Chapter Two

Ducky's business in London took three days. Appointments and evaluations at the offices of the Army Medical Corps. Incessant paperwork to read, sign and copy. A trip to the American Embassy for a travel visa. A less than pleasant telephone call to his parents…

Father had reacted exactly as Ducky had expected. If Ducky insisted on being foolish enough to run after a flighty young girl, regardless how pretty she was he could expect no help from his father. Mother was wounded, and agreed with Father. Her Donald was being foolish. She could offer no more than her affection. Ducky knew he was on his own financially. Well, he could manage if he was careful.

Ducky made arrangements with his friend Francis Marsden to ship his belongings to America when he finally found a place to stay. Then he and Francis went out and got roaring drunk one last time. (After all, Francis insisted, Ducky was no longer a free man. Once he got to America, he was as good as married.) Not the wisest thing to do the night before one goes flying on a military transport plane. Ducky was quite dehydrated when he got to the Azores.

From the Azores Ducky flew to Newfoundland, from there to Boston where he finally had to get a commercial flight to Detroit. He had been traveling over 72 hours and hadn't managed to change clothes, shower or shave in the intervening time. He was exhausted, jet lagged, wasn't terribly sure what day of the week it was or even what time his own body clock thought it was. He wore a rumpled set of jungle camouflage fatigues, army boots and a flack vest. He had a three-day stubble of beard and he knew he looked like hell-warmed-over. But all he could think of was his objective: Celeste Elizabeth Porter, 54 Morton Avenue, Clinton Park, Michigan.

When he arrived at Detroit Metropolitan Airport he got a map of the area and talked to a young man in the information kiosk who told Ducky the bus routes he needed to take to get to Clinton Park. Clinton Park was northeast of Detroit and the airport was southwest. In a car it would take a good 45 minutes to cover the distance, by bus it would be hours. But Ducky was undeterred. It was the cheapest and best way for him to go. And saving money was now his secondary objective.

Ducky made sure he had enough change for fares and transfers. He toyed with the idea of phoning Celeste but rejected it. He really wanted to surprise her.

As Ducky got on what he hoped would be the last bus he'd need to board, he asked the driver how well he knew Clinton Park.

"Very well, since I live there," the driver replied.

"Morton Avenue? How would I get there?"

"I can drop you at the corner of Gratiot and Welburn. Go a block east on Welburn and the first left is Morton. The church is on the corner. You can't miss it."

"Is that near number 54?" Ducky asked.

"That's the parsonage. You looking for Pastor Porter?"

"You know him?"

"I should. I've gone to Atonement all my life. He's been pastor there for the past fifteen years. He's a super guy. Tell him George Knoff says hello and I'll see him tomorrow!"

"Thank you Mr. Knoff." Ducky sat down in the front seat across from the driver.

George kept glancing at him with a small smile. "You're English?" he finally asked.

"From Scotland. Educated in England and Scotland. I can do a brogue if you'd rather. I lapse sometimes if I'm especially tired. Like now."

"Wouldn't know," George shrugged. "But you're a doctor, right?"

Ducky frowned slightly. How would the driver know that? He had no insignia on his clothing or any other indication that he was a physician. "Yes," he finally replied.

George grinned. "Well, I suspect someone at the parsonage will be very glad to see you, then. She's a pistol, that girl. Always has been."

Ducky felt his cheeks redden. "Celeste?"

"That's her! All she does is talk about you. She says prayers every Sunday that you'll be brought home safe." George held out his right hand to Ducky. "I'm glad they were answered, sir. And doubly glad for little Celeste."

Ducky was deeply moved by this revelation. "Thank you, Mr. Knoff."

"Call me 'George.'"

"Call me 'Ducky' then." He smiled and shook George's hand, beginning to like the informality and friendliness of this new country that he hoped he would soon be calling home.

The bus dropped Ducky at the corner of Gratiot and Welburn . He walked down the block George had indicated. The bags he had carted halfway around the world suddenly felt heavier than ever. Through his exhaustion, Ducky felt the flutter of anticipation in his gut. He was very, very nervous. He was about to meet Celeste's family, after all.

They probably won't like me, he thought as he hitched his bags up on his shoulder.

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