Doc comes to visit Paul and Fleur as he searches for…what? Peace of mind? Forgiveness? Direction?
This story continues "The Beginning of Life, post-War." Again, thanks to Tec4Cleveland for her character Joe Caissy and to Kirby's Cowgirl for her wonderful stories about Alex, Kirby, and…Patty.
Combat! is owned by ABC TV. This story is meant only for the enjoyment of Combat! fans, with no intention to infringe on any copyrights, and no monetary compensation has been received.
[ ] indicates French being spoken.
The dust-covered man was traveling light, just a small valise. He climbed wearily up the steps at the side of the house and nearly threw himself backwards when the screen door was suddenly pulled inward. A woman was standing there with a big smile, loudly saying in lightly accented English "Doc! We have been waiting for you! Come in! Come in!"
Taken aback by the warmth of the welcome, Doc followed the woman into the screened porch, where she told him to grab a seat. She would get lemonade and be right back. When she returned Doc said to her, "Ma'm, you seem to know who I am but…who are you?" "Oh," she laughed like that was the funniest thing she had heard all day. "Doc, I am Fleur, Paul's wife—the maker of magic."
Suddenly it all became clear. This was the woman Caje had said worked magic to keep him alive after he was stabbed in the abdomen.
"Well, I'm very glad to meet you, Fleur, but how did you know I was coming?"
"What? You still don't get it? I told Paul two days ago that you were coming our way—I see things, you know!" she said with a warm smile, tapping her finger to her temple. "You must be tired and hungry. Let's get you tidied up then you can rest. Paulie is at the wood shop and will be home for dinner soon."
Fleur ushered Doc into the homey kitchen then showed him upstairs into a small bedroom where a washbasin and pitcher of water were sitting on a chest. "We don't have running water upstairs. Wash up then come back to the kitchen. You can keep me company while I get dinner ready."
Doc looked at himself in the mirror hung over the basin then sighed and shook his head ruefully. What a whirlwind! What had he gotten himself into coming here? After dusting his clothing off as best he could, and washing his face and neck, Doc suddenly heard footsteps thundering up the stairs and a familiar voice calling "Doc! Doc! Where are you?" The bedroom door burst open and Doc was grabbed and lifted off the ground by the normally taciturn man he knew as Caje.
"Oh, my friend! I'm so happy to see you! I've been excited ever since Fleur told me you were coming—like a kid waiting for Christmas! Are you hungry? Let's go eat first, then we will get you settled," all coming out in a single breath.
Fleur was standing at the bottom of the stairs, smiling up at the two men as they came down. 'No,' thought Doc, 'I'm included in the smile but it is directed at Caje—uh, Paulie.'
Dinner was a big platter of chicken and gravy, a bowl of rice and beans, and another bowl of corn maque choux(1. There was a big pitcher of milk on the table.
"Wow! This really looks good, ma'm—I mean Fleur."
"I'm still fattening Paulie up. He lost so much weight after he was injured that he looked like a walking skeleton! We have had to take it slowly but he is getting a belly," she said with a mischievous smile in her husbands direction.
"Hey! non-who is getting the belly?"
"I barely show yet! Wait six months then you can tease me about a big belly and big boobs, too!"
"Let's keep the table talk clean for our guest, p'tite!"
"You are having a baby?! That's wonderful, man! Fleur, I've seen Paul with kids and he will be a good father."
The rest of the meal was spent talking about the house Paul had renovated with the help of his Nonc Pierre and Theo Dubois' Uncle Marcel and about the coming baby.
"Doc, I have to go back to the workshop this afternoon. We have an order for a company in New York City to get ready. Do you want to come with me?"
"Sure. How do we get there? I didn't hear a car."
"Come on, Doc, I'll take you to my yacht." After planting a kiss on Fleur's cheek and whispering something into her ear that made her both smile and blush, Paul grabbed what looked like a Panama hat and the two men hustled out the back door and down a ladder to the dock behind the house to a small pirogue.
The boat was a work of art, made from a single cypress log by Paul's Papére Cadron, his mothers father, many years ago. At 14 feet long, it could be easily handled by one person by poling or paddling. Paul got in first and moved to the stern then had Doc settle amidship. "Don't dangle your hand in the water, Doc—you could lose it to a cocodrie, an alligator!"
"Now, Doc, we are alone." The happy expression Paul had been wearing slowly slid down his face. "Why are you here—for a refuge or to visit your old friend?"
Doc was surprised by the abrupt change of tone. He considered making light of how things have gone but decided there was no point in waffling now. "Well, things haven't worked out as I hoped since I was discharged. I knew I couldn't go back to the store after the war, even if my job was still there—which it wasn't. Medical school…well, I was afraid I would always be considered a 'medic.' I bounced around for a little then became a lay preacher for a while but, after dealing with the petty arguments among the congregation, I realized that even my faith was being challenged."
Slowly, Doc continued to speak, almost as if to himself. "Each time one of you died it tore the heart out of me. I have nightmares about the faces of the boys I couldn't save. They were so young and there were so many of them. I hear them calling to me, to their mother, to God, to help them. They are in my dreams every night. I tried so hard to save them all and it still wasn't enough; it was never enough.
"I spent time in aid stations getting patched up myself. I put myself in harms way everyday, trying to get treatment to you guys as soon as I could. I had to decide who had a chance of making it and who didn't. What I did was called triage—'preliminary assessment of casualties in order to determine the urgency of their need for treatment.' What a horrible way to describe what we went through. When I look back it seems to me that I was playing God deciding who might live and who might die as I was treating them."
Doc's words slowed even more, as if he was still searching for the words he needed to say. "There were times when the safety of the squad had to be weighed against the welfare of one soldier, like I had to do with you. I took the choice that I knew could kill you—I decided you could die if it saved the squad. Every day I have had to live with the choice I made and it has been eating me up. I guess that's partly why I'm here, to tell you I'm sorry so…yeah—I'm looking for forgiveness."
"Doc—I can't keep calling you that! What is your name, anyway?"
"It's Tom, Tom Hardy."
"Tom—Doc…you did what I asked and what had to be done. I was in so much pain that I was putting everyone—you, Kirby, even myself—in danger. You had to do it and we both knew it then, just like we know it now. You don't need my forgiveness. I'm alive. I made it home. Best of all, I have a wife and a baby on the way. You don't need my forgiveness but deserve my thanks!
"You might find what you are looking for here. You are welcome to stay with us until you get your feet back under you. I could use your help working on the house before the baby gets here.
Life is pretty simple here, Tom. There is a cycle to everything that will sweep you up and help you heal. I know this."
Having bared his soul, Tom asked "But what about you, Ca…Paul? How are you adjusting to civilian life?"
"It was very hard when I first got back. I was very weak after the surgeries and infection after infection. I felt like I was fading away in the hospital and then, when I got home, I was fighting battles with my father. He is a very stubborn man and he wasn't happy about my marrying Fleur."
"Well, that's just crazy. She seems wonderful," replied Doc.
"C'est vrai—that's true. She is. She is also what I guess you could call old style Cajun. She believes in magic and herbal medicine, prefers to speak French, and is my wife. My papa is much more 'anglicized' now after all his years working for an 'English' company. He calls her rustique, countrified.
"He wanted me to take a job he had arranged at an architectural firm but I can't work in an office. I'm only truly happy on the bayou or in my nonc's(2 wood shop."
While the men were talking the pirogue had drifted along on the gentle current. "Here we are, in fact. Be careful getting out of the boat or you will get us both wet!"
"Ai, Paulie! How was dinner and the fair Fleur? And who did you find?" called the older man from the door of the wood shop as the men climbed up from the dock.
"Nonc, this is my friend Tom. He used to be 'Doc' and he kept me alive many times in France. Tom, this is my Nonc, my Uncle Pierre, the brother of my father. Tom has come to get his head straight."
"You are in the right place then, Tom. Can you do woodwork? No? Well, we will start slow and teach you the way of the wood, eh, Paulie?" as he nudged Paul in the ribs. "Oh sorry! Too hard?" as Paul winced.
After several months, Tom sat down one evening to write another friend.
Dear Saunders,
It has been a long time since I last wrote you but I want to update you on life here in Louisiana. I got here about six months ago and was looking for a refuge, as Caje had written in his note to the squad. I'm getting ready to move on. I feel like I have gotten a better handle on what is and isn't important.
Caje, or Paulie, as they call him here, is doing pretty well. He works with his uncle making high quality wood furniture. When he isn't in the wood shop, he hunts and fishes in the bayou. His wife, Fleur, is a real piece of work. She is fierce and loving and heavily pregnant. The baby is due in the next week or so. It would be easy to underestimate her but don't be fooled. She is very smart and very scary. She seems to know what you are thinking almost before you do.
Physically, he is still frail. He aged a lot after he was stabbed. His incisions are large and still raw. All the scars on his body are nothing compared to the scars on his mind. He seems to be very careful to not let those scars appear when he is with Fleur but when he is in the bayou hunting, the Cajun we knew comes out as he moves through the swamp.
This is a hard country. There is a creek right outside the back door but I don't want to swim in it because there are alligators. There are poisonous snakes. Wild boars. Bugs. Lizards. The moss on the trees has chiggers in it. The heat and humidity are awful. It doesn't cool off at night. Some of the rural people use boats to go from place to place because there is so much swamp. It's harsh. It is also very beautiful and unlike anyplace I have ever seen.
Unless you think it is all hard work, they also know how to party here. The three of us and Pierre went to a "fay dough dough." (I'm spelling what I hear them saying.) There was music, dancing, and a lot of food and beer. It was really something to see, all these hard working people cutting loose. The music is fast, with a fiddle, guitar, and accordion. Mardi Gras was a riot on horseback.
Paul is much closer to his Uncle Pierre and his grandfather LeMay than he is to his father. Theo Dubois' uncle might as well be part of the family, too. He is in and out of the house as often as Uncle Pierre.
Paul's mother is kind and loving but dominated by her husband. She is looking forward to Paul's baby but she isn't close to Fleur. If her husband would lighten up and accept Fleur their relationship could improve a lot, I think. As it is, Paul's father refuses to visit either Paul's and Pierre's homes. It is his loss but I know it weighs on Paul.
His sister is married to a nice guy and they have a cute little boy. She is level-headed and has some idea of what Paul went through, thanks to their uncle. He was a lieutenant in WWI and experienced quite a bit in the trenches as well as prejudice against Cajuns. We both know that Caje had some of that, too. Joe Caissy is here, too—remember him? They are good friends.
I like to think I have earned my keep while I've been here. We added an outdoor boiler for laundry and an outdoor shower. I've learned to do basic woodworking and plumbing. I've gardened until my back gave out; fought off attacking roosters; hunted wild boar; built fences—well, you get it. The work is nothing, though, compared to the warmth and hospitality of everyone I've met. These are good people.
When I leave here after the baby is born, I will stay in Louisiana. I like it here. I won't go too far away in case Fleur needs me one of these days. Oh—and I have been writing to Patty, that nurse I met during the war. She is encouraging me to apply to medical school in New Orleans.
Saunders, you should come. Paul needs you, even if he doesn't know it. It would be good for both of you, I think.
Your friend,
Tom
(1 Maque Choux is a Cajun dish of corn and peppers sautéed in bacon fat.
(2 "Nonc" is the Cajun word for uncle.