A Single Step, A Long Journey
Louisiana, May, 1943
May 10, 1943
Fort Shelby, Mississippi
Mme. Annette LeMay
c/o Anne Cormier
32 Emory Road
Little Woods, Louisiana
Chère Maman,
Tous de ma formation ici à Shelby se fait. Maintenant, je peux rentrer à la maison pour un petit temps, si tu me veux. Je te vais appeler au téléphone quand j'arrive à la maison de Nonc Pierre au Mardi prochain –
"Tuesday! This Tuesday?" Annette looked between the letter and the calendar on the wall. Today! Ah, Bon Dieu …mon fils! To see him again! I have to call Denis …
Her excitement died. Denis. Her husband had thrown Paul out of the house when he announced his enlistment in the Army and had forbade her to see him off to Shelby. She quietly folded the letter and put it back in the envelope. So often en colère, my Denis … he wasn't always like that …
x-x-x
(flashback …)
Annette came back to the house, self-consciously touching her new hairstyle. I hope he'll like it, she thought. It certainly is different!
As she entered the side door, she heard a bloodcurdling yell and nearly dropped her purse. "What on earth?"
In the living room, her brother-in-law Pierre was sitting on the couch, grinning. Three-year-old Paulie, with feathers stuck in his hair – my feather duster! – was dancing around the dining room chair her husband was hiding behind, and waving a stick that was apparently supposed to be a tomahawk. Every so often, Denis would peer over the chair and pretend to fire at the little boy, which triggered a fit of giggles and another war whoop.
"I think the cowboys are losing, Annette," Pierre said drily, glancing over his shoulder at her. He did a double take and said, "I like your new hairstyle, chère. Denis," he remarked, turning to his brother, "I'm sorry to interrupt t'e siege of your dining room chair, but doesn't Annette look nice?"
Denis took a deep breath and stood. "Assez pour l'instant, Paulie." He carefully looked Annette over. "Oui, Pierre. D'accord. Ma femme est belle. La coiffure, je l'aime!" He swung her around and kissed her.
"Papa aimez Maman, nonc-nonc," Paulie informed Pierre, matter-of-fact. The little boy took his teddy bear off the couch where he had left it and put it on the chair in Denis' place. "Restez ici, Urr."
Pierre laughed. "Ah, reinforcements have arrived!"
"Mais, I'm relieved." Denis said.
"Yes, I'm sure you are!"
"Très amusant, Pierre."
"We should celebrate Annette's new hairstyle. Let me take us all out to dinner."
'How nice, Pierre! Merci."
"Denis?"
"Are you joking? Of course! Never, ever pass up a chance to let Pierre take out his wallet and pay for somet'in', t'at's my motto!"
"Très amusant, Denis."
The adults all laughed, and Paulie laughed with them, caught up in the general high spirits …
x-x-x
(present)
"Annette."
She spun around in surprise to see her husband. "I thought you were at work. I didn't even hear you come in!"
"Preoccupied with your letter, I'm sure." He put his hat on the dining room table and turned to watch her.
She casually turned the envelope face down.
Denis laughed softly. It was not a happy sound. "Oh, don't bother, ma chère. I've known for some time that you've been writing to Paul and he to you through Anne Cormier. The two of you were friendly, but never that close, and yet she's here, or you're there, quite often."
Annette flushed. "Paul is my son, Denis. I carried him, gave birth to him, I love him – I can't turn my back on him. As you have."
Denis' eyes met hers, expressionless. "He's at Pierre's. Sans aucun doute you already knew that, but Pierre told Marcel, who told Thierry, who called me. I sent a message back the same way, saying your son could come home. I will be at Papa's for the next two weeks."
He passed her on the way out of the kitchen and she reached out and caught his arm. "Aren't you glad, even a little bit? Don't you want to see him before he goes to England, or wherever they send him? Denis, he could be killed –"
He pulled his arm away from her and continued out of the room without speaking.
"Denis!"
x-x-x
Denis closed the bedroom door with shaking hands, Annette's words to him ringing in his ears.
"Denis, he could be killed –"
Don't you think I know that? Ah, Paulie … He sat quietly for a moment, and then bent to pull a suitcase from the closet. As he did, something soft tumbled from the top of it.
He picked it up and saw that it was Urr, the teddy bear Annette had sewed for Paul and which had been his constant companion for nearly two years. When he turned four, Paul abruptly decided that he was too old for the bear and discarded it.
Denis sat back down, turning the little toy over in his hands. He smiled sadly. Je me souviens …
x-x-x
(flashback …)
Paulie had been extremely difficult the day of Francie's funeral. This was unusual – normally he was a very sunny child. We almost left him home. He wouldn't leave Urr behind, and finally we gave up. When we got to church, he went stomping up the aisle, pouting, with his arms wrapped around the bear.
Pierre saw him over his shoulder, and as badly as my brother was hurting, he very nearly laughed.
After Mass was over, Annette and I came forward with Paulie to talk to Pierre. Paulie stopped and looked steadily at his nonc, whose eyes were red from crying. I don't think he'd have ever seen an adult who had cried before, or one in such obvious distress. Even when we lost Thierry, we did our best not to express our grief in front of him. The stubborn expression disappeared, replaced with a look of love and compassion remarkable for such a young child.
He crawled up on the church pew. I knew Annette was horrified, but I stopped her from reaching for him, as Paulie stood up on the seat and looked at Pierre. Then he took my brother's hands one at a time and wrapped them around Urr. He put his own hands on either side of Pierre's face and said (as best he could – he was not yet three),"Ne pleure pas, nonc-nonc", and then kissed him on the forehead and said"Tout mieux", which I had heard Annette say to him many times after a fall or a disappointment.
The look in Pierre's eyes nearly broke my heart. I really understood then how big the heart of this small child was, and I loved my son more than ever.
Denis once again looked at the little bear. Cher Paul – why can't you understand? I coun't bear to lose you; I only want you to be safe -but you don't listen to me, you. He hardened his heart and put the bear on the closet shelf, turned to his suitcase and began to pack.
x-x-x
"Maman?"
Trembling, Annette rushed to unhook the screen door. "Oh, mon cher fils, you got here so fast! Oh, Paulie!" She reached up and hugged him tightly.
"Maman," Paul said, muffled, "Maman, I need to breathe." There was a chuckle in his voice.
"Oh, you." She released him and stepped back to look him over. "Look at you, so handsome in your uniform. So like your Nonc Pierre, except he had a little mustache like Clark Gable's." She looked around him at the door. "Didn't he come with you?"
"Non, Maman. Just me." He glanced around the room, trying not to look as though he was trying to find something specific. "I see you have a new stove."
"Oh, yes, ver' modern. Electric and very – what's the word? – precise. That's it. I miss the woodstove, but –" She stopped as she realized she was babbling, trying to cover the void that was Denis' absence.
"Papa's not here," Paul said flatly.
"Non." She turned away and busied herself dishing up the meal she had prepared. She couldn't bear to meet her son's eyes and see the disappointment she expected. "He's gone to stay with your Pépère LeMay. He's been feeling unwell."
"Papa? Or Pépère Andre?" Paul's voice was ironic.
"Pépère Andre …" She turned back to him and saw the set of his jaw and the little jerk of his chin that had always meant defiance.
"You don't have to cover for him. He doesn't want to see me, he doesn't have to." Paul suddenly smiled. "But you're here, Maman." He took the plate from her and went to sit at his usual place at the table. "And I've missed your cooking!" He stopped, crossed himself and prayed briefly.
She sighed quietly and set her own plate on the table. On an impulse, she went around to stand behind her son, who was eating with enthusiasm. She put her arms around him and kissed him on the top of the head, just as she had when he was a boy.
He looked up happily.
"I am très heureuse you are here, Paul."
"C'est bien, Maman! Now sit down and eat before your food gets cold!" He shook his finger at her, pretending to lecture her with her own words, which he had heard so many times.
The two of them filled the little kitchen with laughter, and, for a moment, they put aside the family conflict.
x-x-x
After dinner, they sat on the side porch, sipping on glasses of sweet iced tea.
"Did you eat enough, Paulie?"
Paul groaned. "If I keep eating like this, I won't fit into my uniform, never mind the berth on the train to New York."
"So you're on your way to Europe?"
He paused. "We're not supposed to talk about it," Paul grinned, "but since I'm pretty sure you're not a spy – "
"Paul!"
"Sorry, Maman. We're going to Northern Ireland."
"Ireland? Oh …" She sat back. "It's so far away …"
Paul watched a drop of condensation trickle down his glass. "Well, eventually I'll be farther away than that. All the rumors are of an invasion of Europe – although that won't be for a while yet. Could be as much as a year, I've heard."
"Paulie ... I remember – your Papa was so disappointed when t'ey turned him down to fight in t'e Big War," Annette said, apropos of nothing. "He had to make Pierre go without him. Even wit' four years between them, they were so close. And t'en Pierre was wounded t'e first time and I thought your Papa – I never saw him take something so hard before …"
"T'e first time? His leg?"
"No, this was worse. You've never heard about it because we never talk about it. They t'ought he would die. I heard later from Marcel t'ey called the Father t'ree times." She held three fingers up to emphasize her point, then folded her hands together and studied them. "Paulie, your Papa. He's not a bad man. He loves you and when he t'inks about you going to fight, he t'inks about Pierre almost dying and t'en … I know he is afraid of somet'ing that he has no control over. And he doesn't understand why Pierre, who has seen la guerre, doesn't try to stop you."
"He did, at least once. But I believe some t'ings are right and you have to do t'em even if you risk – well, losing everything." Paul was silent. "I'm sorry, Mama. I wish Papa and I could always be dans les blancs des yeux so you and Hélène wouldn't always get caught between us, but I don't think that will ever happen," he said frankly. "I can't pretend, and neither can Papa."
"I know." She poured herself another glass of tea from the pitcher and then raised an enquiring eyebrow at Paul and indicated his glass. When he nodded and moved it toward her, she filled it silently and replaced the pitcher. When she sat back, she continued, "You, your Papa, Andre, even Pierre, all true LeMays – stubborn, proud, a little arrogant. I don't t'ink any of you really knows what 'compromise' means."
Paul nodded. "No, I guess not." He took a big drink and settled back into his chair. "Will Hélène be back from Nonc Etienne's before I go?"
"Oui, je le pense. Did she write you about Armand?"
"Oui," He shook his head. I can't believe my baby sister is old enough to get married."
"Armand has become a fine young man."
"Did Papa get him a deferment?"
"Oui."
"Hmm."
They sat silently, serenaded by a distant chorus of spring peepers.
"Will T'eo be home, aussi?"
"In a couple of days. He was getting some extra training on this other gun called a
B-A-R."
"Ah. Mais, I'm to bed, sha."
"Bonne nuit, Maman."
"I'm glad you're home, Paulie. Your Papa is too, truly. You'll see."
x-x-x
"How long are you planning to hide here?"
Denis didn't look up at his father.
Andre cleared his throat and tried again. "You t'ink you can ignore t'ings, and they'll go away. They don't, mon fils, they don't. They only hide, and when you don't expect it, t'ey come out again." As Denis continued to ignore him, Andre's frustration came to the surface, and he slapped his hand on the table in front of his son, who jumped. "You and your damned pride!"
"You've no room to talk, Papa," Denis riposted, shuffling through the papers in front of him, and selecting one to write on.
Andre sat down heavily. "I know what I did. When ta maman, when she left … I promised myself, I promised Paulie – too young, he won't remember – that I would never do it again. I know what you think of me for it. But what does it say for you that you feel that way and are still making the same mistakes with Paulie that I made with Aurèlie?"
The scratching of Denis' pen halted. He tried to control his voice, but it still quavered as he said, "It's not the same. Paul is my son. Not yours, not Pierre's! He should … he should honor me, respect me, listen to me – and he listens to everyone but me!" He dropped the pen and slammed both fists on the table.
"Denis. Denis, sha, listen to me." Andre turned away to give his son time to collect himself. After a moment, he sat down in front of him. "Paulie and you, you're le même." He waved his hand to forestall his son's objection. "Not looks, maybe … he's the spittin' image of Pierre at that age. But when you were growin' up, you were just like him. I couldn't tell you anyt'in' either. You listened to your Nonc Joseph tout le temps. Maybe you don't recall for some reason, but you an' me, we fought as much as you and Paulie. Pierre, he never gave me le misère. But you - I used to t'ink you were the livin' example of t'e old saying: "You can tell a Cajun a mile off, but up close, you can't tell 'im a damn' t'ing!"
Reluctantly, a smile crept onto Denis' face. "Was I t'at much of a handful?"
"Mon fils, I never knew what you and T'ierry were gonna get up to. Answerin' a knock on the door in those days was an adventure. Paulie, he and T'eo are just keepin' up your tradition."
Denis' smile faded abruptly. "Papa, I don't want Paulie to go off to fight. You aren't going to talk me around about that.
Andre's face expressed his deep disappointment. Then he shrugged. "Peut-être pas. But you aren't going to talk Paulie out of going, either. Where does t'at leave le deux de vous, eh?"
"Je sais pas, Papa." Denis went back to his paperwork. I don't know.
x-x-x
As Paul passed his parents' room, he heard Annette say, "Oh, my! Where did this come from?"
"What's that, Maman?"
She looked to him as though she couldn't decide whether to laugh or cry. "It's Urr, Paulie. Remember him?"
He smiled and took the little bear from her. "Where'd you find him?"
She gestured toward the closet. "He was on t'e shelf here."
"Hmm." He tossed the bear from hand-to-hand and laughed. "Mind if I keep him?"
"Aren't you just un peut vieux for him?" she teased.
"Moi? Non!" His smile lasted long enough for him to go to his own room and shut the door.
He saw it, and nothing changed … I hoped. I guess I should have known better. "Too important for you to be right to back down, Papa?" He sat with Urr in one hand. Je me souviens …
x-x-x
(flashback …)
Shadowy figures moved in and out, fragmented, threatening … "Non! Non! Stop! Please don't hurt him!"
"Paulie!" A hand shook his shoulder, gently at first and then more vigorously. "Paulie! Wake up. It's only a dream."
His eyes snapped open. "Papa!" He grabbed his father, panicked. "Papa, you're all right!"
"Yes, Paulie. I'm all right. Shhh … "
He subsided. Paul looked up at the loved, concerned face in front of him.
"What were you dreaming about?" his father asked.
"Someone was gonna hu-hurt you. I don't want you to get hurt or – or – die," he hiccupped
"Paulie, everyone dies, one day," Denis explained patiently. "When God calls us, we have to go."
"Not you, Papa. If Le Bon Dieu calls you, you should just tell him you have to take care of me an' Maman an' t'e bébé, and then hang up t'e telephone."
He clutched his father too closely to see that Denis was trying not to laugh. "It's not that kind of call, sha. But I'll do my best, I promise." Paul sat back, satisfied. "Are you all right now? Do you need a drink of water?"
"No, Papa. Can I – " He flushed. "Can I have Urr?"
"Urr? I thought you were too old for him," Denis teased gently.
"Just for tonight, Papa? You won't tell T'eo, will you?"
"All right, Paulie. And no, I won't tell T'eo. I promise." Paul watched his father retrieve the little bear from the closet where he had been discarded. He took the bear and sank back, contented, at the feeling of security of his father tucking his blankets around him.
"Dormez bien, sha."
"Oui, Papa." Paul said sleepily.
Denis turned out the light and began to close the door.
"Papa?"
"Oui, Paul?"
"Je t'aime, Papa."
"Et moi aussi, 'tit fils." He closed the door.
x-x-x
(present)
Paul looked at the bear one more time and then tossed it onto his nightstand. "T'e only way is if I take t'e first step." He stood, went to the closet, took out his uniform and started to change. "Papa, here I come."
x-x-x
Pierre answered his knock at Andre's front door. He quirked an eyebrow at his nephew's dress uniform and smiled wryly. "Formal, aren't we?"
Paul raised a finger to his lips to indicate silence, but his uncle shook his head. "He's on the side porch brooding. He can't hear you."
"Oh."
"Who is it?" Andre came from the kitchen and stopped when he saw Paul. "Mon 'tit-garçon."
"Pépère."
Andre hugged his grandson and then stepped back to look at him proudly. "Look at this fine young man, will you?" He moved aside and made a gesture of welcome. "Come in, sha. But why t'e front door?"
"I came to see Papa, me. And … mais, I don't know, it just made sense."
Andre grinned. "Sneakin' up on 'im, eh?"
Pierre laughed.
"Not really. I have to make t'ings right if I can. I was hopin' … "
Pierre and Andre exchanged a glance, and Pierre nodded. "Go ahead. He's not very happy with eit'er of us right now. It would be better if you went on your own."
x-x-x
Denis heard footsteps behind him. He twisted around on his chair and for a moment, he felt dizzy. Pierre? Non!
Paul stood there, wringing the cap in his hand unconsciously. "Papa."
Denis sat back in the chair, not looking at his son. "Paul."
"Please, Papa. Please. I don't want to leave with us like t'is." He advanced onto the porch and stood in front of Denis, who was now studying the floor between his feet.
"You shouldn't be leaving."
"I have to. I believe in what I'm doin'; evil men are doing horrible things to people. It's wrong for me to let those things happen if I can do something that will help stop them."
"That sounds like something you heard from Pierre."
Paul crouched in front of Denis. "No, Papa. I heard it from you."
Denis' head snapped up and he and Paul looked at one another for a long moment. Neither spoke.
"Me?"
"Oui, Papa. When t'ey told you t'at you weren't going to go any farther where you were, you did the right t'ing to take care of Maman and Hélène and me, and you started your own company, even t'ough t'ey tried to run you out of business – and you were successful. When I was a little boy, I remember you were t'e one who decided to stand up to t'e Heberts and M'sieu' Lemesurier. You always told me t'at I should do what was right and not just what was easy."
Denis couldn't speak.
"Papa. I know you're afraid of what might happen to me. T'at I might not come home, or t'at I might be hurt. But t'at could happen here; I could stay home and get hurt or killed here; on a streetcar or a train, or some other way, just by being in t'e wrong place at t'e wrong time. Aren't you the one who told me that when God calls us, we have to go?"
Denis glanced at Paul, reluctant amusement in his eyes. "Well, as I remember someone tellin' me, if God calls you, just tell him you can't go and hang up t'e telephone. Non?"
Paulie grinned broadly. "Oui."
Denis sobered. "I won't lie to you, Paulie. I still don't want t'is."
"I don't know how else to say what I feel. I can't make you change your mind, I guess. But for Maman, t'e ot'ers, please come to the train and see me off. Let's try to get along for t'em."
"Bien. Pour ta maman." And for myself, even if I can't admit it.
"Can I tell Mama you'll be home for dinner?" Paul stood.
"I'll tell her. Wait for me, Paul. I'll pack and come wit' you."
Pierre and Andre watched them leave. "How long you figure t'at will last?"
Andre shook his head. "Not long." He sipped his bourbon. "About as long as it takes for Denis to really t'ink about where Paulie's going. You wait, he'll convince himself that Paulie's bein' irresponsible or glory seekin', and t'e whole time, he'll really be t'inking about you and what happened to you in France.
Pierre raised his glass and toasted his nephew. "To Paulie: May he come home safely."
"And to Denis: May he finally let his son grow up."
They clinked their glasses together and sat silently as the sun went down.
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