hit fifteen feet away. 'Christ, man, you gotta get outta here!' Red lay unmoving, unable. Will felt again his own panic, the surge of adrenalin as he grabbed Red and hauled him backward through mud and tufts of uprooted grass into a foxhole with six inches of muddy water-'Stay here, buddy. I’m going to get them sonsabitches!'-then going over the top again, teeth clenched, crawling on his elbows while the tip of his bayonet swung left and right. Then, overhead, the planes wheeling out of nowhere, the warning whistle, dropping, and behind him, Red, in the foxhole where the bomb fell.
Will shuddered, opened his eyes wide, sat up. Beside him the children still played. At the hive openings bees landed with their gatherings. Elly was returning with the wagon in tow, the two empty metal buckets clanging like glockenspiels as the wheels bumped over the rough turf. He blinked away the memory and watched his wife come on in her masculine apparel.
Their lovemaking that night was golden.
But when it was over Elly sensed Will’s withdrawal from more than her body.
'What’s wrong?'
'Hm?'
'What’s wrong?'
'Nothing.'
'Your leg hurt?'
'Not bad.'
She didn’t believe him, but he wasn’t a complainer, never had been. He reached for his Lucky Strikes, lit one and lay smoking in the dark. She watched the red coal brighten, listened to him inhale.
'You want to talk about it?'
'About what?'
'Anything-your leg… the war. I think you purposely kept the bad stuff out of your letters for my sake. Maybe you wanna talk about it now.'
The red arc of the cigarette going to his mouth created a barrier more palpable than barbed wire.
'What’s the sense in talking about it? I went to war, not an ice cream social. I knew that when I joined up.'
She felt shut out and hurt. She had to give him time to open up, but tonight wouldn’t be the night, that was certain. So she searched for subjects to bring him close again.
'I’ll bet Miss Beasley was surprised when she saw you.'
He chuckled. 'Yeah.'
'Did she show you the scrapbook of newspaper clippings she kept about all the action in the South Pacific?'
'No, she didn’t mention that.'
'She clipped articles only about the areas where she thought you might be fighting.'
He chuckled soundlessly.
'You know what?'
'Hm?'
'I think she’s sweet on you.'
'Oh, come on, she’s old enough to be my grandma.'
'Grandmas got feelings, too.'
'Lord.'
'And you know what else? I think you kind of feel the same.'
He felt himself blush in the dark, recalling times when he’d purposely charmed the librarian. 'Elly, you’re crazy.'
'Yeah, I know, but it’s perfectly okay with me. After all, you never had a grandma, and if you wanna love her a little bit it don’t take nothin’away from me.'
He tamped out his cigarette, drew her against his side and kissed the top of her head. 'You’re some woman, Elly.'
'Yeah, I know.'
He pulled back and looked down into her face, forgetting momentarily the haunting visions that sprang into his mind uninvited. He laughed, then Elly snuggled her cheek against his chest once more, and went on distracting him. 'Anyway, Miss Beasley was wonderful while you were gone, Will. I don’t know what I would’ve done without her- and Lydia, too. Lydia and I got to be such good friends. And you know what? I never really had a friend before.' She mused before continuing. 'We could talk about anything…' She ruffled the hair on his chest and added, 'I’d like to have her and the kids out sometime so you can get to know her better. Would that be all right with you, Will?'
She waited, but he didn’t answer.
'Will?'
Silence.
'Will?'
'What?'
'Haven’t you been listening?'
He removed his arm and reached for another cigarette. She’d lost him again.
There was no doubt about it, Will was different. Not only the limp, but the lapses. They happened often in the days that followed, lengthy silences when he became preoccupied with thoughts he refused to share. An exchange would become a monologue and Elly would turn to find his eyes fixed on the middle distance, his thoughts troubled, miles away. There were other changes, too. At night, insomnia. Often she’d awaken to find him sitting up, smoking in the dark. Sometimes he dreamed and talked in his sleep, swore, called out and thrashed. But when she’d awaken him and encourage, 'What is it, Will? Tell me,' he’d only reply, 'Nothing. Just a dream.' Afterward he’d cling to her until sleep reclaimed him and his palms would be damp even after they finally fell open.
He needed time alone. Often he went down to the orchard to ruminate, to sit watching the hives and work through whatever was haunting him.
The smallest sounds set him off. Lizzy knocked her milk glass off the high chair one day and he rocketed from his chair, exploded and left the house without finishing his meal. He returned thirty minutes later, apologetic, hugging and kissing Lizzy as if he’d struck her, bringing by way of apology a simple homemade toy called a bull- roarer which he’d made himself.
He spent a full hour with the three children that afternoon, out in the yard, spinning the simple wooden blade on the end of the long string until it whirled and made a sound like an engine revving up. And, as always, after being with the children, he seemed calmer.
Until the night they had a thunderstorm at three A.M. An immense clap of thunder shook the house, and Will sprang up, yelling as if to be heard above shelling, 'Red! Jesus Christ, R-e-e-e-e-e-d!'
'Will, what is it?'
'Elly, oh God, hold me!'
Again, she became his lifeline, but though he trembled violently and sweated as if with a tropical fever, he held his horrors inside.
Physically, he continued healing. Within a week after his return he was restless to walk without crutches, and within a month, he followed his inclination. He loved the bathtub, took long epsom salts soaks that hastened the healing, and always eagerly accepted Elly’s offers to scrub his back. Though he’d been ordered by Navy doctors to have checkups biweekly, he shunned the order and took over tending the bees even before he discarded the crutches, and went back to his library job in his sixth week home, without consulting a medic. His hours there were the same as before, leaving his days free, so he painted and posted a sign at the bottom of their driveway- USED AUTO PARTS & TIRES-and went into the junk business, which brought in a surprising amount of steady money. Coupled with his library salary, government disability check and the profit from the sale of eggs, milk and honey, which was constantly in demand now that sugar was heavily rationed, it brought their income up to a level previously unheard of in either Will’s or Elly’s life.
