Richard's Story
by:
Will B
(©
2008 by the Author)
Advisor: E Walk
The author retains all rights. No reproductions are
allowed without the author's consent. Comments are appreciated at...
Aided, abetted, encouraged and edited by EW and GY,
Who are two of the nicest guys, editors, mentors, I have met
ever since I started posting in April 2007.
Finally, he said, “Vidmark, you aren’t married and so I can’t offer you any ‘married officers quarters.’ In England, you’ll have to share quarters with a fellow M.P. [Military Police] I hope the two of you will get along. I have sent for him so you can meet now. You’ll be able to get to know him before you arrive in England.”
There was another knock at the door, and when Captain Sargent said to come in, in walked a man about Richard’s age and height. He had a pleasant face and a slender body with broad shoulders.
The captain introduced them. “Richard Vidmark, I would like you to meet your partner, Troy Hunter. Hunter, this is Richard Vidmark.”
The two men looked at each other, smiled, and shook hands.
“Sit down, Gentlemen, and let me tell you about your assignment,” Captain Sargent said. “The army has a rather large base near the village of St. Margaret Mead. There are 1500 men on base, and the village and the outlying farms have about 2000 people. Relations between the military people and the villagers have been somewhat strained in recent months, and part of your job will be to be sure that our men do not do anything to strain Anglo-American relations further.”
Richard thought to himself, ‘Wow! We're to be policemen and ambassadors. That’s a tall order.’
Troy was thinking, ‘This sounds like a challenging job, but I think I can handle it, and Vidmark looks like he can, as well. He’s a good-looking hunk. I wonder if he . . . No, better not go there!’
Captain Sargent went on, “There's a special residential unit for Military Police. You're of officer rank, so it’s better you not bunk in with the enlisted men. We have a unit with four bedrooms, two baths, a kitchenette, and a large living room. You will be sharing these quarters with two other MPs. Two of you will work the day shift, and the other two will work the night shift. Every two weeks you will switch shifts. Any questions?”
“When will we meet the other two men?” Richard wanted to know.
“After you get to England,” Sargent replied.
“Do we cook our own meals?” Hunter asked.
“No, you can eat in the Officers’ Mess, but the kitchenette will allow you to fix your own snacks from time to time, or brew coffee. . . . Now you'll leave here, get your physicals, and be measured for your uniforms. Your training as Military Police will start tomorrow at 0900 hours. Dismissed.”
Richard and Troy went to the designated area, where they stripped and stood in line for their examinations and shots. As men do, they checked each other out. Each thought the other looked in pretty good shape, and while Richard didn’t let his gaze linger too long on Troy’s treasure trail and respectable sized package, Troy gave Richard a pretty thorough inspection.
The training took three days, from Tuesday through Thursday, and on Friday, Richard and Troy were seated side by side on a military jet, bound for England.
The two men had gotten to know each other during the days of training, and they were at ease with each other. They found they had some views in common, and some divergent views, not enough to cause bitter arguments, just different enough to make conversations interesting.
The flight was uneventful, and by Friday evening they were riding in a jeep toward the army base and the village of St. Margaret Mead. The base looked like many others, but the officers’ residences were built of red brick with tiled roofs. Many of them had flowers planted in their front yards, and there were some children’s tricycles in the yards.
The village looked like a picture postcard of an English village. There was a church with a tall spire, a village green, a pub, a combination store and post office, and a number of houses.
Troy and Richard were shown their quarters, the first floor of a two-story dwelling. When they went in, there were two other men there.
Richard and Troy introduced themselves, and then one of the men spoke. “Hi, I’m Warren Haines. Pleased to meet you.” The fourth man introduced himself. “Hi, I’m Harry Carr. Glad to meet our apartment-mates at last.”
Warren said, “When you two have unpacked, wadda ya say we walk down to the pub for a pint? You’ll see a little bit of the village and maybe meet some of the locals.”
“Sounds like a plan,” Troy said. “Yep, a pint would go down swell,” Richard agreed.
So, Richard and Troy unpacked their belongings and toilet articles, and hung up their uniforms. The four men set out for the pub for a pint. (Wouldn't 'toilet articles' be included among their 'belongings'? How about, 'suit cases and toilet kits'?
As they walked past the church, they saw the vicar putting up a sign on the notice board announcing the sermon topic for the next Sunday. They stopped to say ‘Good evening’ and introduce themselves.
The vicar came over to the low stone wall, and shook hands with the four men. “Good evening, gentlemen, I’m Thomas Venables, Rector of this parish.” He appeared to be in his late 60s, and Richard thought he looked a little shaky on his legs.
“It’s a beautiful church, Reverend,” Troy said.
“Yes, it’s beautiful, but it needs repair, and the income from the living doesn’t allow me to do much. Of course, I do what I can to help those of my flock who need it, and the garden . . ., oh, but I mustn’t keep you. On your way to the pub, are you, gentlemen? Please feel free to come to Sunday services, if your schedule permits, and know that I keep the church open from 6:30 to 9:00 each evening, in case anyone feels the need to spend some time in prayer or meditation.”
“It’s a beautiful building. Is it open now?” Richard asked. “I’d like to step inside for a minute. You three go on. I’ll catch up with you.”
“I’ll wait with you,” Troy said. “We’ll see you at the pub,” he said to the other two.
Haines and Carr walked on, and Richard and Troy went into the church. The interior was dim, but even in the evening twilight, they could see that the church was beautiful as only an English parish churche could be.
The Rector and Troy walked down one side of the church, Venables showing Hunter some of the monuments. They stopped at one that said “R.I.P. John Venables, And He Shall hold Them in the Palm of His Hand.”
Troy looked at the Vicar, who just said, “My son.” Troy said nothing else.
Richard, meanwhile, had slipped in a pew, and bowed his head in prayer. Perhaps he was asking God to help him do a good job. Perhaps he was asking God to watch over has parents and sons, back in the States.
After a while he got up, and moved toward the door. The Vicar didn’t see it, but Troy saw Richard fold a bill and slip it into the poor box. Then he went out the door.
The Vicar said goodbye to them and repeated his invitation to come to Sunday services if and when they could.
Richard and Troy walked on to the pub, where they met Haines and Carr. Troy asked Richard and the other two what they would have and they each decided to have a pint of cider. Walking up to the bar, Troy gave the order, and then said, “And have one for your self, landlord.”
“Thanks, Yank. Much obliged. . . . Are you at the base?”
“Yep," Troy replied, "and we’re here to make sure none of our boys don’t make nuisances of themselves.”
“Naaah! They’re mostly nice lads. Once in a while, one will have a drop too much to drink, but his friends take him out before he can do anything he shouldn’t. But all-in-all, I have no complaints.”
“Well, that’s good to know,” Troy said and went back to his seat.
Richard bought the next round, and chatted with the landlord. “That’s a beautiful church, and the Padre seems to be a very caring person.”
“Oh, aaarrr! That he is!” the landlord replied. He’s gettin’ on years, and the thing that bothers him the most is that he can’t get anyone to help him keep the grass and the flowers in the churchyard nice. The young men have gone to London looking for work, and the older men aren’t up to kneelin’ and diggin’.”
“Hmmmm. That’s too bad.”
Shortly after that Richard said that two pints were his limit and he was going to walk back to his quarters.
“I’ll come with you,” said Troy.
The two men walked back, not talking much; each was wrapped in his own thoughts, Troy thinking about his new friend who seemed to have a great sorrow in his heart, and Richard thinking about an elderly man of the cloth who worried about his flock, and who was also worried about his garden.
The next evening, when Richard and Troy were on duty, there was a knock on the office door, and in came two soldiers, supporting a third, who was, not to put too fine a point on it, was pissed.
“What’s wrong, soldiers?” Richard asked the men.
“It’s Private Jones, Sir. He’s had too much to drink, and began saying he could take on any man in the pub. The locals ignored him, and we thought we’d better get him out of there, pronto.”
“Good thinking. We’ll let him sleep it off in the cell and we’ll deal with him in the morning.”
The hapless Jones was put in a cell, the cell door was locked, and Richard and Troy sat at their desks for the rest of their shift.
In the morning, they gave Jones some black coffee, and Richard said, “All right, Jones, what’s your problem? You trying to stir up trouble in the neighborhood?”
“No, Sir. I don’t know, Sir. I just got bored, and sad, thinking of home, and then I had a drink, and then another, and another. I lost count and the next thing I knew, I woke up in the cell.”
“Hmmmm! Bored were you? What did you do back in the States?” Richard asked.
“I worked in my Dad’s nursery—you know taking care of plants and shrubs.”
Richard looked at Troy and Troy looked at Richard and they both got an oh-so-serious look on their faces.
“I think three weeks at hard labor should do it! Do you agree, Hunter?”
“Absolutely, Vidmark. Three weeks at least!”
“All right, Jones, Here’s the deal. I'm going to write you up as having been overtaken by a bout of dizziness, and you . . . .”
“Yes, Sir?”
“ . . . you will report to Reverend Thomas Venables right after chow, and tell him you are there to assist him in the garden, or whatever else he needs your help. You will do this every weekday for three weeks, and spend two hours at the church. You will not go to the pub. You will not get drunk. The alternative is to spend three weeks in the brig. Do you have anything to say?”
“No, Sir. I mean, yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir. . . . and may I say something?”
“Go ahead.”
”I just wanted to say that I feel like Brer Rabbit when he told Brer Fox to
please not throw him in the briar patch. Thank you again, Sir.”
Jones went out whistling, and Troy and Richard looked at each other and smiled. “I don’t think we’ll have any more trouble with Private Jones, do you, Troy?”
“No, Richard, I don’t. That was a good move on your part.”
The word got around that Vidmark and Hunter were firm but fair with any men who were brought before them for transgressions.
The six weeks flew by, and Captain Sargent called Richard and Troy into his office. “I’m hearing good things about the two of you. I had a letter from the Rector telling me how helpful Private Jones has been in the garden. He’s been showing up every evening for five weeks now. Good job, men.”
“Thank you, Sir,” Richard replied.
“Now, you're due for your flight home to see your sons. Will you be ready tomorrow?”
“Sure. Thank you, Sir.”
“How about you, Hunter. Do you have any plans?”
“Nothing special, Sir.” Troy looked sad.
“Troy, if it could be arranged, would you want to come back to Baltimore with me and meet my family, and my two sons?”
“That would be great! Oh, er, Sir, would it be possible?”
“I think so, Hunter. Both of you be ready for takeoff at 0900 hours tomorrow morning.”
“Yes, Sir,” said two happy young men.
The flight took off on time, and Richard and Troy were seated side by side. Richard was looking very solemn, almost sad, as they flew over the Atlantic.
“Want to talk about it, buddy?” asked Troy.
Richard told Troy about his marriage, the birth of the twins, Linda’s death, and his drinking problem,
“If I’m any judge, I’d say the last six weeks have been good for you,” Troy commented.
“They have, Troy. Except for the occasional pint of cider or a beer at the pub, I haven’t touched a drop of liquor, and it’s funny, but I don’t feel I want to. . . . and, Troy, I think your friendship has been a great help.”
“Thanks,” Troy said, and sat back with a little smile on his lips. After a pause he said, “Richard, are your parents expecting a guest for the next two nights?”
“Oh, yeah! I sent them a wire that I might bring a friend home with me, and they wired back that they’d have plenty of room, and plenty to eat, because they were sure the army was starving us! Ha!”
In no time at all, the plane touched down at BWI (Baltimore Washington International Airport), and there as Papa, waving to them. As they joined him inside the barrier, he hugged Richard, and shook hands with Troy. “Welcome to Baltimore, Mr. Hunter . . .”
“Please, Mr. Vidmark, call me Troy.”
“Well, all right, . . . but only if you call me Papa! That’s what everyone calls me!”
So, laughing and joking, Richard and Troy took their bags to Papa’s waiting car, and got in. They drove off to the little house on Haubert St., which Richard remembered so well. He remembered the house, he remembered the church, but most of all, he remembered his Mama.
And there she was, sitting in the living room, holding her two grandsons on her lap.
“Oh, Richard, I am so glad to see you, and this is . . .?”
“Troy, ma’am, Troy Hunter. Thank you for having me. I hope I won’t be too much trouble.”
“Oh, nonsense, Troy, you’re no trouble at all. We'll just add anther pint of water to the soup, and add half an onion. We know how to treat Richard’s friends.”
Just then young Joshua and young Nathan let it be known that they wanted their dinner and they wanted it NOW!
Mama knew what to do. “Richard, I have their bottles heating on the stove. Will you hold Joshua, while I get the bottles. Then you can feed him while I feed Nathan.”
Troy said, “Mrs. Vidmark, er Mama, could I hold Nathan while you get the bottles? And, er, . . . maybe I could feed him? I know what to do. I won’t drop him. I promise you.”
Mama laughed, and said, “We’ll see, but you can hold him for now.”
Both young boys had been vocalizing pretty loudly, but as soon as Richard had Joshua in his arms, Joshua quieted down. He hadn’t seen this man for some time, but he liked the sound of Richard’s voice.
As soon as Troy took Nathan in his arms, he began talking to him—not in some baby gibberish—but as man-to-man, telling him his name and asking Nathan his name. Nathan just stared at him with wide eyes, and then gave a smile and . . . stopped crying completely.
Papa and Mama looked at their guest and congratulated him on his way with children.
Richard just sat and looked at Troy with awe, respect, and something else. Something he could not explain. ‘After all,’ he thought to himself, ‘Troy and I are guys. We couldn’t . . . could we . . .?’
Yes, Troy did feed Nathan and burped him quite nicely, thank you very much. Conversation at dinner was lively, with lots of laughter.
After dinner, while Mama was clearing the table, Troy was helping her (he insisted); Papa said to Richard, “Is everything going, well, my boy?”
“Papa, everything is fine. I have an interesting job, and I seem to be pretty good at it. I’ve made some friends, and frankly, I have absolutely no desire to get drunk. Of course I miss the babies, and you and Mama, but on the whole, I think England agrees with me. I’ve made a friend in Troy . . . and, oh, Papa, would it be all right if Troy comes with me each time when I come home. The boys seem to have taken to him, and I almost feel like he's a part of the family…”
“Of course, he’s welcome. I’ll tell him myself in a couple of minutes . . . Now, Mama's bringing coffee, and I think that we will have that special coffee with a drop of something in it, to celebrate your coming home, and how well you are doing, and …" Papa had to stop and take out his handkerchief and blow his nose.
Mama brought the coffee in, Papa poured a drop of whiskey into each cup, and the four sat there enjoying the taste, the company, the feeling that all was well.
Papa made sure that Troy knew he would be welcome whenever he came with Richard.
In bed that night, Richard thought about his feelings for Troy, and in his room, Troy thought about his feelings for Richard. He had the strongest longing to hold Richard in his arms, to comfort him in his sorrow, to assure him that he (Troy) would be there for him, and to . . . Troy thought to himself, ‘I think I’m in love!’
To be continued.
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Posted: 06/20/08