Between the Lines (15/17)
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“His mind was pretty sharp until the end,” Susanne Mittner said, handing Jason a few pictures.
The man was older, but clearly the same person that was in the photograph they had found. It was in the eyes and the smile.
“And did he ever mention...?”
“Not to me. But then he never talked about the war. Most vets didn’t, of course, including my father. That’s how I knew him, by the way. Dad and Uncle Scotty were friends for years.”
“Friends or - sorry, friends?” Chad asked.
Susanne laughed. “Just friends, as far as I know. But then, men of that generation never talked about that either, did they? I figured out about Uncle Scotty eventually, once I was old enough to know about those types of things, but…”
Jason nodded in understanding. He looked at the next picture, a middle-aged Scotty with several men standing in a military cemetery. “Where’s this?”
Susanne leaned over and looked at the picture. “Europe. France, I think. That’s Uncle Scotty, of course, and my dad Henry. A couple other friends of theirs. There was a memorial or something.”
“So Scotty went back over there?”
“A couple times, yeah.”
Jason nodded and then looked at Susanne again. “Well, thank you for your time.”
“Oh! I have one other thing for you. I went through his things after you called and found this the other day. You’re lucky, by the way; I was just about to donate it all to charity.”
She handed him a dog-eared book. Jason turned it around, smiling softly as he read the cover silently.
“Battle Scars and other poems by Kevin Walker,” he said out loud.
“You’re kidding?” Chad asked.
“Nope.”
Jason opened the book carefully. It fell open directly to a page somewhere in the middle. A faded, yellowed newspaper clipping - Kevin’s obituary - was tucked into the book.
“I wonder if he had this one marked for a reason,” Jason mused.
“Which one is it?”
“Well, that’s why I’m wondering. It’s one that I don’t really see any connection to him. It’s the last-known poem of Kevin’s - the one Sarah mentioned he wrote at her place before he left. It’s only a small little thing about the family cabin in Ojai.”
“Weird,” Chad said.
Cabin (1956)
Echoes of childish laughs and arguments
Seep into the woodwork.
Memories of young romances,
now forgotten, fill these halls.
The rooms are silent now,
But perhaps not for long.
One day, this house will hold again
The stampede of feet running to bedrooms,
The soft moans of lovers discovering passion,
The happy sounds of family,
The whispered conversations at night.
It will be an escape, as it used to be,
Our sanctuary from the world.
***
“Your family doesn’t still have the cabin, do you?” Chad asked softly as they waited at the airport for their plane to board.
Jason looked up. “We do, actually. Kevin inherited it from William, and then Dad bought it from Sarah a few years before she died. Why?”
Chad shrugged. “Maybe we should go there.”
“Why?” Jason asked again.
“I don’t know. Just a feeling.”
“You think there’s something there?”
“I don’t know. Maybe I’m just not ready to give this up.”
Jason looked at him for a moment, but Chad refused to meet his eyes. “OK. Let’s go.”
***
“Wow, there’s a lot of crap in here,” Chad observed, coughing slightly against the dust.
“I think it’s bred,” Jason said.
“When was the last time anyone cleaned this place out?”
“I have no idea. I don’t even really remember coming here as a kid. Some of this stuff may date back to William Walker’s day.”
“Well…let’s get started.”
They worked quietly, both taking a corner of the room, sorting through the various papers, pictures, and other items. As well as the trip had gone so far, they had always been surrounded by other people. Jason had to admit he was feeling a little nervous now.
“How’s work?” he asked, wanting to get rid of the silence.
“Fine,” Chad said. “My storyline’s taking a backseat right now. I think it might have something to do with…you know.”
“Coming out?”
“Yeah. Some people at the network didn’t like that.”
“Sorry.”
“I’m not.”
“Oh, that’s right. You’re happy now. Figuring out what you want,” Jason said, sounding slightly bitterer than he intended.
Chad was silent for a long beat. “No, I’m not. Happy.”
Jason turned to him. “What do you mean?” he asked quietly.
“I mean, I know what I want, but you said you were done with me.”
Jason swallowed, finding it difficult to look at Chad. Chad turned away, pulling out another picture. “I’m not happy,” he repeated. “All I’ve been doing is reading poetry and suffering over you.”
“Chad,” Jason said, his voice breaking.
“Jason, when was your father born?” Chad interrupted, his tone suddenly entirely different.
Jason paused, startled by the change of topic. “What?”
“When was your father born?” Chad repeated. “And what’s his full name?”
“Uh, Evan Scott McCallister. March 2, 1947.”
Chad turned around, still staring at the picture in his hand. “And Rebecca died in labor on February 28, right? The baby was stillborn?”
“Yes, what are you - ?” Jason walked closer, trying to take the picture from Chad.
Chad turned it around, showing Jason what he was looking at. “Then why is there a picture here of a woman holding a baby, labeled Rebecca and Scott Walker, February 28, 1947?”
Jason took the picture from him slowly, unable to speak.
***
Kitty knelt on the floor of Kevin’s office, sorting through various papers as she tried not to cry. She had been working alone most of the morning, but now Julia was there as well. She had finally stood up to Tommy, coming to the house to help; Kitty had sent her to the bedroom where she was now going through Kevin’s clothes. Kitty sighed, picking up the next letter. It was from Sarah, and Kitty was about to place it in the pile of things she would mail to France when she noticed the date at the top. Kitty began to read quickly, searching for anything that…shouldn’t be in there.
There were condolences and sympathy to Kevin and - there: “It must be indescribable that you should become an uncle again only days after your loss. I hope you take some comfort in that child, and dote on him whenever you can. It’s strange; after all these years of trying, Kitty didn’t even tell me she was expecting. I suppose one doesn’t speak of these things.”
Kitty lowered the letter into her lap, swallowing thickly as she remembered flashes of conversation from that day, almost 10 years ago.
“He’s my - my child. I can’t…”
“Kevin, don’t be silly. You can’t take care of a newborn by yourself.”
“She’s right, Kev. That baby needs parents. And you need time to figure things out.”
“Robert, please,” Kitty had begged, turning away from her brothers and staring up at her husband.
“If we do this,” Robert had said firmly, “it’s final. No one will ever know, including the boy.”
“Kitty,” Kevin had said. “I want - ”
“You’re grieving, Kevin. You aren’t thinking clearly.”
Tommy nodded. “In a few days, you’ll agree this is for the best. Kitty and Robert can give the baby a real home.”
Kevin had looked over at Julia then, who squeezed his hand gently and shrugged, clearly conflicted. He sighed.
“Fine. Fine.”
And no one ever spoke of it again. She brought Evan over to see Kevin whenever possible, whenever she could sneak away from Robert. It hadn’t helped that Kevin and Robert’s animosity only increased over the years. Sometimes, when she was there and Kevin played with his son, she could tell how much Kevin resented her; other times, he seemed to accept the decision he had made that day. Evan didn’t know, though, and that was all that mattered to Kitty. He would never find out as far as she was concerned, and before she had the chance to think twice, she threw the letter from Sarah into the fireplace and watched it burn.
Kitty sighed, looking around the office. She was done in there. Climbing to her feet, she made her way towards the attic. A few hours later, she was covered in dust and the attic was only half-clean. She pulled a trunk closer to her, opening it and recognizing Kevin’s uniform.
“Hi Kitty,” Julia said with a slight sigh as she joined her. “Any more clothes up here?”
“Yeah, this uniform and some of Rebecca’s dresses. Not sure anyone would want those , though; they’re not in fashion anymore.”
“No,” Julia agreed. “Can you believe we used to wear things like that?”
Kitty shook her head, amused, as she pulled things out of the trunk. She came across a packet of letters and turned them around to see the handwriting.
“Oh my God, how many letters did she write to him?”
“Who?”
“Sarah. I found about a dozen in the office from during the war alone. And here’s a good twenty, thirty more.”
Julia stared at her for a second. “Why aren’t those in the office as well?”
Kitty shrugged. “I don’t know. Everyone else’s letters are. These are just from Sarah, hidden away up here.”
Julia didn’t say anything; she merely chewed her lip. Just as Kitty was about to open an envelope, she stepped forward, quickly reaching out. “Here. I’ll put them with the others. We’ll mail them all to Sarah.”
Kitty looked at her hand for a moment, then gave Julia the packet. “I guess.”
“Sarah will know what to do with them,” Julia murmured softly as she left the attic.
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“His mind was pretty sharp until the end,” Susanne Mittner said, handing Jason a few pictures.
The man was older, but clearly the same person that was in the photograph they had found. It was in the eyes and the smile.
“And did he ever mention...?”
“Not to me. But then he never talked about the war. Most vets didn’t, of course, including my father. That’s how I knew him, by the way. Dad and Uncle Scotty were friends for years.”
“Friends or - sorry, friends?” Chad asked.
Susanne laughed. “Just friends, as far as I know. But then, men of that generation never talked about that either, did they? I figured out about Uncle Scotty eventually, once I was old enough to know about those types of things, but…”
Jason nodded in understanding. He looked at the next picture, a middle-aged Scotty with several men standing in a military cemetery. “Where’s this?”
Susanne leaned over and looked at the picture. “Europe. France, I think. That’s Uncle Scotty, of course, and my dad Henry. A couple other friends of theirs. There was a memorial or something.”
“So Scotty went back over there?”
“A couple times, yeah.”
Jason nodded and then looked at Susanne again. “Well, thank you for your time.”
“Oh! I have one other thing for you. I went through his things after you called and found this the other day. You’re lucky, by the way; I was just about to donate it all to charity.”
She handed him a dog-eared book. Jason turned it around, smiling softly as he read the cover silently.
“Battle Scars and other poems by Kevin Walker,” he said out loud.
“You’re kidding?” Chad asked.
“Nope.”
Jason opened the book carefully. It fell open directly to a page somewhere in the middle. A faded, yellowed newspaper clipping - Kevin’s obituary - was tucked into the book.
“I wonder if he had this one marked for a reason,” Jason mused.
“Which one is it?”
“Well, that’s why I’m wondering. It’s one that I don’t really see any connection to him. It’s the last-known poem of Kevin’s - the one Sarah mentioned he wrote at her place before he left. It’s only a small little thing about the family cabin in Ojai.”
“Weird,” Chad said.
Cabin (1956)
Echoes of childish laughs and arguments
Seep into the woodwork.
Memories of young romances,
now forgotten, fill these halls.
The rooms are silent now,
But perhaps not for long.
One day, this house will hold again
The stampede of feet running to bedrooms,
The soft moans of lovers discovering passion,
The happy sounds of family,
The whispered conversations at night.
It will be an escape, as it used to be,
Our sanctuary from the world.
***
“Your family doesn’t still have the cabin, do you?” Chad asked softly as they waited at the airport for their plane to board.
Jason looked up. “We do, actually. Kevin inherited it from William, and then Dad bought it from Sarah a few years before she died. Why?”
Chad shrugged. “Maybe we should go there.”
“Why?” Jason asked again.
“I don’t know. Just a feeling.”
“You think there’s something there?”
“I don’t know. Maybe I’m just not ready to give this up.”
Jason looked at him for a moment, but Chad refused to meet his eyes. “OK. Let’s go.”
***
“Wow, there’s a lot of crap in here,” Chad observed, coughing slightly against the dust.
“I think it’s bred,” Jason said.
“When was the last time anyone cleaned this place out?”
“I have no idea. I don’t even really remember coming here as a kid. Some of this stuff may date back to William Walker’s day.”
“Well…let’s get started.”
They worked quietly, both taking a corner of the room, sorting through the various papers, pictures, and other items. As well as the trip had gone so far, they had always been surrounded by other people. Jason had to admit he was feeling a little nervous now.
“How’s work?” he asked, wanting to get rid of the silence.
“Fine,” Chad said. “My storyline’s taking a backseat right now. I think it might have something to do with…you know.”
“Coming out?”
“Yeah. Some people at the network didn’t like that.”
“Sorry.”
“I’m not.”
“Oh, that’s right. You’re happy now. Figuring out what you want,” Jason said, sounding slightly bitterer than he intended.
Chad was silent for a long beat. “No, I’m not. Happy.”
Jason turned to him. “What do you mean?” he asked quietly.
“I mean, I know what I want, but you said you were done with me.”
Jason swallowed, finding it difficult to look at Chad. Chad turned away, pulling out another picture. “I’m not happy,” he repeated. “All I’ve been doing is reading poetry and suffering over you.”
“Chad,” Jason said, his voice breaking.
“Jason, when was your father born?” Chad interrupted, his tone suddenly entirely different.
Jason paused, startled by the change of topic. “What?”
“When was your father born?” Chad repeated. “And what’s his full name?”
“Uh, Evan Scott McCallister. March 2, 1947.”
Chad turned around, still staring at the picture in his hand. “And Rebecca died in labor on February 28, right? The baby was stillborn?”
“Yes, what are you - ?” Jason walked closer, trying to take the picture from Chad.
Chad turned it around, showing Jason what he was looking at. “Then why is there a picture here of a woman holding a baby, labeled Rebecca and Scott Walker, February 28, 1947?”
Jason took the picture from him slowly, unable to speak.
***
Kitty knelt on the floor of Kevin’s office, sorting through various papers as she tried not to cry. She had been working alone most of the morning, but now Julia was there as well. She had finally stood up to Tommy, coming to the house to help; Kitty had sent her to the bedroom where she was now going through Kevin’s clothes. Kitty sighed, picking up the next letter. It was from Sarah, and Kitty was about to place it in the pile of things she would mail to France when she noticed the date at the top. Kitty began to read quickly, searching for anything that…shouldn’t be in there.
There were condolences and sympathy to Kevin and - there: “It must be indescribable that you should become an uncle again only days after your loss. I hope you take some comfort in that child, and dote on him whenever you can. It’s strange; after all these years of trying, Kitty didn’t even tell me she was expecting. I suppose one doesn’t speak of these things.”
Kitty lowered the letter into her lap, swallowing thickly as she remembered flashes of conversation from that day, almost 10 years ago.
“He’s my - my child. I can’t…”
“Kevin, don’t be silly. You can’t take care of a newborn by yourself.”
“She’s right, Kev. That baby needs parents. And you need time to figure things out.”
“Robert, please,” Kitty had begged, turning away from her brothers and staring up at her husband.
“If we do this,” Robert had said firmly, “it’s final. No one will ever know, including the boy.”
“Kitty,” Kevin had said. “I want - ”
“You’re grieving, Kevin. You aren’t thinking clearly.”
Tommy nodded. “In a few days, you’ll agree this is for the best. Kitty and Robert can give the baby a real home.”
Kevin had looked over at Julia then, who squeezed his hand gently and shrugged, clearly conflicted. He sighed.
“Fine. Fine.”
And no one ever spoke of it again. She brought Evan over to see Kevin whenever possible, whenever she could sneak away from Robert. It hadn’t helped that Kevin and Robert’s animosity only increased over the years. Sometimes, when she was there and Kevin played with his son, she could tell how much Kevin resented her; other times, he seemed to accept the decision he had made that day. Evan didn’t know, though, and that was all that mattered to Kitty. He would never find out as far as she was concerned, and before she had the chance to think twice, she threw the letter from Sarah into the fireplace and watched it burn.
Kitty sighed, looking around the office. She was done in there. Climbing to her feet, she made her way towards the attic. A few hours later, she was covered in dust and the attic was only half-clean. She pulled a trunk closer to her, opening it and recognizing Kevin’s uniform.
“Hi Kitty,” Julia said with a slight sigh as she joined her. “Any more clothes up here?”
“Yeah, this uniform and some of Rebecca’s dresses. Not sure anyone would want those , though; they’re not in fashion anymore.”
“No,” Julia agreed. “Can you believe we used to wear things like that?”
Kitty shook her head, amused, as she pulled things out of the trunk. She came across a packet of letters and turned them around to see the handwriting.
“Oh my God, how many letters did she write to him?”
“Who?”
“Sarah. I found about a dozen in the office from during the war alone. And here’s a good twenty, thirty more.”
Julia stared at her for a second. “Why aren’t those in the office as well?”
Kitty shrugged. “I don’t know. Everyone else’s letters are. These are just from Sarah, hidden away up here.”
Julia didn’t say anything; she merely chewed her lip. Just as Kitty was about to open an envelope, she stepped forward, quickly reaching out. “Here. I’ll put them with the others. We’ll mail them all to Sarah.”
Kitty looked at her hand for a moment, then gave Julia the packet. “I guess.”
“Sarah will know what to do with them,” Julia murmured softly as she left the attic.
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