Mary stepped out of her car, which had finally made it to the top of the mountain, and into the mid-morning sunshine. A warm current of air rose along the Peaks of Otter and caught a wisp of her hair. She smiled, for she could hear him going on about her auburn hair and how the sunshine made it sparkle like highly polished copper.
She slowly made her way down a familiar trail a short distance from the side of the road and reached the large, flat rock that was their favorite place. She sat down on the ancient limestone and gazed out over the distant mountains and the valley below. The mountain laurel was in full bloom, its violet flowers punctuating the many hues of green. She looked up–nothing but blue skies—and she waited for John.
“There you are!” she exclaimed and she looked into his green eyes as he appeared before her on the rock.
“Your hair is all sparkles in this sunshine,” he cooed. Mary giggled and pulled him tightly to her.
They tried not to talk about what was most on their minds, but they couldn’t avoid it. John was leaving for basic training and then it would be off to England and then, who knew? Mary refused to talk about the future, because she knew that she would have no future without John. So they talked about what time John would have to catch the train tomorrow and about the swell time they had at the dance the night before at the Roanoke Armory. The talk was interspersed with periods of silence, verbal silence at least, but the kisses and the tears spoke of deeper things for which there were no words anyway.
When it was time to leave, Mary rose and made her way along the trail to her car.
“I’ll be seeing you,” she said with the brightest of smiles and a sigh.
Mary drove back down the mountain and into Bedford. She parked across the street from the Presbyterian Church where she and the other women in town had wrapped bandages to be sent to their boys overseas. They had kept their hands occupied if not their minds.
As Mary crossed the street, the cool air ran down the mountain slope and caught a wisp of her gray hair, but she seemed not to notice it. She walked two blocks further to the monument on which were inscribed the names of the now-famous Bedford Boys. Assigned to Company A of the 116th Infantry Regiment, they happened to be in the first wave at Normandy. Few even set foot on the beach.
Mary knelt and ran her finger over John’s name. She looked down the street and back in time. She saw herself walking, John’s father holding her up with one hand while clutching a telegram in the other. That had been a beautiful morning, too.
Mary had had many positive moments in her life since then. She was an aunt and now a great-aunt and a revered part of a family that she loved. She had had a career and she had served her community.
Still, when the mountain laurel was in full bloom high up on the Peaks of Otter, there was only that moment. She embraced it now. Embraced it until the venerable rock that had become the sole destination of her sentimental journeys was well-spotted with her tears.
For a printable PDF file of this story, please e-mail me at agisriel at Yahoo.com and simply write “Bedford Girl PDF” in the subject line. Thanks!
Good story. There were lots of Marys then, on all sides, as there are in every conflict. Caught me off guard and brought a tear. At first I thought this might be a riff on “Dear John”.
Wow, that was a quick response–thanks, Jerry! Yes, I felt “John” and “Mary” are generic WWII names when I was writing this. We rightfully honor those who make the supreme sacrifice, but we tend to forget about those on the home front who somehow have to carry on. Theirs is a definite kind of bravery as well.
I really enjoyed the story. My heart goes out to the many Marys throughout the world and in this day and age the many Johns. Sharon Smith
Thanks, Sharon. There are always casualties on the home front; moms and dads and sweethearts who must bear life-long scars. This story is a result of wondering what happens to someone who can’t get let go of the last good moment.
Thought the story was well written and the subject made me tear up. Looking forward to more.
Thanks, Larry. The story of the Bedford Boys is incredibly moving and sad. Makes me tear up, too!
Oh Austin…..what a beautiful, touching story that just sent an ache deeply into my heart! I have always felt a special bond for D-Day because I was being born as all those young men were losing their lives. So tragic! It is especially crushing to read in your story that “few even set foot on the beach”…..they never had a chance…..and I know this to be true from the history that I have read. That spot where Mary and John had their last meeting would be about the most sacred place on earth for Mary! This is a four-kleenex story for sure, sadly still being played out to this very day!
Thanks, Bonnie. To think that the world was saved by a bunch of boys. An entire generation of girls made a sacrifice, too, and if you visit Bedford and walk around the town, it’s very easy to imagine the emotions that enveloped the place once families starting receiving those terrible telegrams, which wasn’t until over a month later.
Nice twist in the story and I liked the references to places around Bedford.
Austin is a romantic at heart!
Libby, you are correct! I had the chance to walk around Bedford on a Sunday morning a couple of years ago; it’s a beautiful town that still evokes the WWII era. By the way, there are certain lines in the story, whose meaning should stand out especially to YOU! I’ll let you ponder that before I dish out any hints.
Thanks, Austin. I’ve grown accustomed to reading your baseball stuff, so it was a welcome deviation to see your tender side. I imagine Mary could just as easily be a mother, too, running her fingers over the name of her beloved son. The time-travel was a nice touch
Thanks, Chip. The funny thing is, it’s the human element of baseball that makes the sport so compelling to me. I have started feeling quite paternal toward those young guys out there, chasing a dream. That monument is right there in front of the Bedford Courthouse, by the way. I wonder how many people pause before it anymore.
I didn’t know you were a romantic! Auburn hair….
A thorough romantic! And yes, for some reason (!) many of my heroines have red hair . . .
Awww . . . .
You nailed this one buddy. This kind of story reflects the feelings you have for the town of New Market as you expressed so well in Season in the Valley. This type of writting will surely go a long way in furthering your future endeavors. Looking forward to the next one.
Thanks, Don. I have a feeling that you in particular will enjoy the next one!
You captured a moment in time, Austin. What a poignant story. It certainly ties in with the stories that were detailed in The Bedford Boys.
Thanks, Martha. The Bedford Boys by Alex Kershaw is a book we both recommend to everyone.
Another great read from a gifted writer. I’m honored that I’ve had the opportunity to visit Bedford and the D-day memorial.
Thank you, Al. Both the memorial and the town of Bedford are special places.