This chapter was edited to correct a date discrepancy/error that was driving me crazy -- no more, no less. Everything else in the story is exactly the same.
Cheers again to Techsan and the wonderful editing job on this piece. I seem to be making the same editing mistakes over and over again. Hopefully, Techsan will train all of this out of me. Also, thank all of you who have read this story and made comments. It really helps me keep on track. Please continue to leave comments -- good and bad. Oh, and just in case you missed it, I changed the genre in midstream. This is still primarily about an interracial relationship but I think that boxes in the story too much so I changed it up to romance. Sorry for the confusion ahead of time.
Chapter 6
Ste-Mere-Eglise, France, June 6, 1944
Ironically, a round fired by a German Panther tank a little over a mile away which barely missed the French cottage and pulverized its tiny barn had saved Daniel's life. The explosion literally shook the dying man awake just in time to discover that he was bleeding to death.
Somehow the tourniquet had loosened when he'd dozed off. He cursed himself for his foolishness as he tried to find something to staunch the flow of blood seeping from his now crimson bandaged leg.
Goddamn it!
All he'd had to do was stay awake and tend to the damn tourniquet. He'd been lulled into a false sense of security when he'd discovered that the hemorrhaging had eased up the last time he'd checked the bandages and loosened the tourniquet in order to let blood flow back into his leg and nourish the damaged tissue. One lapse in judgment would cost him his leg or his life.
Reaching down to pull off the once pristine sheets from the antique bed, he silently apologized to the farmwoman for having to destroy such beautiful linens just because he could not follow simple instructions. But he had to do something to save his life, so the heirloom sheets would have to serve a different purpose.
Using his teeth to rip the delicate fabric into strips, he began re-wrapping his leg, covering the blood-soaked bandages with new ones. As he worked, he continued to apply pressure to his leg at the point where the tourniquet was placed. He then tightened the tourniquet once more and prayed that he'd be able to feel something in his leg once he loosed the apparatus in a few minutes.
After ten minutes had passed, Daniel gingerly checked the bandages to see if there was any fresh blood from the wound. Satisfied with the results, he painstakingly loosened the tourniquet preparing himself for the evitable gush of blood that was to come. When none came and he'd begun to feel that familiar dull throbbing in his leg again, he let out a soft sigh of relief. He hadn't noticed that he'd been holding his breath the entire time he was loosening the tourniquet.
Daniel's streak of luck remained unbroken, and the young man vowed to occupy his time wisely in order to avoid another near tragedy.
He turned back to the window and began counting the man-made shooting stars lighting up the early morning sky outside his window. He pretended that the lights emanating from these deadly missiles were fireworks — the very same pyrotechnical displays Caroline, Lu and his mother would probably be preparing for a little less than a month from now for the annual Fourth of July party.
He knew that they still celebrated that holiday with the biggest fete in Wake County—organized, hosted and executed at the Carven estates. His mother had assured him that they would continue the tradition every Fourth of July while he was gone, with a special grande finale just for him. His family would watch the fiery blossoms, think of him and send him their prayers and love.
When he got back home, he'd have to tell them about this night and how the fireworks display from a German Panther tank had saved his life.
More importantly, when he got back, he'd have to tell Lula that what had happened between him and Justine Farewell was a mistake—a horrible, misguided attempt to bring normalcy back to his life. He would never make that mistake again. He'd spend the rest of his life showing her how much she meant to him. He'd do everything in his power to make sure that he'd never break her heart again—she deserved that much.
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Raleigh, North Carolina— July 1, 1941
After Lula and Daniel's confrontation at the smokehouse earlier that morning, breakfast at the Carven house had been a sullen and disconcerting affair and Emma had a good idea as to the reason. Earlier that morning, she'd watched from her bedroom window as Lula followed her son out to the smokehouse. She'd heard angry shouting, mostly from Lula. She'd witnessed Lula marching back up to the house fueled by a mixture of anger and despair. Sighing heavily, she turned away from the window, shaking her head in frustration.
After their fight last night, Caroline had promised Emma that she'd set their children straight before they killed each other. Now it seemed that these two couldn't be within fifty feet of each other without drawing their swords. It all seemed so hopeless. And maybe it was her fault in putting so much faith in the positive effect of Daniel's homecoming on Lula.
The elder Carven had hoped that time and distance had smoothed Daniel's rough edges and salved his anger. She and Caroline had also prayed that Lula and Daniel's reunion would have a positive effect on the girl, somehow bottling that rebellious energy that seemed to be spiraling out of control. Instead, the combination of the two had the same effect as pouring gasoline on a wildfire. Daniel was more sullen and dark than he'd ever been and Lula had strengthened her self-destructive streak.
The palpable tension between the women's children had manifested itself in this silent, uncomfortable morning meal. The two younger residents had been painfully polite to each other and markedly distant. Daniel's bad mood was thinly veiled by a layer of cordiality to all the women at the table. Lula's usual off-color humor and precocious banter was noticeably absent.
Emma had a sense that something deeper than sibling resentment was at play, and her intuitive concerns were shared with Caroline through exchanged knowing looks between the two elder women as they watched Lula and Daniel address each other with false civility at the table. It was no wonder that Emma was relieved when breakfast was finally finished and Daniel opted to head out early to town to order the tractor parts rather than stay and help clear the morning dishes.
"You go right ahead, Daniel," Mrs. Carven confirmed with a dismissive wave of her hand in the general direction of the dishes, "Mamma, Lu and I can clear this mess up and I'm anxious to get that stubborn tractor up and running again."
Lu looked at Emma with annoyance, before Caroline stepped in to intercept any protest from her daughter.
"That's right, Lu, you have a lot of making up to do after your private party last night by the pond," Caroline chided, unaware of how close she'd hit her mark.
Lula flushed and quickly decided that it was best to study an imaginary spot of dirt on her shoe. Daniel coughed abruptly, nearly choking on his own tongue. Emma watched them both with a suspicious eye.
"Daniel baby, are you okay? Do you need a drink of water or something?" Caroline rushed to the young man's side and began patting him on the back.
"Uh...no...I'm fine," Daniel managed to squeak out before stealing a glance at Lula who was still showing great interest in that speck on her left shoe.
"Just swallowed wrong is all...I...uh...I better get going if I am going to be back before lunch."
A perplexed Caroline watched as Daniel spun around and made his way for the kitchen screen door.
What the heck has gotten into that boy?
Daniel was halfway down the driveway headed for his father's old ford truck before he heard a familiar and unwelcome voice.
"Yooo hooo...Daniel, is that you?"
The sound of Justine's saccharine voice always made his hair stand on end and this time was no exception. He looked in the direction of the voice to see a pretty, petite young woman walking up the driveway to meet him. Her pink, linen dress, unwrinkled and perfectly fitted on her hour-glass figure looked too pristine for someone who'd supposedly walked at least a half mile up their dusty drive to the house.
"Good Lord, Daniel...they have certainly been feeding you well up there at West Point...n'cest pas." The pretty blonde gasped with a mixture of admiration and open flirtation—her demeanor was unflappable as if she'd just taken a stroll down a cool garden path.
Justine Farewell was nothing if not a flirt; although some of the boys around town would've testified that she'd long since excelled at the art of flirtation and had graduated to the art of fulfillment. Nonetheless, one look at those beautiful green eyes, shoulder-length strawberry blonde locks and porcelain perfect features and most men melted in her presence. Daniel wasn't "most men," which intrigued the blonde siren even more.
Daniel had always shown the proper admiration for Justine's beauty, but he'd never become smitten with her, much to Justine's consternation and Lula's amusement. Like most young men his age, Daniel had imagined being with Justine in the most intimate way; however, he'd never obsessed over it. Instead, he'd treated Justine like any other girl who happened to be a friend. Her constant preening and flirting had only served as mild entertainment for him; he'd never understood why such a pretty girl had to try so hard to get other boys to notice her.
Even if she didn't have face of a Botticelli's Venus, there was her vast wealth to consider. The Carvens were well-off. The Farewells were
rich
. The difference between the two was marked.
Before Joshua Carven had passed on, in addition to the tobacco farm Daniel had called home for twenty-one years of his life, his father had made a few smart investments on the east coast that allowed the Carvens to continue to maintain a life-style of relative ease even if Emma decided to sell off the tobacco business. The farm alone generated enough income to support a few full-time workers and all the seasonal help they needed. All of the other investments seemed to run themselves, thanks in large part to Caroline's watchful eye on the finances and the family's trusted bankers and business advisors.
Conversely, the Farewells made it possible for the Carvens to make money with their tobacco farm. Castor Farewell, the Farewell patriarch and Justine's stepfather, not only had exclusive right of first refusal on the whole of the Carven tobacco crop, he also controlled the tobacco consortium in the region. And, with the family's tobacco import connections in Brazil and India, the Farewell's empire stretched across the globe. The vast Farewell wealth made it possible for the two youngest Farewells, Justine and her nere-do-well older brother, Jason, to behave like petulant royalty without fear of suffering the consequences.
Of the two youngest Farewell heirs, Justine was the most obvious instigator. A heiress femme fatale by profession, the streets of Raleigh were virtually strewn with the bodies of fine young men eager to throw themselves at her pretty, pink, manicured feet. The very thought always made Lula's stomach turn.
At the sound of Justine's well-rehearsed melodic voice, Lula could feel the bile rising up from her stomach. Justine always wanted the things she couldn't have — like Daniel. It was interesting, and not entirely unpleasant, to see that after all these years old habits did not go down gently, even if the object of such a habit was a brooding, disagreeable grouse — like Daniel.
Any other time Lula would serve as a willing and eager spectator, anxious to watch the entertainment unfold before her eyes. This morning however, the lilting tones from the pampered princess only served to set Lu's teeth on edge.
"My, oh, my," Justine admired, her hands reaching out to stroke Daniel's arm, "it looks like I got here just in time. Were you getting ready to leave?"
