Phantoms in the Snow, Page 2

  Skeeter opened another door, to a much smaller barracks than the one they had come from. Noah followed him across the threshold.

  The first thing that hit Noah was the smell, an awful burnt rubber smell. And then the girlie pictures, thousands of them pinned up all around the walls of the barracks — girls in bathing suits, girls in bras and underwear, girls with almost nothing on.

  “Real men don’t treat their women like that, looking at them half-naked. And women who pose like that, well, decent men don’t consort with the likes of them,” his father had once said.

  Noah flushed.

  Skeeter didn’t give the pictures a glance. Instead, he quickly walked between the rows of bunks, and Noah found himself hurrying after him again. Finally, Skeeter stopped in front of one of the beds.

  On a bare mattress with two crumpled blankets and no sheet, a radio clutched tight against him and liquor bottles on the floor all around, lay a huge bear of a man, snoring loudly enough to wake anyone within fifty miles.

  Noah looked over at Skeeter.

  Skeeter smiled apologetically.

  “My uncle?” Noah asked, dropping his bag.

  Skeeter nodded.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Skeeter bent over the man and began to shake him awake.

  Noah’s uncle moaned and turned over, swinging an arm out at Skeeter, like someone trying to get rid of a buzzing mosquito.

  Skeeter backed off until James Shelley lay still again. Then Skeeter went around to the other side and shook him, hard this time.

  “What? What?” roared Noah’s uncle, his eyes flying open. “What is it? Can’t a man get any sleep in this place?”

  Skeeter gave a slight laugh. “You got company, Shelley.”

  “Yeah?” Noah’s uncle said, raising himself up on one elbow to peer at Skeeter. “Well, if it’s that blonde from town, Skeeter, you get rid of her, okay? I ain’t in any mood or condition for a woman’s company right now.”

  “It’s not a woman, Shelley,” Skeeter said, nodding toward Noah.

  “Yeah, well, then what?” asked the big man, swinging himself onto his other side and coming face-to-face with Noah.

  James Shelley stared at Noah, and Noah stared back in shock. His uncle’s eyes were glassy in his heavily bearded face, and his breath was terrible. But still, his uncle looked just like his mother.

  “So, who’s this?” James Shelley asked. “Is this a joke of some sort? Is that fool Pete trying another of his tricks?”

  “No, Shelley,” Skeeter said. “I guess this is your nephew, Noah Garrett.”

  “What?” James Shelley asked.

  “I’m Celeste Garrett’s son,” Noah said.

  “So?”

  Noah’s stomach lurched uncomfortably. These were hardly the first words Noah had expected to hear from his uncle.

  “Your sister,” Noah said, hoping that his uncle had just misunderstood. “I’m her son. She’s dead, sir, and I’ve been sent to you because I don’t have any other living relatives.”

  His uncle frowned. Noah waited. Would his uncle not tear up a little? Maybe welcome him here? Shake his hand? But the man said nothing.

  Noah closed his eyes and took a deep breath, reminding himself that while sending him here had obviously been a mistake, his minister, Reverend Patterson, and his neighbor, Mrs. Norman, couldn’t have known. This wasn’t anyone’s fault.

  “Look,” Noah managed to say in a patient voice, “I guess this isn’t what you were expecting. It wasn’t what I wanted, either. If you just give me a place to sleep for tonight, maybe we can figure out something else tomorrow, sir.”

  Suddenly, James Shelley’s hand shot out, gripping Noah’s arm tightly. His uncle pulled Noah closer, looking him up and down, still not saying a word.

  Noah couldn’t believe he was being treated so shabbily, especially by someone who looked so uncannily like his mother. “Forget the place to sleep!” he managed to choke out in a tight voice. “I’ll just leave now.”

  “Whoa, whoa,” Skeeter interrupted, holding up his hand at Noah’s words. “Wait a minute, son. I’m sure your uncle is happy you’re here. He’s just surprised is all. Right, Shelley?”

  James Shelley glared up at Skeeter. Skeeter glared back.

  Noah waited. What was he supposed to do? Would he have to sleep out in the cold at the train station? Noah suddenly felt exhausted and overwhelmed and embarrassingly near tears. Determinedly, he gritted his teeth. He refused to break down in front of this unfeeling man.

  Then James Shelley sighed. “All right, boy. I’ll do something with you. We’ll work this thing out.”

  “Good,” Skeeter said, smiling. “I’ll leave you two to get acquainted.”

  Skeeter walked toward the door and then turned to face Noah. “You come see me if you need anything, okay?”

  Noah paused. Should he stay? What choice did he really have? There was no other place to go, at least until morning. Reluctantly, he nodded his agreement.

  Skeeter opened the door and then was lost in a blast of cold air.

  James Shelley swung his legs out from the blankets and stood up. “So, you say my sister’s passed on, huh? You got a father?”

  “He went, too,” Noah said.

  “Ah,” James Shelley said. “You got any brothers or sisters I should know about? I mean, ten or twelve kids aren’t going to suddenly descend on me or anything, are they?”

  Noah shook his head. How could this man act so callous about his own sister’s death?

  “You hungry?” James Shelley asked.

  The question threw Noah off guard. He nodded.

  “Well, let’s head on over to the mess hall, then,” his uncle said. “I know I could use some grub.”

  Noah followed his uncle to the door of the barracks, where Shelley grabbed a jacket. His uncle went to open the door and then stopped.

  “How’d she go?” he asked, not looking at Noah.

  “What?” Noah asked.

  “My sister,” his uncle repeated impatiently. “What took her?”

  “Smallpox,” Noah answered.

  James Shelley stood for a minute, his hand resting on the doorknob. Then without another word, he whipped the door open, sending it smashing into the wall.

  “Let’s go, boy,” he said.

  CHAPTER SIX

  They headed back to the mess hall. When his uncle opened the door and stepped into the room, everyone looked up and started cheering.

  James Shelley threw open his ski jacket and swept off his wool hat. He stood with his feet planted apart, grinning from ear to ear.

  “Toast! Toast!” the boy, Roger, yelled, grabbing a bottle of whiskey and handing it to Shelley.

  Noah’s uncle lifted the bottle high. “To the mountains!”

  The boys suddenly fell silent as they raised their own glasses. “To the mountains!” They each took a drink.

  Noah watched his uncle put the bottle to his lips and drink half of it down. Everyone cheered again. Noah wondered what they were celebrating, but nobody seemed to want to enlighten him.

  James Shelley turned and handed the whiskey to Noah. “Here, kid.”

  Noah stared at the liquor his uncle had given him. He was only fifteen, had never had a drink before in his life, and didn’t want one now. He gazed at the bottle, wondering what he should do with it.

  Skeeter came forward and took the whiskey away. “I don’t think that’s such a good idea, Shelley.”

  But James Shelley wasn’t paying attention. The boy, Roger, had begun chanting, “Tell it! Tell it! Tell it! Tell it!” and the other boys stood and joined in.

  James Shelley grabbed a chair and swung it around. He sat down backward on the seat, Roger and Wiley and the others all gathering close around him.

  Skeeter touched Noah on the shoulder and motioned him toward the back. “Let’s get you some food, kid.”

  Reluctantly, Noah followed him. As he moved farther away, toward the kitchen, he tried to hear what his uncle was say
ing, but the words were soon indistinguishable.

  In the back, Skeeter handed Noah a tray and some utensils. He began dishing food from the cafeteria-style buffet onto Noah’s plate.

  The food made a loud plopping sound as it landed on the dish. Noah stared at the big brown glob. He wasn’t sure if he was being served stew or slop.

  Skeeter caught his look. “Not too appetizing to look at, eh?” He grinned. “And unfortunately, it’s even less appetizing to eat!”

  Noah laughed.

  Skeeter handed Noah a glass of milk. “So, do you mind my asking? How’d your parents die?”

  “Smallpox,” Noah said. “Within a week of each other.”

  “Couldn’t live without each other, huh?” Skeeter asked.

  “Wish they’d realized that I couldn’t live without one of them, either,” Noah said.

  Skeeter nodded. “It’s awful hard when you lose your whole family.”

  “How’d you lose yours?” Noah asked.

  “Car crash,” Skeeter said. “Drunk driver hit them on some back road in Ohio. My older sister and her baby were with them, too.”

  Noah knew firsthand how Skeeter felt, but he had not lost a brother or sister and a niece or nephew at the same time he’d lost his parents. Noah wondered if the pain of that would be doubly hard. He imagined it just might be.

  Skeeter sighed. “There I was, in the blink of an eye, an orphan at age eighteen. And I thought if life was that uncertain, why not throw all caution to the winds? So I joined up with the 86th. Now, like it or not, these guys are my family.” He laughed ruefully.

  Noah didn’t say anything. The thought of replacing his mother and father with anyone, let alone a bunch of boys and men at an army base, seemed wrong.

  A shout of merriment rose from around Noah’s uncle.

  “What’s going on?” Noah asked, nodding over to where James Shelley sat surrounded. “Why is everyone so interested in my uncle?”

  Skeeter paused. “You’ve come at a funny time. Shelley just got back from two days’ leave.”

  “Why is everyone cheering for him?” Noah persisted.

  Skeeter laughed and rubbed his fingers through his hair. “Well, it’s like this. On his leave, he and another guy who’s still somewhere sleeping challenged each other to a hike.”

  Noah shrugged. “So?” He and his father had frequently hiked into the hills near their farm to go fishing.

  “They hiked from a town called Pando to Glenwood Springs,” Skeeter said. “It’s a distance of seventy-five miles in deep snow. They made the hike in twenty-one hours, without any sleep at all.”

  “That’s pretty good,” Noah said. The longest hike he remembered making with his father had been around ten miles.

  Skeeter laughed again. “Yeah, that’s pretty good. But what’s even more incredible is this: See, Pete was the one who had challenged your uncle to the hike. He picked how far they would go, and he set the pace. Your uncle, though, he was responsible for the provisions on the trip.” Skeeter grinned. “You know what your uncle brought?”

  Noah shook his head.

  “A candy bar,” Skeeter hooted. “Just one candy bar. Nothing else. I guess Pete nearly died when he saw what your uncle had packed in his knapsack. The rest of it was filled with paper.”

  Noah thought about hiking seventy-five miles in deep snow in twenty-one hours with only half a candy bar to eat.

  “That’s crazy,” Noah said.

  “Yeah,” Skeeter said, “it sure is.”

  Noah looked at Skeeter and saw his face shining with admiration. Then he looked at his uncle, his head thrown back, his eyes gleaming wildly out of his big, bushy face.

  His uncle had taken a chance that was both foolish and dangerous. Were all soldiers like this? Or just this group that had been ridiculed by their peers? Would these soldiers do anything to prove themselves? A shiver ran down Noah’s back, and he wondered just what Reverend Patterson and Mrs. Norman had gotten him into.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Skeeter loaded up a second tray with food. Then he motioned Noah to follow him back toward the others. They moved between the long, picnic-style tables until Skeeter stopped and slid the tray he was carrying onto a spot in front of James Shelley.

  “Something to eat?” Skeeter asked.

  Noah’s uncle turned and smiled. “Much obliged, Skeeter. I’m just slightly hungry.”

  The boys around him laughed.

  James Shelley grinned, then motioned them away. “Hey, I like you guys well enough, but leave a man alone to eat in peace, will ya?”

  The boys all laughed again and then drifted away to the other tables.

  Noah’s uncle picked up his fork and began to shovel the food Skeeter had brought him into his mouth. He kept on stuffing food in until Noah was sure it would all come spilling back out.

  Finally, his uncle stopped filling his mouth, chewed, and swallowed with a loud gulping noise. Abruptly, he patted the spot on the bench next to him.

  “Sit, boy,” he commanded.

  Noah set down his tray.

  “Who’s the kid, Shelley?” the boy Roger yelled from across the room.

  “Hitler’s son!” James Shelley yelled back.

  Everyone laughed again.

  Then James Shelley turned to Noah. “Come on now and eat, boy. You should always eat when there’s food in front of you. You never know when you may have to do without.”

  Noah’s throat tightened to hear those words slip so easily off his uncle’s tongue. His parents had said almost the exact same thing every day. Living during the worst depression the country had ever known, his parents always appreciated what they had and rarely threw anything away.

  “Yes, Uncle James.” Noah forced himself to respond dutifully as he sat down. He might not be fond of his uncle, but he was still family. And Noah knew his parents would have expected him to show his uncle respect.

  “Shelley,” his uncle said.

  “What?” Noah said.

  “My name’s Shelley around here,” his uncle said, “not James.”

  “All right,” Noah said.

  Noah took a bite of the food in front of him and immediately wanted to spit it back out. Skeeter had been right. The food was awful.

  His uncle grinned. “Don’t like it much, huh, boy?”

  “No, sir, Uncle Shelley,” Noah replied, trying to choke the food down, and yearning for his mother’s cooking. Suddenly, he could smell every plate of fried chicken and okra his mother had served him over the years, every meal delivered with love and smiles.

  “What’d you call me?” his uncle asked.

  “Uncle Shelley,” Noah said, “like you asked.”

  His uncle threw back his head and sent up a howl of laughter that shook the whole table. “Uncle Shelley! Uncle Shelley!”

  Then he looked back at Noah and grinned. “You sure are a hoot, boy.”

  Noah was bewildered by his uncle’s laughter. What was he supposed to call him?

  James Shelley shook his head. “Yeah, you sure are.” He turned and went back to eating, not saying another word until every last bite had been swallowed. Then he licked his lips and belched.

  Noah shuddered. Table manners were definitely not his uncle’s strong point.

  “Something wrong, boy?” James Shelley asked.

  Noah shook his head and stared down at his plate. He wasn’t hungry anymore. There was a hard knot in his stomach.

  His uncle stood and clapped Noah on the back. “Come on, then. I got to go get my mail.”

  Noah pushed back the plate of uneaten food and followed his uncle out of the mess hall and into the night. He was suddenly weary again.

  Yet in spite of his fatigue, Noah was brought up short by the beauty of the night. Stars by the thousands lit the sky, and the air was crisp. The mountains rose, dark shadows in the distance, moonlight spilling down their sides.

  James Shelley stopped, hitched up his pants, and breathed deeply. “Nothing like the mountains,
boy, and the snow. You ski?”

  “No, sir,” Noah said, still gazing at the beauty around him.

  “Never?” his uncle said, then he shook his head. “Actually, I don’t know why I’m asking. I should know you’d have never skied. Our folks were strict against it ’cause of their religion. All work and no play. So, I guess your mama was, too.”

  “I don’t know, sir,” Noah said, turning his attention back to his uncle. “I never asked her. There isn’t much chance to ski in Texas.”

  James Shelley laughed loudly. “No, I guess there wouldn’t be.” He shook his head. “You sure are funny, boy.”

  Noah shrugged. He hadn’t meant to be funny at all.

  His uncle began walking toward another building. He pulled open the door, and Noah followed him inside. His uncle walked up to a man sitting behind a desk. On the far wall were hundreds of metal postal boxes.

  “Hey, Josh,” James Shelley called. “How’s it going?”

  The man behind the desk looked up. “Well, if it ain’t the famous Shelley, walker of the seventy-five miles.” The man stood and held out his hand. “Congratulations! Glad to see you made it back in one piece.”

  James Shelley shook Josh’s hand. “Cakewalk, really. Nothing but a stroll.”

  Josh shook his head. “Maybe for you, Shelley, maybe for you.”

  Noah’s uncle laughed. “Hey, got anything for me there?”

  Josh went back to the boxes and opened one. He pulled out four envelopes, turned, and handed them to Shelley before sitting back down to his work.

  “Much obliged,” James Shelley said. He flipped through the envelopes, finally finding one and ripping it open. He pulled out a letter.

  “Well, what do you know,” James Shelley said. “Says here that my nephew’s on his way to stay with me awhile.”

  Josh looked up and then peered behind Shelley. “Looks like your nephew arrived before the mailman did, Shelley.”

  Noah’s uncle grinned. “Good old Uncle Sam.” Then he waved the envelope in the air. “Thanks, Josh.” He turned to Noah. “Come on, boy. Sack time.”

  They walked out of the building. “Josh has the biggest mouth in camp,” his uncle said. “By morning, everyone will know who you are. He’s going to save me a heck of a lot of explanations.”