Tag Against Time (16 page)

The usually noisy barracks became deadly still during the weekly radio Fireside Chats with President Roosevelt. Every young man huddled around the radio listening to the President's words. It was during these somber chats that Tag realized how desperate times were for the United States. “We will win this war and we will win the peace that follows.” FDR told the nation. “We have nothing to fear but fear itself.”

The war dominated conversations in the barracks. Tag knew each young man was dealing with his own decision of when to enlist. It was not a matter of whether or not to enlist, but
when
. Patriotism engulfed the country as men stood in long lines to sign up to fight for freedom, but to Tag World War II seemed so far away. It did not directly touch his life or the other CCC boys' lives in the peaceful forests of northern Arizona. Yet, Tag knew that sooner or later, each boy would trade his shovel, pick, saw, or ax for a gun. He tried to push aside the grim realization that many of these young men
would die fighting for their country, before they were old enough to vote.

Tag watched as Daniel listened to the war news and the other boys discussing events. Daniel became quieter and more withdrawn around the others. He seemed torn between his fierce love of his country and his passion for the work he was doing at the canyon. Daniel only seemed relaxed and comfortable while working on the ruins or when he was with Ranger Beaubien.

Many evenings, Daniel and Tag made their way back to the canyon's laboratory and the archaeological finds of the day. Sometimes the park archaeologist, Paul Ezele, was there also. On these occasions, Daniel and Tag helped clean and catalog the artifacts. Tag wasn't sure who was learning more about the nitty-gritty work of archaeology, Daniel or himself. He only knew that they both loved learning and doing what each seemed so adept at doing. It was only during these special hours spent with Beaubien and Ezele that their thoughts were truly free of the desperation consuming the war-torn world and its people.

“How about going into Flagstaff tomorrow? There's a new Abbott and Costello movie at the Orpheum. We can go to the museum in the morning and go to a matinee in the afternoon.” Daniel reached for another rock slab.

Tag stuck the tip of his trowel into the mortar. “Thanks, but I want to finish reading the new Zane Gray book I borrowed.”

“I don't understand you.” Daniel stared at him. “You are up to your eyeballs in archaeology, but you won't even stick your nose into the Museum of Northern Arizona, which is nothing
but
archaeology. Dr. Colton and his wife let me do all
kinds of things around the museum.” Daniel put his hands on his hips. “Dr. Colton probably thinks that you are a figment of my imagination. I've told him all about you, and he really wants to meet you.”

I bet he does
, thought Tag scraping the excess mud away from another slab. “Sorry, Daniel. I just don't feel like going to town.”

I'd give anything to go to Flagstaff and the museum
, Tag thought as he reached for more mortar.
But I just can't risk it. There are too many questions that have no easy answers
.

A cold chill slithered through Tag. How much longer till someone asked him the dreaded questions? When would the war deplete the CCC camp? How many more days did he have to polish his newly-acquired masonry skills? How many more hours did he have to help preserve the ancient ones' belongings? How much longer could he feel the close kinship with them that only field archaeology rendered?

Homesickness welled up within Tag's chest. How much longer till he could share what he had learned with his dad? His throat tightened. Would he ever feel his mom's loving arms around him again?

Tag sighed and closed his eyes against the threatening tears.

Questions that have no easy answers
.

Tag read the last line of his book. Satisfied, yet wanting more, he turned the page wishing there were a few more lines. There weren't. Tag hadn't enjoyed Zane Gray in 1993, but now he couldn't read enough of him.
It's the history. I'll never look at it the same
. He laid the book down and eased out of his bunk. Standing up, his bones cracked and popped as he stretched out the kinks of the last hour of inactivity.

Stillness, except for Tag's bones adjusting themselves, filled the long, narrow building lined with bunks. Only the light directly above Tag glared against the lonely darkness of the barracks. The other boys left early in the morning for Flagstaff. Just like the last three Saturdays, the camp became a ghost town in minutes as the military bus loaded with excited CCC boys rumbled away in a cloud of dust. The officers left too, leaving only one officer to cover the camp. Even the mess hall stood empty.

The first Saturday, Tag had slept most of the day, exhausted
from the strenuous work of masonry. Each Saturday since, after sleeping his fill, he went exploring around Mount Eldon's steep, rocky base. Then he read a book, or just listened to the radio. Each Saturday seemed to get longer and lonelier. He wished that he dared risk going into Flagstaff with Daniel. The fear of meeting Sean O'Farrell or the Coltons kept him trapped at the camp. Tag wondered if Sean was even still alive. Probably not, but Michael T. O'Farrell would be. At age thirty-two, was Michael T. too old to go fight? The thought of him enlisting sent coldness through Tag. He realized that his own grandfather would wade through the waters of Normandy and fight for his life on its bloody beach in 1944. Tag had heard the story once from Dad as he explained why Grandpa walked with a cane and was missing two fingers on his left hand. “Grandpa was one of the lucky ones,” Dad had said.

Was anyone lucky in war? The thought tormented Tag as he stared out one of the narrow windows of the barrack. The moon's round, bumpy face stared back at him. “Is anyone lucky in war?” he asked the imaginary man.

His whispered words died in the stillness of the barracks. How many wars had the moon witnessed? How many more wars could the world endure before it was obliterated from the universe? Why couldn't men just get along with each other?
Why?
What was the purpose of it all?

He leaned his forehead against the cold window pane and peered at the moon. “Questions, questions with no easy answers,” he whispered.

Overwhelming despair enveloped Tag. Homesickness churned through his depression. He just wanted to be home, safe with his mom and dad, safe in their love.

Tears clouded his view of the moon.

“Tag.” The low voice came from behind.

Whipping around, Tag saw the commander walking out of the shadows. He wiped his eyes with a swipe of his cuff. “Yes, sir.”

“I thought I might found you here.” The commander's shoulders hunched forward a bit in his uniform. “You don't go to town much, do you?”

“No sir.”

“It's just as well.” The commander sat down on a bunk. He pulled out a long white envelope from his coat. “This letter came in the mail this morning.”

Tag sat down on the bunk across from the commander and stared at the envelope as he opened it.

“The letter is simple enough. The Grotewalds say they don't know who you are. They sent back your first earnings.” The commander held out the letter and a check.

Tag stared at the papers, his hands on the side of the bed. The barracks felt like a tomb.

“The Grotewalds are honest people,” the commander said.

Tag met his eyes. “They are good people, sir.”

“But they aren't your family are they?”

“They are the closest thing I have to a family now.” Tears threatened as a lump worked its way up Tag's throat.

The commander nodded. He folded up the papers and slipped them back into the envelope. “I have nothing but good reports about you and your work, Tag. You can be proud of what you've accomplished here. All you CCC boys should be proud, but . . .” the commander stopped. His eyes looked extra watery behind his glasses. He pulled his lips tight unable to go on.

“Sir, I am sorry. I'll leave right now so you won't get into trouble.” Tag bounced up. “I didn't mean to . . .”

The commander reached over and grasped Tag's arm with a gentle firmness. “I know, son. You've haven't caused me any trouble. Except for a few harmless pranks, none of you CCC boys have. It is wonderful to work with such fine young men in such a positive and peaceful . . .” the commander paused. He shook his head. “I got orders yesterday to close the camp down by the middle of next week.”

Tag sunk back into the bunk. “But sir, what about the canyon and all the ruins that still need to be reconstructed?”

“It will have to wait until the war is over.”

Realization hit Tag like lightning. “That means all the other boys will have to leave, too.”

“They'll enlist,” the commander said in short clipped words. His weariness dug deep lines around his eyes. “All of you are so young. I have a grandson not much older than you fighting in Bataan with MacArthur. Bud enlisted the day he turned eighteen, six months before Pearl Harbor. He always said that he wanted to be just like me—a military man.” The commander sighed. “I've been in the military since I was fifteen. I lied about my age. My family needed the financial help, too. I rode behind Teddy Roosevelt at San Juan Hill and fought in World War One, the ‘war to end all wars,' as we called it.” He shook his head and paused for a moment then went on.

“Before that, I fought in the Philippines and saw American blood spilled where it is being spilled again today. I know Bud needs to be there, fighting for our very way of life
here. I'm so proud of him, yet . . .” He closed his eyes for a minute. “Yet everyday, deep in my heart, I wish that Bud were here safe and sound with me. It is one thing to see and experience the atrocities of war and put your own life on the line, but it's quite another to have a son or grandson facing death on the battlefield.”

“I think I understand, sir.”

The commander smiled and nodded. “I wanted to talk to you before the others learn about the closure. There are other CCC camps that may stay open longer. I'll be happy to help find one for you.”

“Thanks, sir. I appreciate it.” Tag stood up. He held out his hand.

Taking Tag's hand, the commander said, “You remind me so much of Bud.”

Tag ran his hand over the front wall of Singing Woman's home. In the bright moonlight, he saw each stone he had laid. Warmth filled his heart. Yes, he was proud of the work he had done. “But now, it is time to push on,” he whispered, jogging up the path.

The cold wind whistled through the cave's entrance, whipping though Tag's T-shirt and blue jeans. He left his field jacket and the rest of his uniform folded neatly inside Arrow Maker's dwelling. He knew Daniel would find them there on Monday when he reported to work. A short note lay under the field jacket.

Dear Daniel
,

I'm sorry I couldn't stay to say good-bye, but I had to leave before I changed my mind. Thanks for being such a good friend. I'm sure the commander can help you get into an engineering unit, if you ask him
.