Chapter 5 No.5

A Maiden Sleeps with an Army

-1-

If there's one kind of scenery I like more than anything, it's a winter landscape of rolling hills and evergreen trees laden with snow. Usually the sight of a snowy outdoors is very comforting-but not so that day. Every time I noticed the snow-and it had been falling thick and fast since early Sunday morning-it reminded me that Leon had to get back here that afternoon, and between Vyvy and the snowstorm, there was absolutely no telling whether he'd show up or not. So there was nothing very comfy about that snowstorm. Of course, it would do something like this at just this time. My luck again!

I was on the go all morning. General Backett certainly did believe in keeping busy. I discovered that morning that he was too old for regular duty and no doubt that was why he worked so hard: he evidently wanted to demonstrate his ability to stand the wear and tear, in the hope that he would get some kind of an active command after we reached France. "We," did I say? Which just goes to prove how easy it is to lose one's identity: I kept thinking that I was going with the General, instead of Leon. It seemed perfectly natural, as if I had been expecting it for months.

Well, I wasn't going, so what was the sense of these foolish visions? And yet, it did seem perfectly natural for me to be chasing around getting my equipment checked and replenished and then leaving it spread out for inspection. Even that morning at first call, I rolled out as pretty as you please, grabbed a towel and rushed for the water-trough, scrubbed my teeth, washed my face in the cold water, emitted a few curses just to keep up with the other fellows, rushed back, combed my hair (that was rather awkward, I imagine) and ran out with the rest of them to the mess hall. That much was good fun, even though I already had noticed the snowstorm.

From breakfast on, however, my worries piled up just about as fast as the snow heaped up outside. On the go every minute, doing a lot of things that I knew nothing whatever about, chasing errands, reporting this to that officer and that to this officer and running all over the place like a chicken sans head. All of which I would have enjoyed, if it weren't for this doubt about Leon.

This doubt increased steadily, for some inexplicable reason. I could just see him at home there with Vyvy, hating like the very devil to think of going back. He probably watched that snowstorm with fascination, and kept putting off and putting off the moment of his departure. I could understand how he felt: he hated the camp and he hated to leave his Vyvy, and I knew he spent all morning trying to decide whether the outfit really would leave that night. I finally decided to telephone him, if he hadn't come by noon, but when noon came I found that I couldn't get out until later and had to put off that project.

Meanwhile, I had the shock of my life, for who should appear but Jay-Jay himself. I tried to duck-it was just my damned luck to bump into him anyway, for he didn't know where Leon was supposed to be in this camp-but he spied me and called, so I had to face him. Believe me, I did some tall trembling at that moment, although I realized that if worse came to worst and he did recognize me, I could make him see the joke of it and keep his mouth shut about me. I just waited to see what he would do.

"How are you, Leon?" he asked, sticking out his hand to be shaken. "Thought you would be in Wakeham this week-end."

Well, what was I to say? I thought fast, believe me. I couldn't say I hadn't gone, because then later he would go home and perhaps run into Vyvy or Auntie or someone else who was at Vyvy's party and then he'd probably learn that Leon was there. While I pondered frantically, my eye fell on his wrist watch and noted that it was just a little before two o'clock.

"Why-," I stammered, "I did go home-just got back about half an hour ago."

He looked at me kinda funny. "Your voice has changed, hasn't it?" he inquired abruptly.

I laughed. "God, yes-everything about me's changed," I declared. "This damned army life changes you so you hardly recognize yourself." I grimaced as if disgusted with the whole business.

"You must have had a skiddy trip down," he observed then. "Rather rotten for driving, eh?"

"Don't mention it!" I exclaimed. "It was one hell of a trip! Leona came with me, in spite of Aunt Elinor's objections, and she started right back. God only knows when or how she'll get there in this weather."

"She did?" he repeated. "Dammit, I wish I had known that. I'd like to have seen her. Don't know when I'll get to New York again. This is the nearest I've been for several weeks."

"Been transferred, or something?" I asked, and offered him a cigarette, which he accepted before replying. "Got a match?" I certainly did try my best to sound matter-of-fact, despite the fact that this was the first time in my life I ever asked a man for a match.

"Sure-" And he produced a box, gave me a light, served himself, and continued, "Why, no, no transfer-just a rearrangement of the work we're doing. Means a lot of jumping around for me. Been down South the past three weeks, came over here from Washington yesterday and will be here until the middle of the week, when I move again."

"Interesting work?" I inquired.

"Not very-I'm getting fed up on it. I'm even considering applying for a transfer so I can go over. After all, a man might as well be in the middle of this business."

I nodded, and smiled-this didn't sound like Jay-Jay. I wondered if my ultimatum to him had had this effect.

"I say," he suddenly interrupted. "Why don't we have dinner together this evening, or to-morrow evening?"

I almost blurted out "I'd love to"-which was the natural thing to say-but I caught myself and said instead, "Gosh, I'd like to, but it can't be done to-night because I'm so busy I don't know when I'll be free, and it can't be done to-morrow because we're leaving, I think, to-night. Thanks a lot, though."

"You're leaving? Really?" he seemed completely astounded at this, but he came back quickly, "Well-" He extended his hand again, "Good luck, Leon. Be careful what you do with those mademoiselles and don't drink too much cognac on an empty stomach!"

"Don't worry about the mademoiselles!" I replied with a laugh. "And good luck to you. Hope we'll meet over there."

We parted and I breathed a mile-long sigh of relief. But after I reached the office, I could smile at the thought of this odd meeting, and particularly at the idea of Jay-Jay's being so utterly dumb. I was sure that if I saw my Captain in dresses and black paint, I'd recognize him without any trouble at all-and I only saw him once in my life. Jay-Jay certainly must have been stupid.

About fifteen minutes after this meeting, luck came my way for once. The General decided suddenly that I could do some purchasing for him in town. "Get a pass for an hour and pick up these things for me," he said, handing me a list of half a dozen things. I needed no urging; got the pass from the non-com in charge, and departed at once.

You can guess what the first thing I did was: hunt up a telephone booth that was secluded enough to allow me to say all I wanted to say. I found one in a lunch room and put in a rush call to Wakeham.

I spent fifteen hectic minutes waiting for the call to come through and when it did, I almost died of shock, for who answered the phone but my dear darling twin!

I was speechless for a moment. Adequate words for my feelings could not be spoken over the telephone, but I did try to give him a general idea of what I really thought of him for not leaving very early that morning.

"But your Special Delivery just came, about five minutes ago," he declared. "I'll leave in another five minutes.... But how am I going to get in there again? How are we going to change back?"

"How the devil do I know? You get here! The rest can wait. I'll wait for you at the headquarters building."

Aunt Elinor got on the line long enough to hear my voice. She sounded rather shaky when she said, "I feel better after hearing your voice, Leona dear."

"I'll see you in the morning, Auntie. Don't worry." And that was the end of that.

And this was the end of this. I'd been gone much more than an hour and my General was having forty fits by this time.

-2-

Several hours elapsed and my little adventure ceased to be interesting; even though I talked to Auntie by phone again it didn't make me feel any brighter. Somehow or other, I felt damned pessimistic. I wished I had kept my bright idea to myself, instead of getting into this nerve-racking mess. Leon should have been there by this time, but he wasn't, and no one knew where he was. Auntie said he left before three o'clock and had chains on the car, and he surely should be able to make it in six hours, even in a snowstorm.

Auntie was on the verge of hysterics, I guess. "What can you do? What can you do?" she kept asking.

"Why, I can't do anything unless and until he gets here," I told her. "What do you expect me to do, go out hunting for him?" It struck me that probably he had headed in the opposite direction. I suppose I really shouldn't say such rotten things about my brother, but I just couldn't help thinking things, knowing him as I did.

And then Auntie said something that gave me more to worry about. "Leon couldn't find Esky anywhere," she declared weakly. "We haven't seen him since last night."

I supposed the poor pup stayed out all night and would probably be down with distemper when I got home. Of course, no one would think of looking for him!

Auntie was enough to give anyone the willies when she got excited. "But, Leona, you must do something! What if Leon has an accident and can't get there this evening? What will you do?"

As if there was anything I could do!

"You listen to me, Leona! If he doesn't come pretty soon, you go right up to that General and confess the whole business! I'm not going to be worried like this!"

I had to laugh at that. She wasn't going to be worried like this! And I should tell the General! Why, they'd probably crucify me and send Leon to Atlanta for life! I told her to sit tight and not to worry-everything would straighten out sooner or later. "And I'm all right, anyway," I added for good measure. "Nothing to worry about."

"Well-you call me the minute he arrives," she insisted.

"Surely," I agreed. "And if he doesn't arrive-I mean if he calls you and says he can't get here, tell him to lie low until you hear from me. If he doesn't show up in time, I'll send a letter to you for him. He'll have to stay out of sight if he doesn't show up here."

Well, I finally got away from that phone and back to my bunk. We were going to Hoboken that night, as sure as my name was Leona Canwick. That is, somebody was going-was it me?

But I couldn't help wondering what I'd do if Leon didn't arrive. I couldn't think of a thing to do except do what he would do if he were here. I'd be in for one sweet time! If I got caught in this thing, thank God I wouldn't have to worry about one of those inspections for probably a month. Perhaps I could figure out some way of evading it by that time. But, oh, I did wish Leon would come! And I went back to the headquarters building again to wait for him.

Something told me that he wasn't anywhere near the camp! Any other man would have got there, if he had to break both legs and a couple of ribs. But not my dear sweet concaveman of a brother!

But as long as I was there, there was hope. When I left this camp, sometime before midnight-or rather, if I had not left it before that-the die would be cast, and there would certainly be hell to pay in more ways than one.

What a wonderful adventure this had turned out to be!!!

-3-

It was late Sunday night. Leon had not arrived. It was what you might call the eleventh hour and the fifty-ninth minute of this affair, and I was taking it for granted that I was in the soup up to my ears. The die apparently was cast. The Canwick blood seemed to have turned a sour yellow in at least one spot. I didn't know where Leon was, but I should have assumed hours ago that he would not be there. I don't know what I could have done about it anyway, except confess and get us both in a stew, but it got my goat to think that I forced myself into this martyrdom. But I was in it-and that's all there was to it.

O Leon, thou personification of courage, thou dear brave considerate brother, I really felt more sorry for you than for myself. A man as yellow as you was a fit object for the world's pity! I offered to help you with no idea that such consequences could be possible and with, I now realized, a mistaken conception of my brother's love and gratitude. This situation ceased to be funny a long time ago and if I did not pity him more than I hated him, I'd have given the whole show away before this. And the joke of it was that no doubt he felt confident that I would never do that.

And he was quite right: I would go through with my end of this thing in spite of him and his yellow streak. No future day in this man's army could be any worse than the one I had just put in-and which was not ended yet, so I felt sure that, barring accidents and given any lucky breaks at all, I'd be better able to stand what was coming than he would. If things ever got too bad, I'd throw up my part and let him take the consequences. After all, if I got caught in this, he was the one that would suffer. I doubt if he realized that!

However, being a generous and loving sister, I continued to give him the benefit of every possible doubt; I continued to hope that he hadn't deliberately deserted me in this predicament. And I took it for granted that he would at least be willing to do everything he could to protect me, and later get me out of it. If he did as I told him in my letter, without regard to his petty prejudices and silly comforts, he probably would save me from all sorts of embarrassment and himself from any amount of trouble and worry-for I could get along safely, if I was at all lucky. I'd made up my mind to get along-to lick this game if I had to kill off the general staff man by man.

I didn't know where he was now, but he'd surely get in touch with Auntie sometime soon, no matter where he was, and then she'd tell him what he must do-unless she passed out from the shock before that. Leon must stay away from Wakeham; even Vyvy must think he'd gone overseas. In my letter to him I promised to send her a few lines of love and kisses now and then to keep her happy.

I told him I'd write to him at Booneville-that was far enough away from home and far enough back in the woods to be a safe place for him to rusticate and hide for a while, until he could do something about me. He could lose himself in New York easily enough, but then he might get picked up somehow and made to enlist or do something. I suggested that he take the name of Leonard Lane, and stay at Booneville for a while.

Auntie would have to let it leak out that I was down South or out West, doing war work of some kind, like entertaining in the camps. Anyone who knew me would accept that story easily. My letters to her would, of course, be censored-unless I could manage to get them okayed by the General. If censored, I'd have to send instructions to Leon in onion juice: write a letter and interline it with other sentences written in onion juice, then when he or she held it near heat, the invisible onion-juice letters would be made visible. I knew it worked: we used to do it when we were kids.

So far so good: but how was I going to get out of this? There was the big problem, and the only answer I could see from here was for Leon to get a passport, if necessary, and get over to France by hook or crook, even if he had to work on a cattle boat or an oil tanker-anyway to get there. The rest would be easy: we would switch and I'd come back in his place.... Sounds reasonable in theory; I only hoped it would work out in practice. It depended, of course, upon how eager Leon was to get there-but-oh, hell, when that factor entered in, I might as well give up, for he never was eager to do anything that might be hard work or uncomfortable.

As far as I could see now, with everyone all packed up and waiting for the C. O. to appear with the final word, my fate was lying helpless in the lap of the gods. Which reminds me that I just by grace of God remembered what Mark Twain or somebody like him said about telling the difference between a girl and a boy: the General tossed a packet of papers to me and I instinctively spread my legs to catch it in my lap-and there wasn't any lap there; but I saved the day by catching it with my hand instead. I don't suppose the General would have noticed such a thing anyway. No reason why he should-but then I couldn't be too careful. I certainly had to watch my step.

I tried all evening to get away long enough so I could step out to a hotel and have a decent bath. Those army clothes were kinda itchy and uncomfortable when you were not used to them, and a bath would feel fine-but how could I take a bath in camp? Or on the boat. Or when I got to France? This was getting serious! And there were certain other things that were bound to happen in due time, and from time to time, and would have to be taken care of, regardless of soldiers, sailors, marines, nurses and generals and in spite of war and hell. I could see from here that I was going to have some very unpleasant moments in this man's army. I was certainly in a no-maid's land!

Well-such is war! For Leon's sake, as well as my own, I sincerely hoped that he wasn't foolish enough to appear there in the morning looking for me: that would certainly be fatal. However, I wasn't going to worry about that-there was little or no danger of him being near there even to-morrow. I told Auntie to tell him to stay away from there if he couldn't make it that night. And also for him to send me some money, addressed to Divisional Headquarters. I didn't have much more than the price of a bath, and there was a lot of things I'd got to have before many days elapsed.

All packed up, from tooth brush to absorbent cotton. Bring on your damned old war!

No sooner said than done: came the C.O. His voice was like the bell that summoned me to heaven or to hell.

And, my God, what was this I saw before me?

-4-

I had a moment of renewed hope when Esky appeared just as the C. O., a pussyfooting lieutenant named Blaines, was giving the final instructions. I thought for the moment that perhaps the pup's presence meant that Leon was about. But I recalled, next moment, that Auntie had said the dog was nowhere to be found when Leon left, so apparently Esky had padded along through all that snow and hadn't seen Leon at all.

The poor pup was all in. He dragged himself up on the bunk and put his head in my lap, perfectly happy to be there and have me rub his ears. I tried to get him off the bunk before the Lieutenant saw him, but Esky could be stubborn when he wanted to be, and refused to move, with the result that a few moments later this Lieutenant Blaines came along and spied him.

"Whose dog is that?" he demanded of me.

"Mine, sir," I replied. The very tone of his voice grated on my nerves. I had met him before: he was some kind of an aide to General Backett, and he was in and out several times the day before. His full name was Chilton Blaines, and I didn't think the General had a great deal of use for either his intelligence or his personality.

So I didn't attempt any evasion about Esky, knowing at once what to expect from this snippy little shave-tail. He fulfilled my expectations at once. "Get rid of him, and immediately. You know as well as I, Canwick, that no pets or mascots are to be taken aboard. This is no old ladies' home." And he strode pompously down the line.

After he had disappeared and we settled down for another quarter hour wait, a big homely man across the aisle spoke up in a voice that carried to all corners of the shed. "Dat's why dat bird don't belong here-dis ain't no old ladies' home."

"You mean the dog?" I asked stupidly, fascinated by his booming voice and his ugliness.

The big fellow grinned toothily. "Naw-dat Chilblaines, the God damn little sawed-off piece of punk."

Whew! What an earful! But I managed to laugh at his description of the shrimp louie, and in a moment the big fellow and I became fast friends, for he promptly offered his assistance in the matter of Esky's disposal. I gathered from his conversation that he not only liked dogs but that he loathed the sight of this snoopy "Chilblaines" as he called him, and that he would like nothing better than to slip one over on the aforesaid Chilblaines.

"We'll trim de little squirt!" he declared. "Say, buddy, ain't you workin' fer de Gen?"

"General Backett," I replied.

"Sure thing! Just the racket!" he exclaimed. "Nothin' to it atall!" And he proceeded to enlarge upon his brilliant idea. "I been waitin' fer a chance to get dat guy alone somewhere, and when I do, I'm gonna put his knees in his face so fast they'll have to blast to get 'em out!"

"Well-I wish you luck," I told him, although I didn't want to encourage him too much because I figured this Chilblaines was just the sort of a fellow who'd go out of his way to make life miserable for anyone he suspected of being antagonistic to him. However, I hadn't the least idea as to what could be done with Esky and I did hate to leave him for someone to ship home.

The big fellow, I later learned, knew some things that I didn't, one thing in particular: namely that, as clerical dog-robber to General Backett, I could get away with a great many little sins of commission and omission that no common soldier could dare contemplate with impunity. This fellow had been in the army long enough to know the necessity of humility on his part, and he therefore got that much more pleasure from the idea of my slipping one over on his pet superior. Indeed, he was all wrapped up in the idea of getting Esky through the gangplank inspection and on board our transport.

"All we gotta do," he repeated, "is get that pup into somethin' 'at looks official. The top-kicker'll probably be the only man 'at can suspect anything funny and he's too damned scared of his job to say anythin' if you tell 'im it's somethin' of the Gen's."

"But what if someone should insist on investigating?" I objected, hopeful but still in doubt as to the feasibility of the scheme.

"Aw hell, buddy!" he exclaimed impatiently. "Don't you know there ain't no river so wide it can't be crossed somehow or other? It's a million to one that we can walk right through without a hitch-why, there's a whole g-- damned army got to get on that boat and they ain't gonna lose no time over nobody." His reasoning convinced himself but not me.

"And what happens after we're on board? What if the dog gets loose? What if we're caught in an inspection on the ship?" I was convinced that it was too risky. "I'd rather arrange to have someone here ship him home to-morrow than take a chance on his being put out of the way in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean."

"Fergit it! Fergit it! Act yer age, buddy!" His booming voice was certainly persuasive. He sounded as if the scheme were all worked out and carried to successful conclusion. "Why, after we once get on that old scow, we can't get off, even if we want to. And nobody's gonna say anything anyway as long as we keep outa that dirty rotten little stinker's way."

At this point he demonstrated that he was chewing tobacco. When he spit, you expected the building to shake. It was really a fascinating sight: I never had seen anything quite like it: he gave his face a twist, aimed at a sawdust box about ten yards away, heaved a huge sigh and let fly in a long arch that usually ended in the sawdust box. The feat fascinated my sleepy mind so that I followed his argument in a sort of daze of admiration.

"Why, buddy," he continued, "there ain't nothin' to it atall! Not a worry! Not a wrinkle! If we get caught, your Gen'll fix it up-and anyway, what can anyone do out in the middle of the ocean? If Chilblaines threatened to throw de pup overboard, you know damn well the Gen'd put a stop to that! So what'd they do? Huh? Turn round and come back to let de dog off?... Why, buddy [Spit. Spit.] it's a set-up!"

I was convinced, or rather I let him go ahead with his plans. He procured a barracks bag and cut a little hole in the bottom of it. Then we tried various ways of carrying Esky in it. The poor pup didn't know what it was all about but I patted his head and told him it was all right, and the way he behaved proved to me that dogs have intelligence just like human beings. First we put the dog in head first; then we decided that he'd probably wriggle less if we put his head up so he could see and smell me and thus know he was all right. We tried this and I tried lifting it-it was no go. I couldn't have lugged it any distance at all.

"Let me have him," ordered my co-conspirator. And he took the bag, put a piece of board in it, stuck Esky in so his nose came at the drawstring, and picked up the bundle to carry it under his arm instead of over his shoulder as is the customary way of carrying a barracks bag. "You see, buddy, you'll be behind me and he can see ya and know it's all right. See?"

Just then the top-kicker's whistle blew and I had to submit to the plan. We started off, with the big fellow carrying Esky, besides all his own kit. Thank God we didn't have to walk far. We rode to the train in trucks. Nobody molested us and Esky behaved admirably, aside from a little stretching and wiggling which ceased as soon as I began to pet him.

When we boarded the ship in the morning, the big boy stepped lively up the gangplank with a smirking laugh, all prepared for Lieutenant Blaines, in case he happened to be around. But that gentleman was nowhere in sight. The officers at the rail gave my overloaded comrade a matter-of-fact glance, the top-kicker accepted his mumbled "some o' General Backett's stuff" and waved us past, and we followed the stream of traffic to the hole wherein we were supposed to spend the next fortnight or more.

The compartment assigned to our company proved to be too small by three bunks and the top-kicker finally assigned the big fellow and another odd number to join me in a little cubby-hole that used to be a paint shop and was now a hole just big enough for three bunks. Here we rested.

I found that the big boy's name was Ben Garlotz and that he used to be a prizefighter, under the ring name of Big Ben Bailey. He certainly had all the attributes of a rough, tough, genuine he-man. I liked him immensely and so did Esky, who was doomed to spend the duration of the trip under my bunk. The other bunkmate's name was Maurice Getterlow, and I believe he was some kind of a Semitic. We certainly made up a strange trio of bed-fellows-and Esky made an even stranger fourth member of the squad.

Dawn saw us in the lower harbor-and Private Canwick was en route to France. God help Leon and preserve Aunt Elinor from hysterics! I hoped they were both praying for me and that for once they might stand in with Mr. John Q. Headman!