The Widow's Choice (30 page)

He smelled something acidic, sharp and biting, and he was aware that he was lying in a bed. Suddenly he remembered what had happened in his last moments of consciousness . . . the blue-green water rushing up to meet him as his plane dove straight at it.

“He’s doing better than I expected, Captain Odom. He had a little water in his lungs, but I think your men got him out just in time.”

Jason’s eyes opened almost involuntarily, and he saw a man standing to his left with a long face and a shock of stiff black hair. The sight of Captain Hack Odom brought him a great surge of relief. Odom was a known factor, something he could relate to.

“Look, his eyes are open!” Odom said, leaning over until his face filled Jason’s view. “Hey, are you awake, Moran?”

“Yes,” Jason managed to say. Odom’s face disappeared, and another man appeared, a stethoscope around his neck.

“How do you feel?” the man asked.

“Just . . .peachy.”

“Bullets from a Zero and crashing a plane into the ocean didn’t take the devilment out of you, I see,” Odom said as his face joined the doctor’s. “You’re gonna be okay. I guarantee it.”

“You’re not the doctor here, Captain. I am. Now, will you please leave so I can examine the man?”

“No, I won’t.”

The doctor laughed. “You military types are all alike. Think you can shoot your way out of anything. Okay, you can have five minutes. I’ll be right back.”

“Thanks, Doc.”

Odom’s face seemed to grow more distinct instead of having a slightly fuzzy outline. “Where am I?” Jason whispered.

“You’re in the hospital, of course. Where did you think—this was heaven and I was Saint Peter?”

“My leg hurts . . .and my side.”

“Yep, I think you should be a little sore. You took a bullet in your side—that one just gouged a little trench in you—and another one in your thigh. But the doc says the bigger problem is your leg. You broke your thigh bone and both bones in your lower leg.”

“How’d you get me out?”

“One of our destroyers was no more than a half mile away from where you hit. The sailor boys saw you coming down and made for you. They did a good job getting you out just before your plane sank. You owe them one for that.”

“How . . .are the rest of the boys?”

“Most of them made it back.”

“Mack’s gone. The Zeros got him the same time they winged me.”

“I know. I’m sorry about that. He was a good man.”

A pain raced up and down Jason’s leg, and he couldn’t speak. He closed his eyes and heard Hack Odom say, “I’ll get the doc to give you a shot for that. You do whatever he says.”

Jason felt his hand being squeezed and managed to whisper, “What about the flat top?”

Odom was grinning broadly. “Scratch one flat top,” he announced. “You put your bomb right down the stack. It broke in two. You’re a hero, boy. But don’t get bigheaded.”

Jason thought about that moment when he had released the bomb, and then he could stay awake no longer and slipped back into the warm, pleasant darkness.

****

“Look, Oscar, it’s a letter from Jason!” Alona shook his shoulder gently. “See, it’s his handwriting.”

Oscar had been dozing in a chaise longue on the front porch, but he instantly came awake. “From Jason? What does it say?”

“It’s addressed to you,” she said, excitement in her voice. “And there’s another one addressed to the boys. He must be better if he can write.”

“Open it up.”

“Let me take this to the boys and then I’ll be right back.”

She found the three boys playing marbles out back behind the house. They argued about who should get to read the letter first and then finally agreed they would each read two sentences aloud to the others. She waited while they took turns reading it. You would hardly know Jason was lying in a hospital bed. His letter was full of teasing and references to some of the goofy things the four of them had done together during Alona and Oscar’s honeymoon.

Alona returned to the front porch and told Oscar about the boys’ letter. Then she carefully tore into Oscar’s envelope, took out the single sheet of paper, and read aloud.

“He told them that!” Oscar exclaimed. “I think that’s great!”

“So do I. I’m sure he’ll be all right.” She began to read again.

She handed him the letter and he scanned it. “That’s the best letter I ever got in my life, Alona,” he said in a husky voice.

“I’m so glad you’re willing to start fresh with Jason.”

“Would you write a letter for me?”

“Of course. Let me get a pen and paper.”

Alona was back in a moment, and Oscar spoke haltingly.

“That’s nice, Oscar.” Alona reached over and put her hand on Oscar’s. “It will make Jason very happy.”

“Do you think so?”

“Oh yes, I know it will. I’ll stamp it and get it mailed right away.”

****

Tim stepped hesitantly into Oscar’s bedroom. Oscar was sitting in his chair beside the window looking out. “You wanted to see me, sir?”

“Yes, I did. Did you bring those drawings of yours?”

“I brought a few of them.”

“Come over here and show them to me in this good light and tell me about them.”

Tim swallowed. “Tell you about them?”

“Yes.” Oscar smiled. “Tell me if you had any particular thing in mind while you were drawing or if you had trouble with some part of it. I don’t know anything about art. It’s almost like magic to me when someone can do what you do. I can’t even draw a straight line.”

“Well, they’re just sketches,” Tim said tentatively as he sat on a chair near Oscar. He put the sketches down on the table, holding up one of them. “I had a lot of trouble with this one. I’m still not happy with it.”

Oscar took the sketch and slanted it to get the best light. It was a sketch of the back part of their property where three tall pecan trees were in full flower. “This is great, Tim. I love those trees.”

“I didn’t draw in the house we can see on the other side of
the property. I wanted to make it look like it was way out in the country. But I’m not very good at drawing the flowers.”

“I might disagree with that. They look very realistic.”

The two talked for some time about the sketch, and then Oscar asked to see another. For thirty minutes Oscar listened as Tim told him about his drawings, and finally Oscar handed the last one back and said, “You have real talent, son.”

“Oh, I don’t know. But I’m going to keep working on it.”

“I’ve been thinking a lot about you and your desire to be an artist. Now that I’m pretty well unable to do anything, I’ve been trying to think of things I can do. And here’s what I’ve decided. If you’re interested, I’d like you to pursue your career in art. When it comes time for you to go to college, you should pick out one that has a good art program. If you want to go to Europe to study, I’ll provide the funds for that.”

Oscar wasn’t sure what to make of Tim’s expression. His lips were parted and he looked frozen in his chair. “Would you like that, Tim?”

“I’d be crazy if I didn’t like that, sir, but it would cost a lot of money.”

“If it’s what you want, it might be the best money I’ve ever spent. In a decade or two most of the things we make at the foundry will be junk—rusted and thrown away. But some of your paintings may be hanging on the walls of museums long after you’re gone. I’d like to see you do your best at this. I think Zac will want to do something with his hands—maybe even work at the foundry—and as for Carl, well, it’s too early to tell what he might like to do. But I’ve made a will out, and none of you will have to worry about funding your dreams. Whatever happens to me, you’ll be able to become an artist.”

Tim swallowed hard, and Oscar saw that the boy had tears in his eyes. “Let me look at this last sketch,” Oscar started but was interrupted when Zac’s voice filled the house.

“He’s on the front page! He’s on the front page!” he yelled.

“What’s he yelling about?” Tim asked. “Mom told him to be quiet.”

But there was no quieting Zac Jennings down, and even as Tim stood up to go tell him to hush, Zac came flying into the room, waving a newspaper in the air. “Look, Mr. Oscar, it’s Jason! It’s him with the president!”

Oscar took the page from Zac, who continued to talk excitedly.

“Look, it’s Jason,” Zac repeated, pointing at the picture. “He’s getting a medal from the president!”

Alona and Carl came into the room. “What is it?” Alona asked. “Is something wrong?”

“Mom, it’s Jason. His picture is on the front page with President Roosevelt. Show it to her, Mr. Oscar!”

Alona went to Oscar’s side and bent over the paper. She could hardly believe her eyes when she saw Jason sitting in a wheelchair across from President Roosevelt. You could not mistake Roosevelt. He was grinning at Jason, and the headline said, “Naval flier wins Medal of Honor for sinking flat top.”

“The Medal of Honor!” Oscar exclaimed. “Jason has won the Medal of Honor!”

“What’s that?” Carl demanded.

“It’s the highest honor a soldier or sailor can get,” Oscar said. “They don’t give these away to just anybody.”

The boys were all talking excitedly, and Alona went over and squatted beside Oscar. “You must be very proud, Oscar.”

“I am, and all of us are, aren’t we, boys?”

“We need to buy about fifty papers so we can give them to our friends.”

“I expect everybody in Jonesboro will keep this one.” Alona smiled. She looked down at the picture of Jason again and shook her head. “He looks so thin.”

“Yes, but he’s smiling,” Oscar said. “I hope he can come home soon.”

Alona instantly knew why he had said that. Oscar had never talked about the possibility that he could die before he saw Jason again, but she knew that it was on his mind. “I’m sure he will as soon as he can.”

“I’d love to see him and that medal,” Oscar said quietly. Then he smiled and said, “Put that in your prayers, Alona.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

“Tell Jason I Love Him”

August had come with all of its heat, and Alona felt stretched thin. For a time it had seemed that Oscar was getting stronger, but that had been short-lived. He now was becoming steadily weaker and was unable to get out of bed. Even with the nurse, who came in every afternoon, Alona had her hands full taking care of the boys and her sick husband.

The war had taken a turn for the better when the Battle of the Coral Sea had halted the Japanese, and then in June, the Allies had destroyed, for all practical purposes, the naval strength of the Japanese empire during the Battle of Midway. General Eisenhower had assumed command of the United States forces in the European theater, and Americans were beginning to feel better about the war. Even the news from Russia was good, for the Germans had been stopped at Sevastopol.

Each day Alona took the paper into Oscar’s room and read the headlines and some of the news stories to him. He listened with interest but was obviously growing weaker.

She went in to check on Oscar and saw that he was lying flat on his back but his eyes were open. “I’ll have your lunch ready soon.”

“I’m not very hungry.”

“You’ve got to eat.”

“Alona, come here.”

Surprised, she walked over. He held up his hand, and she
took it and held it in both of hers. “What is it, Oscar? Do you want something?”

“Yes, I do. I want you to forgive me.”

“Forgive you for what?”

“I had to get sick before I realized how badly I behaved toward you, but—”

“Don’t worry about that,” Alona said quickly. “That’s all in the past. You’ve already asked for my forgiveness and I’ve given it to you. When you get better—”

“I want to write a letter to Jason.”

“Of course, Oscar.” She went over to the table and picked up some paper and a pen. Even as she did so, Tim came running through the door. “Mom—Mr. Oscar!”

“What is it, Tim?” Alona said. “Is something wrong?”