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Legends of War Book Two
Sparrow Wars in the Garden of Bliss: A La Barre Family Saga
By C.A. Portnellus iUniverse
Copyright © 2014 C.A. Portnellus
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4917-4892-3
CHAPTER 1
Les Cauchemars
Beaumont, Texas Sunday, May 23, 1943
Laughter echoed off the nearby crypts as beams of flashlights garishly bounced off the headstones. They ran, tripping on planters, leaping over stone markers and grave hillocks, and dodging through hedges and trees as they trampled fresh graves and flowers.
"Hey! Whose idea was this?—'Let's get drunk in Magnolia; nobody will kick us out!'—Well this stinks!" Barton bellowed after he fell down on a gravellined grave.
"Oh shut up, you big chicken-shit! You scared of little ole ghosts, Barre?" Louis cackled his voice strident in the darkness up ahead.
"We're not kids anymore! This is stupid!" Barton yelled back.
"What a killjoy!" Garrett's mocking tone echoed among the crypts.
"I hate this place!" Barton grumbled. He got up; dusting off his knees, and blew on his skinned palms. He leaned for a moment against a headstone to catch his breath. E. Lucas probably didn't mind him resting here; he'd been dead since 1898. Still, he felt a chilly, ghostly breeze rise from the misty ground and sinuously wind about his neck. He put back the stone angel that had fallen off when he crashed into the headstone and sauntered away, rubbing a sore elbow.
"Come on, guys," he moaned. "Let's go somewhere else. I gotta go to the bathroom."
Far off noises and laughing helped to direct him closer to his friends. He certainly didn't like wandering through this place alone. He staggered along, hiccupping and taking a few sips of the harsh whiskey, wishing they had more money for better booze. He was disappointed that they had been ejected from the Rusty Spur Cantina. At least it had been warm, and the place had peanuts and pretty girls.
"I thought this was gonna be a party!" Barton complained, hollering into the darkness. "Yeah, Louis says, 'We gotta cheer you up, little buddy.'... Shit!" He paused to belch. "I ain't feelin' cheery yet!"
"Look who we found! Bart! C'mere!" Louis yelled.
Barton trotted on a new trajectory through the cemetery toward his friends. "Who is it?" he called into the murky darkness.
"Old Pew-bert Hubert. Remember him?" Louis giggled drunkenly.
"Hey! Let's piss on him!" Garrett suggested with a wicked laugh.
Barton met up with his taller, older friends to see brothers Garrett and Louis undoing their pants.
"Don't do that!" he grumbled. "That's sickening."
"Why? He was a sick, old creep! He gave me an F on my term paper. Well here's your F, you old geezer!" Louis snarled and farted, and then began pissing on the flower planter decorating the grave.
Snickering, Garrett joined in. "Yeah, I hated the old crumbum too. He sent me to the principal's office once cuz I was lookin' at Shirlee's paper."
Louis retorted with a loud laugh. "It wasn't just Shirlee's test you was lookin' at but down her blouse!"
Barton veered away as the brothers crudely reminisced about their old high school teacher, sending him rude drunken toasts.
"Up yer tail w' a rusty nail, ya old bastard!" The brothers shouted as they shared their whiskey.
Bart had never minded old Mr. Hubert—the man had given him an A.
He tripped along, feeling muzzy headed. His stomach roiled from supper's greasy chili con carne and probably too much beer and whiskey. He padded along to a stone bench to sit and then stared out at the dark and dismal cemetery.
He hated the dead and anything to do with them. While he enjoyed scary movies, he preferred monsters because they weren't real, rather than things about the dead, like Dracula or the Mummy; even Frankenstein was too creepy. The hideous movie creature, Nosferatu, once gave him cauchemars for a week!
Bart slurped the rest of the whiskey down and reluctantly wished there was more. He stood up and threw the pint bottle as far as he could across the way but didn't hear it break. He peered into the darkness, wondering why, certain that there would have been a loud noise. Disappointed, he then looked around, feeling very alone. He no longer heard his friends or any live sounds other than the rush of the night wind through the trees, a pair of bleeping frogs, and the drip of dew off the nearby stele. He looked about, wondering how to get out of this place. Where did they leave Louis's car?
All of a sudden, the fog seemed higher, and the place was dark and eerily lit by the swirling vapor and low moon. It felt like a movie scene from The Wolfman, lost out on the foggy moors. He moved on through the darkness with a sense of urgency, wondering if his friends were pulling a prank. Maybe they had left him behind here!
Barton tripped and fell again; this time he quickly popped up only to stumble on a low-set marker some feet away. He ran between the headstones, feeling panic gripping him. "Oh God, don't leave me!" he mumbled as he drunkenly navigated through the mist. His breaths were coming in sharp gasps, tinged with worry and fatigue.
"Where are you guys?" he hollered, now feeling paranoid by the surrounding tall monuments and the sinister mist.
"Hey, Bart! Over here! Come see ..."
He turned to the echoed call and picked up speed again, this time hopeful he would meet up with his friends. His foot hit something and it went ricocheting; there was the tinkling sound of glass. He looked about, thinking the area looked familiar. There was a narrow sign pointing to the cemetery lane, and he sighed with relief. However, he crept along, feeling his way through the low-lying shrubs and tombstones and found the bottle he'd thrown.
"Oh, that's weird; it's not busted." He picked it up and sipped at it to catch just a drop. Smacking his lips, Bart put the bottle in his jacket, thinking he shouldn't leave it behind. As he sat down to rest on a stone crypt, he noticed the pale pink granite headstone glittering in the mist.
"Mama." Barton's word was as a sigh. He went to the grave, peered at the inscription, and then petted the headstone. He leaned upon it, whispering, "I wish you would come back. I miss you."
The headstone was the only tangible object he associated with his mother, Charlotte Angelina Barre. His family all said she had died when Barton was almost six. One day she was in the hospital smiling at him, and the next day she was gone. Then Thérese Pierrault came to live with them. He had always suspected that someone was lying to him. His mother had just gone away! After that, life was forever changed for him.
Weeping, he began to claw at the damp sod near the headstone; he pulled up handfuls of grass and clover. "Mama, come back!"
Frantically digging like a dog now, Bart, on his hands and knees, pawed and stabbed through the wet earth with his pocket knife. "I gotta know!"
After some minutes, he felt something hard under his fingers, and he dug in deeper. The object was wooden. Now afraid, his stomach gripped him like a snake with a mouse. It couldn't be a casket; he had dug down only a foot or two, but the dark wood glistened wetly as he peered in the small hole.
"I must be insane, but I gotta know!" He scrabbled through the earth and worked his way down, shifting the dirt away from the object.
"Mama, don't let it be you." He cried, barely able to see through his tears.
He pulled up the box, slicing away the entwined roots holding it. The heavy wooden box wasn't very large, certainly not a coffin. Yet as Bart rubbed away the dirt, there was a memory of this thing. He found a metal plate on the box lid and peered at it—the inscription was rusted away. He tried to open it, but there was no latch. Guiltily looking about, feeling as if a ghost or demon might spring out at him or maybe his friends would catch him, Barton hastily stood up and threw the box on the ground with terrible force. It cracked open, and then he picked up a stone that lay on the monument header and smashed the box.
"I have to know!"
He knelt beside the mess, picking through the moldering items—flowers, a crudely carved horse, an Indian head penny, a ring—but then Bart was seized to stillness by the stone jar lying in the dirt. "No."
Barton picked it up, looking it over, and tried to pry off the lid, but it was sealed shut. He broke it open with the large rock. Fine silvery ash flowed from the jar, chunky and glittering bits lay upon the ground.
Barton let out a howl and flung himself upon the mess. "Mama!"
He wept inconsolably for what seemed a very long time.
* * *
"What are you doin', boy?" Louis growled and kicked at him.
Bart was suddenly jerked upright. "No! I don't wanna go!" he sobbed. "It's my mama!"
"Oh for the love of—" Garrett hauled the belligerent Barton into his arms.
"No! I can't leave her there!"
Louis tugged on his arm. "You idiot! What have you done?!"
Bart struggled to get loose, and then all of a sudden he saw stars and collapsed.
Garrett shook out his hand after striking Bart. "Come on, little buddy. Let's go play somewhere else." He gathered up his young friend.
Louis stooped to pluck two objects from the ground; he tucked one into Bart's hand and pocketed the other. Looking about the dismal area, he gave a shudder. "Yeah, I've had my fun here, let's scram."
Garrett stepped up the pace. With a moaning and hiccupping Barton under his arm, he commented, "Yeah, let's split this Dullsville scene! We need to find some women! This was a stupid idea, Louis." He kicked his brother in the ass.
The remaining night passed into eerie darkness on the empty road as Louis drove them through the countryside and to the Neches River and then back into town. After stealing a loaf of bread and some cheese left by the dairyman in front of a darkened house, they drove away to the city park to eat and drink more whiskey.
They all discussed grand plans of what to do with their lives, or at least Barton did, and then one by one, each man fell asleep.
* * *
Monday, May 24, 1943
Bart roused roughly from his sleep, blinked blearily up and around at the sunlight-filled car and smiled up at Louis. "Hey, am I home?"
"Nope. We got business to do today, so get your butt in gear." Louis hauled Barton out of the backseat of his car. Draping an arm about his shoulders, he and Garrett guided Barton into the doorway ahead of them.
Barton glanced around, noting two men ahead in line, and asked, "What are we doing?"
"Something important." Louis nudged him in front while tucking Bart's shirttail into his pants.
Barton rubbed his head. "Oh, man, I got a headache." He smacked his lips. "And I think a skunk took a hike through my mouth. What did we eat for supper?"
"Chili." Garrett answered.
Barton burped and then asked, "What did we have for breakfast?"
"Nuthin' yet." Louis prodded Barton ahead. "You're next, buddy."
"What am I doin'?"
The man at the table before him wore a uniform and smiled at the trio unctuously. "Good morning. You are here to sign up? We just opened, and we need eager men like you."
Barton turned back to Louis. "Sign what?"
"Yes, sir, we are eager." Louis stepped up and signed his name. The man handed him a packet of papers, and Louis shoved Barton in his place. "Do it, buddy."
Barton sneezed and signed his name. "What am I doing?" Then digging through his pocket for his handkerchief, his hand felt an odd object. He pulled it out, saw a petrified, pale yellow rabbit's foot, and rusted chain. "Where ...?" Still puzzled by the mysterious object, he was pressed aside by Garrett.
Garrett hastily signed, and the young men were directed to another room where, along with others, they sat down on the folding chairs lining the room.
Fidgeting, Barton stuffed the hairy foot back in his pants pocket. He looked about at the yawning and uneasy men in the room. Glancing at his watch, he noticed it was broken—the face cracked and stopped at 1:22—his clothes and hands were filthy. He whispered to Garrett. "I look like a bum. So what are we doing now? I wanna go home. I stink."
"Something important for your country, man."
"I don't care about my country," Bart hissed back and started to get up. "Look here, I got stuff to do."
"No ya don't—at least nuthin' important like this," Louis commented as he paged through the leaflets.
"I'm looking for a job."
"Got one yet?" Garrett asked idly as he gazed about the room.
"No." Barton looked away with chagrin, hearing his stomach growl.
"This will do it." Garrett sat back with a sigh and combed his frowsy dark hair into place. "Look, we will all be together. How much more fun will that be, huh?" He ran the comb through Bart's bright red cockscomb, patting the wild curls into some order and then passed the comb to his brother.
Louis elbowed Bart. "Yeah, be a pal for once. Yer such a sad sack lately." He quickly smoothed his dark hair and tucked the comb away in his jacket.
A tall, imposing man stepped onto the dais at the front of the room. He rapped a pointer on the podium to garner the attention of the men assembled.
"Who is that?" Barton asked, eying the olive and tan uniform with suspicion. "Oh dang, did we get arrested? What did we do last night?"
"No. That's Sergeant Raines, you know him from church. He's the recruiter here." Louis said mildly.
Barton felt his guts churn. "Recruiter?"
"Yeah, we're joining the army, just like we agreed last night." Grinning, Louis made a fist and popped Bart in the shoulder. "We're gonna go kill us some Japs and Jerries and make our mamas proud."
Barton's ears began ringing. "I don't want to kill anyone." He cast a menacing look at the brothers. "Except for you guys!"
"Sh!" Several hisses followed by indignant stares from men about them quieted Bart for a moment.
Garrett nudged Bart and whispered, "Do it for your mom."
He gulped, feeling tears rise up. "I can't, she ... she's dead."
Garrett looked at him strangely. "Well, then do it for your dad and little sisters. Or your chicken-shit brothers! I still can't believe Paul backed out of joining the navy." He shook his head. "Somebody in your family has got to have some balls and get on the bandwagon here."
"I don't care about them."
"Then do it for all the pretty girls. BettyAnn Sanders—she's still smitten. Maybe she can be your pen pal sweetheart while you are away." Garrett snickered but sobered when the sergeant cast his eyes their way.
"Not BettyAnn!" Barton groaned. "She got me into this mess!"
Louis whispered, "Yeah, we had to get you out of your funk there, boy. Old Sanders gettin' you arrested just put you in Blues Town, man. But this should do it! You'll show him! Hell, we'll all show the old poop we got guts! We got balls!" He giggled and elbowed Barton in the ribs. However, he caught the frown of Sergeant Raines and motioned Bart to be quiet.
Barton rubbed his ribs, which felt nearly bruised, but he mechanically went through the motions of the morning, still very confused and nursing an upset stomach.
At the end of it all, Louis pushed Bart and Garrett along the aisle before him. "We are in like Flynn, boys."
"I think I'm gonna be sick." Barton scrambled out of the aisle, stepping on men as he went and then raced out through the front office to puke at the curbside.
Sergeant Raines stood by at the doorway with a smirk, watching Barton as the men filed out. "It happens to the best of us! Good luck, men!"
Garrett and Louis collected their sick friend, but Barton choked on his words. "I still hate you guys!"
"Aw, no you don't. It's just the rot-gut talkin'."
"You'll be happy. All the girls will think you are a big hero," Louis chuckled.
"Yeah, BettyAnn and Marcia will just die when they see us all in uniform. You know how Marcia gets all atwitter when she sees Alistair's chest full of medals." Garrett puffed up. "I'm gonna look mighty fine too!"
"I hate BettyAnn!" Barton moaned.
"Come on; be a man, Bart. Yer in the army now!" Garrett laughed, and the trio headed to Louis's DeSoto.
* * *
Over an early supper that evening, Barton dropped the bomb with his announcement that he had volunteered for the army. He fiddled with his fork, looking at the uneaten scrambled eggs and diced tomatoes with a roiling belly, feeling as if he might vomit again. Whether it was the hangover or having to divulge his news, he did not feel well.
Richard, upon hearing his son's news, slammed down his fork and knife and stamped upstairs without a word.
Cecily glanced at Barton and whispered, "Um, I think Daddy is upset."
Nancy made a face and rolled her hazel eyes. "No kidding, dummy." She turned to Barton. "You know, since you came home from college, everything has just been a big mess around here. By the way, you look like a hobo."
Camellia set aside her fork and leaned toward Bart, whispering harshly. "Yeah, Bart the Bum. First you cheated us on getting to see you graduate. Don't you know how important that was to Daddy and Mom? I mean, all of us wanted to see it—you are the first one in this family to graduate college! Nancy and I think you are very selfish."
He shook his head and let out a heavy sigh. "I know how they feel. I got yelled at plenty enough for just showing up here."
(Continues...)
Excerpted from Legends of War Book Two by C.A. Portnellus. Copyright © 2014 C.A. Portnellus. Excerpted by permission of iUniverse.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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