damn well wanted to. He wanted to wipe away the stain of being what some called an accidental president. He had long ago decided he liked power and the opportunity to do something about his world.
But Marshall had been right about one thing. The boys were indeed coming home, and thank God.
The easy, rolling motion of the train was restful and allowed him to think. He had gotten on in Pittsburgh after a first train had taken him there from New York. Even though it had been jammed with passengers, his uniform and the fact that he had lost so much weight that he looked like a prison-camp refugee had prompted a middle-aged civilian to give him a seat. That he limped didn’t hurt either. He was feeling a lot better, but he still needed rest and couldn’t put weight on his leg for very long.
A couple of his fellow passengers wanted to talk about the war, but he rebuffed them politely. There was still just too much to think about. He had dreamed of this homecoming for so very long and now it was finally going to happen. But at what price? Sometimes the pain of all he had lost overwhelmed him. Not the physical pain-that was endurable and fading-but the inner pain and the memories of faces lost and voices never to be heard again.
Logan shifted his still aching leg into what he hoped would be a more comfortable position and tried to review what had happened to him. He would probably never remember the last few minutes in the bunker when, somehow, the one-armed Singer had dragged him through the collapsing ruin and then through the falling bombs to another shelter where a medic had given him first aid.
From there it was on to the field hospital where he spent the next several days in and out of delirium while doctors tried to save his shattered leg. They were successful. However, he would limp for a long while, and would probably always be able to predict rain, but the doctors said he would someday be able to walk normally, perhaps even run. He wanted to thank Singer, but Singer had been evacuated early and returned stateside. He’d gotten a letter that said Singer and his wife were together and that he and Marsha were going to start a family. Singer invited him to visit them in Boston, where Marsha had gone back to school. Jack wrote back and said sure, but in a while. Maybe a long while, since he would be finishing his own schooling as well, courtesy of a tuition payment plan developed by General Marshall.
How many friends had he lost? Bailey was dead, as were Dimitri and Crawford. Why them and not him? It would be a long time before he figured that out, if ever. The doctors and a chaplain told him it was normal to wonder about the luck of the draw and, no, he shouldn’t feel guilty about being spared. He agreed. It was just luck that he was alive, and not divine intervention. He had a life to live and would live it without guilt. At least he could begin to purge his guilt when he got over his feeling of emptiness and pain.
Jack recalled General Bradley and General Miller visiting him in the Potsdam hospital and telling him everything was going to be okay. Later, he’d gotten a Silver Star directly from Eisenhower. He wasn’t certain exactly what he had done except destroy that tank, but he accepted it. Singer got a Bronze Star for saving him.
The worst pain was the fact that Lis and Pauli had disappeared, which left him to deal with the reality that he’d made the wrong decision. America had won the battle and the war; thus, safety for them would have been in Potsdam and not on a small plane.
When he was finally shipped to England and was better able to communicate, he had tried to locate her, but to no avail. Some nice ladies at the Red Cross were helpful, but they had nothing on her or the boy. They tried to be kind and told him that there were many millions of unregistered people wandering all over Europe, and that she might yet be one of them. Or she might have gone to a refugee camp and the information had just not reached London. As yet, he was told, there was no central file of those now referred to as displaced persons.
On a hunch he had tried to find the correspondent, Ames. A sympathetic person at Reuters News Service had checked and found that Ames had never shown up either, which further devastated him.
Logan felt the train begin to slow. They were approaching Port Huron and, for him, home. Until the inner pain went away, it would be an empty home.
The train slowed to a stop. He put on his overcoat and, with his duffel bag over his shoulder, gingerly stepped out into the brittle cold of the early February day. There were crystals of ice in the air, and he felt them redden his cheeks. The train station was by the St. Clair River where it emptied into Lake Huron, and was probably colder than a lot of other places in the area. But it was also within walking distance of home.
The station was empty. What the hell? Hadn’t they gotten his telegram? He hadn’t expected a brass band, but it would have been nice for someone to have met him. He shrugged and started to walk.
“Hey, soldier.”
The voice came from behind him and froze him. He stopped and paled. He couldn’t breathe. He turned slowly. The hair was still dark, but it was clean and longer. The face was slightly fuller, but it was still the same face and the smile was the same one he’d recalled every night since Potsdam.
“Aren’t you going to say hello?” she asked.
His voice came out a barely controlled whisper. “Lis?” The duffel bag dropped to the ground with an unheard thud. “How?” he asked as she came into his arms. “I couldn’t find you, Lis. I tried so hard.”
She smiled and hugged him tightly. Her eyes were glistening. In a rush she told him that Ames put down to refuel and crash-landed. He was badly injured, and she cared for him until he died.
“We stayed with some German civilians who were absolute saints. Finally, we were picked up by German soldiers who passed us through to the Allies.”
She pulled back and smiled up at him. “Would you believe the first Allies I saw were Canadians? They flew us to Canada so fast you wouldn’t believe it. Since then, I’ve been trying to find you. I located your family rather easily thanks to the note you gave me so long ago, and kept in contact with them, waiting for you to show up. They said you were wounded but on your way home and couldn’t be reached. I moved in with them last week to wait for you. I’ve been sleeping on their couch ever since. They really are nice people.”
He recalled his parents’ house as being fairly cramped, and he laughed at the thought of Lis on the small couch. “Where’s Pauli?”
“In Toronto. My relatives are going to adopt him. He’s very happy. He’s starting to forget the horrors.”
“Good for him. Ah, Lis, where’s my family?”
She released him and stood back, still holding his hands. “That was my idea. They’re waiting at home with all the relatives and friends you ever had and half the food in the world. I said I wanted the chance to meet you alone at the station and see you first.”
“Why?”
“Well, dear Jack, we had something very special and wonderful in Germany. I wanted to know if it was still special for you. I hope to God it is, but if it isn’t, I’ll understand and go away quietly. This way neither of us has to be hurt too much or be embarrassed.”
He took her face in his hands. “Lis, I’ve thought about you every day and every night. I still can’t believe this is real. No, you’re not going anywhere without me. Special doesn’t begin to describe how I feel about you. I love you.”
He grabbed her again and held her tightly and listened to her say that she loved him as well. If it was a dream, he knew he didn’t want to ever wake up.
A car drove by and the driver gleefully honked at the couple embracing in the cold. They didn’t hear it. Nor did they see the dozens of people running down the road toward them.
