The First Hello,
The Last Goodbye
Set in Summer, 1942
[A/N: © 2010, Janet Aldrich. Plot and OCs are mine]
"Left, Paulie. To the left."
Sweaty and disheveled, Paul LeMay let go of the escritoire and peered around it at his uncle. "My left, Nonc Pierre, or your left?"
"Sorry. My left."
"Okay."
The two men shifted the heavy piece of furniture slowly toward the door of Pierre's workshop. Once they got it outside, Paul collapsed onto one of the chairs on his uncle's deck. "Who needs so many drawers? I've never seen one of these so tall before."
Pierre leaned back against the wall and grinned at his nephew. "You know very well that for this style of escritoire, this isn't an unusual height. You've just gotten soft being away at college. All that time at a drafting board, and I'll bet you almost never went outside for a walk or got any real exercise."
"College. Yeah." Paul studied the bayou, not meeting Pierre's eyes.
"Out with it, Paulie. Something's been bothering you since you got back."
Paul threw up his hands in resignation. "I can't hide anything from you, can I?"
"Nope."
"It's a discussion I had with my advisor before graduation."
Pierre waited.
"He said that while I'm good, I'm out of touch. That I like older styles of architecture and not the modern ones and that it's going to hurt me when the time comes for me to go to work."
"Hm. Well, have you considered restoration work rat'er than new design?"
"I have, yes. But Papa is dead set against it."
"Why?" Pierre bit his tongue against what he really wanted to say: Damn it, Paulie. Stand up to Denis!
"Too close to art, I'd guess. He wants me to create skyscrapers." Paul's tone was dry.
The sound of a boat engine put-putted over the water and both men glanced over to see a small cutter approaching.
"Ah. My customer's here. This won't take long."
The younger man stood up.
"C'est bien, Paulie. The boat's crew is goin' to do all the heavy lifting."
Paul went into the workshop again and grabbed his belongings before going back out to sit on the dock in the pleasant afternoon sunlight. He flipped over the newspaper he'd bought before he came out to the bayou – the headlines screamed of German air raids in the cathedral cities of Britain.
"Why ah you readin' that depressin' news, Paul LeMay?"
Gaspard Delagardie, an older business acquaintance of his father, stood next to him. In the summers during college, Paul had worked for his advertising agency as an artist. Delagardie sounded like a Creole name, but in fact, he was a transplant from Georgia, something he reinforced every time he opened his mouth and spoke.
"Bonjour, Monsieur Delagardie. Is that your escritoire?"
"It is. And you haven't answered mah question, son."
"I feel as t'ough I should be doing somet'ing. They're going to draft me anyway; I may as well enlist."
Delagardie carefully lowered himself into the chair next to Paul and surveyed him with amusement. "My! Ah youah studies goin' that bad?"
Paul laughed. "No, sir. I just graduated."
"Congratulations! And now what are you goin' to do? Besides waste youahself in the Army?"
The younger man grew serious. "I don't know. I had a discussion with my advisor before graduation on how out of step I am with modern architectural thought. Not that I can't do modern design, but I -"
"But you just prefer detail and flourish to walls of glass."
"Yes." The two watched as the crew of the cutter hoisted the escritoire over the side and secured it.
"Paul." Delagardie patted the younger man on the shoulder. "I think you ah makin' a big mistake."
"Why?" Paul asked, surprised.
"You ah an artist, son. Not that you couldn't be an architect, and a fine one, if you put your mind to it, I'm shoah, but I remember all the fine work you did for me when you were in my studios in the summers. You seemed happy doin' it, too. Am I raht?"
"Yes, but –"
"But. Your father's a fine man, Paul. Not sayin' otherwise. And I know he has his heart set on your being an architect. But it isn't him who's goin' to have to go to work every day for the next fifty yeahs or so. You ah. There's nothin' shameful in bein' an artist. I can use you, son. I could pull some strings out there, get you a deferment. Don't see why a young man with your talent needs to go get shot up by some damn-fool German with barely a high-school education."
"Sir, I –" Paul stopped, overwhelmed. "I'm very honored to hear you say these things. I did enjoy working for you and I would like to continue to do so, but –"
"You want to go on and fight," Delagardie said, softly.
"Yes, sir."
"Well. Ah suppose ah can blame that on yo' uncle."
"Oh. I didn't realize you knew he'd been in the military."
"Ah didn't suppose so. I have had the pleasure of getting to know him in the course of ordering furniture from him."
"I guess his name has got around."
"Yes, indeed. He has quite the business; people who respect fine craftsmanship know the name of Pierre LeMay very well."
"T'at's very kind of you, Gaspard." Pierre returned from supervising the boat crew.
"Pierre! Well, you know, it's only the truth." Delagardie sighed. "All right, Paul. You go on and stop the Germans, and you better come back safe, son. There'll be a place foah you in my office, now, when you get home. You remember that, you heah?" The older man shifted his bulk uncomfortably and stood. "Don't let Denis live your life for you. Respect him, yes, but don't let him intimidate you. God gave you a gift, Paul. Use it raht."
X-X-X-X
Denis, unusually for him, had spared no expense on the graduation party. The LeMays, including Paul's grandpapa, Andre, and Pierre and Charlotte, along with Theo and his parents Yvonne and Thierry Dubois, several business associates of Paul's father, and many of Paul's friends, celebrated at the LeMay house. Denis, flushed with pride at his son's achievement, circulated with a bottle of champagne.
"So, what's Paul going to do next?" This was Michael Fletcher, one of Denis' colleagues.
Denis' eyes shone. "He's going to submit his portfolio to several firms and let them fight over him."
"Ah. So you plan on getting a deferment for him?"
The two men began discussing Denis' options.
Paul and Theo exchanged glances. Paul motioned with his head and the two of them went onto the side porch and sat on the swing.
"Deferment! What is it with everyone and deferments?" Paul fumed.
"Keep it down, mon vieux!" Theo begged. The two of them glanced warily back into the house where Denis continued to socialize.
Paul grimaced. "I'm not going to let dem keep me out of t'e war. We need to enlist soon, maybe first t'ing Monday. I don't want to get drafted and lose my choices. Unless," he said, disquieted by Theo's silence, "you really don't want to go. Am I twistin' your arm? I don't want to do dat."
"Nah, it ain't dat. It's all the potain." Theo grinned. "It's easy for you. You're used to it."
"It's not easy, T'eo." Paul put his head in his hands. "I wish I could just do what Papa wants. I hate fighting wit' him. I hate what it puts Mama and Hélène t'rough."
Theo leaned back in the swing. "I know. I joke about it, but I know. T'ing is," he hesitated, "you're probably going to be mad at me for saying this, Paulie, but it's true."
"What?"
"You been fightin' with Denis as long as I can remember, but you keep givin' in to him. Ever since we got lost that day when we were p'tits, you give in about how much time you spend wit' your Nonc Pierre, you give in about the girls you been seein' that he thinks aren't good enough for you, you give in about what you do in school and what you're gonna do for your work. You're livin' his life instead of your own, or he's livin' yours, I don't know which."
Paul didn't reply, and Theo pushed on.
"I been wantin' to tell you dis for a long time. Paulie, you're my best friend and we've known each ot'er since we were just little ones. De happiest I seen you since we grew up was when you worked for old Delagardie at de summers. When you told me about him wantin' you to work for him, I was glad. Mon ami, you have to do what you want to do. I don't want a deferment for my own reasons, and I don't want one for you either. I guess I'm bein' selfish, but I don't want to lose my friend. I t'ink you give into your Papa about this deferment, about your work, there ain't gonna be no Paul LeMay left – just Denis LeMay's shadow."
Paul's shoulders initially stiffened with anger, then, as Theo continued, they sagged and he nodded slowly. "T'anks, T'eo," he whispered. He cuffed his friend on the arm. "Took a lot of guts to say that."
"No, not really. We promised were always gonna be friends, like brothers, you and me. Friends tell each other the trut'."
Preoccupied with their discussion, neither realized someone else was on the porch until a voice came from behind them.
"Planning on livening up de party by refusing Denis' deferment plans?" Pierre leaned over their shoulders. The two of them jumped.
"Nonc Pierre!" Paul burst out. "You tryin' to give us de heart attack?"
Pierre came around the porch swing and sat down beside Paul. "No. But if you insist on turning down the deferment, I can't say the same for you and your father."
Theo grinned. "I told you he could read minds."
Pierre snorted and shook his head. "Read minds? Mais non! I just hope neither of you is planning a career in espionage. I could hear your 'secret discussion' in the house. Don't worry," he said sarcastically, responding to Paul's expression of horror, "Denis is too busy pronouncing you the eighth wonder of the world to notice your scheming." He sighed deeply. "Are you sure about not wanting a deferment, the two of you? T'ere's nothing wrong wit' it. The South has lost enough fine young men along de way. T'ere's lots of places which still haven't recovered from the losses of de War Between de States."
"You and Marcel, you made me see how important duty is. I don't want to be a shirker."
"Et moi aussi," Theo said firmly.
Pierre sat quietly for a moment. "I hope we don't come to regret dat."
"It's our decision, sir."
"I know."
The three of them sat for a moment.
"So, Nonc Pierre. Can I come and live wit' you and Tant Charlotte when papa throws me out?"
"Are you sure he will?"
"With all this?" Paul waved his hand back toward the house and the party. "Of course he will."
"'Be sure you're right, then go ahead'. I always t'ought dat was a pretty good motto." He regarded his nephew. "As long as that's what you're doin', you'll always have my support, Paulie. Both of you will."
"I know that. Merci. T'eo, I think it'd be better if we wait to tell them once we actually enlist. I don't t'ink t'ey can make us take it back. If we tell them before, they won't let up until we agree not to."
Theo thought about his father and mother. "You're right about that."
"Paul, you need to come back in. You're neglecting your guests." Denis spoke from the door.
Paul froze. How long had his father been standing there, and what had he heard? "Yes, sir." He glanced apologetically at Theo and Pierre and got up.
"And Theo, Stacy Arsenaux is looking for you."
"Lucky me," Theo muttered. He followed Paul back into the house.
Pierre hid a grin, then finished his drink and stood, surveying his brother's expression.
"Coming, Pierre?"
"Of course."
"This is a red-letter day for the LeMays, eh, mon frère?"
"Yes, Denis. Quite an accomplishment." For you. Pierre had heard most of what Theo told Paul and agreed wholeheartedly. But I gave up my right to speak up to try to make peace between you and your son. I sacrificed Paulie to save him. There's something wrong with that.
None of the three had seen the narrow, speculative stare Denis gave them, or saw him pull Thierry Dubois aside for a talk before the party ended.
X-X-X-X
On Monday afternoon, Paul came home. He walked into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator. Standing for a moment in the slanting light of late afternoon, he decided he wasn't all that hungry. At that moment, he heard a noise in the living room.
"Paul, is that you?"
"Papa?" He checked his watch; surely not – Papa should still be at work. "Are you all right? Is something wrong? Are Mama and Hélène all right?"
"They're fine. Your sister is at her friend's, and your mother is – out. Come in here. I need to talk to you."
Paul closed the refrigerator and walked into the living room. Denis sat on the edge of the couch, jacket off and tie loosened.
"Sit down, Paul."
He sat across from his father on an armchair, carefully. Denis' face, masklike, gave nothing away. He stared Paul straight in the eye.
"You'll never guess who I saw today." Denis smiled. It was a rictus of rage and fury masquerading as good humor. "I ran into Gaspard Delagardie! And he gave me some wonderful news!"
"I see." Merde.
"You see. Really?" The older man's poor attempt at a smile transformed into a snarl. "He told me you were going to work for him when you came back from the war. As an artist." Denis' jaw clenched and trembled. "An artist. After the war! He seemed to think I was aware of it."
"I –"
Denis continued as if Paul hadn't spoken. "Damn you! I knew it! I knew at the party that you and Theo and – and – Pierre!" He spat his brother's name out like an obscenity. "I knew you were up to something. I just didn't realize …"
"About working for Mr. Delagardie – I hadn't decided on that for sure." His son gazed at the floor, trying to control his own temper.
"Oh. Well, yes, I can see that you wouldn't want to disillusion me when you hadn't set your plans yet."
Paul's head came up. The clear hazel eyes smoldered in a way that his father either didn't see or chose to ignore.
"I seem to remember you recently graduated from college with a degree in architecture. Am I wrong about that?"
"Hardly." Paul matched his father's sarcasm with some of his own. "I don't see how you could possibly be mistaken. I'm fairly certain I saw you at the graduation ceremonies."
Denis lashed out and struck Paul hard across the face. "Don't you dare! Don't disrespect me in my own home! I'm still your father!"
Paul put his hand over the growing red mark, his eyes wide with shock.
"So, why exactly did I just send you through architecture school, Paul? Somehow I doubt it was so you could work for an advertising firm as an artist!", his father said, silky-voiced with fury.
The fire in Paul's eyes flared and he let some of his own anger into his voice. "I'll tell you why. Because you wanted me to be an architect. That's why." He finally lost his battle for control and his voice rose to a shout. "You! I did what you wanted, even though it wasn't what I wanted. You never left me any choice that would let us still be a family. I'm tired of always fighting with you. It seems as though for as long as I can remember, we've been on the opposite ends of every issue, no matter what it was. I always give in and I always lose a little more of myself in the process."
"I suppose it's Pierre's idea for you to enlist as a soldier. I suppose you think I was a – what's the term, slacker? – because I didn't go off and kill people like he did."
Paul stopped for a moment and regarded his father. Denis was only four years older than Pierre, but it appeared to be ten, with his thinning, gray hair, and his love of food, which showed clearly on his once-slender frame. "No, Papa. No one has ever said that and I've never thought it. I've seen how much pain you have sometimes. " He paused. "I made up my own mind about serving in the war. And yes, Nonc Pierre supports me, and he knew what I was doing, but only because he always seems to know things anyway. He made me promise a long time ago that I wouldn't put him ahead of you any more, and God knows I've always tried to honor that. Even though you don't make it easy."
"I don't make it easy? It isn't me who does things without asking or telling –"
"You mean, like arranging deferments without trying to find out if I wanted one? I may as well tell you now, although I intended to tell you and Mama later." He faced his father squarely. "T'eo and I enlisted today." Paul reached into the inside pocket of his suit coat and took out a slender packet. "These are my orders. I leave to report to Fort Shelby in Mississippi at the end of the week. This is my bus ticket and this is my stipend." He laid each item, one at a time, on the table between them.
Denis swore and slammed his fist into the table. He jumped to his feet, facing Paul across the small table like a guard dog trying to decide whether to attack, trembling with emotion. "At least tell me you told them about your degree and that you can be an officer or stay Stateside."
Paul shook his head. "No. I'll serve with T'eo. They don't know I have a degree and even though my test scores were good enough, I turned down OCS. As far as I know, I'm headed for the infantry."
His father spun away and fled. Paul heard the door of his parents' room slam, and he sagged back into his chair. "Oh, God. Dat didn't go well." He ran his hands through his hair. Papa, I love you. But when are you going to understand that I'm grown up and I have to do what I think is right?
X-X-X-X
"I want you out of here!" The argument began anew the following morning.
"Papa!"
"Hélène, your brother has made his choice and it is not one I wish to live with."
Paralyzed by emotion, Annette faced what she had feared for so long, having to choose between her husband and her son. "Denis …" She forced the words through her stiff lips. "Please don't do this. Please."
"I am sorry to cause you pain, ma chère, but I'm not the one who has been deceitful."
Paul stood. "I'm deceitful? You worked behind my back to get a deferment I didn't want. You cannot say I ever hid how I felt about the war or serving in the military." He walked quickly to his mother and then to Hélène, kissing each of them. To his father, he said, "You don't even know if I will come back. We may never see one anot'er again. Is dis how you really want to leave it between us?" He extended his hand to his father in an attempt to begin to heal the breach.
Denis stared straight ahead, back rigid and jaw set.
"Papa. Please?" When Denis didn't respond, Paul slowly lowered his hand. Defeated, he went to his room, took his luggage, and walked back through the living room to the front door.
"Maman. I'll be at Nonc Pierre's until I leave. The bus departs at 1:00 p.m. Saturday from the main bus depot."
Denis cut him off. "None of us are going to support this nonsense by seeing you off."
"Fine." Paul closed the door and left. Behind him, his mother put her face in her hands and wept bitterly.
X-X-X-X
Michel Caissy glanced over his shoulder for roughly the tenth time in the last ten minutes at the miserable figure huddled in the back of his pirogue. Michel had known Paul LeMay boy to man, and had never seen him so unhappy. He had taken one look when the young man had come to his house and excused himself briefly, going back in the house to call Pierre. He wanted to make sure Paul's uncle was there and to tell him that something was very wrong.
A concerned Pierre waited on his dock. He took Paul's luggage and watched him climb the ladder silently. He and Michel exchanged a glance and Michel shrugged.
"Come inside, Paulie." He gently herded Paul to the door. Charlotte met them there and hugged her nephew.
"Tant Charlotte." Paul looked around the living room of his uncle's house as if he'd never seen it before and wasn't quite certain where he was.
"Sit down, cher." Charlotte led him toward an armchair. "Have you eaten today?"
"Eaten." This seemed to take some thought. "No, I don't think so. Mais, je n'ai pas faim. Merci," he finished politely. He kept his face turned away from Pierre and his eyes never left the floor.
"You need to eat, Paulie. Just sit here for a moment." Charlotte bustled off to the kitchen.
Pierre thought it was unlikely that Paul was going to move on his own any time soon.
"Paulie, what happened?" He'd never seen his nephew like this. Usually as neat as a cat about his personal appearance, Paul's hair was uncombed under the hastily-donned fedora and he was unshaven. "You obviously left in a hurry."
"A hurry. Yes."
Pierre was about to ask another question when someone knocked. With an exclamation of annoyance, he answered the door to find Marcel there.
Marcel peeked around Pierre's shoulder. "Oh, good. He's here. Not doing well, eh?"
"No." Pierre stepped out of the house and closed the door behind them. "How'd you know?"
His friend grimaced. "Bayou telegraph, how else? Bad news is the only thing that travels faster than good, non? Annette called Yvonne who called my Lisette. Denis and Paul had a big fight last night over de enlistment, and this morning, when Paulie wouldn't back down, Denis threw him out." Marcel twisted the hat in his hands. "Guess he also clouted Paulie one last night."
Pierre froze. Uh oh, Marcel thought. I hoped I'd never see that expression on his face again since he stopped being Lieutenant LeMay. When Pierre would have headed for his pirogue for the trip into town, his friend grabbed his arm and stopped him.
"No, Pierre."
"Don't tell me 'no', Marcel." His voice was a low growl.
"I'm tellin' you 'no', and no one has better right than me, mon vieux." He tried for a lighter tone. "You t'ink I got time to come visit you in jail, eh?" He watched his oldest friend and former officer fight the impulse to strike back on his nephew's behalf. Everyone always t'ink that Denis got de temper, but dey never seen Pierrot get mad, not like I have.
Pierre jerked away from Marcel and started back into the house. He paused briefly at the door to get some control, and then entered. Paul was poking absently at a plate of food. Pierre took the plate from him and handed it to Charlotte. "Take this and put it away for now, chère." He gently reached down and turned Paul's face. The large colorful bruise was evident to them all. Charlotte gasped.
Marcel watched Pierre's fist clench involuntarily and wondered if his friend would be able to control himself.
"Charlotte, get Paulie settled in the back bedroom. Let him sleep for a couple of hours and then wake him up and get him what he needs to shave and clean up. When he's done, send him out to see me in the workshop. That's where I'll be for a while." He did an about-face with almost military precision and left the house.
Marcel shook his head. At least he ain't heading off to get Denis. He helped Paul out of the chair and he and Charlotte led the younger man into the bedroom.
X-X-X-X
Pierre LeMay had a passion for order. His workshop reflected this, with rows of well-maintained tools neatly hung in place, projects in various stages of completion, carefully placed where they could be worked on, workbenches and tables, which were polished and clean, and a certain amount of machinery showing all the signs of conscientious care.
For Paul as a young boy, it had been a magical place. His nonc took wood and created beautiful things from it. An exotic blend of smells always filled the room – the spices of cut wood and the scents of the oils and varnishes used to finish the furniture. Even his uncle's aftershave was a part of the mélange. He remembered how Pierre would stand over him and direct his hands in learning the tasks involved in making furniture
.
Paul worked conscientiously for a few minutes. "Is this right?" He sneezed as he accidentally sent some sawdust the wrong way.
Pierre chuckled. "I think the sanding is done correctly, but we usually try not to breathe the shavings." He smiled at Paul's irritated expression. Taking the inset from his nephew, he fitted it into the tabletop of his current project.
"It's perfect! Measure twice, cut once. Right, Nonc Pierre?"
"Yes, indeed." He ruffled Paul's hair. "Let's go see what Tant Charlotte has for dinner, eh? Maybe 'gator today, non?"
"You're never gonna let me forget that, are you?"
Pierre gave him a wicked grin. "Absolument pas!"
"Paulie."
He came back to the present to find his uncle watching him with concern.
"Yes, Nonc Pierre?"
"I need you to work on something for me. I'm going out for a little while."
"Nonc Pierre, you're not going to see Papa, are you? Because it won't do any good."
"That's my decision, Paul." His nephew had never heard that particular tone of voice before from Pierre. There was no room for discussion in it.
"Yes, sir." Paul tried to sound unconcerned and casual. "What did you need me to help with?"
"Mme. Laborteaux's ordered a dining room table. I need four legs turned on the lathe; here's the tabletop design. Here are the dimensions. Create an appropriate pattern. You'll need to cut them from that piece of oak over there."
Paul decided that he was grateful for his nonc's matter-of-fact behavior. He felt himself sink into the familiar routine and fed his soul on the touch and smell of the wood, the beauty of revealed grain and the design of something both useful and creative. If I could have chosen anything to do, anything at all, it would be this. Not in an office like Papa or even M'sieu' Delagardie. He took a carpenter's pencil and a piece of rough paper and began to draw.
X-X-X-X
Theo stopped his pirogue at Pierre LeMay's dock. I wonder how many times Paulie and I have climbed this ladder. He had reacted with dismay and some anger to what happened between Denis and Paul. The discussion between him and his parents had been much quieter.
"Are you sure about this, T'eo?" Thierry stared out the window onto the bayou, trying to keep his voice quiet and nonjudgmental.
"Yes, I am."
"I wish you weren't going." Theo knew his mother had cried all her tears before he came back to the house, but he also knew that she had to let him know how she felt.
"Maman," Theo said gently, "I'm a man grown. If I don't enlist, I guarantee I'll get drafted. It's not like I would get to stay home if I didn't sign up."
"But if Denis could get you deferred, along wit' Paulie –"
"Non, Maman. I don't want to hide behind Denis LeMay's fear for Paulie, and dat's all I'd be doin'. Besides, I want to go. And Paulie – if he's ever gonna have his own life, he has to go, too."
Theo followed the whirring of machinery to find Paul in the workshop, turning table legs on a lathe. He stopped the machine and lifted his goggles when Theo came in. "'Ey, T'eo," he said uncertainly. "Ça va?"
"Better than you, mon vieux, I t'ink." He waved his arm around the room. "You stayin' here?"
"Yeah. I'm not wanted at home."
"Ah, Paulie. I'm so sorry."
"I'm sorry for Maman and Hélène. Papa … I can't remember a time when we didn't fight. I just never thought he'd stay this angry with so much at stake. How about you?"
"Ah, dey worry about me, but dey're behind me. What does Pierre t'ink about dis?"
"He's gone in to see if he can work things out with Papa, but …"
Theo snorted. "Heh. They've always seen eye to eye about you, non?"
"Well, he had to try."
"And he failed." Pierre came in behind them. "I'm sorry, Paulie. You were right." He tossed his hat onto a workbench and loosened his tie. "He refused to bend. He also threw me out of de house. He blames me for your decision to enlist."
Paul growled, "Merde! Does he think I'm incapable of making my own decisions?"
"Don't. I think you did the right thing, Paulie, but have a little compassion. You've badly damaged the perfect world Denis thought he'd created." Pierre idly swept some wood shavings off the worktable into his hand and tossed them onto a pile. "My brother's whole existence since not long after you were born has been as defender of his family. I guarantee he never expected an attack from the inside – and right now, that's how he sees what you did. Something happened to him; to this day, I don't know what it was. A little over twenty-five years ago he pulled up the drawbridge to his life – even against me and Papa." His uncle shook his head. "Who, by the way, was also there, eating crow and trying to make peace with Denis for your sake."
"I wish I could have seen dat," Theo muttered.
Paul smiled unconvincingly and examined the table leg in his hand. "T'eo, I'm glad you and your folks are bon about dis. You should spend your time with them. We're gonna be sick of each other by the time basic training is over."
Theo grinned and said, "Only after basic training is over?"
Pierre laughed. "T'eo, ignore his lack of manners. You're welcome to stay for supper, if you want."
"Nah, dat's fine. Maman said I should come back to eat. Merci, M'sieu' Pierre. See
you later, Paulie."
Paul waved, put on his goggles and started the lathe, carefully finishing the work on the wood in his hands.
A casual observer who watched Theo leave would have assumed that nothing was bothering him, but his smile hid the hurt he felt for his friend.
X-X-X-X
In the end, Pierre, Thierry, Yvonne, Marcel, and Andre came to the bus station to see them off. At the last minute, Paul felt a tug on his sleeve. Hélène was behind him, flushed and out-of-breath. She hugged him tightly, trying hard not to cry.
"Here, Paul. Mama made these for you and Theo for on the bus." She handed him a somewhat squashed package of cookies and hugged him again, bursting into tears. "Please forgive her for not coming. Papa's been watching her like a hawk."
"Merci, ma sœur." He stepped back from her, cupped her face in his hands, and wiped the tears away. "Of course I'm not angry with mama. I'm glad you came, chère, but you'd better hurry back home. I don't want papa to be mad with you, too." He kissed her forehead and smiled at her.
Theo reached over Paul's shoulder and handed Hélène a handkerchief. He glanced at Paul wryly. "You never seem to have these things when you need them."
Hélène smiled wetly at Theo and hugged him as well. "Merci, T'eo."
"De rien, ma 'tite sœur."
"Paul, If you write to Mama, send it to Anne LeMercier."
"I will. Go now, chère."
She gazed at them both for another moment and then spun away in a swirl of skirts. Suddenly she stopped and looked back. "I love you, big brother!"
Paul waved at her, and she left.
Yvonne and Thierry hugged both Theo and Paul.
"Paulie, we think of you as Theo's brother, you know that. Please come home safe."
"Merci, Madame Dubois. I'll do the best I can."
Marcel spoke, suspiciously misty. "Les deux terreurs aux Bayou Liberté! All grown up. You two watch out for each other." He hugged Theo fiercely and shook Paul's hand. "And you come back now, you hear me, T'eo? Paulie?"
"Oui, Nonc Marcel." "Yes, sir."
"Proud of you, Paulie." Andre cleared his throat. "It'll be all right about Denis. You'll see."
"I hope so, Grandpapa." They shook hands.
The overhead speaker called Theo and Paul's bus. They picked up their luggage, and Paul faced his Nonc Pierre.
For the older man, time blurred for a moment and he saw the little boy he once knew. Then the young man once again stood in front of him, a little unsure under the confident façade. "Paulie, we said all the hard things already. Write to me – to all of us, including Denis – and let us know how you are." You are like a son to me. Bon Dieu, protect him, Holy Mother, protect him and bring him home.
"I will. I promise."
The speaker buzzed with a final call for boarding. The young men got on their bus, and in a hiss of air and a cloud of fumes, they were gone. No one saw Denis LeMay standing inside the depot, eyes reddened, watching Paul depart.
X-X-X-X
July 18, 1942
Annette LeMay
c/o Anne LeMercier
32 Emory Road
Little Woods, Louisiana
Maman,
I know Papa probably still doesn't want to hear from me. I'm sorry he wouldn't let me come back to see you before I left or let you see me off. I hope in time he will come to understand what I have done and why it was so important to me.
Thank you for the cookies. Theo ate most of them (no surprise, there, eh?) but I got some, too, and they were very good. Please tell me Papa didn't punish Hélène for coming to see us off. It helped to have her there, however briefly.
Mama, if you are able to write back, don't write to Paul LeMay. I was afraid if I used my real name, Papa might find a way to stop my enlistment, so I used Grandmama LeMay's maiden name. Write to Private Paul Cadron. They call me "Caddy" here – which, naturally, Theo started. Again, no surprise. Oh, and I'm in the 361st Infantry, so make sure you put that on the envelope, too.
Training's long and hard, but all that time I spent in the bayou chasing after Theo and Marcel and Nonc Pierre is paying off. Most of the guys in my unit can't take the long walks we have to do as part of our training. Theo and I do pretty well. Of course, I'm still tired, and I'm usually hungry (the Army doesn't have any cooks like you) but I'm bien.
There are other Cajuns here and we all speak French together. There are even some guys who are from deep enough in the bayou that they don't speak any English. Since I speak both kinds of French, I'll almost certainly go to Europe when the time comes for me to be deployed (that's Army talk for "go out to fight"). I'll do translation for the squad I wind up in. At least, that's what I've been told.
I have to go now; it's time for 'lights out' and since we have to get up at 4:30 to get ready for a very long hike, I need to get my sleep. Ne vous inquiétez pas à propos de moi ou Theo, Mama. We'll be all right. (Theo says to say "Hello".)
I've been told that after basic training is over and before we go to Europe for more training, I can get a short leave to come home. I hope that despite everything, you and Papa will see me off on the train to New York. I know Papa is angry, but I don't want to leave without at least trying to fix things up between us. I love you both and it would mean a lot to me.
With love from,
Your son,
Paul (Cadron)
361st Infantry
Fort Shelby, Mississippi
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