Honoring Others

Part VI

by Chey and Andrew

A week later, Tad shut the front door of Ingram’s Antiques against the glare of the late afternoon sun and the sounds of the passing traffic. “Hey, Trixie,” he called out.

“Hi.”  Trixie gave Tad a brief smile, then went back to her task of boxing up a collection of old books that somebody had purchased.

Tad hesitated slightly then asked, “Did you hear from The National Archives yet?”

Trixie shook her head.  “No, and it’s driving me crazy.  How hard can it be to open a letter, look up the information, then write me back.”

“You do know you’re dealing with a government agency, right?”

Trixie rolled her eyes then snorted.  “Ha! Ha! Very funny.”

She put the last book in the box then stood up and stretched side to side in order to work out the kinks in her back. She regarded her nearly finished carton on the floor in front of her.

“Look at this box.  I’m going to tape it shut, put on an address label and it will be out the back door later today.  And the order just came in an hour ago.  I bet I could teach the government a thing or two.”

Tad chuckled.  “Good luck with that.  But before you rush off to Washington, I was thinking we should do something fun this weekend.”

“Read more journals?”

“No.  I said fun. Reading those journals is hard work.  Besides, from what we’ve read, it seems that Zeeck simply stopped responding to Amy.  And his last letter didn’t indicate much either. I’m not sure we can figure anything else out.”

Trixie stepped behind the front counter where she printed off a shipping label.  “I know. So doing something fun is definitely a good idea.  What’d you have in mind and remember, I have to work until two on Saturday.”

“How about we go to that new trampoline place in White Plains?”

Trixie, digging through a drawer in search of the packing tape, stopped and looked up.  “Really?”

“Yeah.  I think it will be a hoot.”

“Okay.”  Trixie paused slightly as a new idea took root in her mind.  “But can we make a stop in Croton-on-Hudson first?”

“Sure,” answered Tad slowly.  “But you do know that’s not exactly on the way.”

“I know.  I just want to see if I can find the house where Johnny lived. Since I haven’t heard anything yet, I figure I can at least see where he grew up. I managed to get the address off the census.”

“Really? Impressive, Belden.”

Trixie smirked.  “Not that much.  All you have to do is google.  I can do that really well. How else do you think I got through some of my classes?” Shutting the drawer, she held up the tape gun.  “Voila! Come on, you can help me.”

Tad stepped behind the front counter held the box flaps close together  while Trixie sealed it with several long strips of tape.  

“Can you carry that to the back room for me?” she asked.

Tad hoisted the box onto his shoulder.  “It seems I’ve been carrying boxes of books a lot lately.”

Trixie patted his arm.  “Don’t want you to get soft, you know.”  

She led Tad to the backroom where she pointed to a table that was already piled with other packages that were waiting to be shipped.  “You can put it with the others.”

Tad carefully slid the heavy box onto the table, shoving smaller packages aside to make room. After making sure the box was secure, he brushed his dusty hands across the thighs of his pants.

“Thanks. I really appreciate your help,” said Trixie as she silently noted the faint smudges Tad had left on his pants.

“I know you do.”  Tad propped one hip of the edge of the table.  “So, you want to swing through Croton-on-Hudson, huh?  I forget, did your mother remember relatives from there?”

“She said she remembered hearing about them, but doesn’t recall ever meeting them. They weren’t particularly close to that part of the family because there was some kind of a falling out due to a disagreement about money.   Anyway,  Zeeck Johnson had already been gone for a while by the time she came along.”

“Oh, that reminds me;  I forgot to give you this.”  Tad slid a piece of paper out of his pocket.

“What is it?” asked Trixie, her brow furrowed slightly as she opened the somewhat wrinkled piece of paper.

“It’s an order form for a brick to be placed at the Veteran’s Garden.”

“Thanks.”  Trixie took the paper and slid it into her bag.  She fiddled with the bag’s clasp for a minute.  Suddenly, she faced Tad.

“I just want to find him and if I can’t do that, I have to know what happened to him.  In a perfect world, I would bring him back here and have him be a part of our family.  But…” Trixie paused.

Tad reached out to steady Trixie.  “Whoa.  Slow down.  I know you want to solve this mystery.”

Triie swallowed hard.  “I do.  But...”

“But what?”

Trixie shrugged helplessly. “I don’t know. Where is he? It’s as if he vanished off the face of the earth.  There’s absolutely no information about him anywhere.” She rubbed her forehead as she felt a headache coming on.  “And the really weird thing is ever since we read his letters, I feel like I know him, you know, like I’ve actually talked to him and became his friend.”

Tad pulled her close and gently rubbed her back.  “In a way, you did.” he murmured.  “You’re getting to know him in the same way you got to know Amy. I get it.”

“No, you don’t.”  Trixie looked up into his face.  “Maybe it’s because we’re related or maybe because he put so much of himself into his letters, but I just feel like Johnny and I have some kind of a connection.  And that’s driving me crazy.”

“You’ll solve this, I know it.  It just might take a little longer than you’d like.”

Trixie settled herself against Tad.  “I don’t want it to take longer. I want to solve it now. And no matter what the outcome, I’m going to do something to honor Johnny because I believe every life deserves to be remembered.”

“Hmmm...every life deserves to be remembered,” murmured Tad as he kissed the top of Trixie’s head.  “I like that.”

Trixie looked up.  “But that’s the way I truly feel, especially about Johnny.”

Hearing the front door bell tinkle, Trixie reluctantly ended the embrace and returned to the front of the shop with Tad trailing her through the aisles. After checking in with the customer, Trixie stepped behind the counter to work on packing the next order. She pulled out a roll of bubble wrap then laid it on the counter.

“I’m sorry, Tad,” she frowned.  “I didn’t mean to dump on you.”

Tad smiled. “It's okay. I know you’re frustrated.  More reason for us to get out and have some fun.”

Trixie nodded. “You’re right.”

“So, Saturday...Croton-on-Hudson then White Plains?”

Trixie smiled.  “It’s a date.”  She gave Tad a quick kiss.  “And thank you.”

Tad returned the kiss.  “My pleasure.”

The little brass bell over the front entrance tinkled softly as Tad left the shop.

***************

By Monday morning,  Trixie felt more relaxed.  She forced herself to stay focused during her astronomy lecture and felt she had performed well on the short test at the end of class.  Afterwards, she returned to Sleepyside and the antique shop.  

“Hi, Imogene,” Trixie laid her bag onto a table and grabbed her work apron from the nearby hook.

“Hello, dear.  So...I’m dying to know. Did you learn anything about your mystery over the weekend?”

“Well, Tad and I did a quick drive through Croton-on-Hudson and we actually found the house that Johnny had lived in at one time.  It’s still in pretty good shape.  I took a picture of it.” Trixie pulled out her phone and scrolled through her photos, then held out the device for Imogene.  “What do you think?”

Imogene studied the picture of the brick two story house with large bushes that covered an old stone foundation.  “I agree.  It looks like it’s been taken care of.  Is it a double?”  She looked at Trixie questioningly.

Trixie nodded. “Yes.  But it’s on a corner so the other half faces a different street.” She sighed loudly.  “It seems like I know everything about Johnny except what actually happened to him. I wish I would hear something from the stupid government.”

“Patience, my dear.  Patience.”  Imogene patted Trixie’s arm.  “It will happen.”

Trixie scowled.  “I hope it’s during my lifetime.”

Imogene laughed softly.  “It will be.”

The two set out their agenda for the day and got to work.  With a constant stream of customers, Trixie had little time to think about Zeeck Johnson. Popping into The Hideaway for lunch left Trixie more frustrated due to the incessant yakking of two women who were seated at a table next to her. As her aggravation grew through the afternoon, Trixie found reasons to avoid customers and instead vented her restless energy through the packing of online orders and the cleaning and reorganization of several shelves. She breathed a huge sigh of relief when she finally was able to turn off the computer, lock the door, and head for her apartment where she and Tad had planned to spend the evening watching a movie.  

Once home,  Trixie dropped her bag onto a nearby chair and stepped over the small pile of mail that lay on her floor. She changed into a comfortable pair of old jeans and a soft, faded t-shirt then went into the kitchen and began opening cabinets in search of something she could make for dinner. She has just settled on pasta with marinara sauce when her phone rang.

“Hey, Tad,” she said after noting his name on her caller ID.

“Hi, Trixie.”

“What’s wrong?” demanded Trixie, detecting a change in Tad’s voice.

“I hate to cancel on you, but the night manager called off.  I’m going to have to close up.”

Trixie slammed the package of spaghetti she had just retrieved from the cupboard onto the counter. “Seriously?” she demanded.

“Look, Trixie, it’s not my fault.  You’d know I’d be with you if I could.”

“I know.  I just had a crappy day and was looking forward to some quiet time with you.”

“I’m sorry, Trixie. I really am. And I’m doubly bummed because I have to open tomorrow which means I won’t be able to stop by tonight.”

“Crappily crappy,” grumbled Trixie.  

“Trixie, this can’t be helped.”

“I know.”  Trixie shoved the pasta back into the cabinet then opened her refrigerator in search of something that would take little time to prepare.

“Did you hear anything from the government today?”

“No!” Trixie slammed the refrigerator door shut.  “Don’t you think I would have told you if I had?”

“You know what I think?  I think a letter will show up when you least expect it.”

Trixie grabbed a box of crackers, tore open a sleeve of them then stuffed a few in her mouth.  

“Trixie, you still there?” asked Tad.

“Yes,” replied Trixie, working down the dry crackers.  “I think I’ll just make some soup then go to bed.  The sooner this day is over the better”

“I wish I could see you tonight.”

“Me too.  But I’d probably be lousy company.”

“Belden, in my entire life, I’ve never known you to be lousy company. But maybe an evening spent with Lucy Radcliffe would make you feel better.”

Trixie put another cracker into her mouth. “Hmmm. Reading my favorite Lucy Radcliffe does sound like a good idea, Webster. It certainly couldn’t hurt. And, who knows? Maybe reading will spark something.”

“That’s my girl,” cheered Tad.

“And maybe by this time tomorrow, I will have learned something about the elusive Zeeck Johnson.”

“That’s the way to think.  I’ll miss seeing you, though.”

“Tad, do you…”  But before Trixie could finish her thought, Tad interrupted her.  

“I gotta go.  There’s some horseplay going on in the lobby and I need to stop it.  See you later.”

After ending the call, Trixie tossed her phone onto the kitchen counter then wandered into the living room, a handful of crackers clutched in her hand. After stuffing the last two crackers into her mouth, she padded to the door and gathered the small pile of mail.  “Just as I thought. Nothing important.  Two ads, a bill ... and a letter from the National Archives,” she gasped.

Dumping the rest of the mail back on the floor,  Trixie hurried over to her couch and dropped down.  Taking a fortifying breath, she carefully opened the letter, slid it out of the official looking envelope and began to read:

 

Ms. Belden,

Thank you for your inquiry into Zeeck Johnson.  We are always interested in resolving issues such as yours so that families can find some kind of closure.  Our policy is that we do not give out information without proof of relationship to the person in question.  If you can provide us with the necessary documentation, we will be happy to process your request.

If you have any further questions, please do not hesitate to bring them to our attention.  Also, if you should garner any additional information about your relative, please let us know.

Regards,

Eugenia Yost

National Archives

Washington, D.C.

 

Trixie stared incredulously at the response in her hand.  

“Nothing!  They have nothing!”  She crumpled the official correspondence and threw it to the floor then went to the mantle and grabbed the box of letters. Cradling them in her arms, she returned to the couch.

“Something happened to you, Johnny.  What was it?  And where are you now?”

Trixie’s neat apartment was quiet, with only faint sounds of a television in the apartment beneath her breaking the silence.  Her bag and coat were right where she had left them, piled near the door.  Through the kitchen doorway, the cellophane wrapper from her crackers was still sitting on her kitchen counter, as well as a lone jar of spaghetti sauce. Outside, distant horns honked as the residents of Sleepyside hurried home to their own dinners and families. Oblivious to the outside world, Trixie sat still, absent-mindedly strumming her fingers across the tops of the letters, feeling the fragility of the old paper and smelling the faint, musty scent from the numerous years spent in an attic while her mind pondered the unknown fate of her distant cousin.  Pushing her hair off her forehead, Trixie selected a letter and carefuly unfolded it.

 

My darling Amy,

After the day I’ve had, all I want to do is be in your arms, kiss your beautiful lips, and feel a peace in my heart that has been missing since I left you. It seems that everything that could go wrong today did!  I wish our government would hurry up and let me go home.  I’m tired of waiting.  I want to get on with our life together.  

I’m laying on my cot right now in my tent, holding all the beautiful letters you have written me.  I can see the sun setting.  I fear it’s setting on my life. I hate it when I feel this way.  I know it’s time for me to come home and claim you as my bride.  I hope you want that too, darling.  Do you?  I’m so tired my bones ache.  I’m going to go to sleep now and dream of you, as I do every night.  I love you with all my heart and will until my last breath.

Maybe I’ll feel better if I go do something.  Yes, I think I’ll go get a coca-cola from the commissary. That should help.  But the only way I’ll ever feel truly better is to see you again, to feel your love and to know that we are together.

Yours always and forever,

Johnny

 

Trixie rested her head on the back of the couch and stared at the ceiling above her. “Another thing we have in common, Johnny...frustrating days,” she whispered.

Clutching the box of letters, she swung her feet up onto the couch and lay back against a cushioned pillow.  She opened another letter and began to read, but soon her eyes drooped and the neat lettering blurred. Snuggling deeper into the pillow, she tried to keep reading but finally her eyelids made one final flutter and she fell asleep.

Trixie shivered slightly when a chilling and unspecified draft wafted over her.  Shifting, she settled into the soft couch, allowing the cushions to envelope her. As her breathing became steadier, her consciousness waned. She shivered again when she felt goosebumps creeping up her spine. Then her scalp tingled, as if charged by an invisible force. Settling into the couch, Trixie’s stupor deepened.  Suddenly, her body startled and she experienced an eerie sense of weightlessness as she rose above her couch. Her body hovered briefly before taking off in flight across the dark skies outside her apartment.  Her hands made faint swimming motions as she ascended high above the town of Sleepyside. Soaring off, she left the quaint burg behind, its twinkling lights eventually disappearing from view.  Beneath Trixie was nothing but a gray fog that shrouded her vision while above her were swaths of unknown galaxies and universes that seemed to urge her on. Time ceased to exist as Trixie flew toward her unknown destination.

Abruptly, the sensation of flying stopped and Trixie was drawn into an unknown entity where she confronted an overwhelming feeling of complete hopelessness and utter despair.  Straining against an invisible force, she struggled to open her eyes so she could appraise her surroundings.  Instead of her cozy living room, Trixie found herself in a barren dwelling, its walls constructed from rough, uneven planks.  Two filthy windows were curtainless and a single light bulb, attached to a frayed cord, hung down from the rotting rafters. Rumpled and dirty bunk beds lined two of the walls and a horrid smell of unwashed bodies, sweat and filth assaulted Trixie’s senses.  She shivered from the cold air that rolled in through a large gap under the door. Through great effort, she lowered her eyes and was shocked to see that her jeans and t-shirt had been replaced with a set of faded and ragged army fatigues.  The boots that were now on her small feet were worn thin and a toe peeked through a slit in the creased leather. Her skin itched, as if she hadn’t bathed in a long while.  Without warning she felt the breath knocked out of her and she struggled to regain it.  As she worked on forcibly inhaling and exhaling, Trixie continued her self-examination. Her eyes widened in shock when she looked down and saw her hand wasn’t her own, but a masculine one that was covered with hair, its dirty nails chewed to the quick. The foreign hand was grasping a wad of worn, threadbare sheets and was visibly trembling.  Her mind, struggling to understand, rebelled further when she read the faded name that was attached to the front of her jacket. Johnson. As Trixie processed all that was happening, she arrived at the shocking and implausible realization that she had somehow entered Johnny’s body and was not only seeing his life through his eyes, but also experiencing it.  

 

Siberia...

“It’s the cold that’s the worst.  I don’t know how long I’ve been here or when I gave up hope.  Time seems to have stopped.  Days go by and by and it never changes.  It’s always unbearable cold. It’s always Hell.

I remember back when I was alive.  Well, I guess I’m alive now, or maybe I’m in Hell.  I’m not sure anymore  I don’t think it makes a difference.  The outcome is the same. I remember the day my life ended.  I can still remember drinking that last Coca-Cola.

We were in North Africa fighting the Desert Fox.  Patton had whipped us into shape.  We were a force to be reckoned with, and we were reckoned with.  The Germans assaulted our camp, and caught us off guard.  I was drinking a Coca-Cola and we heard bombers flying over.

In an instant the building crumbled.  The men ran to their anti-aircraft guns.  We took down two, maybe four planes. Unfortunately, most of our buildings were destroyed. We had also suffered about 25% casualties.  Too bad their onslaught wasn't over yet.  The Nazis came in on tanks and trucks.  We mounted a strong defense and destroyed quite a few trucks and a handful of tanks. But we were greatly outnumbered, outgunned, and outmatched.

Our Commander was faced with a tough choice.  He could either surrender or have his whole unit slaughtered.  He couldn’t bear to have that happen.  He was weak and surrendered.  I agreed with him at the time, but looking back, I’d much rather have died that day.

We stayed in a North African prison camp for about a week and then we were shipped off to Germany. Our unit was separated, different people going to different Hells.  Our unit ceased to be.

I myself was sent to a very strange place.  The majority of people there weren’t soldiers. They seemed to be ordinary citizens that the Nazis deemed unacceptable.  Quite a few of them wore the Star of David.  Jews, I guessed, though I couldn’t speak their language.  The other English speakers there died, were gassed or simply committed suicide. Despite being herded in and overcrowded, I was never more alone.  Life there seemed to go on forever and the atrocities I witnessed were unspeakable. The Nazis truly were Satan's Service.

Finally, I thought luck had turned my way again. The war was ending and the Nazi’s abandoned the camp.  Then the Soviets came. They were our “liberators” and our supposed allies.  I quickly saw the Soviets’ true colors. I was put in a truck along with other Americans.  We were driven a great distance, nearly immeasurable.  It was then that we traveled to this final Hell.

During the drive, thoughts of Amy kept me going. Amy is my fiance.  I love her more than I love life.  All that time I spent in those Hells, the thought of and seeing her kept me alive. The night before I left, we made love, and I promised her if I could, I’d stay alive.

Now all day long I do hard, manual labor in the freezing cold. There are about 50 other Americans here.  These men aren't the soldiers I used to know.  One man was actually from my unit.  He name was Lenny.  Lenny was a good soldier and a funny guy. When not in battle, he was nearly always smiling.  He joked a lot and never let the war get to him.

But when Lenny came here he was a different man. He never smiled. His spirit was broken and he was merely a shell of his former self.  About a week ago, I got the nerve to ask him how they broke his spirit.  He told me how he had escaped for a while and what he had discovered.  He found out the war was over, and the Allies won.  The Allies went home happy and chose not to acknowledge any prisoners being held by the Soviets.  He knew hope was a lost cause.

That is why I stand here tonight. It’s the middle of the night.  I made a rope out of my bed sheets.  I’m still shivering from the cold. The rope is attached to the top bunk. Slowly and deliberately, I put the noose over my head.  A small tear runs down my face, as I face the end.  I stand there for a minute. I recollect that night with Amy.  It was my first and only time being intimate with a woman. I remember the promise I made and I picture her crying face.  More tears roll down my cheeks.  I imagine the betrayal in her eyes. But it doesn’t change a thing and I lift my feet off the ground.  The noose slowly drains the life from my body.  It should be quite painful but I’m just too numb.  I’m too numb to care, too numb to feel.  All I can feel is the loss of Amy and the betrayal of the government I pledged my life to.  Then it’s all over.

 

Gasping, Trixie shot up.  Her cold fingers clawed at her throat while her heart thundered in her chest and her body trembled.  

“Oh, my God! Oh, my God!  Is that what happened.”

Trixie’s eyes darted frantically around the dark apartment while she viciously rubbed her arms in an attempt to warm herself. “I’ve got to call Tad.”  Fumbling around the couch cushions, she was unable to find her phone.  “Damn it!” she cried out into the silent darkness.

Shivering, she grabbed the quilt from the back of the couch then laid back down, curling her small body into a tight ball. Covering herself,  she turned her face into the pillow and wept, her salty tears soaking the small cushion beneath her, her body racked with pain.  In the inky apartment, slivers of light from the few passing cars on the street below flashed ugly patterns on the walls while tree limbs seemed to brush menacingly across the closed windows. The old clock sitting on the mantle ticked steadily in the gloom, it’s sharp, piercing rhythm matching the heartbreaking sobs. After crying out her grief, an exhausted Trixie rolled over and drifted off into an empty and dreamless sleep, unwilling to accept the devastating outcome of Zeeck Johnson’s life.

*************************

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word count-4299

Author's notes: The guest writer in this chapter is my son, Andrew.  He wrote the Siberian experience as an assignment when he was in the eighth grade. The first time I read it I cried.  I often encouraged him to expand this story because I thought it had great potential. He continued to write, but preferred storylines that had more action.  His goal was to someday become published but sadly, he passed away too soon due to complications from the H1N1 flu strain and pneumonia.  With chapter VI published, I am fulfilling one of his goals and am honoring his talent.

Coca-cola - carbonated soft drink that is made by the Coca-Cola Company.

Thank you to my sister who edited this for me and to my family who listened to me as I tried to put this story together.  And a special thank you to my son Andrew who created the catalyst for this tale. The picture is mine and the other graphics are from eos.com., courtesy of Vivian.

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