nearly a true story

This is a fictionalized version of Rudder’s grandparents’ story. The names are changed, just enough for privacy. Some details are fudged; I have no idea what military rank Rudder’s grandfather reached, or where his wounds were, though the Purple Heart and the malaria are real. Also, Grampa P’s not really a verbal sort of guy; I’d bet he had a lot of these thoughts before his wedding, but probably not in so many words.

Sgt. Ron climbed out of his car and headed over to May’s house. Her whole family was there now, and enough of them had driven over so that he’d had to park down the block instead of right out front. People were still excited about being able to drive whenever they wanted to, now that gasoline rationing had finallly ended. He walked eagerly, if a bit stiffly; the broken foot had knitted but it still ached now and then, and the wound in his gut, though it had healed a year ago, was still a bit tender if he stretched the wrong way. He shivered occasionally too, despite the hot weather; during their time in the tropics, malaria had spread through his entire squadron.

Thoughts of love, children, family, work and life ran through his head in a practiced whirl as he walked the short distance to her door. He’d thought them all through so many time in the past weeks that now they ran through his brain in a well-worn groove, like an express train on its track.

He thought about May – hell, he’d thought of little else for weeks. She was all he’d wanted in a woman, beautiful and tough. Well, any man would want a beautiful wife, if he could get one. He’d been attracted to May as soon as they’d met, and the crowd of her admirers proved he wasn’t alone. Ron had learned to value tough women, growing up on a homestead; going through life with a wife he couldn’t depend on sounded like the surest recipe for misery that he could think of. May had proved her toughness, many times over; she might be back living with her family now, but she was no untested girl. During the war years, she’d done the work of a man and some work that would daunt a lot of men. She’d even worked as a fire lookout, alone on a mountain in the back country with no company but her two-year old son.

Her son – yes, she’d been married before. His blood burned as he thought of it, with a mingling of rage and something else. The rage came up whenever he thought of the whoreson who’d run out on her and their son. The louse had done him a favor in one way, though; he wanted a wife in all senses, not a blushing virgin. She’d been through the worst marriage could offer, and he was looking forward to showing her the best. That was the other, pleasanter cause of the burning in his veins.

Her son Kevin was only six now, a good kid. May’s father and brothers had seen to it that he’d had some better examples of manhood than his shiftless father, but he was young enough to benefit from having a real father on hand. He’d adopt Kevin, that would be best. She wanted more kids, so he’d have some of his own, but they’d raise them all together and not make any differences between them. Anyway, it would be good to get some fathering practice in on a kid who was old enough to throw a baseball before having to deal with drooling and diapers and teething.

She could keep working if she wanted to, once the kids were older; he’d be happy to support them all, but if she wanted an outside job, there was plenty of family to watch the kids. He wasn’t one of those men who thought that having a weak and dependent wife made him more of a man. His manhood had been proven well enough in the war; a Purple Heart ought to be persuasive enough for anyone. Anyway, she was stubborn; if she wanted to work or to do anything else, she wouldn’t let anyone stop her.

May had been watching for him; as he reached the house she came to the door. So did her parents, her son and all her brothers and sisters, but he saw only her. He smiled down at her – not too far down, because she was a tall woman. “Are you ready?”

“Nearly – come in and have some lemonade before the long drive, and I’ll get my things.”

“How many cars are going?

“All of them. Everyone wants to see the wedding, even Kevvie. Mother and Dad will take him back home afterward. Have a seat and I’ll get you the lemonade.” She moved toward the kitchen.

He remained standing and reached out for her hand, before she could leave. “Just a minute. I need to say this before I get scared.”

“You?” she scoffed. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you scared of anything.”

Sgt. Ron held onto her hand. “I was when I asked you to marry me, and I am now.” He took a deep breath. “May … you sure you want to do this? I want to marry you more than anything in the world, but if you don’t feel the same way, this is the time to back out. Don’t worry about what everyone else will think; we’ll face them together.”

She stopped trying to pull her hand away and put both arms around him instead, heedless of everyone watching. “I’m sure,” she said, quietly and steadily. “I’ve never been more sure of anything.”

She stood on her toes and kissed his cheek, then pulled away. “I’ll pour that lemonade in a bottle, then we can drink it on the road. Just let me get my bag and we can leave. The rest of them can follow us whenever they want.”

He sat down, keeping his weight on the edge of the chair as if he expected he’d need to leave in a hurry. She returned sooner than he’d thought possible, carrying a bottle in her left hand and a suitcase in her right. She tucked the bottle under her right arm and held out a hand to him. “Ready?”

He rose, took the suitcase from her and held out his other arm for her to take, a smile on his face that was only for her. “You know I am. Come on, Mrs. Packland-to-be. Let’s go to Reno and find us a parson.”