Distribution Ch. 04

"Now you've ruined it for me. I won't be able to sleep a wink after hearing you speak of urges. I get urges too, you know?"

"Did you have something to tell me, or did you just want to hear my voice?"

"I don't know if I should tell you this, Brian."

"Come on, don't keep me in suspense."

"It's your girlfriend. I was taking the trash out when I saw her coming down the stairs from the loft."

"That's interesting. Did she see you?"

"She made some excuse about having business with Mr. Leach."

"What's wrong with that? They do business at her bank."

"Brian, it was nine-thirty on Saturday night. Doesn't she have a kid? It made me wonder if she hired a babysitter so she could visit a bank customer on Saturday night."

"I see your point. She may have taken Tommy to his grandparents."

"Are you making excuses for her?"

"Actually, Henry, I don't give a shit if she visits one of the Leach brothers. She called here the other night and made a stink when she found out Ms. Kindle is sleeping on the second floor. I told Marian that Ms. Kindle is married and the mother of two, but just yesterday I found out differently."

I'm sure that Henrietta had wise-ass comments that she could have made, but she must have heard the sincerity in my voice. She knew me well enough to know that if I said Ms. Kindle was sleeping on the second floor, there was no more to it than that.

"Do you want me to tell you if I see Marian fooling around with Mr. Leach?"

"It might be interesting to compare notes, especially if she calls me again."

Henrietta laughed, and said she would keep her eyes peeled for activity on the second floor.

Charlie got the pump to work at eleven AM on Sunday morning. "I don't know how long it will hold," he said.

I called home and apologized for not calling sooner. Amanda sounded incredibly understanding, and I could tell that she had coached Phillip to act the same way.

"We know that you have an important job to do, Dad. Aunt Ginny says that you have something to prove to your mom and dad."

"I hadn't thought of it that way, but Ginny may be right. Thanks for not asking when I'm coming home."

"Did you find any more money?" Phillip asked.

"No, but I'll keep my eyes open," I laughed.

I told them to kiss their grandmother and to be good. They said they would.

I cleaned up, and drove to a mall where I found clothes that would be suitable to wear to the cookout the next day.

After writing a very conservative statement outlining the funds available for distribution to the heirs of the estate, I settled on one of the remaining pieces of furniture in the living room and opened the packet of letters. I soon learned that Elsie had not kept her promise to write to him every day, but he often commented that weekly letters were worth the wait.

October 2, 1944

My Dearest Bunny,

You don't mind my calling you by your nickname, do you? Mackey sounds so formal.

I miss you! I miss your crooked smile and the way you frowned when I told you that I wanted to wait until you return before I gave you an answer. How I wish I'd said yes.

There are other things that I would have done differently if I'd had my wits about me. For one thing, I would have had sex with you a lot sooner and more often. I miss your cock and the way it felt inside me.

Bunny, do you remember the time we made love on the blanket? You had taken one bite out of a sandwich when I told you that I wanted you inside me. I saved the sandwich because it shows your teeth marks, but mama says its showing signs of mold and she's going to take it out of the refrigerator soon.

Be a good boy, and come back to me. I promise that it will be different the next time we go on a picnic. You'll see. I've been practicing on a banana...watch me blush.

Take care, my Love.

Your Elsie.

I felt like I was trespassing on sacred ground, but I couldn't help reaching for the next letter in the stack.

October 7, 1942

My Sweet Elsie,

The arrival of your letter was like seeing an oasis in the distance. After finishing a five mile march, I couldn't wait to rip the envelope open and drink the nourishment of your words.

Five miles may not sound like a long distance, but when more than half if it is done while crawling through barbed wire on your stomach, it can be quite exhausting.

Fortunately, I don't have to join tomorrow's activities. The old man wants me to defend some boys that were caught trying to sneak out of camp. I'll have the morning to prepare for the case, and will appear with the defendants at two PM. The court martial should not take long. They'll be convicted, but will receive suspended sentences because we need every man in the company.

That's enough about me. I think of the picnic often, and I wouldn't want to change a thing. I have fond memories of the way you grinned at me as you seductively undressed us. That special way the tip of your tongue extended through your lips as you pulled my skivvies down will always be indelibly ingrained in my mind. It's like my ace in the hole. I have no way of describing the way it helps me through tough spots. You can be assured that I will be thinking of your tongue when I'm defending those boys tomorrow.

I count the days until we can be together.

My enduring love,

Your Bunny

I kept reading. His letters ranged from hilarious descriptions of the training that he was undergoing to the horrific side of things he'd witnessed. He described his company as a mixture of grisly veterans, men who told gruesome stories about the fighting on the Pacific islands, to young kids, boys that believed everything they heard. Mackey was not a member of either group. He'd been in the Army for over two years, experienced nothing like what the veterans described, but was smart enough to sidestep conflict. His counsel was sought by the old and the young alike. The old man called him a book-soldier.

By January of 1945, Elsie was letting fear of the unknown slither into her letters. The night before he was to ship out, he tried to reassure her that he would return to her. That was the last letter she received for three months, and she was beside herself with anguish.

March 27, 1945

My Sweet Elsie,

I've written several letters in the past month, but I know this one stands a good chance of making it on a mail boat headed for home.

Don't be alarmed. It could have been a lot worse. The Marines took the brunt of it. We didn't go ashore until late that first night. The old guys were great. They paired off with the young kids, and kept up constant chatter until the old man told us to shut up. I'd be the first to admit though; it was pretty scary in the dark. The sound from the big guns seemed to be coming from the hills, but I couldn't be sure if they were ours or the enemy's.

We made it to the undergrowth and dug in, only to be told to keep moving. We did that twice more before we were told to settle in for the night. The next morning we took casualties from an aerial attack. It took out our radioman and one of the old guys, just missing the Major. He called me up to where he was and told me to take over the radio. If it hadn't been that I'd just witnessed death for the first time, the rest of this letter would sound like a comedy of errors.

Do you remember my telling you that I once applied for radio school? Well, that's what was going through my mind when the old man told me to learn how to operate it...and fast. Fortunately, the radioman had lost control of the radio when he was hit. I found it a few yards away from his body, and like any skilled technician would do, I shook it to see if it worked. I looked for a book, and found none, I had to wing it.

The main thing a radioman needs to know is the jargon. I got yelled at by the forward commander until I learned to repeat everything he said, verbatim, and as loud as my voice would allow. It was over a week later when he found out that I'd had no previous experience working the radio. You see, we are bunkmates in the hospital. Colonel Devon recognized my voice and I recognized his.

I'll write again soon. The Colonel wants his bandages changed. I'll pretend to change them. You see, he doesn't know his left foot is missing. He doesn't know he's blind, either.

I told you it could be worse. I still have my limbs and my sight.

There's nothing to worry about, my love.

Your Bunny

Needing to take a break from the letters, I tied the ribbon around the bundle, and opened my laptop. Ms. Dickens wrote that the attachment was only one of many articles about the death of Paige Kindle's husband.

The newspaper article was dated October 12, 2004. The account of the killing was brief and hard to read. Patrick Kindle, an attorney, was caught in the crossfire between two gangs that were believed to be battling over territorial rights. The article went on to say that Mr. Kindle was a husband and the father of two children.

I had a lot of things on my mind when I tried to go to sleep that night. Uppermost, was the hope that the pump would keep working until we connected the house to town water. My mind drifted to Marian, and what Henrietta had said about seeing her leaving the loft above the café and hardware store. There were also the love letters between Mackey and Elsie. Also, what was Ms. Kindle's husband doing in a part of the city where gang fights took place? What put me to sleep though was the thought of the Labor Day cookout.