If you want to know what happened when Zeb returned to the Highlands, there will be a short story coming out called "Failte Baile", which is Gaelic for "Welcome Home". It will cover everything that was missed from June to right now, and you can see how Zeb and Méngméng's love is rekindled and grows. For now, we have returned to the main story! Sorry it took so long! This chapter has been split into three, so will cover chapters 18-20 with almost 12 pages each! Enjoy!
.~*Chapter Eighteen*~.
September 17th, 2005
Henry's legs were like lead as he trudged through the Hall, blind to the dusty eight pairs of benches and filthy floor of his music hall. It had been a long time since he had cleaned the place. Normally, Big Al took care of the grounds, while Henry took care of the building; while Al continued to take care of his duties, Henry had neglected his own. Al had offered to clean it for him, but Henry had refused. He didn't want anyone to come here anyway. No tours, and no curious people. Especially no musicians who wanted a record deal from him, the CEO of Taylor Enterprises.
In fact, he had placed Ted into temporary [and would eventually become permanent] CEO. Ted knew quite a bit about the music business, and had been happy to help, given the circumstances. That had been in May, just after Henry had finally just given up and locked himself away. And then losing his grandson as well... He just hadn't been able to cope. Ted had offered to take over before Henry had done something stupid, such as sell the company.
The past few months had been difficult. He felt so empty. He'd lost his wife, and now their only son. He was always failing his family. First with Trista, his firstborn daughter that had been swept up in a tornado and lost – he didn't often talk about her, having not want to let the band know he and Helen had let their child be taken.
Just before Trista's disappearance, however, was the blockage in Helen's fallopian tubes, nearly ending her life and causing them to be removed. Cubs were out of the question after that. And then the tornado...
Rather than face the pain, they pretended she hadn't existed, though the wound was forever raw. They kept looking for her, putting up posters and advertising on milk cartons.
Henry wanted to cry, but his ducts were dry. He had lost everyone he loved. Shut out everyone else. He was alone.
Walking up the stairs to the balcony, he climbed another set of stairs, these ones belonging to a spiral staircase that had a high locked gate in front of them to prevent outsider access, along with a wall that surrounded them with a bench in the front to make it appear somewhat normal. He found himself on a much higher balcony, facing a catwalk bridge and a wall. Behind him were two barn doors that allowed him to watch the grounds from up high.
From there, he walked across the bridge, passing the opening and ladder leading to the upper roof trapdoor and observation room – the lower trapdoor was located above the stage on a stage balcony [separated from the main balcony], along with a few trapdoors along the balcony, above the rafters – until he reached a fairly long room that was as wide, and almost as long, as the top of the Hall. The door was made of stained glass – filthy with dust – set in a polished oak frame with an oak tree wood cutout covering it. It was stunningly beautiful and Henry had had it custom-made by Ted many years ago, after the tornado destroyed the original building.
Reaching into his pocket, the brown bear pulled out a magnificent silver skeleton key. The bit had five heads, and the shaft had a golden chain embedded in it. The bow was a very intricate design of swirls with a rose in the center, outlined in rubies. He had had this and the door lock made by an artist, making it completely unique. No one but the holder of the key could unlock the door, though a few rowdy concert-goers had attempted to. That had ended with them shifting the catwalk and leaving the balcony to continue drinking... and Helen to walk out of the room, unaware of the danger, and fall over thirty feet to the ground. Luckily, they had rented an indoor bouncy castle for one of the concerts. It had been the only thing that saved her life.
It was after that that they made a proper walkway and a ladder up to a small observation room on the roof.
He turned the key, hearing the soft click of it unlocking, and opened the door to a room he had not stepped in for ten years.
The entire room was perfectly preserved, untouched by the years thanks to the complete sealing of the room, which allowed no air within. As such, the gust from the door being opened rattled a few of the objects within. The room was lit by four windows, two on each side of the room, with superb sealing. There was a desk by one of the one-way mirror in the far wall overlooking the stage, where Helen used to watch the bands perform. She would hide up here due to having quite a bit of stage fright and not being able to do well in very large crowds. Years of horrendous bullying in high school were the cause of that.
Along the walls on various shelves, some of them being shelves designed by Ted in the shapes of trees or branches, were numerous knickknacks and Helen's most treasured possessions, such as jewelry, instruments, music sheets, hair ribbons, and books.
Henry walked through the room, immediately swept away in the strong memories...
Thirty-nine-year-old Helena "Helen" Taylor sat at her polished 19th century Louis XV French cylinder-roll flamed mahogany desk with a pencil flying across the paper as she hummed quietly to herself. Her single white ear flicked constantly, as it always did when she was deep in thought.
Henry smiled gently as he watched her. He quietly wandered over, carefully holding the tray set with two mugs and a thermos of hot cocoa as well as a few snacks. He set it on the table beside her and cleared his throat. "Helen?"
The light brown she-bear jumped in surprise, having been so caught up in her work that she hadn't heard him. She hurriedly covered up what she had been working on and turned on her swivel chair to look at him. "Henry! You're home early! The little one and I were going to make dinner!" she laughed with a twinkle in her teary eyes as she placed a paw upon her belly, which was just beginning to show the signs of her pregnancy, now that she was little over halfway through her second month.
He purred and knelt in front of her, lifting her shirt and kissing her belly as he greeted his unborn child. "Hello, little one. I hope you're not giving your Mama any trouble now."
Above him, Helen tried not to laugh as a soft smile graced her white face. "You're so silly!"
He gave her a goofy grin as he got back up and helped her stand. "Silly for you, my love," he whispered, placing his paws on her hips as he slowly danced in a circle with her, humming a soft tune.
Helen wrapped her arms around his neck as she moved closer to him, just a hair apart from him as she danced with him, feeling his paws now move around her back. "My handsome Papa Bear," she whispered, stealing a kiss from his lips...
Henry's paw raised to his lips, almost able to feel her sweet touch. Tears gathered in his eyes as he was pulled from the memory. The last memory he had with her in her beloved hideaway.
The next time he had come up here was to pile up the boxes of her things from their cabin after her murder. He couldn't bring himself to look at them day after day. It was either that or throw them in the trash.
Silently, he walked about, glancing at the artifacts, each with their own memory.
There was a black case with Henry's name engraved in gold letters beneath the handle, lying next to the desk. He opened the case, running a paw gently over the 1971 cherry burst Gibson hummingbird. He could still see his face in the polish. Helen had taken such good care of it. And the sound was still as lovely as the day Helen gave it to him for their first Christmas together. She had saved up for months to purchase it, working as a waitress at Papa Joe's, and moonlighting at a library, as well as a secretary. This had taken place whilst he had been overseas in Vietnam... And while she had been pregnant with Trista.
He had given her a beautiful silver chain necklace with rainbow diamond encrusted Tueri wings attached to a diamond set bear with a sapphire heart in the center. They had given their daughter a special pendant with silver and gold upon it.
Trista was wearing her own necklace when she was swept away. Helen's necklace, however, he kept hidden away. He would have buried her with it, but she had specifically asked him not to.
Moving onto the next item, he smiled at the music journal. In it were some of her original songs, including one that the band made famous: Straight to the Heart of Love. She had written it while in high school, and the band gave it a voice. Not that Helen couldn't sing – she had a lovely voice! It was just that she could not get a record deal. Taylor Enterprises board of directors would not take her in because Henry was the CEO, and it would be seen as favoritism. They also would not allow her to sign on with another company, as that would be seen as competition.
It was such a shame, really. To be a singer was her dream, and it was shattered in more ways than one when she had tried to record the song with the band. It had ended in disaster.
Another object was a pair of pink rhinestone hair combs given to her by her mother, followed by a picture book with negatives from their first camera.
Next came a vintage crystal decanter, a wedding present from Helen's parents. Beside it were two plane tickets to Hawaii, where her parents had sent them for their honeymoon, using a lot of the little money they had.
After that was her father's pocket watch, still stuck at the time of his death at 3:33am.
He came upon a mahogany cradle with a silver mesh netting draped over it nestled in the corner. Trista's. He hurriedly turned away, but not fast enough that he missed seeing the photograph of the deep red auburn cub.
Sighing, he moved over to it and picked it up, trembling slightly as he ran his claws gently over the image. His little girl... Quickly, he set it down.
Yet another two objects were cat collars, one with a tag that said "Candy Corn", and the other that stated "Hallows Eve". The two cats had been their beloved pets for many, many years, and had produced many kittens, some of which still had descendants roaming the grounds catching mice. They were friendly enough once they got to know you. Alongside the collars was a picture of each cat and a photo album of each kitten and whom had bought/adopted him or her, and when. Five of the kittens had gone to members of the band.
Right beside them were the images of their two horses. For some reason, he could not recall their names, though he had loved them dearly. It was as if the memories were slipping away. And the images were in black and white, so he had no way of remember what color they were. Drat.
He then spotted a velvet case about four inches long and two inches wide. Blinking, he opened it and was amazed to find his Medal of Honor. Running his fingers lightly over the polished metal, he thought back to how he had earned it.
There had been an ambush on his patrol, and he had been the only one to escape, after being hit by a stray bullet. He had pretended to be dead as the rest of his patrol had been led away as POWs [prisoners of war]. When the enemy had finally vanished, he waited for cover of nightfall and began to follow them after patching himself up. Thankfully, the injury hadn't been too severely serious. He wouldn't lose a limb.
Once he found the makeshift prison – the Vietnamese soldiers had stopped for the night to rest with their prisoners chained up in the center of their camp, most of them with their wrists broken to avoid escape – he waited until a stray guard patrolling the camp came upon him and took him out with a few quick moves. He could remember silently thanking his father – as much as he loathed him – for making him take karate lessons from only the greatest of instructors.
Upon now having a weapon, he watched the movements of the other guards, knowing that just one bear who was foolish enough to take them all on at once would be slaughtered. He had masked his scent with mud and had donned the wardrobe of his downed enemy, surprised it had fit at all.
After studying the movements, he made his way into camp, pretending to be a soldier for the enemy. He was actually multilingual, another thing to thank his father for, and could pass for one of their soldiers quite efficiently. He reported to the leader and said that communication was down, and he was delivering a message from the general.
His tactics ultimately failed when the leader's radio crackled and another messenger interrupted him. That was when he had no choice other than to beat the leader's head with the butt of his rifle and open fire on the others. He didn't even stop to think if these men had families back home like he did. They were his enemy and were in his way.
He did get shot in the process of helping his friends escape, this time in a more serious place like his chest, and hit in the head with the butt of a gun.
He didn't remember much after that, except spending time in a stateside military hospital for a while after getting back from Vietnam before finally being allowed to go home.
A month later, in October, he was summoned to Washington D.C. He was hailed a hero and awarded the medal. He could still remember Helen swelling up with pride and his father's somewhat pleased expression.
He closed the lid with a snap. Some hero he was.
Finally, he spotted a bundle of letters. Carefully sliding one of them out, he opened it and read. They were his and her letters to each other whilst he had been in Vietnam and during boot camp.
October 30th, 1971
My Dearest Helena,
I am now settled at Loess Military Base, which is a training base in Colorado. I hope you have gotten home safe? Did you enjoy the first class treatment? I apologize that I could not accompany you home, as I had to get to the nearest registration office. I also knew that if I went home, my parents would kill me for saying I want to do this. Hey, it is a way to get money.
The first couple days here were tough. All the new recruits had to stand in a line to get our shots – I was thankfully already up to date on most of them – and then get our haircut. Oh, I loathed that part. My hair is now only an inch long – just as long as my fur! It is as if I have no hair at all! Oh, the horror of it all!
We then had to do a physical assessment test. Seventeen sit-ups within one minute, followed by thirteen push-ups within one minute, and then we had to go outside and do a one-mile run in less than fifteen minutes! I did mine in ten! I must remember to thank my parents for making me go to martial arts training when I was younger. I'm nice and in shape.
A few of the guys, however, didn't make the cut and had to go to another place called Fat Camp for more training.
I'm told that usually BCT training usually takes ten weeks, but because of the war and the amount of guys dying over there, we have to speed things up.
We then walked into another room and given our uniforms. Would you believe that I have to wear boots? Bears wearing shoes! I can hardly move with them on! They are so confining. I mean, they are larger than the human boots, but I still do not like this. I asked why bears had to wear them, and even pointed out how uncomfortable they were. I expected a civil conversation. Instead, I got yelled at.
They are there to protect our feet, because out in 'Nam there are mines in the ground among other things. Sure, the mine will blow off your foot or leg, but there is some protection. I think. I still do not like them, though.
I was assigned to Barrack 3, Unit 104 Bulldogs, under the command of Drill Sergeant Cyrus Falco. I heard he was only here because he was injured in Vietnam a year ago and could not return to combat, so became a drill sergeant. I do not know much else about him.
He has a second-in-command: Specialist (spc.) Raymond Falco. Yeah. His son is second-in-command. I'm told that after these six weeks of training are over [December 11th is graduation], and after the week of leave [ending the 18th], he is going to be shipped out with us. He has already been overseas! Twice! I hear he was sent back for more training, however. He's only twenty-four!
I know it is too early to say this, but I do not like Spc. Falco one bit. Oh! I should probably describe them for you. Spc. Falco has medium dark brown fur and a light brown face with brown eyes. He is huge! As for Drill Sergeant Cyrus Falco, he has brown fur and brown eyes. He's tall, too!
Anyway, back to why I do not like him: He's downright mean! Called me a lily-livered she-bear! I mean, can you imagine? All I did was ask him a few questions, and he yelled at me! Called me a softie and a rich mama's boy. That makes me so angry.
The next day – the 28th – was hell. We were woken at 0400 (That's four am in military time) to screaming and yelling to get our butts out of bed. They used fouler words that I shall not repeat. Raymond seemed to have fun picking on me, calling me soft and spoiled. We then marched for almost three hours in those uncomfortable boots! At least all we had to wear was sweatpants and a sweatshirt. Glad I didn't have to wear the uniform, as I was still not quite sure how to put it on.
We were taught how to march properly in line, how to follow commands (such as, right-face/left-face, at ease, to the rear, and others). Spc. Falco seems to like to pick on me. He spent almost ten minutes yelling and berating me!
We had breakfast at 0700 in the mess hall. Four sausages, two biscuits, two pieces of toast, a glass of milk, and scrambled eggs. I could get used to that, I suppose. However, we only had thirty minutes to eat! I do not know about you, but I am not used to eating so fast!
Our unit was then taken back to our barrack and made to get changed into our uniforms. I seemed to be the only one having trouble with it. Ray – I'm going to call him Ray, as Raymond or Spc. Falco takes too long, and I don't think he'll ever see this letter anyway – came over and screamed at me to hurry up. I was not used to this! My clothes are usually laid out for me, and I had to find all the pieces.
Finally, I got everything on – which now that I think about it, made me feel foolish, as all I needed was the pants, boots, undershirt, and jacket. Ray never let me forget how slow I was.
We spent the rest of the day running drills. I was exhausted by the time we could go to bed. Lights out were at 2100 (that's 9:00 pm).
The next three days were much the same. Ray yelling at me, his father yelling at me, drills… it's endless. I see why they now call this Hell Week. It never gets easier!
We are going to be put in classes to learn the Seven Army Core Values, which include: Loyalty, Duty, Respect, Selfless Service, Honor, Integrity, and Personal Courage. A good way to learn it is to remember "LDRSHIP" or "Leadership". Cool, right?
Next week we are going to be put into unarmed combat training. I hope I get paired against Spc. Falco. I'd like to kick his ass.
I finally managed to get some time to myself – without being completely exhausted – to write you this letter. I hope you are doing well. I will send this tomorrow.
I love you!
Forever Yours,
Private Henry Dixon Taylor
November 15th, 1971
My Dearest Helena,
I ache all over. I know that's not a great opener, but it's the truth.
I meant to write sooner, as I have gotten both your previous letters – your latest just arrived this afternoon. I thank you for the pictures of you on the horse! Polaroid film?
You look so proud and happy on your horse. And that's great news about Kiki! I swear, I will find some way for her to be brought back to Tennessee.
As for why I'm in pain… Oh, these past ten days were horrible! Drills, drills, drills! We have classes, too; such as how to assemble weapons, strategy, and all sorts of things. We also went into gas chambers with masks and…
I think I made a friend. His name is Michael Kent. He's a human who wears glasses. He's also black. Not that I mind, I mean. He likes to joke around and play pranks on Spc. Ray Falco. The best one was two days ago. While Ray was in the shower, Michael put glue in his boots. He also put glue in the boots of several bears – mine included.
Watching Ray cuss and get all pissed off made tears of laughter fall down my face as he hopped around, trying to pull off his boots in the evening.
Oh, his father was not happy about it and he had to be taken to the infirmary to get the boots removed. We all had to go.
The boots were ruined.
So far, I have not reported him. Though, I wonder if I should… I am not sure right now. I mean, I'm well aware what he did was wrong, but so much good came out of it.
The good news, though, is because of this incident, bears all over the base are breathing sighs of relief as we are told no more boots. I think even Ray looked happy about that.
Drill Sgt. Cyrus Falco, however, was not happy one bit.
Oh, it feels so good to be free and to wiggle my toes. I honestly don't know how humans do it! How can they not like wiggling their toes and feeling the ground beneath their feet? Unreal, man.
You know what I can't wait to get away from? The ever watchful eyes of Drill Sgt. Falco and Spc. Falco. They're watching my every move! Always correcting and yelling. Why can they not instruct us politely? I asked Ray that.
He told me to – and please forgive my language – to "shut the f*ck up and stop being a crybaby. It's about time you man up! No more being a wuss!"
Oh, I wanted to deck him for that.
We will be doing more drills in the morning, unfortunately. However, you know what? I rather like them. Especially the obstacle course. It is challenging, yet enduring. My goal is to beat Ray to the top.
I am a fair sharpshooter, too. Sgt. Falco was impressed by my set – that's military talk for the grouping of accurate shots on a target. Or something like that. Ray just snorted and said I could do better.
Why does he have to be such an ass?
This week we are also covering several other large weaponry, and explosives. I will be as careful as possible.
Ooh! Light's out in five minutes.
My parents came to visit about the same time you left for Nevada. Father was most displeased that I would rather be in the military getting shot up than coming home. He said he could pay for them to let me go. I told him no.
They also wanted to know where I was for the three days you and I drove to Memphis to be wed in the chapel. I did not tell them anything.
I know we are just now truly getting to know each other, Helen. May I be so bold as to ask for the phone number of where you are staying? If I may, I would like to call you.
We can talk properly, then, and I can tell you everything you wish to know about me.
Ray is glaring at me right now, telling me to put away my pen and paper. So good night! And I love you!
Until we meet again,
Private Henry Dixon Taylor
PS. I hope you like the picture I sent you!
November 25th, 1971
Dear Henry,
I'm sorry I haven't written since the eleventh. It's been so hectic! I've been helping out on the farm and watching the little ones once they get out of school – and helping with their homework – that I just haven't had the time to write!
I've also been feeling a little queasy recently. I'm not sure what it is. I think I caught a bug. Er, I mean sickness.
Thanksgiving dinner was a blast! Oh, I've never had so much fun! Well, not in a long time. Aunt Q, Mama, and I were cooking up a storm! We had a large turkey, mashed potatoes, sweet potato casserole, baked salmon, turkey gravy, brown gravy, green beans, cranberries and sauce, blueberry muffins, strawberry muffins, carrots, stuffing, and mince pie. For dessert, we had apple pie, cherry pie, and pumpkin pie! The adults had wine, and us youngens had our fill of punch.
Oh, I am stuffed! I have not eaten so much in such a long time!
After the meal, when we were seated at the table and each said one thing we were thankful for, I told them the truth. I said, "I am thankful for my Bonded, Henry Taylor, and I pray to Ignis and Nuntius that he will be kept safe in the war and come home to me."
Daddy spat out his drink, Mama cried – I like to think tears of joy – while Jacob and Alan looked at me increduolesly. Incredulesly. Incredulously. I hate that word.
Aunt Quemi and Uncle Kiewo began to congratulate me, but then stopped when they saw my parents' expressions.
I'm sorry to say that I excused myself and ran out of the house, grabbing my backpack. No one followed me. I went out to the stables and got on Vesper after getting him saddled (none of the harnesses have bits, thankfully), and just galloped for the hills.
So here I am. Dusk has fallen and I am sitting beneath an apple tree at least half a mile away from the ranch. If not more. Vesper's currently grazing a little ways away, and I have his lead tied to the tree. He has about ten feet of free reign.
I apologize for any wet spots on the paper, as I have been crying. I do not think my parents are happy with what we've done. I am positive they have figured out where I disappeared to after the non-completed ceremony with Jeffery.
I do not know what will happen next. Will they kick me out?
It's so cold, Henry… I can't get warm, though I have all this fur and
…
I'm home now.
Sorry. Daddy showed up, riding Nirvana, a strong, chestnut gelding about nine-years-old and really tall. I don't know how to measure in hands, or how to convert that. Sorry. Nirvana has always been Daddy's horse. He was a gift to Daddy and Mama on their anniversary. They had always talked of bringing him back to Tennessee, but at the moment do not have the money for stable rent.
Anyway. Daddy rode out almost five minutes after I had left, he says, and he's been trailing me for a while. He says Vesper and I rode almost two miles! Can you imagine? Sometimes Daddy had to follow my scent.
While Daddy let Nirvana and Vesper graze, he then sat down beside me. Didn't say anything. Just… sat beside me for a good long while.
Finally, I asked if he hated me. If he and Mama were angry.
He told me that they weren't. They were upset that they could not attend the ceremony, and that we had to run away.
Crying, I told him everything. I do mean everything. From first meeting you in Freshman year, to the horrible date, and so on, all leading up to this point. I couldn't hold back. Well, I held back the part about us after we got married.
He again sat in silence for a while, and then asked the strangest thing.
Am I happy?
I told him, "Yes, I am", and I meant it. It wasn't until that moment that I realized fully that I am completely and utterly in love with you.
I think that, after you return from the war, I should like to marry you. Properly, this time. With a real ceremony near a glen with a trickling stream. Our parents will be there, too! And the rest of our families and friends! My dearest Henry, will you marry me again?
I Will Always Be With You,
Helena Taylor
PS. The number is (214) 324 – 2652
Another one from Helen read:
December 13th, 1971
My Loving Husband,
I stayed up late in order to write you this letter without your knowledge. Currently, you are fast asleep on our bed. Seeing you curled up in the sheets, hugging the body pillow brings a smile to my face.
I must thank Aunt Quemi and Uncle Kiewo for being so understanding to allow us to stay in the same room in their home. They have accepted that we are married, even if my parents do not completely understand. I think I hurt them with not telling them from the start and from lying. Maybe they're worried. After all, you are going to war.
Perhaps they are also worried that we rushed into this. Maybe we have. Every day I worry that something is going to happen and we will no longer love each other.
Especially now that I carry your child.
Pregnant. I am pregnant. I think it has just hit me fully. I am with child. Your child. My child. Our child.
I can hardly believe it. I never thought something like this would happen to me! Married and pregnant. I feel so much older than what I am now. There is so much responsibility I must now live up to. And I have so many questions.
Will it be a girl? Boy? What will he or she look like? Act like? Who will he or she take after? Eye color? Nose color? Will we raise him or her right? Will it be one cub or two? Or even three?
Will we be good parents? I, a good mother?
I suppose these questions will have to wait to be answered until after the birth.
How will I provide? What if you do not return? The thought of that is making me tear up.
I hate to admit it, but I'm scared, Henry. There are so many things that could go wrong.
I'm sorry. I have to end this letter, as I fear my tears are smudging it. I will continue this tomorrow on fresh paper.
Your Loving Wife,
Helena Taylor