AWAKENING, CHAPTER 7: SHAKEN UP, SETTLING DOWN

This chapter covers a lot of ground during the time when Peter is living with Hogan in London. All the themes in this chapter will be revisited later in the story. I was trying to move it along so that we can get back to Paris and the heart of the story in the next chapter. If anything is confusing, please let me know!

October 1945

Visits from his mates helped Peter find his footing. LeBeau stayed for the month of August; Carter overlapped for a week and remained until the first week in September, when he was off to the fall semester at Indiana University on the G.I. Bill. Kinch wanted to come, but he too was pursuing a higher education on the G.I. Bill, and spent much of August moving himself to Atlanta, where he was taking up engineering studies at Morehouse College.

Closeness to Hogan helped too. They shared meals, played cards, kicked around a football, and argued over the merits of baseball versus cricket.

One October afternoon, they motored up to Norfolk with Mavis to visit Peter's sisters, Annie, Eliza and Helen, their growing brood of children, his brother Neddie, and his Mum. He fell into his mother's arms and barely left her side for two days.

That evening, in the car for the journey home, Peter was silent, lost in thought. Mavis had stayed on for two more nights, so it was just Peter and Hogan.

Hogan looked on and worried as he drove. To Peter, Norfolk might as well be the moon. It was far away and he had no desire to spend any time there. But the news he had received—well, that might as well be another galaxy.

Mum and Neddie were leaving in January, immigrating to Australia with Helen and her husband Jim and their two little boys. "A new start," they told him, and he had no doubt his Mum needed it. Her eyes were haunted by loss, and so were Neddie's. But the conversation with Helen had taken an unexpected twist that left Peter angry.

"Nora's decided not to go, Peter. She's doing well in Bournemouth with Auntie, and she's working in her button and bows shop," Nellie told him. "But you can come if you want to do. Give us six months to get settled before you come out, and in the meantime you can start your paperwork."

Peter shook his head sadly as he sat holding his older sister's hand. "I wwwaited so long to get back to London, love. I don't want to leave. And if Nora and Mavis are staying… and at least the other girls are here in Norfolk…"

"I know," Nellie said, stroking his cheek. "This is your home. And I hear you've got quite a nice living arrangement with that attractive general of yours," she added. "He's an important man, he is." She paused. "Peter, his interest in you… well why did he bring you to live with him?"

"I was on his team at the Stalag," Peter said. "He was my commanding officer for three years, and when they found out I was underage he became my guardian." He couldn't explain all that their association meant, how much they'd done to bring the war to an end, or how closely their little team had grown, or how Hogan had come to be a father to him.

"Does he take in everybody who was on his team, then?" Helen asked.

"No, of course not… Wh-what? What are you saying, Nell?"

"It's just that you're a handsome young boy, and he's an unmarried, wealthy man. He's not taking advantage of you, is he, Peter?" she whispered.

"Of, of course he isn't! He's the Gov, he is! He would never! Blimey, Nell." Peter dropped her hand and stood. "Mavis!" he called out. "Talk to Helen!" She came toward him, and he brushed against her for a moment, hurt obvious in his eyes.

"Tell her about Colonel Hogan," he said, resting a hand on Mavis's arm. "Tell her how he saved me bloody life when there was no one else to help me. Tell her he's my dad, not… not anything else." Then he walked off, hurt and angry, toward Hogan, who wrapped an arm around Peter and looked over his shoulder as Mavis laced into her sister.

"What did you say to Peter, Helen?" Mavis demanded.

"It's Jim what brought it up, Mavis," Helen said spitefully. "He's seen plenty of that type in the Navy. Going after a young boy like Peter—it's a disgrace."

"There's nothing of the kind going on, Nell," Mavis said. "Peter needed a father, and General Hogan has stepped into the breach. That's all it is. Peter joined the RAF when he was still a child, Nellie. He's been in battle, he's been a POW, and he's been very ill. He needs time to have the life he never had. And he's staying right here in England with the General and Alan and Nora and me looking after him. Australia's much too far away."

"But you and Alan are going to Canada! And Nora can't look after anyone!" Her voice dropped. "And I still don't buy what you're selling me."

"I'm not leaving for two more years, and I'll take them both with me if they want to go," Mavis said. "It's their decision, no one else's. And I'm not going to sink to your level and answer questions like that. Peter may be young, but he knows his own mind."

"Not even Mum gets to have a word about this? Because she's worried sick over Peter's... situation too! It don't look right, Mave."

"Only because Jim is poisoning her mind," Mavis spat. "Helen, it's their decision about Australia. Only Nora and Peter can decide. They're both over eighteen now," she said simply, and she didn't have to spell out what she was thinking. Everyone knew that as much as his Mum loved Peter, and as much as he adored her back, he'd always been Mavis's little boy to look after. Mum had ten children. She had always been too busy for the ones in the middle—the twins, Peter and Nora. If Peter had to choose, he would pick Mavis, and Nora would choose Aunt Betty.

When Peter and Hogan left a half hour later, Helen and Jim had gone for a long walk. There wasn't a chance to say goodbye.

"Mavis should have come back with us," Peter muttered as they rumbled through twilight along the country lanes en route to London.

Hogan sighed. "She's trying to reason with them, Peter, and set them straight."

"Jim Skeffington has a dirty mind, saying things like that about us," Peter said.

Hogan kept quiet; he needed to think. It hadn't occurred to him that anyone would look askance at his decision to give Peter a home in quite that way. Taking Peter in was still the right thing to do, and he knew it.

"Unfortunately, Peter, there are things we can't tell anyone about our role in the war. If we could, it would probably explain a lot. The brass understands exactly why you're living with me. So does Mavis. So do our friends. But…"

"But my family is ignorant and thick," Peter said bitterly.

"No, Peter," Hogan sighed. "They just don't have complete information, and we can't give it to them. So they make assumptions." He drove along quietly, then added, "Mavis will set them straight."

"I know she will. She won't put up with any lies about either of us," Peter said. "She knows what you and Louis have done for me, Sir."

"That's why she stayed, Peter. To talk things through with your family. To smooth things over. We'll fetch her from train on Tuesday."

"At Liverpool Street Station," Peter said. "Could we have a look about the East End, Sir?"

"Of course, Peter," Hogan said. "You can show me around."

XXX

December 1945

The air was crisp and thin with the smell of winter, and Peter was accompanying Hogan to visit his family in Connecticut. It was his decision; the prospect of a three-week separation from Hogan left him uneasy, and Alan and Mavis were heading to Canada for a month's visit. So Peter and Mavis worked it all out. They traveled together via ocean liner to New York, two weeks before Christmas, crossing the choppy Atlantic in five days. After a night in the city, Mavis and Alan set off by train to Ottawa, but Peter and Hogan remained for five days. Hogan had promised a special visitor.

He arrived by train from Atlanta, and greeted Peter with an all-enveloping bear hug. It was Kinch.

Hogan's position permitted him to travel in style, and he and Peter were booked into adjoining rooms at The Plaza. Peter had finally overcome his wariness about having a room to himself and had learned to enjoy it.

Kinch was at the Hotel Theresa in Harlem, and brought them there for dinners in the spectacular two-story glass-walled dining room. The first night, they recognized Duke Ellington across the room; the next night, Billy Eckstine, Earl Hines, and Sarah Vaughan sat at the next table. By the third night, Hogan was wondering aloud why they weren't all staying at the Hotel Theresa, and saying good riddance to The Plaza.

"You have a choice, Sir," Kinch replied. "I don't. This is a great hotel, but all things being equal, I'd rather have a choice."

"Why can't you stay at The Plaza?" Peter asked, looking puzzled.

"Peter, they don't let Negroes stay there," Kinch replied.

"Why? Your money is as good as anyone else's," Peter protested.

"We know that, Peter, and they know that too," Hogan said quietly. "Some people are just very opposed to mixing of the races." He turned to Kinch and said forcefully, "It can't last. Some of us are working to end segregation in the military."

"I'm glad to hear that, Sir. Civil rights are something we talk about all the time at Morehouse. Our president, Dr. Benjamin Mays, well, he is a visionary. You know, there's this kid in some of my classes—he's only sixteen and he really should still be in high school, but they let some exceptional students start college early to keep enrollment up during the war. And does this young man ever have a passion for justice and a gift for oratory! You should hear him sometime. His name's King and it can be hard to believe that he's so young."

"I've known a few people that I couldn't believe were so young," Hogan said with a grin.

Peter smiled at the compliment, but he knew Kinch was talking with reverence about a very different sort of skill than the ones a Cockney thief possessed. "He's sixteen and at university? Blimey, he must be something special."

"I'm pretty sure he is," Kinch said. "One thing I've learned for sure is that you should never underestimate someone because of their age."

"Or anything else," Peter added firmly.

XXX

Hogan's mother was in love. Hogan was pretty sure it was the accent, but Anne Hogan assured him it was something more. "He brings out the best in you, Robert," she teased her eldest child. "You were horrible to your sisters and brother growing up, but the way he looks up to you—it's obvious you've matured, dear."

"Oh, that's really nice, Mom," Hogan ribbed her back, pecking her cheek as he said it. "I'm thirty-seven and I'm a general, for crying out loud. I hope I've matured."

"That's what I've been saying for years," she shot back. "No, truthfully, dear, I can see you've had a good influence on him. And he is a very sweet boy."

A sweet boy. Those weren't words Hogan would have used about acid-tongued Peter Newkirk, the consummate thief and scoundrel, when they met in 1942. But the words happened to be true. Under that surface of toughness, there was a complicated person with an overriding need to be loved and accepted. It was as if he'd been saving up his trust for years before finally bestowing it on Hogan and LeBeau.

Hogan had confided in his mother about everything he could—Peter's age, his desperate home circumstances, his struggle with his stutter, his yearning for fathers and brothers to help him along, the illnesses that nearly killed him late in the war, the devastating loss of his sister, his brother and his home, his difficult relationship with several family members. And their first meeting.

"Ten years old and a pickpocket. Imagine how desperate his life must have been, Robert," Mrs. Hogan said softly. "Thanks be to God that we never had to struggle to support our children. Desperation can befall any poor child."

"The coincidence of running into him again is what gets me," Hogan said.

"Oh, there are no coincidences, dear," Mrs. Hogan said. "You were supposed to meet him then so you could understand him now, and so you could help him." She smiled. ""It's a pity you didn't get to Mavis before that Alan Puckett fellow did. It sounds like you're as crazy about her as Peter is." She stopped again, and continued without hesitation. "I'm looking forward to the day when you have children of your own, Robert, and God knows you've made me wait, but you've done very well in the meantime. My first Hogan grandson!"

"His name's Newkirk, Mom," Hogan reminded.

"It doesn't matter to me. He's your son," Mrs. Hogan said. "Anyone can see that."

XXX

January 1946

Peter and Mavis took a train to Southampton, where they met up with Aunt Betty and Nora to see the rest of the family off at the dock. The Newkirk children took turns holding back tears while their mother cried in their arms. Peter pulled Neddie aside for a talk.

"I know you miss Georgie, Ned," Peter said. "It's alright to miss him."

"I'm fifteen years old. I can't be crying for my little brother," Neddie said, his pride showing.

"Yes, you can. I've just turned twenty, and I cry about him," Peter said.

"You're twenty? When did that happen?" Neddie said in surprise.

"Three days before Christmas, when I was in America," Peter said. "They gave me a party."

"Jim says you've landed like a pig in shit, mate," Neddie said. "Can't say he's wrong."

Peter wasn't sure. He knew he'd been very lucky, and he was grateful. But it hurt to feel so displaced. Everyone in his family was either aching or lost in their own world. Only Mavis and Nora had time for him; only they remembered his birthday. Not even Mum had sent a card or mentioned it. He was grateful Mrs. Hogan had made such a fuss, even preparing a cake with pink strawberry icing because she'd heard it was his favorite.

"Jim's not right about everything, Neddie," Peter said. "You don't have to try and be like him. Be your own man."

"I ain't got no one else to look up to," Ned said. Then he looked embarrassed. "Well, of course, I have you, but you're not going to be there, are you? I'll have to take my chances with Jim Skeffington."

XXX

He was sick again. The coughing had started in the wee hours of the night. Hogan ventured up to Peter's room and found him shaking with chills as a fever set in, but it was the wheezing that made him send for the doctor.

"The epinephrine works quickly, but you already know that," the doctor told Peter as he gasped for air. "Just relax." He slid a needle into a vein, and within minutes Peter's breathing was a purr, not a rumble. He sank into the pillows in relief.

"It's bronchitis, and at this time I don't suspect pneumonia," the doctor said, listening intently through a stethoscope. He patted Peter's shoulder. "Recovery takes time, soldier," he said. "The winter is the hardest time for those with lung conditions."

"I d-don't have a lung condition," Peter said. "J-just a bit under the weather is all."

The doctor shot a look at Hogan. "A week's bed rest. I'll leave instructions for steam treatments. And if he has another asthma attack, contact me immediately."

April 1946

"It's just three months, Peter. You can come with me," Hogan said.

"Why do you have to go at all?" Peter asked, the rising anxiety imparting a higher pitch to his voice. "I was j-j-just getting used to things the way they are."

"Nothing has to change. This is temporary. Everyone at my level rotates through the Pentagon at some point. You understand that, don't you?"

"I suppose so. I just… I just started making some friends."

"Philip and Tim. I know," Hogan said.

"Yes, and Dottie too," Peter said. "And Mrs. Holtzman. And I don't want to leave Mavis. I like to have tea with her every Friday. And I couldn't call Nora on the phone every week from America."

"You could stay with Mrs. Holtzman here in the house if you really want to, Peter," Hogan said. "But I did have another idea, in case you didn't want to come with me. And I've already talked it over with LeBeau. How does a summer in Paris sound to you?"

Notes:

I learned about The Hotel Theresa in Harlem by researching "The Negro Motorist Greenbook," which was a guide to safe travel for African Americans at a time when it was very common for them to be arrested arbitrarily or refused food or lodging while traveling. Especially if they had the nerve to travel by car! You can find these guides online for free.

Morehouse College was known at one time as "The Negro Harvard." It is one of the most prestigious of the historically black colleges and universities in the US, and I thought Kinch should find his way there. Dr. Benjamin Mays was the president of Morehouse College from 1940 to 1967, and he mentored a young man named Martin Luther King Jr., who entered Morehouse at age 15 under a wartime (1944) program that admitted high school juniors and seniors who passed a rigorous exam. It was a way of filling seats during the war. Morehouse played an important role in shaping leaders of the civil rights movement.