The Rocky Mountains were beautiful, and on this clear, crisp June morning in 1943 Thomas Sullivan thought he might have already died and was in heaven. It was a place he thought a lot about lately and figured he might get to visit real soon. Hopefully. He also feared some of his more recent actions might warrant taking the elevator down. Tom was a 21 year old Army captain who had survived the invasion of French North Africa and was now headed home to Hope Ranch in Montana on his way to a new assignment.
Marie Dumont was a 22 year old French widow. Her husband had been killed in 1939 when Germany ran over France. She had been a nurse at Dunkirk and had luckily escaped to England and eventually got to Canada and eventually the United States where she lied and said she had family.
She had no one. No family in the entire world. No money, no real hope. She tried to join the Women's Auxiliary Corps but the Department of War did not want a French woman, so she was making her way to California to either be in movies or marry a rich man. Or to die.
She didn't care one way or the other. On this clear June morning she was dead inside anyway and just prayed for its sweet release so her soul could finally get to Heaven. She deserved it since she had already seen her share of Hell.
Despite the elevation and temperature outside, the train was stuffy and many people had the train windows open, and when the Conductor came by and yelled for the passengers to put up their windows they knew they must be approaching another turn or a tunnel, either of which would cover the rear of the train with the engine's thick black smoke. Marie struggled with her window but couldn't get the levers to slide in, releasing the lock so she could slide her window up. It was then that the handsome army man who got on in Omaha, Nebraska rose up to help her.
"May I help, you, ma'am?"
"Merci. Uh, excuse please, yes, please, and thank you," she said, slightly embarrassed yet grateful for his intrusion.
Marie noticed his ribbons on his uniform and his short cropped, brown hair. He had seen a lot of sun in his life and had squint marks around his eyes. But he was young, rugged and manly. He was taller than the average man and seemed solidly built. Her head probably came up to his neck or chin and looked as if his arms could protect anyone he chose to hold. His uniform looked like every other Army soldier, but fit differently. Better. Like he should be on a poster or in a movie. And that ribbon, the blue one with white stars. It looked important. Like he was brave, better than most. Yet he seemed humble.
And desirable?
Her François had been bookish and pale, almost frail but she had loved his mind. They had married and he had taken her virginity that night. He had not even left her with enough seed to plant a baby in her, and the next morning he was gone, off to fight the Evil Germans and save the world. He was supposed to be 150 miles away from any damned enemy Germans. Hitler and his God-forsaken flying angels of death had found him, and in the process turned her into an 18 year old widow. Different planes turned her into an orphan.
Tom noticed Marie when he boarded the train in Omaha. He had no idea she was French, but did notice the blonde hair and emerald eyes that looked like something a child would draw because of the bright and almost unrealistic color- no browns or hazel yellows, only mdeep green. Beautiful, she captured his gaze, but he noticed something else he had seen too many times already- that look that living people had who had died inside. She had experienced much tragedy in her life. With her accent, he rightly figured she had fled war-torn Europe.
Speaking in her native French, he struck up a conversation. He asked her what her name was and where she was planning to go.
"Aahh, you speak French so easily, how is that?"
"My mother left France after The Great War. Hopefully she taught me well," he said.
"She did! She did," Marie said. Her English was not great and she relished having someone to converse so freely with. Marie had found that many Americans were uncouth in how they only spoke a regional dialect and almost no one spoke what they considered a foreign language. But this handsome man spoke as a Parisian and was handsome, well educated, and...
Not like her François.
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No sleeper car- not for Thomas and Marie anyway. Marie had almost nothing to begin with and Tom was traveling on government orders, so they slept next to each other in open seats that first night after they met. The next morning when the Conductor came by to tell them they were now finally welcome to go the the dining car, Tom noticed how Marie's green eyes sparkled and how her hair was still perfect, and she had snuggled up to him for safety or comfort. Marie noticed the alertness in his eyes. Tom held out his arm and escorted Marie to the dining car where they ate and before long it was time for Tom to disembark in Provo, Utah, on his way north to Montana.
"Marie, come with me," he asked.
"Come where? I have no clothes for this weather. I am going to warmth in California."
"Please. I have plenty of time and would like to spend it with you before I go to California. Will you at least spend a few days with me and then you can either travel the rest of the way to California with me or I will send you on a train anywhere else?"
"That all sounds so expensive, Thomas," Marie said.
"It's fine. Uncle Sam will pay."
"Uncle Sam? Is he family?"
"Sorry, 'Uncle Sam' is the nickname for the government. I am on orders and I have a wad of cash they paid me." Not the smartest thing to tell a woman you just met- that you have a wad of cash. But if she stole it and killed him, it wouldn't be much worse than North Africa or fighting Japan.
Marie thought, what's the worst that can happen? If he ends up being a Nazi spy and kills her, she gets her sweet release from this miserable life.
Or maybe it would end up being fun...
***********************
"Oh Thomas, this place is so beautiful! How can you afford this? Marie asked when they checked into an inn on the east coast of the Great Salt Lake. They had an evening meal just in time to watch the sun set in the lake.
Marie knew ugliness. Europe had been destroyed a generation before and had been destroyed again. It was hard to imagine so much beauty in this awful world. Tom knew war and death but also knew his share of beauty and other than his home and family's ranch in Montana, this was his second favorite place on Earth- a place his extended family owned. But he didn't tell Marie that. Maybe he would, but not yet.
They walked along the water's edge, holding hands like two teenaged lovers, both wanting to act but both afraid of rejection. And just as the green dot flashed as the very top of the sun sinks into a body of water, Marie's green eyes flashed, and she reached out to kiss him. Tom, not expecting it was slow to kiss back. At first Marie took this as rejection, but Tom quickly seized the initiative and pulled her in. Marie didn't know it, but he had less experience with women than she had with men. She quickly realized he wasn't a great kisser, but was eager. And for the first time in almost 4 years, so was she. The block of ice that had encased her heart had started to melt. And apparently the only place for it to exit her body was through her vagina, because Marie felt herself dripping. She had loved François, but she never had lusted for him like she was for Thomas.
Tom grew up on a ranch and didn't play with other kids too much. An only child, most of the ranch hands were single men. He grew up riding horses, learning how to become a cowboy, learning how to shoot and butcher and how to be tough. His mom had insisted he learn some civility and get some culture, but the 60 year old widow from nearby Kalispell that lived with them 5 months out of the year to tutor him had forgotten the "Birds and Bees" lesson. And so had his parents.
He had fingered his cousin Alice in Salt Lake City who was his age and she had given him a handjob. He played with her boobs, and she had squeezed his balls, not knowing how delicate they were. He also played around with Alice's sister Rose, but she only wanted to kiss.
Then he went off to war. And now he was back. Originally he thought maybe he would see Alice or Rose if he was lucky, but now he had found Marie, and realized he was in Heaven.
And Marie realized that outside of the confines of Hell in Europe, Heaven could simultaneously exist half a world away. And Thomas was that heavenly angel sent to give her a message of hope.
*****************************
They kissed on the sidewalk in front o public beach. The smell of salt was in the air, unseasonably warm air crawling in, feeling up the city streets and massaging the few people who happened to be out. Hundreds and thousands of miles from the blackouts on the United States oceanic coastlines and the ravages of complete war in Europe, Africa and unnamed or unknown Pacific Islands, Salt Lake City was calm. But that calm ended at their bodies. Thomas and Marie were both on fire. Marie, feeling a fire and a lust she never had for her husband; and Thomas, a passion and aching desire he knew of but had never had to this degree- knew they were headed over a cliff.
Falling into love in the middle of a global storm seemed to be a mean trick by Fate, but they both knew there wasn't much out there and they both intended to take what they were being offered.
Sleeping arrangements had never been discussed. They had one room with a sofa and a big bed. Now the arrangements seemed to take care of themselves. Thomas carried Marie across the threshold into their shared room, almost tripping over his army issued duffel bag, so he set her down on the bed, then paused, unsure of what he should do next.
Marie, equally unsure, acted first. She stood up and went to him, kissed him, and slowly removed his tunic, then loosened his tie. He followed her kead and removed her threadbare jacket, then they kissed. Next she slowly unbuttoned his dress shirt. The tension was crushing. She tried to move as fast as she could, but in her nervousness she struggled, so she went slow. When she had all of the buttons undone, she romoved his shirt, and he pulled his undershirt over his head. She traced his pectoral muscles and light chest hair. She stopped on the scar he had gotten from a barbed wire fence as a 12 year old rancher. And then she noticed the small scars on his shoulder from shrapnel.
He was not pale or bookish. He was tough, ruggd and handsome. And perfect!
