized that I had feelings for her, but I wasn't sure what they were. When the song ended, I thanked her for the dance and led her back to the table. She grabbed her purse from the back of the chair, reached down with her finger and tucked Sadie's hair behind her ear, and told us she had to go. I offered to walk her to her truck, but she politely refused and went out the door. I listened to one more song, said my farewells to Dolores and Sadie, then sauntered back to the station.

Next day things seemed awkward between Maggie and me. When she wasn't avoiding me and deigned to speak to me, she was short several times. I let it go -- writing it off to the stress from getting ready for the barbecue yesterday. But, when she acted the same way on Friday, I had had enough.

"What's eating you? When you've talked to me at all, you've snapped my head off..."

Maggie answered with some heat: "There's nothing eating me. What's wrong with you? Don't you have more important things to do than analyzing my moods?"

In our almost three months together, I'd noticed that when she was agitated, she'd twiddle the end of her braid. She was doing that now. And she still wouldn't look me in the eye.

"Well, I'm sorry, but ever since the barbecue, you've been a bear to get along with...and I'm not used to that...something's wrong...did I do or say something to upset you?"

"Let it go, Jim...I..."

"No, I'm not letting it go...I'm your friend, remember?... and friends help each other in times of trouble...what's wrong?"

"I shouldn't have danced with you at the barbecue," she blurted out.

"Why in the world not?" I blurted back. She placed her face in her hands, then reached under the counter to grab a Kleenex, and dabbed at the tears in her eyes.

"Because I'm still mourning Will -- I felt like I was being unfaithful to his memory. I'm still wearing my wedding ring. And another thing, I'm too old for you. What will people think?"

I paused for a few seconds before replying: "It was just a dance. I know you're still grieving over Will -- I'm not trying to replace him. I just hate to see you so sad. You're still young; you have so much life ahead of you. As to what other people think, I don't care - to hell with them. We've not done anything improper, and even if we had, it's none of their business."

"But Jim, I have to care -- I have to do business in this small town -- and, here, reputation means everything. And I -- I can't have feelings for you -- I'm too old."

"Ok then. I promise you I won't do anything to sully your reputation. As for our age difference, so what? I'm a grown man. I've seen and done more things than most men do in a lifetime -- some of them horrible things. Any doubts you have about me shouldn't be about my maturity. And age? Most of the men I saw die were young like me. That told me it can all be over in a second. Waiting to get what your heart wants is a big risk. It makes no sense." Taking a deep breath here, I continued: "So, I have to tell you, I have feelings for you...I don't know if it's love, infatuation, or what, but when I danced with you, I felt something I hadn't felt before. I've never had a girlfriend, Maggie." I felt myself blushing as I told her the next, "and except for one girl when we were on leave in Melbourne, I've never been with a woman. So, I don't really know how to feel here, but I do know I want to be around you. I want to at least be your friend...I promise I won't embarrass you."

We passed the next week in relatively good humor - distant but polite. Summer was approaching and the garage was getting hot. But, with the doors open and the gable fan running, it was bearable. Nights were a little rough, until Maggie brought me a box fan that I set on the counter. It occurred to me that I'd spent my whole life in hot places -- South Georgia, south Pacific, south New Mexico. Maybe I should swap my ticket for a northbound destination -- get a little winter in my bones. I knew I wouldn't do that; I was starting to miss my mother and sisters, and I was losing my trepidations about my future as a farmer. One-legged or not, I had become a help to Maggie. I could be a help back there. Whatever was left of me belonged at home.

But what about Maggie? As I watched her one day from the garage -- she was sitting at the counter entering figures in the accounts book -- I realized that she had become important, even precious to me. I studied her face -- her high cheekbones, her strong jaw, her long neck, her lips pressed together as she concentrated. I hadn't really noticed these things before. She was a handsome woman, made even handsomer by what was inside her. I remembered something I had read: "elegance is when the inside is as beautiful as the outside". Maggie was an elegant woman. I missed home, but I would miss her too.

Pretty soon, June was almost gone, and Maggie was again volunteered to bake for the Lordsburg 4th of July Picnic at the municipal park. I signed up to help set up tables and chairs. It was going to be another barbecue -- like the May Day one, just with a marching band and more speeches. As the day approached, downtown businesses began putting up American flags, bunting, and ribbons. I noticed a few stores displayed gold star flags in their windows. As I walked by, I remembered the times I had wished I was one of those gold stars, and I felt ashamed of myself for wishing that heartache on my family.

A couple of days before the 4th, I walked into the station after eating lunch at Hank's and found David Hidalgo and an older version of him talking to Maggie. I nodded to David and walked on into the garage. I had a car up on the rack and I started in changing the oil. After I'd finished that job and backed the car off the rack, I saw that the visitors were gone, and I went in to talk to Maggie.

"I assume that was David's dad with him. If it was, he's a carbon copy."

"Yes, that was Miguel Hidalgo. He wants to buy the station and came to see if I was interested in selling."

"Are you? I didn't realize that was in the works."

"It's not, or at least it hasn't been. It's as big a surprise to me as it is to you. His garage has been so busy since he reopened that he's looking to expand. With no gas rationing and no new cars yet, he says people are driving more and fixing what they've got. Makes sense to me. But I don't know if I want to sell. Will loved this station -- he got to fix stuff, and he felt like he was doing a service for the community. I don't know if I can give it up. Besides, I've got to do something for a living."

"Is this what you want to do with YOUR life? What you want to do? Have you thought about that? I don't mean to be cruel, but Will's dreams died with him - unless they were your dreams too."

She covered her face and began quietly sobbing. I'd said too much, again. Reflexively, I put my arms around her and tucked her head under my chin. I muttered a stream of apologies and shushing noises in her ear, while I rubbed her back. She kept on crying, the sobs now racking her body. I just kept on shushing and rubbing, figuring she would eventually cry herself out. And she did. But it took a while; my shirtfront was wet by the time she quit. She pulled back and looked up at me, still with wet eyes,

"I'm sorry for that...I don't know what came over me...I -"

That's okay, Maggie...everybody's entitled to a good cry...you've got a lot on you right now, and I should've kept my mouth shut."

"No, you're right...I've been sleepwalking too long... feeling sorry for myself and living on memories and borrowed dreams. Miguel's offer and, and you are forcing me to wake up and I'm terrified."

"You're gonna be fine - things are going to work out. I know, that's easy for me to say, but you're not facing this life alone. You've got friends here. Heck, everybody loves you; they talk about you with nothing but affection and respect. I know about the things you do for this town -- it's a lot more than baking cakes. You baby-sit for every mother in Lordsburg. You visit the sick and take food to the shut-ins. You even sell on credit to the Mexicans, and they sing your praises in Spanish. It's time you let others help you."

The smell of her hair and skin lingered with me. I hadn't hugged or been hugged since I left home in '43. And the feel of her small body against my big frame left me yearning for more contact.

Independence Day came and went. I managed to help set up tables and chairs without falling down. And, no, I didn't try to dance with Maggie again, even though they had a pretty good swing band. I did eat lunch with her, Sadie, Dolores, and the young vet she had danced with at the May Day barbecue. He seemed to be taken with Dolores and Sadie, and they with him. Naturally, I didn't participate in the sack race or the three-legged race, but I did manage a few games of horseshoes. By late afternoon, my legs had taken all I could stand, so I slowly made my way back to the station. I plunked down on my bunk, turned that box fan on high, and read a bit in a paperback western I'd bought at the dime store.

I woke up to Maggie's voice calling up the stairs. I had slept through the night and I was late opening the station. I brushed my teeth, splashed water on my face, and headed downstairs slowly -- my leg was chafed from wearing the artificial one all night. Making my apologies, I went and opened the garage door, and did the other routine tasks to start the day. Maggie looked tired and frayed. She didn't seem eager to make small talk so I left her alone. By noon, along with pumping gas for quite a few customers, I had finished an oil change, patched a couple of inner tubes, and replaced the spark plugs in a '34 Chevy panel truck. I broke for lunch and stepped across the street to Hank's. As I left, I hollered to Maggie that I would bring her a hamburger.