Average Joe and the Angel

Prologue

1969 A Funeral

Anjelica Harris narrates

I was late. I had flown in direct from Washington DC, leaving at first light and landed in Conrad, MT, mid morning. I called a cab which got me to the church, which was completely packed, standing room only, every single seat taken. That was only to be expected, of course, Joe Harris was always the most popular man in town, and everybody wanted to see him off on his final journey.

I squeezed into the back of the church. It was standing room only. A few of the older people standing at the back recognised me and nodded to me silently. The service had already started and there was no way I was going to disturb everyone by trying to make my way down to the front pew.

A couple to one side behind the last pew moved closer together to allow me room to stand beside them so I could see Joe's coffin from where I stood.

The tall, broad man, dark tanned and handsome, black hair cropped short, resplendent in the dark blue dress uniform of a full colonel in the USAF, carried his hat and a single sheet of paper up to the church pulpit. He placed his hat and the paper on the sloping surface and looked up at the congregation for the first time. His eyes were sad and moist, but he stood to attention and squared back his shoulders, cleared his throat and began speaking in a distinct and well-educated voice.

"I am going against the best advice my father Joe ever gave me, the day I graduated from flight school. 'Never volunteer for anything, son,' Papa said, 'and you'll get along just fine.' Well, no-one was gonna beat me to the chance of coming up here and telling you all how much I loved the wonderful man whose life we are celebrating today, my dear Papa, Joe Harris.

"All of you gathered here today to pay your last respects knew Joe. Most of you remember me, too, but I've been so busy these last ten years or so that I have only made flying visits to see Papa on high days and holidays on the farm and rarely showed my face about town much before flying off again.

"Papa encouraged me to fly, taking me up in his crop duster before I could even walk, maybe even before I could talk. He inspired me to make flying a career and now I'm proud to be a part of the US space program; even as I speak, my fellow officers are preparing for the biggest adventure in human history, flying to and landing Mankind on the Moon for the first time. Proudly, those humans who will be first to walk on the moon will be Americans, but that achievement is for all mankind. Yet, even that history making event ... it's nothing compared to the loss to humanity of the man we are gathered here to say a fond final farewell to.

"Joseph William Harris was born a long ways from us here in Conrad, Montana; he was from another small country town, Sittingbourne in Kent, England, born in 1887. He came here with our beloved Granny Harris and his sister when he was 10 years old, after his father died in a quarry accident. Granny's brother already had a farm here in Pondera County, and my great uncle paid their sea passage and train fare to bring them here where they could thrive.

"Joe was a bright boy at school and he earned a place in college doing an agricultural degree before later qualifying and working as an electrician, the farm being then worked by his uncle and cousins. He was independently minded and wanted to strike out in business on his own rather than be another farm hand. He didn't want to be an average anything.

"He became a US citizen in 1906. But he still felt he had ties with the old country of his birth and, when war was declared in Europe in 1914, Papa drove over the border and up to Calgary and joined the Canadian infantry, signed up on a Short Attestation Form for the duration of the war that was supposed to end all wars. It was a shock to Granny and even more devastating to his fiancée, you may remember High School Vice Principal MaryBeth Chambers, well she was his girl MaryBeth Johansson at the time, Papa told me. When he spoke about the past he said he had no regrets at all, he did his duty.

"He was considered an above average candidate by the Canadian Army recruiting office, because of his two college degrees, and was sent on a short officer training course and by April 1915 he was in the Flanders trenches, commissioned as a second lieutenant. He never talked about those times to us kids, I think he lost a lot of friends in those terrible trenches.

"In 1916 Papa transferred to the Royal Air Corps, sent for training in Egypt and flying a variety of airplanes, which led to recon missions and sorties back in France. He talked about those times all the time, he was never happier than he was in the air. He crashed twice, bringing his plane to a landing those first two times without harm to himself, but he was third time unlucky in 1917, ironically, just a few weeks after the US joined the war against Germany. His plane was shot down and he lost his right leg just below the knee in the resulting prang and, after recovering in hospital in England, was shipped back home to Montana early in 1918.

"So there he was, Captain Joe Harris, DFC, DCM, age 31, with both his cousins killed in the war in France and his uncle struggling with running the farm on his own. Papa had no choice but give up his ambitions of building things and take over the farm and work it with his Uncle, especially after his Aunt died of the flu that year. His fiancée MaryBeth Johansson had waited until he came home from the war but decided, after seeing his injuries, that she'd marry hardware store manager Ted Chambers instead.

"Papa found horse riding uncomfortable with only one leg and he couldn't drive either the truck or the tractor that was then on the farm. He bought a motorcycle, which had a hand gear lever, and a sidecar. It was more comfortable and said it made him independent, which was always important to him.

"His uncle died in 1929 after a short sudden illness, leaving no will, so Papa needed to take on help for the farm but he hadn't any money to pay them until probate eventually settled the farm on Papa and Granny Harris as the only surviving next of kin. Then, in the new year of 1930, he met my Momma, Anjelica di Angelo, looking for work.

"I asked Momma how they met. She had hitched to Conrad to see her sister. But Aunt Connie had already left to go back to Chicago. Momma was a widow who had been married to an Italian immigrant Gianni di Angelo, who left home in Chicago looking for work in 1929 and never came back. She later found out that he was riding shotgun with some cousins on a bootleg spirit run from Canada which never got through, presumably shot and killed in a shoot-out with rival smugglers or police. Heavily pregnant carrying me, Momma left Chicago, after she couldn't pay the rent, to find her cousin Connie who had moved to Seattle. But Conrad was as far as she got. A city girl in a country town.

"The nurse here in Conrad told her that Papa was looking for farm workers and that being Friday she should wait in the general store and watch out for his motorcycle and sidecar. Momma didn't have any money so she wouldn't wait inside the warm store, she stood outside in the wind and snow. When she saw Joe pull up and limp to the steps and looked into his clear blue eyes, she fainted."

At the back of the packed church, where I stood proudly listening to my son, I thought back to those days when I first came to this town and met Joe Harris.

Chapter 1

The first Friday in 1930

Anjelica Di Angelo narrating

I shivered as I waited outside the general store at the north end of the Main Street in the bleak city of Conrad, Montana. I felt faint as I pulled my thin jacket tight at the neck as I leaned back on the outside wooden wall of the store.

I would have given anything to have waited inside the warm shop, or bought a coffee and a sweet bread roll but I had no money, not one single penny. I tried to think back to when I last ate anything. It was just before I was beaten up and robbed of what little money and possessions I had, at the back of that truck stop, somewhere back along the road aways, I hadn't a clue where. I felt in some ways I was lucky. If I hadn't been nigh on eight months' heavy with child, the assault on me could have been worse.

Both men had said they'd, "a'raped ya if ya hadn't been such a fat colored cow".

The way they curved their cruel lips and their rough vindictive tongues around the 'colored' word, so full o' hate and malice, I'd felt that sentence more deeply than the punches that split my lip and blackened one of my eyes.

The nurse at the free hospital in Conrad who patched me up and checked the health of the baby, was a kindly local Indian woman, who said the baby was fine but added, "You be sure'n come by'n see me nex' week now, honey."

I said I couldn't be sure where I would be next week, I'd been on my way to stay with my cousin Connie, who'd moved to Seattle a year or two earlier, only to find out when I looked for her at her address, that Connie'd lost her job, had no prospects so far from home and left to go back to Chicago but a few days earlier.

Chicago was where I had travelled from two weeks earlier and Connie and I probably crossed each without being aware of the other somewhere on the road.

On the way back to Chicago I had used up most of my reserve cash and taken a train part of the way, but I hadn't enough money to get very far, then I mostly walked and hitched rides. Then my last ride with a couple of white farm hands, one older and one younger, beat me up and dropped me off behind the next truck stop and robbed me of my last few dollars and my cardboard suitcase containing everything else I owned. They even took the coat off my back.

"In order to stay here, I'd need work, 'n I cain't get no work looking like this," I said to Nurse Annie, trying to keep my chin up and the building tears at bay. "An' it'll be worse in a month when the little one's born."

"What work you used to do, hon?" she asked.

"Before I was married I worked in a bank as a ledger clerk."

"Only one bank left open in Conrad now, hon, an' they ain't doin' so well since the crash last year. Can you cook'n'clean, hon?"

"Well, household stuff, yeah, I guess."

"Tell you what, hon, it's Friday, the first Friday in January. You go wait by the gen'al store at the north end of this street and look out for a man on a motorcycle an' sidecar. He's alookin' for someone to live in and do chores for a few weeks, mebee even a couple o' months. His Ma had a fall an' sprained her ankle las' week. He always does his main grocery shop for dry and tinned goods on the first Friday of the month."

So I walked along that snowy main street as directed until I got to the store. The clock inside the store, that I could see from outside, said it was seven minutes past nine. The nurse had said that this Mr Harris, the man with the motor bike and side car, would be along between 9 and 10. I just hoped I hadn't missed him, either going in or coming out. I didn't know what I would do if he had already taken someone on or didn't like the look of me and with the baby's arrival so close.

I didn't go into the store to ask about Mr Harris, I knew how frightful I must look, the nurse, Annie Grey Feather had showed me my cut face and bruised eye, which was yellow under my brown skin, in the mirror. I leaned deeper into the wooden wall of the store under a short verandah, trying to shelter from the weather. I folded my arms into my chest above my 'bump', with my bare gloveless hands clenched under my armpits, locked my knees and closed my eyes for just a minute.

I awoke on my feet with a start. I heard the noisy motor bike like a muffled hammer banging on metal a while before I actually saw it. The snow was falling even more heavily now, with big and soft flakes, and somehow I felt a little warmer. Either that or I was so cold I couldn't feel the cold any more.

Even the wind had died and the thick full flakes kissed the ground around the store, settling thick and even on the road. The sky was full of grey cloud, not a patch of blue anywhere. Although it was still the morning, it was almost as dark as night, the snow glistening in the glow from the electric lights from the store windows. The bike slowed, and turned, parking in front of the store, by the steps leading up to the sidewalk.

The rider wore a long leather coat, hat and goggles, his front completely covered in snow. Sudden silence reigned as the noisy engine cut out and he slowly climbed down. Because of the sidecar, he didn't need to pull the bike onto its stand. Then he carefully made his way over old frozen ruts and fresh snow until he reached the steps and rail up to the wooden sidewalk.

He was tall, I noticed, very thin and walked with a pronounced limp, favoring his right leg. Then he removed his goggles and shook off the snow into the street. He climbed the five steps one at a time, left foot first and dragging his right after, then leading with his left again. When he reached the top, he lifted his face, seeing me for the first time in the shadows, he was lit up with the warm light from the store. He had the clearest, most startling blue eyes I'd ever seen on a man, it was how I imagined a clear mountain pool would look.

I stepped forward, but I was stiff and my legs felt as wobbly as jello, "Mr Harris? Excuse me, but Nurse Annie said ..."

Then I felt everything slip away from me and I crumbled to the ground, the last thing I heard was an English accent saying, "Oh, my Lord!"

***

When I awoke I was in a warm bed, the first I'd slept in for over two weeks. The starched linen sheets felt smooth and smelt fresh and clean. It was dark in the room, other than the flickering glow from a fire grate in the wall to the right of the bed. I was lying on one side of a huge double bed. Feeling the other side with my hand I assured myself I was alone. I lifted my head an inch or two and looked around. All the corners of the room were in shadow, the only light came from the fire, but it was quiet, just the odd crackle from the burning logs.

So, it seemed like I was alone in the room, with no idea at all where I was. I laid my head back into the pillows again, looking up the wall behind me, where I could make out a crucifix was hung above the bed. I couldn't just lay there, I needed to know where I was, so sat up again stiffly. The first thing I noticed was that my clothing had been removed completely and I was wearing nothing but a cotton nightshirt. A couple of extra pillows were on the bed beside me and I tried to pull one behind me for more comfort sitting up, but my shoulder ached and I winced.

I heard a knock on the door at the end of the room and the tall, thin man with the blue eyes came in, carrying a tray, with a steaming cup on it. I recalled asking him earlier if his name was Mr Harris and, if so, I was supposed to see him about a job for a few weeks, while his mother was incapacitated. Before I could say anything, he spoke first, in that same English accent.

"Hallo," he said, "How are you feeling?"

"Er, my shoulder's sore, and I'm a bit woozy, I've got a headache, too."

"Well, that's about right, Ma'am," he said, "you cracked your head as you fell, an' Ma said you may have a bruise on your shoulder that you fell on."

"Are you Mr Harris?"

"I am, most assuredly, Ma'am," he replied.

"Did you undress me and put me abed, Mr Harris, or your Ma?"

"Ma's in a wheel chair at the minute, Ma'am, so I undressed you, put on your nightdress, an' carried you up here, but don't worry, I had my eyes closed the whole time, followin' Ma's directions," he smiled, "I mighta peeped to get my bearin's but only for a second at most, Ma'am."

I didn't know what to say to that. He had a nice smile and what I had supposed had once been a handsome face but, by the light from the fire, I could see now that he had terrible scars on his left temple and cheek, and the top of his left ear was missing. I had only seen him from his right side before, outside the store.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to embarrass you, Ma'am, an' I never saw nothing, honestly. I have this habit of trying to be funny and failing more often than otherwise. Ma finds my sense o' humour ... wearing ... at best sometimes, and she's supposed to be my supportive mother!"

He set the tray down on the bedside table and leaned across me to grab the extra pillows. He smelled sweetly, I thought, the soft earthiness of meadow hay alongside the sharp scent of fresh soap.

I squirmed wondering, with some apprehension, how I smelt. I didn't want to upset myself any more than how I felt already by breathing in too deeply. I had tried to scrub myself clean back at that truck stop, after I had been attacked, but the water was cold and the soap hard and almost insoluble. My travelling clothes hadn't been washed in two weeks, I was all too aware, and hadn't any underwear to change into for the last three days, and all my other clothes had been stolen by my attackers.

He eased me up firmly, gently and propped me up with the pillows. Then he sat on the edge of the bed and passed me the cup, full of hot sweet and creamy milk.

"I'm Joe Harris, Mrs di Angelo. I fetched Nurse Carol to see you during yesterday afternoon. She looked you over although you was out like a light. She said you was just exhausted and malnourished. Rest assured your baby's fine, and I'm under orders to collect Nurse Carol or Annie just as soon as your time comes."

"Oh, I can't possibly stay here, Mr Harris I was just hoping you had some day work -"

"Nonsense, there's no need to go. In fact, you can't actually leave now, it is snowing crazy at the minute. Where are you lodging? I can go in the bike and get your stuff if I'm quick before we get cut off by the drifts."

"I don't have nowhere, Mr Harris -"

"Joe, please."

"Er, Joe. I arrived here yesterday, after finding my sister's moved back to Chicago on Monday and I had my suitcase stolen on Wednesday, hence my bruises."

"Well, in that case you can stay here until you are well."

"But -"

"But nothing, Ma'am."

"I need to find work, I have no money."

"There's work in our farm dairy here when you're up and well, an' Ma needs help around the house too. She bust her ankle a couple o' weeks ago and ain't too mobile at the moment. Now, drink up that hot milk, there's a warm robe here to wear. When you're ready, come downstairs into the kitchen for breakfast. When did you last eat?"

"Wednesday, I think?"

"Well, it's Saturday morning. You need to keep you and that baby well fed. The nurse was very insistent on that. Now, do you need a hand gettin' out o' bed, or can you manage, Ma'am?"

"I think I can manage." I said, "and I think if you want me to call you Joe, you should call me Anjelica or Anjie."

"Well, try and get up, Angel, I'll hold the robe open for you."

I found that I had virtually no strength in my arm and he had to help me get down from the high cast iron bed. I also had to lean on him as he helped me down the stairs.

***

The woman of the house, that I later came to regard fondly as Granny Harris, was in the kitchen, a big heavy woman, sitting at the table in her wheelchair. She made me welcome and laughed all the while as Joe kept feeding me French toast, bacon, eggs, pancakes and more toast. And glasses of fresh milk and a cup of tea. Ashamed to admit it, even at my age, but I sat there and ate like a pig until at last my appetite was satisfied and Joe couldn't force another single morsel on me.

"So what brung you to Conrad?" Granny Harris asked me.

"My husband was killed last year in Canada," I said, "Gianni told me he was looking for laboring work in Canada, but he had lied to me. His sister-in-law came around after he had been gone a week and told me that he was with his brother, three cousins and a drifter and they were attempting to smuggle barrels of whiskey and gin into the US from Canada, only they ran into a rival gang of smugglers and in the shoot-out, all but the drifter were killed, shot dead and their truck and goods taken. My sister-in-law and her widowed cousins helped me out with food and the rent for a little while but they had lost their menfolk and source of income too. My company laid me off about the same time I heard Gianni was dead. The money dried up and I couldn't make the rent no more."