Homecoming Ch. 08 Edited
by Frinkles© 2007
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.
Alright, alright...UNCLE! For those of you who are disappointed in Daniel's actions, believe me so am I. The guy is human. He's a bit of an idiot at times. He's letting his little head do the thinking rather than the "big" head. He knows he screwed up which is why he's in the dang farmhouse praying for a second chance while he's bleeding to death. Surprisingly, Lula has some flaws herself. What's a romance without some bumps? Anyway, please be patient and I'll try to make it worth your while to read the entire story even if you want to punish the author with a few virtual tomatoes. Keep up the comments and voting.
I want to give another well-deserved shout out to Techsan. Thanks for all of the editing advice and words of encouragement.
Oh, and one more thing, the lyrics to the Ma Rainey and Bessie Smith tunes are NOT mine. I didn't come up with them and I hold no legal rights to them.
Chapter 8
Ste-Mere-Eglise, France, June 6, 1944
Daniel let out a heartfelt groan as he conjured the memory of his unexpected, albeit enthusiastic, first union with Justine. After that morning, everything had taken a turn for the worst. He'd behaved like an ass with both women — using one and dismissing the other. His father would have been sorely disappointed in him and his actions that summer afternoon.
The young soldier paused for a moment to check his bandages again. No bleeding. He noted a steady and painful throbbing in his leg. He suspected that this was a good thing. Loosening the tourniquet once more to allow blood flow, Daniel mentally calculated how many hours must have passed since the French farmwoman had left the cottage to search for American soldiers and medical help.
The purple bruise of the early morning sky was quickly being replaced with a brighter golden glow. It had to be no later than 0700 hours by his estimation. At least three hours had passed and still no "reinforcements" had arrived to relieve him from his watch.
He grimaced as he shifted in an attempt to relieve his stiff back which had been propped against the hard oak headboard, its ornate carvings looking decidedly out of place amidst the farmhouse bedroom's other modest furnishings. He'd keep watch over the horizon for help. He'd stay awake as long as it took. He'd live through this so that he could go home — so that he could have a homecoming.
By the looks of it, his shattered leg would probably be his ticket home, even though his heart was torn over leaving his comrades behind to finish the job he'd started with them. For some of his fellow soldiers, their homecoming would be a solemn one; Daniel bowed his head in a moment of silence for those who had fallen and those who would fall. Part of him wanted to stay here with the 82nd airborne and make sure everyone had a happy homecoming. Another part of him was anxious to get home to his mother, Mamma Corning and his beloved Lula.
He'd come home and claim the rest of his life. He would claim her — finally.
As he returned his gaze to the window and the apple orchard with its fragrant smells, his attention turned back to counting the thundering booms of tank rounds and the sharp report of firearms. He listened intently to try to distinguish whether the gunfire was from an American or a German weapon. It was a way to occupy his mind and determine just how safe he really was.
The game kept him focused. It kept his mind occupied. It kept him awake. It also kept him from hearing another soldier entering the cottage, his own ankle shattered from this day's drop.
Had he not been so weak from loss of blood and preoccupied with making sure he stayed awake long enough for help to arrive, Daniel would have heard the soldier's quiet footsteps. Even though the other soldier had taken great pains to enter the farmhouse as quietly as possible so as to take any occupying enemy soldiers unawares, one look at Daniel's condition would indicate to anyone that the wounded soldier was in no condition to fight even if he'd heard an approaching enemy.
Daniel's focus was squarely on concentrating on staying awake and staying alive — so his gaze was turned in the direction of the window.
He'd not noticed that he was no longer alone in the farmhouse.
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Raleigh, North Carolina— July 1, 1941
Lula stood on the porch trying in vain to suppress her anger. Her efforts were not fruitful. Emitting the white-hot heat of her rage from virtually every pore, she watched silently as the beat-up old ford truck ambled up the driveway, kicking up clouds of dust in its wake. The two had been gone almost three hours and it was nearly lunchtime.
How long did it take that heifer to paint on another fucking dress and nail on another pair of shoes?
Lula had been in bad humor since she'd realized that she'd fallen right into Justine's perfect pink plans. Throwing a scalding cup of coffee on Justine had given Lu instant gratification; however, the aftermath — Daniel's anger — was a high price to pay for the luxury of watching the blonde "goddess of love" squirm in discomfort for a few brief seconds. In the end, Justine had turned the "accident" to her favor and won for her the sympathies of a formerly disinterested Daniel.
"
That trifling bitch knew exactly what she was doing,
" Lula muttered to no one in particular before quickly looking around to make sure she hadn't been heard.
The last thing she needed was another clout in the mouth from her mother, especially in front of Justine. Although Lula knew that her mother had always been loathe to raise a hand to her, and had a habit of privately bursting into tears whenever she'd had to take Lu over her knee, Mamma Corning was not above disciplining whenever and wherever the discipline was needed. Notwithstanding the mental warning Lula continued to give herself, watching Justine paw and fawn over Daniel elicited an involuntary stream of obscenities from between Lula's clenched teeth.
