Field of Blackbirds, Clayton Jeppsen & Lindsey Jeppsen [historical books to read TXT] 📗

But in this house, one idea had been born. Each of the young men possessed one common belief, one interest, one desire, one faith, and one love. It was life; the respect for it, the love of it and the sorrow for the loss of it. The idea had unsuspectingly lured them all in, to one.


Chapter 34 – The Portrait, the Vineyard and the Escape


Lindsey handed seventy-five cents to the man in the toll booth. She let the cold air invade every corner of her new Saab, before she rolled up the window. She hopped into Interstate 5’s least crowded lane to escape from under the city’s ominous gray haze. The gentle hint of salt in the ocean breeze faded behind her. Lindsey flicked on the radio and tuned into her favorite station. Right Said Fred’s, “I’m too Sexy” had just ended. Now, more appropriately, Tom Cochrane was explaining how “Life is a Highway”. She turned up the volume to drown the hiss of uneven asphalt.
Soon, the busy horizon began to straighten. The concrete-gray transformed into a soft, two-toned, milky-blue over parched-green. Life moved a little slower when you passed the ‘Welcome to Hinckley’ billboard. Here, gas stations still had rusted, ‘Self Serve’ signs, and car horns were reserved exclusively for hokey town parades.
Lindsey turned onto the ‘no-name’ dirt road that led to the Beckly’s farm. She wasn’t sure how, or even if she could tell them. Moral trepidation toppled her sense of judgment. They had a right to know that Reed was in trouble. But even she didn’t know exactly what kind of trouble he was in. It was careless to scare them when she didn’t have any of the details. But it was selfish to keep it all hidden away in a folder marked, ‘Classified’. One thing she knew for sure; she needed them, to feel close to him. If she was going to broadcast the bad news, she would do it at the end of their visit. She simply needed a constructive, uplifting atmosphere.

Anna greeted her at the door. Her warm expression, the softness of her touch and the elegance in her voice made Lindsey feel right at home. The familiar smell of Anna’s home cooking greeted her next; ribs, potatoes and seasoned vegetables perhaps, with a presumptuous and aromatic indication of something sweet in the oven.
“Lindsey, come in!” welcomed Anna.
Gracie was next to occupy the small space in the doorway.
“Hey sis, how ya been? Get in here. It’s cold out there,” her hug, a little more dynamic, baring the sweet smells of perfume, lotion and make-up. Surely Kyle was taking her out later that evening. Lindsey appreciated the “sis” gesture. She had forgotten how comfortable the Beckly’s made her feel.
Lindsey heard Tom’s deep, rumbling voice in the hallway.
“You’re just like Reed. He hears the word ‘food’ and comes running.”
“Tom!” Anna scolded. “That was rude.”
He cleverly redeemed himself by adding, “I haven’t met anyone yet who can resist Anna’s cooking.”
Lindsey momentarily disappeared into Tom’s six-foot-four, two hundred and forty-four pound stature. She knew his candid expressions were laden with love and care. It was why Anna was crazy about him, though it wasn’t something she might confess.
Tom called Reddin down, who was studying for Midterms. Reddin appeared at the bottom of the stairs wearing a red, tighter fitting, UCLA t-shirt and blue jeans. He had gotten a little taller over the months and football caused him to bulk up some. It was his embrace that made Lindsey uncomfortable. It wasn’t a feeling she expected. His boyish look was gone. He looked more like Reed and his frame was identical. His countenance teased her emotions; his touch, his smell, insufferable. Just when Lindsey thought it might be obvious, Reddin spoke and rescued her from crumbling.
“Hey Lindsey! It’s been a while.” His voice was nothing like Reed’s. It was the same boyish voice she remembered. Her blood began to fall back from the surface of her skin. “Thank you!” she whispered under her breath.
“It’s so good to see all of you.” Lindsey admitted. “I brought you some things from New York.”
“Come sit down at the table. We want to hear all about it.” Anna took Lindsey by the arm and led her through the kitchen into the dining room. Tom took the bag of souvenirs she was holding.

The conversation at dinner was loose, mostly about Lindsey’s trip to New York. She was surprised at how much fun she had recounting the details. But then her vibrant tale sort of fell flat; right about the same time her trip fell flat; when she overheard her father in the hallway at the hotel. It was an opportune moment to bring up the gifts she had bought them. She walked around the table with the bag. For Anna, an eloquent Channel handbag and a Christmas ornament; a beautiful bulb with a wispy hand painting of Central Park. For Gracie, a trendier, yuppie type, Kate Spade purse and wallet and a Statue of Liberty Christmas ornament. For Tom and Reddin both, she got NYPD ball caps and fake Rolex watches she’d hustled off the Somalis.

Halfway through Anna’s famous peach cobbler, Gracie was the first to start talking about Reed.
“We got a letter from Reed last week.” She blurted.
It was about time Lindsey thought. It was all she really wanted to talk about. But she did appreciate the family’s attempt to make her feel special for reasons other than the fact she was dating their son.
“He’s still in Belgium. He says he’s on some top-secret mission or something that he can’t tell us anything about. I wrote him, asking for all the details. He tells me everything you know.” Gracie grinned mischievously.
“He’ll never say anything,” interrupted Tom. “He’s got way too much integrity. He would be a horrible politician.”
That was her answer. Lindsey stopped listening to the conversation. The word “integrity” rang the bell that was quiet and motionless inside her. Reed has integrity, she told herself. Lindsey wasn’t supposed to know anything, but she knew he was in Bosnia. She knew he was in trouble. It was already too much. If he wasn’t going to say anything, neither was she. She would stay true to Reed. She would protect the integrity of his mission, the way he was.
They were all so happy, all so proud of their son. No need to ruin their spirits. Lindsey might need to lean on them again.

After dinner, Lindsey found herself in the living room staring at Reed’s Marine portrait. It was next to the framed American flag over the sofa. She had to get used to his hair, so closely shaven. She got as close as she could to the picture. She tried not to worry about him; tried not to play out the many possibilities.
“Be careful, Reed. I love you.” she whispered. Lindsey took a half step backward and gave him a quick salute.

************

Remembering the baby, Marianna watched her step as she moved through rows of naked grape vines; little dirt clods breaking under her bare feet. She reached out her hand and let the vines brush her fingertips, a sensation returning from her childhood. The soft blaze of the setting sun offered the perfect amount of warmth. She took in the freshness, hoping it would reach the baby. She had never felt so peaceful, so free, so absolved of all fear. She had fought for and nurtured the ideal environment for Marcielli’s return and the arrival of their baby.
Marianna stopped where the vineyard began to descend into the valley. She knew the downward angle could be dangerous. She found a flatter spot in the dirt where she could rest and watch the day’s light nestle into the earth.
Marianna glanced down at her feet and smiled. The purple stains nearly reached her ankles. The boys picked them and the girls squished them. She had forgotten how much fun the festival was. It was just what she needed. For a change, she was surrounded with family, mostly girls. She could talk about girl things; men, love and fashion. Everyone was thrilled with her news and everyone had a baby story. They laughed about the awkwardness of shopping while pregnant. They shared other funny stories and stories that weren’t so fun, like child birth. But the similitude was nice, something she couldn’t find on the base.
A rough, winded voice sounded in the distance. “Marianna, where have you run off to?”
She would never confuse Beppe’s voice with another. Beppe was her great uncle, Mossimo’s youngest brother. He was the closest she’d ever had to a grandfather. She figured they were a lot alike from the stories she’d heard.
“Beppe I’m here.” Marianna stood and waved her arms. She saw him coming from the end of the row. She had always appreciated his vintage look of a blousy white, collared shirt, held back by a brown vest. He wore brown slacks to match and charcoal-black loafers, he’d probably had for fifty years. He walked with care, not because he was balancing two glasses of wine, but because, visibly, he was in the eve of his life. He would always say his best years were ahead of him. Marianna wished it was true. The family wine festival would never be the same without him.
“Mi Amor, come back to the villa. You’ll get lost out here.” Beppe held out a glass of wine for Marianna to take. She accepted only so he wouldn’t have to carry both.
“I know every nook and cranny of this vineyard, Beppe. We used to play hide and seek here when we were little. I could find my way back with my eyes closed.” Marianna laughed.
“You’re my favorite niece you know.”
“I won’t tell the others, Beppe.”
Marianna adored Beppe’s wispy gray hair, his wide blue-gray eyes and his brittle smile. It was all so endearing, so comforting.
Beppe tapped his glass against Marianna’s and then took a sip.
“Mmmm,” A raspy gasp escaped as he lowered his glass. “The best wine