Chapter 3

Zebadiah was in a head spin as he walked out of the barracks back in Norfolk, Virginia and headed for the bus. He leaned heavily on a cane to compensate for his weak leg. He was still able to hoist and carry his hold-all over his other shoulder though. That had been his goal as he went through endless therapy, to repair his damaged body. Going home was wonderful. Going home under his own steam meant everything. He climbed aboard the bus that would take him the first part of his journey to Charlotte, North Carolina. From there he would pick up another bus that would get him to Charles Station. He was initially alone on the bus until two teenage girls clambered aboard, chatting and giggling. They went quiet as they saw him sat half way down the bus. Dressed in his best uniform, now carrying his Sergeant chevrons and medal ribbons. They looked at him and then at each other and started giggling again as they made their way past him to the back seat. They were these new “Hippy” types, Zebadiah guessed. Both were wearing thin tie-dye T shirts and incredibly short denim shorts, frayed at the edges and leaving little to the imagination. Zebadiah was at first shocked, but then smiled. Mary didn’t need to dress like that to impress him. These girls were beautiful but Mary was amazing. He sank comfortably back into his seat as the engine started and the bus pulled away.

The bus climbed onto the freeway and on it he sped through the day, pulling over just as the sun was setting outside a small diner.

“Gonna take a break here folks if that’s okay. Even drivers need a bathroom break. Get yourselves something to eat. They do a fine burger and the apple pie is a real treat. All homemade, none of that modern junk. We’ll set off again at seven.” The bus driver called down the bus as he opened the doors. The two girls, still giggling and chatting were off the bus almost as quickly as the driver and rushed over to the diner. Zebadiah checked his pockets for his cigarettes and took his time working his way down the bus. He stepped down from the doors and the driver was standing blowing smoke from his newly lit cigarette.

“You take your time getting what you want son. We won’t be leaving one of our heroes behind. No worries on that score.” The bus driver said. “Tell Annie in there I recommended her apple pie. She’ll take good care of you.”

Zebadiah made his way into the cozy little diner. A young couple were sitting in one of the booths, too engrossed in each other to notice the hobbling soldier make his way slowly inside. He settled himself into a booth just as the two girls emerged from the bathrooms and noisily made their way into a booth next to him.

Annie, the owner came over quickly to Zebadiah flourishing a notepad and a smile.

“What can I get you Sergeant? Coffee?” she asked brightly.

“The driver recommended your apple pie Ma’am. I think a piece of apple pie with coffee would be just fine thank you.” Zebadiah replied.

“Aww, old George loves my apple pie. He’ll be getting himself some once he gets in. You won’t be disappointed Sergeant. Make it myself I do." Annie said as she moved quickly to the counter and the coffee pot to get Zebadiah his coffee. She bypassed the two girls in the next booth as they tried to flag her attention. “Be with you as soon as I’ve seen to the Sergeant honey. Don’t worry, the bus won’t be going without you.”

Zebadiah sat back in the comfort of the simple but charming booth. There was nothing like this in Charles Station. Ma Quigley at the grocery store would sell coffee and malts and had even set up a little table in one corner of her small shop, but nothing as welcoming as this. In fact on a busy Saturday afternoon with the locals grabbing groceries, it was the last place someone would sit for a relaxing coffee. He was a good few hours from Charles Station yet. Simple as the town was, Zebadiah missed it. He was looking forward to living the simple life again. For now he would enjoy the journey.

Annie the owner had arrived with his apple pie as he was finishing his first coffee. She’d brought the coffee pot with her and refilled the mug in his hand.

“You enjoy that pie, Sergeant? I have a feeling a strong man like you will be ready for a second piece so I kept you one by, just in case.” She winked at him.

Zebadiah smiled awkwardly and thanked her. Apart from Mary, he had no real experience with women and he could feel his face reddening at the attention. In the booth next door he could hear the girls giggling and this just added to his discomfort.

Looking over at the counter with its line of barstools he saw the driver sitting and enjoying himself a piece of apple pie and a coffee. He turned to nod at Zebadiah and then went back to his own food and chatting to Annie.

They were all back on the bus before seven and Annie had packed Zebadiah a slice of pie to take with him. He accepted gratefully but was somewhat bemused at her refusing his money for the coffee and pie he had eaten.

“My boy went over there two month ago. Nineteen he is.” Annie said to him as she pushed the money back into his hand. “I’m just hoping he’ll have a Sergeant like you looking out for him over there is all. I’m glad your home son.”

“Your son will be in good hands Ma’am I promise. He’ll be home before you know it and ready for some of that fine apple pie.” Zebadiah had replied trying to smile. All the time he was thinking of Jethro as he was blown across the jungle, separated from his legs. Some of those guys wouldn’t be going home in anything but a wooden box. Jethro was no greenhorn either. Death was in the air for anyone over there and the inexperienced were at greatest risk. Hopefully her son would gain that experience before meeting a messy end.

Back on the bus he had slid the apple pie into his hold-all. Yes it was good and yes he would enjoy this piece later. Hopefully, so would her son at some time.

The bus pulled into Charlotte. The terminus was well lit and, even so late in the evening, still buzzing with people. All needing to be somewhere. Zebadiah just needed home.

The last bus that passed Charles Station was about to leave and Zebadiah climbed hurriedly aboard. He settled himself in an empty seat after loading his hold-all in the overhead rack. The bus was half full he noted. It would wind through a dozen cities and small one-horse-towns before reaching Charles Station. Zebadiah decided his best bet was sleep. As much as he could get and when he did wake he would have himself a slice of pie. He was almost home. All was well.

As the sun was rising Zebadiah noted they were perhaps an hour from Charles Station. He reached in his pocket for the pain pills the nurse had given him before he left the camp and his last medical.

“You make sure you take these Sergeant Rasnake. You’ll need plenty of rest first, then gentle exercise. These pills will just get you through the first few weeks. Then you’ll need to see your doctor and maybe get something a little lighter. Good luck to you Sergeant and welcome home.” The nurse had said.

Zebadiah swallowed two of the pain pills with a bottle of cola he’d picked up at one of the frequent stops they’d made. He eventually felt the pain in his leg begin to ease as the morphine worked its way into his bloodstream. He leaned back in the seat as the drug slowly relaxed him to an almost sleeping stupor. As he watched familiar landmarks flashing past the dirty window of the bus he dragged himself back to reality. He stood himself up carefully and pulled his hold-all down from the overhead rack. He slowly made his way to the front of the bus, stopping at each seat to grab a hold and recover his balance. The pain was disappearing into the background but he was feeling groggy and heavy headed as he got to the front.

“You can drop me anywhere around here boss.” Zebadiah said to the driver.

“No problem son, I know where you’re headed. Best I can do is get you to the end of your road. That’s a long walk you got ahead of you son. Sorry about that but I got to get this bus home and the rest of these passengers to their families too.” The driver replied kindly.

Zebadiah looked down the bus at the handful of passengers all looking at him. Some looked at each other and shook their heads sadly. Zebadiah became acutely aware of the cane in his hand and thought it must be obvious to everyone he was drugged up. He felt anger welling up as he looked down the bus at them, but the driver was slowing and pulling over to the road that led up to his homestead.

The door swung open to allow Zebadiah to exit. He climbed slowly down and gave a brief wave of thanks to the driver.

“Really sorry for your loss son. We hope it all goes well from now on. We all go to Jesus one way or another, right?” the driver said preparing to close the door and pull away.

Zebadiah stared at him. Surely word of Jethro hadn’t got here already? They never even knew Jethro. Maybe his arrival had been on the local news and the story of how he got to come home he pondered. He’d heard a lot of people now were protesting the war. Targeting returning soldiers for abuse and demanding they all come home. Not in these little places though. Here they appreciated a man that had served in uniform. They would have all been trying to find out how he had been getting on. That was all. Just nosey country folk finding out about their own was all.

“Right, yeah. Thanks. I’m sure we all do, of course. Thanks again.” Zebadiah replied feeling strange at the driver's comment. He turned and made his way up the road.

He was home. It was a three mile walk he was looking forward to. Even in his broken condition he felt like running all the way. Reality kicked in and even the drugs weren’t going to get him there any faster than one would expect of a broken man on a cane and carrying a hold-all.

He recognized each tree he passed. The small stream that cut through the track caused him to pause. He would have normally just took a jumping step over it, but now he had to focus. He threw his bag across first, then the cane. He leaped and reached for the other side with his good leg. The weight of the rest of him and the drug induced wobble saw him collapse on the other side. He rolled on his back and giggled. At least he’d made it across and nobody was shooting at him he thought as he slowly got to his feet and dusted himself off. Picking up the cane he shouldered his bag and continued up the track. That should be the only obstacle to contend with he thought. He might have to stop again on the way but right now he just wanted to be home and in the arms of Mary.

As he walked he remembered he had the two letters. He could remember almost every word of the letter Mary had written him. He hoped all that stood true now he was broken and battered, but with her help, he knew he’d be back to the old Zebadiah she’d married. He tried to recall the other letter. From his mother he knew. He just couldn’t remember what was in it. Each time he tried to think back, all he could do was remember the shots and explosion that led up to him ended up comatose and shattered. He couldn’t remember at all. He reached into his jacket to retrieve them but the pocket was empty. A different jacket of course. Maybe they were still laid somewhere in a Vietnamese jungle. Or in the hands of Vietnamese troops. Laughing over them. He frowned as he carried on walking. It was important and he needed to remember. He couldn’t. Whatever it was could wait until he saw his mother face to face.

The track was overgrown he noticed. Certainly no traffic had been using the track in a long time. Zebadiah thought it strange. Surely Mary would have gone into town now and then for those things they couldn’t grow at home and to sell their extras? Maybe it had rained heavy of late and the weeds and grass had shot up. He’d seen it do that before now.

Now he was beginning to realize just how isolated their little piece of paradise was. How on earth could Mary have coped all this time without him? Stuck up here so far from friends, family or anyone else for that matter? Mary’s parents had died when she was still a teenager. She had no brother or sister and had lived with her aunt before meeting Zebadiah. For her, their marriage also meant getting away from the aunt she hated and having a real place of her own with her man.

It was never going to be an easy life for them there and then Zebadiah joined the Army. They would have had to feed themselves and barter any extras they might have for the finer things in life, like clothing and maybe one day a truck. But Zebadiah’s dad had taught him all he knew about making moonshine and the right people to sell it to. They would have survived. But now with the pension he would receive, they would do just fine. That truck just got a little bit bigger and a whole lot newer than what they had hoped for in the past.

As Zebadiah gave a small wince at his leg as he moved up the road he smiled to himself. “Sure, wince away. You’re paying for a Chevy dear leg.”

He could now see the house through the trees, half a mile away. It looked different. Dark, almost foreboding. Something certainly didn’t look right. He knew he would see the house as soon as he cleared this last rise and was hoping the sight of it would bring him joy and spur him on that last part of the journey. It didn’t. As he got closer he started to smell that unmistakable smell of burned wood. Wood that had burned and been extinguished with water. Lots of water. He had known a lot of houses in these parts that had gone up in flames. Neighbors would rally round to try to save the house but these places were a tinder box. The help was just to show willing neighbors and to stop a fire spreading. The chance of saving one of these places was slim. Zebadiah had seen a few, smelled a few and now recognized the unmistakable smell of a burned down house. He shivered and froze.

They would have told him of course. They wouldn’t send him home to a house that had burned down. Someone would have known. The bus driver would have known. The passengers would have known. They all knew about Jethro didn’t they? How could they not know his house had burned down?

The smell hung heavy in the air as he made his way along the track.

His heart leaped as he saw Mary standing at the gate. The house behind her was perfect. More than perfect. Damn those stupid drugs messing with his mind. He rushed the last hundred yards to his home and his wife, waiting with outstretched arms.