Whither Thou Goest
January 22, 1975
Hawkeye Pierce, son and surgeon, father and friend, bounded up the stairs and into his Crabapple Cove home. He clutched a letter with a foreign postmark, waving it in the air like a flag of independence.
"We made it! We're in—we're accepted!" he shouted gleefully, with the energy of a 10-year-old. Then he swooped her around in a circle and dipped her into a kiss no 10-year-old could imagine.
"Terrific. Could you take out this garbage?" she handed him a white plastic bag. (Did I mention he was also a long-time husband?)
"Avec play-zeer, Madame," he executed a sweeping bow, and headed out the back door. "See, I told you that conversational French class would come in handy," he called from the porch.
"That's what you said about the mambo lessons," Margaret called back at him. "And the judo class. And cake decorating…"
"Well, Tonga happens to be a former French colony, so our parlay-fransay helped clinch our spot on the team."
Margaret sighed. It seemed to her that every mosquito-infested, swampy, impoverished, snake-inhabited, epidemic-ridden, criminally-governed acre in the world was a former French colony, according to the 6 o'clock news. "So get out the map and show me."
This mid-life crisis had evolved over the past year. She had seen the restlessness that affected her husband. The last 20 years had been so good, so stable, so blessed with the remarkable ordinariness of middle-class American life. She had considered that he was experiencing male menopause, and half-anticipated him driving home in a carnival red convertible any day now. So when he gravely announced he needed to speak with her after supper, she was concerned.
"I've been thinking about this for a long time," he began.
"Pierce, you never think of anything for a long time. For a man of science, you are incredibly impulsive."
Suddenly he bent her over backwards for a lip-smacking smooch. "Impulsive, eh?" he grinned. "No complaints so far. But seriously, Margaret, I'm beginning to feel, well—settled."
"There's nothing wrong with settled. We are settled. Settled is nice. You have a solid practice. We have a house that will need a roof next spring, and a six-year-old Plymouth; a daughter in college and a 12 year old spaniel. We're…you know…old—er, I mean, "mellow," she corrected hastily.
When he spoke again, it was with such quiet intensity, her attention was riveted. "I look back at my life so far, and I think, the time I was truly needed, the time I knew I was doing my best, my most valuable work, when I was personally making a difference in the world was—"
"Don't say it!"
"Korea. Ironically enough, the place I couldn't wait to leave. I love our life," he reassured her. "But sometimes I long for something...more. I don't want to just sit out the next 20 years parked in my rocker on the porch."
"Not even if your rocker is parked next to mine?" she asked wistfully.
Hawkeye peered into her face, yearning for her understanding. Then he took a deep breath and plunged ahead. "There's this new group, Global Medical. They go all over the world, respond to natural disasters, famines, epidemics—"
"And wars-"
"Yeah. And wars."
"Hmmm…rats and swill and blistering heat and freezing cold and disease and death. How can a gal resist an offer like that? Let's pack."
"Let's..?" he repeated. "Let's…as in ' let us,' as in you, too?"
"Dr. Pierce, I have personally observed your behavior on the field. If you think I am going to turn you loose in a pack of idealistic young Nightengale wannabes…"
"Ah, she cares!" he clutched at his heart. "Sweetheart, observe me closely. My mane is gray, and if I move unexpectedly, I creak."
"And you are witty and charming and kind and passionate, which trumps "gray" anytime. I should know." Gently, she reached up and brushed stray strands of his hair out of his eyes for the millionth time. "And those deep blue eyes that threaten to swallow a girl's dreams whole..? For the record," she confessed, "my golden tresses have been turning a determined shade of silver lately. But that doesn't mean that I'm ready to rock, either."
"They need midwives," he mused. "Y'know, with us there, those cake decorating classes are going to come in handy. Those babies are going to live long enough to blow out their birthday candles."
"I guess that means we're both off our rockers."
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
CRABAPPLE COVE COURIER
January 30, 1975
---Exclusive! Aunt Sally Slovak's Secret Cider Slaw: Revealed!--------- pg. 4
PATTY HUDSON WINS SCIENCE FAIR
Principal Clarence Vanderhaven Jr. awarded the blue ribbon and a free pizza coupon to Patty Hudson, who developed a scale model of the solar system to capture honors at the annual 6th grade science fair (Photos on pg. 2.)
LOCAL COUPLE TRAVELS
Dr. Daniel Pierce's son and daughter-in-law will be traveling to Southeast Asia for a year of volunteer medical service with Global Medical. Ben and Margie will be stationed in Tonga, a group of small villages on the coast of (cont. pg 6)
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
February 10, 1975
It had been a long day but Hawkeye was still not asleep. Maybe it was the strange bed. Maybe his body was still on East Coast time.
Charles and Olivia Winchester had invited them for a bon voyage breakfast in Boston before the drive to Logan airport. Their transportation to Tonga would board from San Francisco, and BJ had insisted they spend their last week in the states at the Hunnicut home. BJ picked up their daughter Megan from her California college campus and met them at the airport.
Megan had just been home for Christmas break, but their visits were never long enough. Hawkeye grumbled that he had been the victim of a female conspiracy to separate his princess from her protective Papa. Megan was an independent spirit, and each parent blamed the other for that quality. He insisted that New England had the best educational opportunities in the country; Megan insisted California had all that glorious sunshine, AND surfer dudes.
The upshot was, she spent two years in Massachusetts organizing protest marches and an underground newspaper and a student strike, all for worthy causes, of course. (And there was that misdemeanor that her buddy "Four" –Charles Emerson Winchester IV –had bailed her out of so she didn't have to call her folks). Unfortunately, none of these escapades accrued college credit.
The only thing that eased the separation for Hawkeye was that his little girl was now in proximity to her trusted West Coast family. Erin fondly acted as her big sister, and the twins Mark and Matt took turns checking out her dates and being the annoying little brothers she never had.
However, Meg's new-found maturity had come as a consequence of an unexpected tragedy. Peg Hunnicut had been diagnosed, treated and succumbed to a virulent blood disorder. Megan found her carefree campus days taking a backseat to comforting the family that had meant so much to hers. And now she was focusing on her studies with renewed passion. It had also given her an affinity for her parents' mid-life adventure.
Hawkeye turned over again. His eyes had been open for an hour now. "Margaret," he reached over and jostled her shoulder.
She groaned quietly and shifted in the guest bed. "Darling Ben, have you no concept of jet lag?"
"Margaret…"
"What…?" she opened one suspicious eye.
"Promise me."
"Hmmm..?"
"Promise me you won't die before me."
"Let me sleep," she croaked, "or I promise you'll die now."
"Margaret…" there was an odd quaver in his voice that demanded her attention. "I mean it. Promise me."
"Hawkeye, what..?"
"While you and the girls went shopping, and it was just Beej and me….Y'know, in Korea he was miserable because he was separated from Peg. But there was always this—sweet, shiny, stubborn part of him that all the ugliness couldn't tarnish. It was that hope, that certainty that Peg was waiting and they'd be back together again. He doesn't have that now. His eyes are empty."
"It hasn't been that long, you know," she whispered. "Like amputation. The limb's gone, but the pain lingers."
"Anyhow, I couldn't handle that. So if you'll just promise me, I'll be able to rest in peace—argh," he realized what he had just said, smiled at his sleepiness. "You know what I mean."
"OK. We stay immortal. Or we die together. Now can we please sleep together?"
"Oh, Margaret, I thought you'd never ask."
"Good night, Sweet Pierce.."
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
May 13, 1975
Dear Dad/Dear Mom,
How many college kids can upbraid their parents for not writing home often enough? I didn't get anything for nearly a month, then three letters in one day. It's the international postal service conspiracy—at least that's my promising topic for the World Government paper due Friday.
I loved your story about walking hand-in-hand on the beach at sunset, and being chased back to the compound by a crocodile. Mom: Dad said he (the croc) was attracted by your "Evening in Paris," scent. Dad: someday you're gonna hafta make good on "Evening in Paris", and I don't mean another perfume bottle under the Xmas tree. Here's my pledge: If I am gainfully employed by your 25th anniversary (or richly married—NO that is not a hint re: my old buddy "Four") I will send you to spend April in Paris for your special day.
And by the way, what's the real story behind your getting married on April Fools Day? Yknow, Mom, Dad always told me that you got him drunk and drove him across the state line, and because it was Leap Year he was too much of a gentleman to refuse when you proposed. But I'm old enough to read a calendar now and I know that 1954 was not a leap year.
Midterms loom. But I've got a solid B+ in Mme. Delacroix' class. Yes, Dad, you were right: those conversational French classes did come in handy.
And guess who came knocking at my door last week? One David Hathaway. When I opened the door he just stared at me for the longest time, so I stared back. Then he told me he had been shooting a documentary on Global Medical and was looking for the daughter of Dr & Mrs. Benjamin Franklin Pierce. Seems he couldn't place me, because the only photo you could find to show him was that disgusting one from 8th grade with the freckles and limp pigtails and braces. Ugh. Much as I hate getting my picture taken, I am enclosing a recent snapshot in self-defense.
Although David is not my usual type (tall, dark, intense and literary, right, Dad?) he has the most mesmerizing eyes, like sherry in candlelight—I mean, ginger ale in sunshine, of course. I know the beard is a little scruffy, Mom, but this is California, and it is the 70's, and everybody has a beard. (or in Uncle Beej's case, a scruffy mustache). He interviewed me and invited me to his studio (OK, it's an attic) to watch him edit.
It was so amazing to see you and hear the stories of your work. So I cried a little and David was thoughtful enough to pretend not to notice. He thinks you're wonderful. I told him, I know you are. I am so proud of you both. Miss you. Write soon. Love, Meg
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
October 24, 1975 9:17 pm
When one has dedicated one's life to practicing the presence of God, he may find himself in situations he can experience but not explain. This is what happened to Father Francis Mulcahey one rainy night in Philadelphia.
He was in his study, warming his hands around a cup of tea. He was preparing a devotion for vespers when his concentration faltered. Images of dear familiar faces flooded his mind and suddenly he was compelled to halt everything and pray. The urgency of this need drove him to his knees and instant obedience.
Later he would learn the details. Later the Lord would confide in him; or Max Klinger, who still filed all the 4077 trivia and gossip in his head, and still produced his MASH Notes (mailed annually to the scattered clan) would call with news.
But he did know for whom he was earnestly contending. And the Spirit interpreted his words, summoning courage for Hawkeye and Margaret; mercy for the hearts of their captors; and grace for their child half a world away.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
While the military intelligence of every nation would claim to have the most comprehensive knowledge of world events, in reality it was the financial analysts whose sources affected markets world wide, who were most finely attuned to obscure happenings and correctly prophesied their importance in the scheme of things.
A phone call from his broker interrupted Charles Emerson Winchester III at the breakfast table. He listened intently, silently, and then excused himself to his library. From that sanctuary, he issued terse instructions to the family attorney. He sank lower into the leather chair, twisted absently. No matter where he averted his eyes, all he could envision was that last photo: the officers of the 4077 in front of that damned signpost.
Frozen in black and white eternity. Pierce, not so cocky now at the end. Weary, haunted. Margaret, proud of her service, but puzzled for her future. His own smug mug, the expression that he thought of as "dignified" years ago. BJ in the pure bliss of anticipation. The sun beaming a halo around Mulcahey's head for his steadfast devotion to an impossible task.
Klinger, always behind the scenes and attending to details, had taken the photo; made certain they all received prints labeled Best Care Anywhere. It was a silly slogan, considering what they had to work with. But they made it true.
WESTERN UNION 10-25-75 8:20 AM EST
TO: Emil CesChants, Director. Global Medical, Montreal Canada
FROM: Oliver Benedict IV. Benedict & Blanchard. Boston. Baltimore. Philadelphia
My client authorizes yr org any/all immediate arrangements re: rescue of 7 med team kidnapped Tonga. $$ advanced to finance ransom req/manpower/machines. Keep informed.
CC: CEW III
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Hathaway knocked at her door, deferentially at first, then with more immediate motivation. "Megan? Come to the door. It's David. Hathaway. I need to know you're OK. Please. Open the door. Just me. But we need to hurry..."
His urgent entreaty awakened something in her and she obeyed. He stepped in and quickly closed and locked the door behind him.
"They were here. Reps from GM." It was all of the nightmare she could share. Her parents were kidnapped. Her parents and their comrades and their patients. Global Medical of course assumed no responsibility for security. They were a charity, her parents had signed waivers. But of course they wanted to reassure her that they were doing everything possible and they were so sorry and wanted to communicate their concern personally to the next of kin.
"Don't call me that!" Meg screamed and flung a pillow at their heads. "DO something!"
They were so sorry. Of course they would keep in touch.
"The story's gonna break any time now and we need to get you out of here. I know how you hate to have your picture taken," he tried to grin at her. "But every news hawk in town is gonna want your picture, your words. Of course we could always give them this." He pulled out a scrap from his pocket. The disgusting 8th grade photo. "But I'm not ready to part with it yet."
"How did you find out?"
"Remember that little piece of celluloid I sunk my entire life into? The one I couldn't even peddle to PBS? Well, now every station in town, hell in the country, wants to chop it up for quotes from your folks."
"What are you going to do?" she asked dully.
"I'm going to brew up some of that weed tea you're so fond of-"
"-herbal-"she corrected automatically.
"-while you pack and then I'm driving you to Mill Valley."
"Yeah. But about your film. My parents have their work. The film is yours. Make the best damn deal you can. I want everyone to see it." She was white and shocky. Hathaway put a sweater around her shoulders and led her to the closet and put on the tea kettle.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
10-31-75
The SAN FRANCISCO EXAMINER pg. B12
GM "SHOCKED" AT TONGA VIOLENCE
"We are shocked and outraged by the account of the killing of our seven member team," said Emil CesChants, director of international medical volunteers group, Global Medical.
The comment was in response to the claim of responsibility issued today by a member of the Tonganese Liberation Force. A renewed wave of violence has been directed at the civilian population and humanitarian aid workers. "It is a major blow to our efforts to provide desperately needed assistance to suffering people."
Victims included two Canadians, three Belgians, and an American couple, all medical professionals who volunteered for a one-year mission abroad.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"Entreat me not to leave thee, or return from following after thee. For whither thou goest, I shall go. Whither thou lodgest, I shall lodge. Thy people shall be my people and thy God my God. Where thou diest, I shall die and there will I be buried: the Lord do so to me and more also, if ought but death part thee and me." Ruth, 1:16-17