Mrs. Lieutenant: A Sharon Gold Novel Read online

  Robert pulls his wallet out of his back pocket and hands over his driver's license.

  "From Chicago," the officer reads.

  Can he tell they are Jewish? Will he throw the book at them because he hates Jews? They are in the South now, and everyone knows about prejudiced Southerners.

  The officer leans closer, cigarette smoke pulsating off his uniform. "Now why were you doing 60 in a 40-mile-per-hour zone?"

  Robert squirms. "I didn't realize the speed limit had dropped, sir."

  "Yep, you're right outside Louisville" – he pronounces it Loullville like her grandmother – "and this here is a speed trap." He grins, stretching his suntanned face.

  "Then you caught us," Robert says.

  The officer peers into the car, stuffed with all their things. "Where you folks going?"

  "To Ft. Knox, sir."

  The officer smiles again. "The Golds going to the gold."

  What does he mean? Oh, yes, the gold at Ft. Knox.

  "Reporting for active duty – Armor Officers Basic," Robert says.

  "An officer, huh?"

  "Yes, sir."

  The police officer straightens up and gestures down the road to Louisville.

  "If you promise to follow the posted signs from now on,” he says, “I'll let you off this time. Have to support our boys in uniform."

  KIM – I – May 4

  President Nixon calls student protestors "bums" and those fighting in Vietnam the "greatest"... May 1, 1970

  “If the wife is well informed as to what is expected of her, the probability is greater that the officer will have an easier and more successful career.” Mrs. Lieutenant booklet

  Kim Benton places her pet white rat Squeaky in his metal cage under the sagging bed and out of Jim's sight. It is a small motel room, and it smells of hair spray and shaving cream and liquor and sex. Tomorrow if they are lucky they'll find an apartment.

  When they crossed the state line today into Virginia, Jim leaned over and kissed her. "Welcome to being out of North Carolina for the first time," he said.

  She hadn't felt any excitement, just anxiety. And the anxiety had less to do with the new state, she knows, than with the reason for the move.

  She glances into the bathroom, where Jim stands shaving, his serious, good-looking face reflected in the mirror. She refused his parents' offer to stay with them while Jim drove up here to Ft. Knox and found housing. His parents have the same fear of Northerners that she does. They thought it would be better if Jim made all the arrangements before subjecting Kim to such changes. It took a lot for her to say no to their offer, especially with Jim encouraging her to accept.

  She waited once before, a long time ago, for the most important people in her life to return from a short trip. They hadn't. And now she can't bear to be separated from her husband, even for a few days. For a moment her mind darts to the terrifying thought of a year's separation if he is sent to Vietnam. Just as quickly she thinks of something else, anything else, to prevent the pounding headache that always accompanies her deepest fears.

  "Honey, I'm ready," Jim says as he comes out of the bathroom.

  He must have seen the expression on her face, because he puts his arms around her. "Everything's going to be fine."

  She smiles up at him. "You're bleeding. Did you nick yourself shaving?"

  She raises her hand to wipe away the blood. But before she can, he says, "Let's just go."

  The blood droplet hits the floor as she follows him. No need to stop and wipe it up; it doesn't even show among all the other stains.

  In the car Kim reaches for the map as Jim starts the engine. "I know where to go, honey," he says. He backs the car out of the motel lot and turns towards Ft. Knox.

  The air still drips the heat of the day. Kim brushes perspiration off her forehead and searches the sky for signs of rain.

  "It was sure nice of our preacher to arrange this introduction," Jim says. He hums a tune, something familiar, perhaps a church hymn, she can’t quite recognize it.

  Actually, this meeting worries Kim. The preacher of their Southern Baptist church contacted a captain and his wife from their hometown stationed at Ft. Knox. The couple wrote Kim and Jim inviting them for dinner this first night. Bill and Susanna Norris are a few years older than she and Jim, so she and Jim don't know them. Will Kim embarrass herself with her ignorance?

  "They live in post housing for officers – but it's not really on the post," Jim explains as he turns away from the sign pointing to the entrance to Ft. Knox. "We won't be seeing the actual Ft. Knox tonight."

  Kim isn't disappointed. She is in no rush to see an army post.

  It's not yet dark, and she can clearly see the houses they drive past. The ranch-style semi-detached red-brick buildings look nice, with kids' bikes in the driveway and an occasional small camper parked in front. Trees and some scraggly flowers break up the monotony of identical lawns.

  Jim stops in front of one of the buildings. When they reach the front door, a sign announces "Captain William Norris."

  A little girl of about three with two brown braids and a pink gingham dress stands in the open door. Right behind her comes a woman with shoulder-length blond hair and a cotton patterned dress covering a plump body. "Welcome to Ft. Knox," she says. "I'm Susanna Norris. Bill will be right here. He's just chasin' Billy Jr. 'round the yard out back. And this is Patty."

  "Hello," Kim says.

  Patty says nothing.

  "Patty, mind your manners! Say hello to Mrs. Benton," her mother says.

  Patty still says nothing as they all walk into the living room. She's shy Kim thinks.

  "Patty! Pay attention to me!" Susanna's voice increases in volume. She grabs Patty by the arm. "Say hello."

  "'ello," Patty says, then sits down next to her mother on the couch.

  Susanna smiles at Jim and Kim. "We expect our children to have good manners. I was raised without parents but I know how important manners are."

  "Sure are," Jim says.

  Relief edges up Kim's chest. Thank heavens Jim doesn't say anything more.

  Susanna nods in appreciation of Jim seconding her opinion. "My daddy died when I was just Patty's age and my brother was as little as Billy Jr.," Susanna says. "My mama had what my granny called a drinkin' condition."

  Susanna twists around to Patty. "Stop that wigglin'," she says, slapping Patty on the arm. "Now sit still."

  Kim's stomach wobbles. Patty hasn't been doing anything wrong. How quiet can a little girl sit?

  Susanna turns back to them. "One day my mama just didn't come on home. My granny raised us as best she could, but she wasn't one for talkin' to kids or showin' any love."

  Has slapping her own daughter shown love?

  "Hello, everyone, I'm Bill Norris," says a tall thin man coming into the room with a baby boy in his arms. The roly-poly child is as blond as his father and mother. Where does Patty get her brown hair?

  Jim immediately stands. "Good evening, Captain Norris."

  The man waves Jim back to his seat. "Just call me Bill. We're informal here at home."

  Kim smiles her hello.

  "Can I get you anything to drink?"

  "No, sir, we're fine," Jim answers for both of them.

  Susanna turns to Bill. "The chicken and dumplin's will be ready in a few minutes. We're just gettin' to know each other."

  "It was very nice of you to have us for dinner," Jim says.

  "Our pleasure," Bill says.

  Jim glances at Kim, his eyebrows raised. He wants her to say something.

  "How did you two meet?" she asks.

  Susanna beams, taking Billy Jr. from her husband's arms and bouncing him on her knees.

  "We met in senior year of high school. His folks had just moved to town. It was love at first sight..." – she glances at her husband – "... and a way to escape my granny's house."

  "I was just as poor and ignorant as she was, but I was enlisting in the army right after high school graduation. I had a f
uture." Bill grins.

  "We got married on a two-day leave from basic training," Susanna says as Billy Jr. gurgles his appreciation of the horsey ride. "I got pregnant on our weddin' night. Neither one of us knew a darn thing about sex or birth control."

  Again that flush of relief. Kim could have been as ignorant as Susanna on her own wedding night.

  "What did you do?" Kim asks.

  "Bought a washin' machine and dryer. Bill got to go to OCS – Officers Candidate School. I took in wash from the other men and it helped support me and the baby."

  Jim turns to Bill. "Weren't you worried about your wife talking to all those single men? You never know what single men might be after."

  A stab of pain above her left eye. Please may he not start.

  Bill leans forward as if he can see through Jim, then he says, "I'm talking about my buddies. In OCS – OCS is hell on wheels, 120 days of pure hell – you can't survive if you can't trust your buddies and they can't trust you. There's a motto – 'Cooperate and graduate.' You'd do well to remember that." He leans back.

  "And once I finished OCS it was better. We had more money on a second lieutenant's salary and we were entitled to housing. Susanna could stop doing laundry for the men."

  Mercifully Susanna turns to her husband before Jim can say anything more. "Then you went to Vietnam and I was left alone with a baby who cried all the time."

  Bill stands up and grins. "That's what army wives put up with. Now let's eat before we scare these newcomers. Jim won't have to think about a Vietnam tour for a while."

  He turns to the two of them. "You can both enjoy your time at Ft. Knox."

  DONNA – I – May 4

  At Kent State University R.O.T.C. building attacked and burned to the ground ... May 2, 1970

  “Your knowledge and practice of Army customs will enable you to eliminate and avoid many misunderstandings and uncertain moments that are apt to arise when you unintentionally disregard a practice or custom because of lack of knowledge or uncertainty.” Mrs. Lieutenant booklet

  The reflection of the oval-shaped face with its slightly brownish skin tone in the bathroom mirror is certainly her own Donna Lautenberg thinks. Yet her face doesn't give away any hints as to how she feels, standing here like this, anticipating her husband's first day of active duty. It isn't that she's having deja vu. It's just that she feels … different, a shiver of apprehension running up her back.

  Will she fit in? Can she play by a whole new set of rules? After all those years of being an "army brat" of an enlisted man will she finally be accepted now that she is married to an Anglo and an officer, or will she still be a Puerto Rican outsider?

  She continues to study her face, the face that reminds her of the other important people in her life, the face that reminds her of where she's come from. She'll write her brother tomorrow. She won't tell him about her fears of fitting in. He has enough to worry about.

  "This apartment's not bad," Jerry says, coming into the bathroom behind her and putting his arms around her. He presses his muscular body up against hers and she feels his “excitement.” He leans over and kisses her right ear, then looks at her face.

  "Maybe you shouldn't have come with," he says. "It's only for a few weeks and I know how hard this must be for you."

  She hugs him back, then pulls away and goes into the bedroom. There, lying on the bed, are six tiny yellow roses, still in their green tissue paper.

  Jerry follows her out of the bathroom. She swings around and kisses him. "When did you get those? How did you know? You're so wonderful!"

  He grins. "When I went out to get the milk. They’re perfect for our first night in our new apartment."

  She kisses him again.

  "Come on, let's test the bed," he says. "That's the only thing that matters."

  **

  The shots scatter the students. They run, their breath jammed in their throats, anticipating the thud that can bring them crashing to the ground. A National Guardsman aims his rifle at Donna.

  The blast wakes her.

  She shakes her head in the early morning light. She knows the nightmare is of Kent State, a place she never heard of until the news yesterday.

  In her mind she now sees the student protest against ROTC at Jerry's college as he once described it to her: Right after winter break, in January of 1968, when the students returned to campus, their bellies stuffed with home cooking and their pockets jangling with Christmas cash.

  On the first day of classes the protesting students converged upon Jerry and the other marching ROTC students with banners displaying peace symbols and chanting, "Hey, hey, LBJ, how many kids did you kill today?" The ROTC cadets tussled with the protesters. By the time the campus police arrived, Jerry had a broken arm – and later a reprimand from his ROTC instructor for "engaging with the enemy without orders to do so."

  Two months after that protest President Johnson surprised everyone by announcing he would not run for reelection and ordering a reduction in the bombing of North Vietnam. And another two months later peace talks started in Paris. Not that those talks have accomplished anything in two whole years. American military personnel are still dying daily halfway across the world – and now American students are being shot to death on college campuses.

  Donna looks at Jerry still asleep, then eyes the six yellow roses spotting the floor, knocked there by last night's "testing."

  She climbs out of bed and steps over the flowers on her way to the bathroom. The diaphragm has been in long enough.

  She ties on a robe as she thinks about Jerry. He's the best thing that ever happened to her, something so unexpected and sweet that it still makes her feel giddy when she pictures their first meeting. Even now.

  She isn't superstitious, really she isn't, she just doesn't want to tempt fate by dwelling on her good fortune.

  This morning she has to unpack before she writes her brother. After she and Jerry moved their suitcases and boxes into this furnished apartment yesterday evening, she'd been too tired to do anything else. "Let's leave everything for tomorrow and take it easy our first night at Ft. Knox," she had said.

  The doorbell rings. Did the apartment manager forget to tell them something yesterday? Donna hopes the bell doesn't wake Jerry.

  Outside the front door stands a short man wearing a Western Union uniform that pulls across a beer barrel chest. A yellow envelope dangles from his hand.

  The next thing she knows Jerry has his arms around her and they are sitting together on the floor of the living room. "What happened?" she asks.

  "You fainted."

  Donna struggles out of his arms and stands up. Jerry, in a bathrobe that hangs open in front, stands too. "Why would I do that?"

  "There was a man – it was a mistake – looking for someone named Holden to deliver a telegram to. You took one look at him and fainted."

  This is bad, very bad. She'll never make it as an officer's wife if she overreacts to everything.

  She takes a deep breath and kisses Jerry. "Maybe I'm hungry," she says.

  He kisses her back. "Let's have breakfast."

  She walks into the kitchen. The familiarity of a sink, refrigerator and stove calms her.

  As she takes a skillet from the packing box perched on the tiny counter, she makes a resolution: For now she'll only think of the present.

  She'll banish the past and future from her mind.

  WENDY – I – May 5

  Ohio National Guardsmen kill 4 and wound 11 at Kent State University ... May 4, 1970

  “... it is true that a wife has no rank, but she does have position created by her husband’s rank, which is respected and accepted by Army custom.” Mrs. Lieutenant booklet

  "Mama, it's me," Wendy Johnson shouts into the telephone mouthpiece. "Nelson and I are at a gas station outside Ft. Knox. We're just filling up and then we're going to go see about finding a place to stay."

  She listens to her mother's words of advice – "remember you're in the white world now," listens
as she has always listened, then promises to call tomorrow and hangs up. She comes out of the phone booth and slides into the passenger side of the Mustang.

  "What'd your mama say?" Nelson asks.

  "The same as always. And we're to call as often as we can."

  "She sure is a broken record, your mama."

  "She usually has good advice, advice we can't afford to ignore."

  Nelson lifts one hand off the steering wheel and pats Wendy's left arm. "Sweetie, it's going to be fine. Heck, I'm an officer of the United States Army. I will be treated with respect and saluted and looked up to by the enlisted men and the rest of society."

  Wendy turns away from her husband for a moment so he can't see her eyes. It isn't his fault she's from such a protected environment that she hasn't been subjected to much racial prejudice. Now for the first time she might have to face what being a black in America really means. The thought terrifies her.

  The night before they left South Carolina her papa called her into his study, the room that has always been the most comforting for Wendy, surrounded by his medical texts and medical school degrees and certificates. He sat behind his oversize mahogany desk in his red leather chair and she sat in a matching armchair facing him.

  "Honey," he said, "your mama and I have always tried to do the best for you. We've done some things right and I'm sure a whole lot of things wrong. And maybe some of those things we thought we did right were really wrong."

  What was he leading up to? She rubs her hands along the red leather armrests.

  "We wanted you to be proud, proud of yourself and your race. And to do that we chose to protect you as much as we could from the real world as you were growing up."

  He fiddled with papers on his desk, creating several small piles from a single large one as if laying bricks end to end, then returned his attention to her.

  "Your mama and I kept as much as we could from you of the truth about the treatment of black people in America. We didn't want you to know how bad it can be."