Down the Dirt Road (24 page)

   Her boots crunched against the cold gravel of the driveway.  There had been frost every morning that week- snow was on its way, she almost smell it.  The mailbox stood where the driveway met the road.  Reaching into the
old white metal box, she pulled out a large stack of red and green and white envelopes.  Christmas cards were coming already. 
It hardly seemed possible they were about to celebrate yet another holiday season without her father. 

   
As she flipped through the stack there were many familiar return addresses, distant relatives, old friends and colleagues of John and now her.
  Jennie
really didn’t expect to find anything of interest so when she reached the thin, business sized envelope
on the bottom of the pile addresses to her with
chicken scratch writing her breath caught in her throat.

     Carrying the mail back to the front porch, she dropped all but the one envelope onto the glass topped table that usually held iced tea or lemonade.  Pulling her jacket loser around her she turned the envelope over in her fingers, studying the writing, noting the overseas post mark
.   

    Could it be?  Could it really be?

    So many months had passed since the parade, since the last time she had seen Grayson Jennings that she had given up any hope of hearing from him.  And now she held an
envelope in her hands from a faraway
country.  Who else could be writing to her?

     Slipping a key from the key ring in her pocket under a loose spot on the flap,
she slid the key the length of the envelope.  The si
ngle sheet of notebook paper slipped out easily.  With trembling fingers she unfolded the page and spread it on her
lap.  The brisk breeze lifted the edges but she held on as she studied the signature, unable to believe her eyes.

     Why on God’s green Earth would Michael McKee be writing to
her
?

     She wadded up the piece of lined paper and held the ball tight in her hand read
y
to throw it
into the trash.  How
dare
he?

     Tears welled up in her eyes and sting her icy cold cheeks.  The bitter wind kicked up as if in response to her own bitterness.
  Why couldn’t she seem to move forward- away from Trisha and Michael and her childhood?  She was an adult now, why couldn’t her past just stay in the past?  Why did the letter have to be from Michael and not the one person she could actually visualize in her future?

    Heaving a heavy sigh, she started unfolding the crumpled mess.  It wouldn’t hurt to see what he had say.  Maybe he would give her a little hint as to why his old friend had never written to her as he promised he would.

    The door behind her creaked as the screen swung open and Momma stepped out on to the porch.  Wrapped in a heavy woolen shawl
Uncle Tommy had brought home for her from his trip to New Mexico last month.  Even with the warm wrap, Momma shivered in the cold.

    “Whatcha’ doin’ out here in the cold, Jennie girl?’  A shivered wracked Momma’s tin shoulders punctuating her question.

       She stuffed the already wrinkled letter in the pocket of her winter jacket befor
e Elise could ask her about it.

     “Nothin’, Momma.  Just sittin’ for minute.  Smells like snow.  Sky’s a little grey in the west too.  Bet we get a little white stuff before the weekend is over.”

     Elise rubbed her arms then hugged herself close.  “Gonna be a long, cold winter, that’s for sure.  Why don’t you come inside now and warm yourself up?”

     “Sounds like a good idea, Momma.  Be right there.” 

     The wind picked up then, whistling through the eaves of the porch.  Fall leaves, dried and brown, swirled in a little tornado in front of the porch.  The bare branches of the trees along the driveway tapped again
st each other casting eerie shadows across the driveway as the sun dropped toward the west.  Jennie gathered up the mail and followed her mother into the house.

    
The warm air assaulted her as she shed her winter jacket.  Pulling the crumpled paper from the pocket she hung her jacket in the closet, dropped the mail on the table by the door and headed up the stairs to her room.  Suddenly the urge to read Michael’s letter, see if there was any mention of Grayson was overwhelming.

    “You want some hot tea?”  Momma called from the kitchen.

    “Not just yet, Momma but thanks anyway!”  She answered.  “I’ve got something I gotta do upstairs.”

    “Oh, all right then.”  Oddly enough, there was obvious disappointment in her voice. As soon as she was done with the letter she would have to go down and fix a little supper for the two of them.

   Safely ensconced in her room, Jennie dropped onto her bed and spread the wrinkled paper out again against the blanket.
  The date was over a week ago.  Just how long did it take for letters to get out of the Middle East?

    Taking a deep breath she focused on the paper and began to read.

     
Dear Jennie,

       I know I’m probably about the last person you want to hear from but I am hoping that your curiosity is still as strong as it used to be and you won’t be able to resist.
  I’m sure you know I’ve been sent over to Iraq.  Things are pretty crazy here; bombs going off all the time, IED’s (Improvised Explosive Devices) going off around every corner and insurgents attacking randomly.  It’s pretty dismal here, Jennie, and dangerous.  I’m afraid most of the time. I never thought anything could scare but the enemy is unpredictable and scary as hell.

     I know I have no right to ask anything of you. 
I know that for sure but I feel I must. 
We were so young when we were together, I ‘m a completely different person now, Jennie.  Had I known then what I know now about the evils
of the world, I never would have taken your love and your trust so lightly.  I’m sorry I hurt you, I really am.  Trisha is sorry too, you know.  You were her very best friend, the only other person she has ever let close to her, aside from me.  She’s alone now, now that I am gone.  She could really use her old friend to lean on, a shoulder to cry on.  What I am asking is that you please consider forgiving Trisha for her part in the
whole
mess and
go to the house for a visit.  I’m not feeling too good about my chances of getting out of here alive, she’s gonna need her best friend to see her through it.

     I know this is a lot to ask but you two were so close for so long, I hope that one day you will find a way to forgive her for what she and I did to hurt you.  You and I, we were never really meant to be.  There’s someone here, not more than a few bunks away who suits you far better than I ever would have.

    Take care of yourself
,
Jennie and tell your Momma I say hello and hope she‘s doing well.  I heard about her health before we shipped out.  Your Momma and Daddy were always so good to me, I pray she stays well and as healthy
as she can for as long as possible.
  I know a girl needs her Momma just like a boy needs his father.

Michael

    Jennie rolled over on her back and studied the ceiling above her bed.  For a long time she just lay there motionless, holding the letter to her chest.
  Michael was appealing to her to forgive his wife for their transgressions because he thought he was going to die at war.  What gave him the right to put that on
her
?  His choice to join the Army and go off to war was his- it had absolutely nothing to do with her.  Why should she have to be responsible for Trisha’s well being?

     How could he be so certain that he wasn’t going to make it home?

     Maybe she should just finally let it all go?  What good was she doing by holding onto all the old feelings of hurt and betrayal?  It served her no practical purpose to harbor angry feelings for so many years.  Still, could she really just forget everything that happened?  Could she really be
friends with the woman who had stolen her first love with some raging hormones and a pair of
Daisy Dukes
?

    She considered that for a while, replaying the scene of their big breakup the day Daddy died over and over in her head.  Trying as hard as she could to let go of the feel
ings of betrayal; considering the
idea of being friends with the woman who was responsible for her first heartbr
eak.  What she found as she lay there on the her back was that she no longer wanted to cry when she thought of them together so sickly sweet and in love.  The pain in her heart that had once sickened her was no longer there either and that felt good.  Really, really good.

    But, be friends with Trisha again?

     Momma would say forgiveness was the Christian thing to do and she was raised a Christian, not that she had attended church anytime in the past two years.  She and God still hadn’t reached an agreement about her father’s unexpected death.  Still, it would probably serve her well to start getting back into
His
good graces with a little forgiveness.  After all, the Bible does talk about turning the other cheek.  Of course forgiving Trisha didn’t necessarily
mean to she had to give her heart and soul in friendship again.  It was tiring carrying around grudges all of the time.  If she could let go of the one against her former friend, it would only serve to lighten her load and if it’s God’s will that Michael not come home then she would go to her former friend and offer her support without exposing herself to hurt and sadness again.

    Forgiveness.

    She could do that.  At least she thought she could.  She was willing to try anyway, that was something right?

     Holding the letter up Jennie read through it again.  Near the end, a sentence she hadn’t noticed before caught her eye.  Was it Grayson he alluded to when he mentioned someone better suited to her?  Were they there together, surrounded by the guns and bombs?  If Michael doubted
his chances of survival, then perhaps Grayson was afraid also.  Was that why he never wrote to her?  Was he trying to spare her the pain of loss once again?

     Allowing her mind to go back to that day of the parade and replay the conversation under the tree, she eventually dozed off; her thoughts intermingling with her dreams. 
Dreams where Grayson Jennings held her close, whispered he loved her just before his flag covered casket disappeared into the ground.  She awoke with a start, tears running down her cheeks, Michael’s letter clutched in her sweaty fist.  Dusk had long since passed, the sky outside her bedroom window was dark, a full moon shining through her window.

     The clock on her bedside table read half past eight.  Three hours had passed since she first hid in her room.  It was much too late to worry about supper, momma was probably settled into her room for the night.

    Why hadn’t Momma woken her?

     Quiet laughter from down hall answered her question.  Momma probably had no idea she was even in her room.  Not when Uncle Tommy was in hers.

     Not interested in eating alone, she stripped off her jeans, pulled on a pair of flannel pajama pants and climbed into bed.  Pulling the covers up to her chin, she settled in and closed her eyes.  It was a good night to sleep.  The air in the room was cool, the comforter warm and cozy.  It didn’t
take long for her to
slip back into sleep, troubled though it was.

21.

         Snow was falling faster than she could shovel it off the walkway.
  Christmas was still a week away and they had already had so much snow that Jennie was running out of places to shovel it too.  Uncle Tommy had sent one of his farm hands nearly every day at least once a day for the last week to keep their driveway plowed and to clear a path for her to get down the old dirt road into town each day for work.  On Main Street, snow banks were piled so high it was near impossible to see around the corners.  Snow was not uncommon in western Virginia with the Blue Ridge Mountains so close but snow in such massive amounts was almost unheard of.  All she could hope for was that mother
nature got it all out of her system now, and spared them in the colder months of January and February when the bitter winds were enough to chill a body to the bone.

    The holiday season seemed to have flown by in a flurry of snowstorms and Christmas cards.  Friends and neighbors dropped by periodically to deliver a plate of cookies or a delectable sampling of homemade breads.  Almost no one came by in  the warmer months, they could go for weeks without a single visitor, Uncle Tommy aside, but in the weeks between Thanksgiving and Christmas everyone they ever knew seemed to remember John Marshall’s widow and his only daughter who gave up her future to take care of her sick Momma and a failing farm.