Hello. My name is Marie Gordon. Actually, I'm married, so it's Marie Adams. Well, I was married, but I suppose I am getting ahead of myself. Sometimes, when I am not thinking straight, I forget things. I definitely don't think today is a day for thinking straight. I guess I should describe myself.
I am five feet five inches tall. I have dark chestnut colored hair and chocolate brown eyes as my husband says. I also have two white strips in my hair from when the farm caught on fire. I was only four when it happened, but my hair was singed to the root and when it grew back, it was white. My frame is small and my figure is petite. That's about all there is to me. Oh, I'm 28 years old, too, and I have a southern, Mississippi accent from my daddy. I'm sure my husband would say there's to me than that, but he's not here to dispute that sadly enough.
My husband. Sounds nice, doesn't it? I'll tell ya what sounds nicer though. Mrs. Logan Adams. Logan is the most gorgeous man alive. I love him with all my heart and soul. He's got these intense hazel eyes that just melt me every time I look into them. He also has dark brown, almost black, hair. It's got just enough length to it to make it fun to run my fingers through. It was awful when he came back from the war and it was shorter, but it grew out nicely and quickly. And all that training for the war made his six foot three inch frame even stronger and more developed than he already was. I love the way he holds me in his strong arms at night. Logan and I live with my parents and grandparents on the farm. Momma and daddy were really great about that.
We live in our own little house that Logan built. When we got engaged, he insisted that we have our own place, our own home. He's never liked being dependent on someone else. If I keep talking about Logan, I'll never tell my story. I could talk all day about Logan, he's my everything, but I have a more important mission.
I was born on July 24, 1918 in Ontario, Canada. I don't think our town really has an official name yet, and it certainly didn't then. Anyway, mom and dad had been married for fourteen years by then and they had been trying to have a baby for a while. Mom was thirty when I was born and the doctor said I was a miracle. That is why I am an only child.
I think my first memory is of Ororo Munroe. She was a runaway who managed to make her way to our farm. She snuck on our truck in May of 1921. Since that day, she's been like a sister to me. She was eight when I was three. 'Ro left with Remy eleven years ago. We stay in touch, but I haven't seen her since 1935.
Logan came to the farm next. I remember that day very clearly. I was only eight, so there is some little kid innocence in those memories. Anyway, he was thirteen and rude as all get out. He picked a fight with one of the older boys, bringing him to the attention of my father. That day I followed daddy around everywhere, so I saw and heard everything.
Logan was a runaway, too. His mother died when he was very young and his father was a drunk and didn't care about him, so he didn't notice when he left. Later, we found out he was from British Colombia.
He was so cute, even then. I had a little girl crush on him and followed him around all the time. I think it annoyed him at first. I remember those first times when he would hide from me just to get some time alone. Logan always liked his time alone. He's intensely private and only shares things with me now.
Eventually, he started to treat me like the annoying little sister I was acting like. He teased me, ruffled my hair, called me names, but all in fun. Logan always cared for me, maybe not the way he does now, he did anyway, but in some fashion I was always important to him.
That was in 1926, and two years later, daddy opened the store. Since daddy wasn't foreseeing the farm work anymore, all the workers had to take on extra chores, which meant Logan had to work more. I still always admired him from afar, but never acted upon my schoolgirl crush. As I got older and older, my crush grew bigger and bigger. Especially when Scott started to work at the farm.
Scott Summers was fifteen when he came to the farm looking for work. He had just moved to the area, and seeing daddy's add in the local paper, decided to answer it. Now, for a girl of twelve, handsome guys like Scott indulged my fairy tale fantasies. He was gorgeous, too, only not in Logan's ruggedly handsome way. Scott had more of a baby face, very young looking.
He always treated me nicely, too. Compliments that were always sincere could be heard every time he was around a lady. He was very gentlemanly. Somehow, he gave me more compliments though. Brother type compliments, like "you look very pretty today Marie", or "Your hair looks nice today." I think Scott was always more brotherly to me than Logan was. To Logan, I was an annoying little sister, to Scott a cherished family member.
I think this made Logan made, that Scott was paying attention to me and that I was paying more attention to Scott than to him. He knew I had a crush on Scott, too. Said I would always get this silly little grin on my face when he would talk to me. I think he was just jealous. Anyway, that's when Logan started to make time to spend with me.
He would eat his dinner with me, and after work was finished for the day, would find me to spend an hour with me before I had to go to bed. These times were nothing dramatic though. Just me telling him how my day was and him teasing me like he always did. Before he left each night, he would ruffle my hair and say, "Pleasant dreams, kid." Then I would scurry off to bed. I always did have pleasant dreams, too, simply because that small amount of time with Logan would feed my crush.
I was happy for a long time that way, too. That is, until Jean came six months later. Momma and grandma couldn't keep up cooking for all the workers anymore, so they needed help. I was only thirteen, and helped when and where I could, but that wasn't enough. The workers didn't like Ororo's cooking, so she couldn't help. So, the only thing left to do was hire someone who could take on some of the responsibility.
Jean Grey was hired two days later, after the staff had gotten a taste of her chicken dumplings. She was from one of the neighboring towns and her mother, whom she had been caring for, had just died. Her father died in World War I and she had no other relatives. She was only seventeen and had not married or had a suitor to care for her. She had nowhere else to go. When she saw the ad, she knew it was perfect.
Well, the staff enjoyed her cooking so much, that she started to hang around them to get to know each of them a little better. Logan fell for her right away. So did Scott. They were in constant competition for her attention. At night, and during dinner, I found myself alone. Logan was spending more and more of his time to impress Jean. I would go to bed and cry because Logan wasn't mine anymore. He still treated me well, when he saw me. Always ruffling my hair. But it wasn't the same.
Finally, when Jean started to flirt with Logan, Scott knew it was time to throw in the towel. Shortly thereafter, Logan started to officially date Jean. Slowly, I found my nights were spent with Scott, who sought me out. He told me how much he loved Jean, but that she always interested in Logan. I wanted to give him some advice, but only being thirteen, had none to give. Plus, I was nursing my own broken heart. The last night that Logan and I had spent talking together was the night that I knew he wouldn't come back. My heart started breaking then and I went to bed that night crying myself to sleep.
After one night walk with Scott, I came through the orchard, intending to go into the house through the back porch. As I got within twenty feet I could hear voices long before I came out of the trees. Then I saw them. Together. Logan leaned down to kiss Jean goodnight. She went in the house then. He just kind of stood there for a second before turning around to see me frozen at the edge of the orchard. As soon as he turned, so did I. I ran back into the trees, tears streaming down my face, my heart completely shattered. All the time he had spent with her I had held out some hope. That was gone totally now. I knew he would never be mine. And that is true. He never was meant to be mine. Or maybe, it was I that was never meant to be his.
After a year of dating, Jean was pushing Logan, saying that one day she wanted to be married and have children. I didn't much care by then. A new worker had come to the farm and had caught my eye. All my time was now being spent with Remy Lebeau.
Remy was from Quebec. I never knew why he came to the farm or why he had left Quebec in the first place. Once he mentioned something about a bank robbery in Rimouski, but that was all he ever spoke about. He was a year older than me, seventeen. He was very gentlemanly; taking me out in the afternoon for walks or rides on the horses. Remy never tried to compromise my reputation. Logan started to notice that Remy was paying attention to me, and, had I been interested in anything besides Remy at the time, was slowly starting to ignore Jean.
On my seventeenth birthday, Remy asked my father for my hand. Seeing how good a worker Remy was, daddy agreed, knowing that he would make me happy and be able to support me. He asked me that night, in the orchard, by a tree that we went to on our walks. I said I would have to think about it, that I didn't know if I was ready to be married yet. He asked me if that was all that was bothering me, and when I said yes, he told me we could have a long engagement. Still unsure about the whole thing, I told him I would give him an answer no later than the end of the week. Remy left then, telling me that he would leave me alone until then to decide.
I didn't know that Jean had given Logan an ultimatum three weeks ago, saying if he didn't marry her she would leave. I didn't know that Logan had followed us into the orchard and had heard the whole thing. I didn't know that a diamond solitaire was clutched tightly in a velvet-covered box, sitting snugly in his pocket.
Before I went to see Remy again, I visited all my friends and family for advice. First was momma. She told me that Remy would make a fine husband and could make me happy. Basically, marry Remy. I already knew how daddy felt, and if momma and daddy felt that way, so would grandma and grandpa.
So next was Ororo. I had known her the longest and had always trusted in her friendship. She told me to do whatever I felt would make me happy. If Remy made me happy, then I should marry him, if he didn't I shouldn't. As much as I liked her advice, it didn't help me any. At the time, I didn't know what would make me happy.
Scott, being the wise, protective older brother type came next. He told me that he knew I loved Logan as much as he loved Jean, but since neither of us could have what we really wanted, that didn't do much good. His advice, take what was being offered, not what I would sit and pine after, because I could never have that. But I had to decide, because and offer like Remy's didn't stay on the table forever.
I talked to friends in town, some of whom knew I had a crush on Logan, and got varied answers. Marry Remy. Don't marry Remy. Wait for Logan. And a bunch of other responses that weren't helpful.
Next, I went to Jean. We had never been close and rarely talked outside of daily chores, but for some reason I wanted to hear her opinion. Maybe I just wanted to see what kind of shape her relationship with Logan was in. Maybe I valued her view. I don't know now, but I didn't like what she told me.
Jean said that Remy loved me and I loved him. She said she could see it on my face, but inside, I didn't know if I really did or not. I certainly cared for him, but I didn't know if I wanted to be married to him, which was the whole reason I was doing all of this. If I had been certain beyond a shadow of a doubt, I would have said yes right away, but the fact that I was hesitating told me something. Everyone else accounted my delay to nervous jitters, but I think it was more than that.
Anyway, after telling me what I should feel toward Remy, Jean then told me that I should accept the proposal. Sure, a pretty girl like me could get any boy, but most of the time a girl is only proposed to once in her lifetime. And anyway, Remy was a good catch. We made the perfect couple.
Then she kept going, not being able to shut up at that subtle little barb. She had to add insult to injury, rubbing salt in my wounds. She proceeded to talk about beautiful women like her had suitors knocking down the door trying to get to her. I hadn't ever seen that, in fact the only one I ever saw her with was Logan. So I told her that, the last part. She said that the reason to that was she was serious about him. Jean knew for a fact that Logan had ordered a diamond engagement ring from daddy's catalog not more than three weeks ago and Logan was just waiting for the right time to ask her. She had found out the day the ring arrived. Not wanting to steal my thunder, she hadn't announced anything yet.
I couldn't take anymore of her hurtful words. She knew I had a crush on Logan and thought that saying all of those things would convince me to forget about him and move on with Remy. And it did to a point. After I left her room, I went to ask 'Ro if she knew anything about it. She worked at the store with daddy, handling the paper work and order forms since she couldn't help with the cooking on the farm. She confirmed Jean's story, saying he had ordered it, but asked if he would be able to return if needed. Obviously Jean didn't know that part, or if she did, she wasn't letting on.
So, I went and cried in my room that night. I still had a day before I was to give Remy my answer. I spent that day thinking things through in my head. Sitting up in the loft of the barn, I could look out over the fields from the cracks between the planks or watch the workers come in and out of the bar below me. No one knew I was up there, and if they did, they left me alone. I watched Remy and Scott and some of the other staff members, but I didn't see Logan anywhere.
Finally, around sundown, I decided it was time to give Remy my answer and crawled out from the top of the barn. I was to meet him at our special tree, so I started to walk toward the orchard. Not paying attention to where I was wandering, lost in my own thought, I managed my way to the oldest tree that stood in the middle of the orchard. When Logan and I were smaller, we used to climb its lower branches, slowly working our way up to the top.
The memory brought tears to my eyes and I slumped down at the base of the trunk, curling my legs under me to rest my head on my knees and sob. I missed the shadowy figure that was perched on one of the middle branches. As I cried my eyes out, a voice carried to me, saying 'I thought you were supposed to be meeting with your fiancé tonight?'
I looked up sharply at the sound of the voice, looking for a face to confirm the familiar sound. Logan jumped down off the branch to stand in front of me. All I could do was stare at him. When he didn't get an answer from me, he asked me why I never came to him for advice. He knew I asked everyone else, he told me that. After meeting with Jean, I didn't want to hear his side of their happy fairy tale ending, so I spent the day with myself. I needed to do that anyway. I didn't tell him that though, all I did was look down and shrug.
He turned away, facing the spot where the lights from the farm twinkled through the leaves and trees. I asked him if he would tell me now. Looking back at me, he said I should do what I want. No one can make me do something I don't want to do and no one can make my decisions for me. I jumped up, suddenly enraged at his tone laced with disgust. Shouting, I told him that that was what everyone said. Either marry Remy or do what makes me happy. None of the advice I asked for helped me any and at least Scott gave me something definitive. He told me to marry Remy, Logan didn't tell me anything. Scott at least acted like the brother I thought he was, Logan hadn't acted that way in over a year.
I was only standing a few inches away from him by that point. Suddenly, his hands are at my hips and he's backing me up against the tree. I felt his lips descend on mine in a crushing forceful way. At once it was what I always hoped for and what I now dreaded. He was going to marry Jean and I Remy. Maybe he realized what he was doing. Maybe I pushed him away. I can't remember now, my head was swimming in new sensations.
He turned to leave, muttering something under his breath. Later, I would learn that he didn't want to be my brother, he wanted to be more than what a brother could ever be to a sister, he wanted to be my lover. Then, loud enough for me to hear him, he told me to marry Remy. He got two steps away from me before I stopped him. In a quiet whisper, I asked him if it was true. Logan spun around to face me. He had this puzzled look on his face. Repeating myself I asked him if he had bought an engagement ring.
Logan shook his head yes, the questioning expression still evident. Even then I could read his mind, knew what he was thinking. Jean told me, I said. He shook his head in understanding, still not budging from his spot. Wiping away the drying tears on my face as new ones threatened to spill over, I asked him when the date was. The bewildered look reappeared on his face, so I asked again, when he was going to marry Jean.
He stood there, but his eyes fell to the ground. He told me he wasn't going to marry Jean. Now I was puzzled. I asked him why he bought the ring if he wasn't going to marry Jean. His eyes rose to meet mine and I lost myself in them. Quietly he told me the ring wasn't for Jean. If the ring wasn't meant for Jean, then that meant... Realization dawned on me, as I finally understood what had happened.
Logan told me about how three weeks ago, after a date, Jean told him she wasn't going to wait forever for him to marry her. They had a fight after that, and he had come out here to think. He never thought about marrying anyone before. Somehow, in his disjointed thoughts, he remembered how I looked the night before, when Remy and I went for a walk to our special tree. That's when he realized that in the short time I had spent with Remy, he and Jean had slowly started to drift apart. That night, he realized I was a beautiful, eligible young woman, not an annoying kid sister type. He realized he was losing me to Remy and that he wouldn't be able to get me back. Ever. That special feeling he always had toward me was love. At first, it was only brotherly love, but as we spent more time together, that started to change. It had taken Remy coming in and sweeping me off my feet to understand that he loved me.
The next day he had gone to the store to order the diamond from the catalog. He planned out the evening he would ask me to marry him, the night of my birthday. Wanting to know my feelings toward him first, he tried to get me alone, but all my free time was taken up by Scott or Remy. He resigned himself to waiting until my birthday, knowing sometime we would be alone when he wished me a happy birthday. That's how my birthdays always went. Then, he was going to ask my father for my hand, after knowing for certain that I loved him.
The night of my birthday he followed me out to the orchard and to the tree Remy and I met at frequently. Staying out of range, waiting for me to finish with him, Logan heard Remy ask me to be his wife. Logan said his heart broke in two, hearing him pose that question to me. Turning away, he walked back to the house, hearing me ask for time as he left. He planned to ask Jean to marry him the next day, but as he thought about it, he couldn't imagine being married to her. He couldn't imagine being married to anyone but me for that matter.
So, the next day, he went back to the store, asking 'Ro if he could return the ring if he wanted. When she said yes, he walked out of the store, intending to bring it back and do just that. He got back to the worker's bunks and pulled the little velvet box out of its hiding place. Taking one last look at it, he knew that he would never be able to let it go. It symbolized letting go of me if he did it. He said he'd never let me go, a part of him would always belong to me.
Except now, that was exactly what he was doing. Telling me to marry Remy when I really loved him and he me. He wanted me to be happy, and if Remy made me happy he was willing to say good-bye, physically, if never mentally.
I asked him why he never asked me. All he could say was that the reason was pretty obvious. I was a little upset by that, but I didn't want to push him away, so I told him as genteelly as possible that he automatically assumed I would say no since I had Remy's proposal, that he didn't even want to hear what I would have said. Logan asked me if I would have said yes, and I told him he would have to ask that question to get an answer.
Closing the two steps between us, he grabbed my hands by my sides, placing them in his, and brought them up together between us. Leaning his forehead down to mine to look straight into my eyes, he asked that special question that Jean said I would only be asked once. All he said was 'will you be my wife', and all I said was 'forever.' He crushed my body to his, sweeping his lips over mine in a passionate kiss. I tasted him that night as his tongue swept into my mouth.
We broke away long enough for him to slide the ring on my finger. Said he had been carrying it with him since the day after my birthday, the day he was going to return it. We still had to go to supper, everyone would miss me not being there. Walking back hand in hand, we got back a little early so he could speak with my father. I went with him, to show daddy that this was what I wanted, that Logan was who I wanted.
Daddy just wanted me to be happy. He gave us his blessing. Remy finally figured out that I was not going to meet him, and as Logan and I started into the dining room we would be sharing now, he saw us. Logan went ahead without me, so we could have some time alone. I didn't even get a chance to speak as Remy held up his hands and told me he wasn't blind, that he had seen the way Logan looked at me when we were together. He said he should have known not to take anything away from him, and that I certainly belonged to Logan. Remy wished us both happiness. So, at age seventeen, I was engaged to a twenty-two year old Logan. And I was happy.
That is, until Logan and I got to supper. I walked in after talking to Remy and Jean was all over Logan like she normally was everyday. Jean wasn't a slut, in fact, she was a more of a tease. I don't think she had ever done anything bad in her life, but she flirted shamelessly with Logan, even before she accepted his first proposal of a dinner date. As I watched from the doorway, Logan excused himself, dragging Jean along with him.
I decided to wait at the table, knowing what the two would be saying. We started to pass around the food, dishing out servings. Logan's plate was next to mine, so I dished out his servings, too. I knew how much he ate a day and managed to even get some extra on the plate. Everyone somehow knew about our engagement, and even though Logan was not there to accept them, we both received many congratulations. Then, everyone fell silent, as if they also knew what was going on in the kitchen right then. Five minutes later, there was a clapping sound, and Jean went running through the dining room and up the stairs, tears streaming down her face.
When Logan didn't come back to the table, I excused myself. Walking into the kitchen, I saw him standing by the sink, looking out of the window toward the road that lead from the farm to town. I crept up to him to lay a hand on his back. His hands were clenched into tight fists, his arms shoulders width apart on the counter holding his leaning frame up. He never moved, not even flinching as I laid my hand upon him. I placed my hands over his fists, squeezing them a little, finally he turned around to face me. A bright red handprint marred his tanned skin.
I reached up to smooth the injury away, but he grabbed my hand before our skin could connect. He grabbed my other hand, the one that now bore his mark, his token of unconditional love. Kissing me like he did out in the orchard, I fell into his hazel pools. We walked back into the dining room hand in hand and finished our meal.
Remy stayed long enough to start a relationship with Ororo and to get his last paycheck. Then, the two left for the States. Ororo and I have kept in touch, but I haven't seen her since that day eleven years ago. Scott was there for Jean. He hadn't wanted her on the rebound, but it only brought them closer, and five months to the day they started to date, they got married.
Logan and I, well, we took a little longer. Like I said before, Logan doesn't like to depend on anyone else to take care of him or his family. So, he insisted on building us a house next to momma and daddy's. We talked about it a long time before he started building. He would spend his days working on the farm, like he always did, and then we would take a walk in the orchard, or go to the barn and sit in the hay together, or just swing on the back porch's swing chair.
Now that he had taken over for grandpa as foreman, daddy paid him a little more. With the extra money he was making, plus all that he had saved, Logan bought the materials to build our little dream house. Daddy wanted to help financially, but Logan wouldn't hear it. He even insisted upon buying the land our plot was on, but daddy wouldn't have that, so they managed a compromise. Daddy would help by giving me the land as a wedding present. That seemed to satisfy Logan enough, so he agreed.
Our plan was nothing elaborate. There would be a kitchen, a living room, a dining room, a bathroom, and of course our bedroom. Only one story, too. We planned for a small flower garden in the front and a nice, small grassy lawn. He even planned his schedule to get all this work done. Logan would work during the day, getting up extra early to work in the morning sun and taking off two hours early every day to work before the sun set.
Logan started working the next day, after we had everything set in stone. He marked off the rooms with wooden pegs and rope and started to bring in the supplies so he could start construction the next day. After that was done, that night he took me to our little plot.
Standing in the starlight, he pointed out all the rooms and the furniture we would put in them. He didn't mention the bedroom, so I asked. We were standing in it, he said, right where the bed would be. Logan bent down to kiss me, a preview of better things that would come later in that room.
Since Logan insisted on working alone, wanting no one's help in the chore and working only a couple hours a day, it took him a long while to get the house built. When the construction of the house finally ended, he went out to buy paint. The inside he painted a beautiful pale blue with white crown molding trim. He also knew that pale yellow was my favorite color because I loved the color of grandma's primroses.
I remember the day I came out of the farmhouse to get him for our nightly walk. He was just finishing the last few strokes in the waning sunlight. I called out to him, and after he completed his task, he climbed off the ladder and walked over to me. Logan looked so adorable with paint smudged across his forehead where he wiped the sweat away. He also had a few more smudges on his work clothes and arms. I remember the way his face looked, sad, disappointed. He told me it was to be a surprise, but I told him not to worry because it was. His expression changed, but to one of doubt. Logan was afraid I didn't like it, but I reassured him when I told him I loved it. I think I even shed a tear or two when I told him that. I couldn't believe the man standing before me loved me this much or knew me this well.
There was one more surprise addition to our little house. He built a little white picket fence around the house, because I told him I had always dreamt of one. It had and a curved gate that had a tall arch attached on the other side. Like an archway leading into our little world and to the porch of our little house. He painted it white, too, and put it there so I could grow a creeping plant across it.
As we stood looking at our dream house that night, we each had visions running through our heads. I of a little boy chasing a dog around in the yard the gate to the fence swinging open while Logan and I swung on the porch swing. Later, he told me what he saw. It was amazing that two completely different people, yet somehow the same, could dream of the same thing. Well, almost the same thing. Logan saw a little girl instead.
All the while Logan was building the house, I was picking out new furniture, from the money he had saved, and planning our wedding. It was to be a small affair, held in the church in town, but it would be a big thing for Logan and I. When the house got closer to completion, we set a date, estimated to be around when the house would be completely finished.
Now that all that was done, all that was left was getting married. Logan and I stayed together on our nightly walk a little later than was usual since he wouldn't see me until after the afternoon ceremony the next day. Then he retired to spend his last night in the workers bunks while I slept my last night in my old bedroom.
The next day, the ceremony went off without a hitch. Daddy led me down the aisle and momma and he gave me away. All of our friends and family were there. Logan looked absolutely handsome, all dressed up in a tuxedo. He wore it for me. Even though he really didn't like it, he knew how much it meant to me.
He whisked me away to Niagara Falls for our honeymoon. I think we saw the falls once in our two-week stay. We could hear it from the hotel room that Logan rented. We had a balcony, a marble bathtub, and, of course, a king sized bed. When we got back, daddy and the boys had moved our furniture in and momma and grandma rearranged it to make the rooms flow. That was in June of 1936.
Daddy's store made it through the Depression, as did the farm. Now that the economy was going back up, so was business. Little did we know that all the Nazi politics that were going on in Germany would hit our farm harder than the Depression.
In 1937, Jean and Scott had their first baby. Charles Summers was born on February 21, 1937. He was born into a decade that would not be kind to the world. His first year of life was happy, with Logan and I as godparents and Scott and Jean caring for their son.
Then what we had all feared would happen did. Canada declared war on Nazi Germany on September 9, 1939. The vote was nearly unanimous. Many of our workers felt the need to defend their homeland, including Scott and Logan. Not many infantry units were planned because of the high casualty rate, so many joined the Royal Air Force. Scott did just that, but not Logan. Logan had to be on the front line. Even though I begged and pleaded with him not to, he volunteered for one of the infantry units.
The day they were to ship out was heartbreaking. Logan looked so dashing in his uniform. He had to cut his hair a little since it was too long, but even that fit him well. Daddy was going to drive the guys to town in the truck, so all of us women had to say good-bye to them on the farm.
Logan and I made love the night before and held me through the night, but it didn't stop the crying. It wasn't enough, and as the truck pulled away, more of my tears spilled down onto my new navy dress.
I think that was the hardest time in my life. I waited everyday for letters from Logan. He told me about his commanding officer and how much he respected Captain Xavier. Never did he once forget to write me a page about how he missed the smell of my hair or the color of my eyes or the way my body felt as I was lost in the throws of his passion. Everyday I expected officers to pull up in a truck, bringing me news that Logan had died. I never wished for it, but after going to a theater for the news reels shortly after the war broke out, I became realistic.
Then, the worst thoughts started to seep into my head. Logan had been gone away to the war for a year now, and after a letter every week, I stopped receiving them. Visions of my beloved lying in the mud, body mangled and torn, race through my thoughts. It was the only possible scenario that could have happened. If they had been able to identify his body, the olive truck would have made its visit. There was nothing.
Until the day the two telegrams arrived. Johnny, one of our newer workers, came rushing into the kitchen, the brown envelope clutched tightly in his hands. He ran over to me, handing it over, saying it was for me.
I grabbed the envelope in shaking hands, tears already starting to flow down my face. I didn't even realize I had torn the envelope clumsily open. I closed my eyes as I pulled out the piece of paper. When I opened it, I read a big WIA. Quickly scanning over the telegram, I learned that Logan was only wounded. It told me what hospital he was in and that he had been shot in the arm. After he recovered, he would be going back out into combat, since his wound allowed him to continue fighting.
I was tremendously relieved, but at the same time still full of worry. Logan wouldn't be coming home. He was still needed, which meant he could still die. Later that afternoon, I received the second telegram. This time, it was from Logan.
He explained how his injury had prevented him from writing, so he had the telegram sent out. Also, he was wounded in an area that took him a few days to escape without being noticed by German soldiers. And, of course, he told me he loved me, missed me, and couldn't wait to get back home to see me. That would be a while. He was safe though. My loving husband was safe. That night, I cried myself to sleep again. I cried tears of joy for Logan's life, relief for his situation, and sorrow for his continued duration in the war.
Finally, the day all women who had loved ones in the war arrived. Jean and I were in the kitchen, pulling pies out of the oven for dinner when we heard the engine of a truck humming outside. Looking out the window, we saw the olive green military truck driving up our dirt road, kicking dirt up behind it. All we could do was stare at it, afraid of what news they were bringing us.
As the two soldiers stepped out, Jean was the first to move. I followed her, feeling death's grip wrap tightly around my heart. It was Logan. He got lucky once when the bullet grazed his shoulder, but he couldn't escape death twice. He couldn't be dead though, I just received his letter today that was post marked last week. I received his last love letter on the day his death telegram would be given to me.
We made it to the front door as the two men knocked. I opened the door, already expecting the worst. An army truck didn't pull up outside your house to tell you your husband was coming home safely. No, they came to tell you he wouldn't ever be coming home again.
The taller of the two greeted us, trying to make the inevitable more pleasant. I know he meant well, but all it did was add to my anguish. Little did I know how that anguish would affect me later.
After the pleasantries, he asked for the owner of the telegram in his hand. I didn't even hear the name he said, already numb from the experience. I didn't hear the hysterical crying sobs next to me. Tears rolled down my face, but not for the same reason momma and grandma, who had run down the stairs at the sound, were now crying over.
I looked to where Jean had been. She was on the floor, sobs racking her body, the envelope clutched tightly in her hand. It wouldn't be until later when I would remember that the name they had called was Mrs. Scott Summers.
Now, I cried in earnest, knowing why the tears slid down my face. The man I had known as a brother, the man who had comforted me when Logan was chasing Jean, the man married to the woman crumpled on the floor had died in combat. My adopted sibling was dead. My dear brother, friend and confidant was dead. I would never see Scott's smile again. Never hear his laugh. Never feel his arms around me when he hugged me to make me feel better. Never smell his cologne. Never know the man I had loved as a brother ever again. His son would never know, never remember his father. Pictures would be his memories.
Scott's body was being transferred to a plane that would bring him home for burial. Jean would have to start planning for an event that she had hoped wouldn't happen until much later in her life, if at all. And so I cried, sorrow for my lost brother, rejoice for my living husband.
Logan was still alive. My Logan, who held me tightly to him at night, who made gentle sweet love to me, who loved me more than his life itself, was still alive. And soon, I felt it deep in my heart, I would taste his sweet kiss again. Revel in the feel of his hands on me again. Gaze into his hazel depths again. Run my fingers through his ruffled hair again. Smell the musky masculinity of his skin again. Our future would be made of live events, not past photographs. A photograph was the last thing many people knew of Scott. Next to his obituary in the paper was a picture of him in his uniform.
We buried Scott on December 12, 1941. On March 27, 1942, Logan came home.
The olive army truck came again that day, but somehow, it was different. I didn't have that same feeling in my heart. I knew everything would be okay. Logan jumped out of the truck, and as soon as I saw him, tore out of the front door, where I had been watching, and ran into his open arms. I kissed his face over and over again as he held me tightly to his chest. Finally, our lips met, and only a few times in my life have I been given a kiss like that one. My lips seared at the touch, the feel, of him. My tongue darted out to greet his. His taste was unbelievably delicious. I slid down his body, finally letting my feet touch the ground.
After grabbing his overseas chest and duffel, we made our way into our little house. A house that had seemed so empty and lonely while he was away now felt vibrant and full of life. The dark drab grays that had seemed to settle into the corners when Logan left now returned to their recesses to be replaced with the beautiful colors of life.
Logan deposited his things in the living room. Promptly sweeping me off my feet, he carried me into the bedroom, where we stayed all afternoon. We only left long enough for me to fix him a home cooked meal. We didn't get out of bed until eleven the next day.
Later, I found out that Jean had watched our little scene from the upstairs bedroom where Charles slept. Looking at her five-year-old son, she held a great grudge against me that day. My husband came home. Hers didn't. Her jealousy ate at her for a long while before she was eventually able to give it up.
And so our life was happy again. Logan and I fell back into our easy routine. He took back the duties of foreman, and I went back to what I had done during the time Logan was away. I cooked for the workers. We were happy until 1944.
Grandma collapsed in the kitchen one day. We called the local doctor in and he diagnosed her with cancer. Since it was a fairly new disease, and only a few treatments had been discovered to work, he couldn't do much for her. She could have radiation treatments, but we would have to move to one of the larger cities in the States. Grandma would never be able to make the trip, so all the doctor could do for her was give her painkillers and wait for the time.
Grandpa took the news hard. We were both caring for her one day in her room when he just blurted out that he was going to hell. Shocked by this outburst, I asked him what he was thinking. He told me that things like this didn't happen to people. That people don't just sit and wait for their death when there was a medicine that could save them. He couldn't believe in a god that would inflict such pain. He couldn't believe in a heaven. All that existed was hell with eternal punishment that he was now going through.
I begged and pleaded with him. Tears ran down my face as I tried to tell him that none of that could be true. Grandpa was a very stubborn man and when he had a thought in his head, he wouldn't let it go. All of my sorrow went unheard as he stormed out of the room.
Grandma died two days later. It was almost as if grandpa knew the end was near. After I left that afternoon two days previous, he went back in and didn't leave her side until long after she had left us. I didn't know if there was a heaven or not, but that night, as I walked past his room to go to the stairs and out to my own house, I heard sobbing. That was the only time in my life that I had ever heard grandpa cry. It doubled upon my own sorrow.
Somehow, in all these unhappy times, Logan and I managed to have a good memory. Well, at least for a little while. A little less than a year after grandma died, I found out I was pregnant. I remember the day I went to the doctor to confirm it. Jean went with me. When I got back, I ran to find Logan. He was working out in the field that day, and when he saw me coming, he knew something was wrong. I never bothered him when he was working in the field.
When I told him we were going to have a baby, his face lit up, his eyes sparkled, and he dropped the chore he was doing to wrap me up in his arms. I have never seen Logan so excited. Our life was very good. We started to plan for our little bundle of joy and Logan was already thinking of names, all of which were boy’s. He was certain we would have a boy.
We did, too, but not the way we had wanted. Twelve weeks into the pregnancy I had a miscarriage. It was an ectopic pregnancy that occurred in the fallopian tube. Our baby never had a chance. Its fate was never to have a chance at life.
Our family cemetery had grown in number over the past few years. The first Adams was laid to rest on June 6, 1945. Logan Scott Adams had white and blue flowers adorning his grave. Logan stood as they poured the dirt over his little casket, holding me as I mourned for our lost child. He never let me go that day. I'm not sure if I really felt it or not, but later that night, as I lay with my head on his chest, I thought I could feel a single tear on his hand where he had wiped his eyes.
Of course we tried again, but fate interceded once again. Daddy was held up by robbers in the grocery store later that year. Logan couldn't stand that, and while the authorities were looking for the culprit, he took on a job as a security guard to protect daddy. That job lasted for a long time. In fact he still held it until today.
I guess I should back track a little. Seven months ago, I found out I was pregnant again. This time, I was monitored a little more carefully, and I was having a perfectly healthy pregnancy. Everything was happy again. Logan worked at the grocery store and I still helped cook meals for the workers.
Momma and Jean needed some supplies from the store and since I was the only one who knew how to drive besides daddy and Logan, that left me to go into town. We had bought a second car when the robbery occurred. Daddy had had the truck at the store and that left us stranded on the farm. When the police came to tell us what happened, Logan was able to ride with them to pick up the truck. Since then, both daddy and Logan insisted that one of learned how to drive and have the car readily available.
Momma didn't like the idea of me going in to town alone, but the baby wouldn't be due for about another month, so I was pretty safe. Anyway, I was the only one who could go. When I arrived at the store, I saw Logan through the widows. He was talking to daddy at one of the cash registers. He always looked handsome in a uniform and his security guard wear of a tan button down shirt and slacks was no different. As I walked in, he turned and walked to the back. He didn't even see me pull up or come in. I don't even think daddy noticed me.
I walked down the aisles after taking a hand basket and started to stock up on things that we would need for the day. I didn't even notice the three men in black slip in. A minute later, everything broke down.
One of the men started shouting, telling everyone to get down on the floor. The other two automatically broke out into gunfire, aiming at people who were too slow to get down. I snuck around the corner to see what was going on, careful to keep out of sight. I wanted to make sure that daddy and Logan would be safe.
Behind one of the men, hidden from his sight, was a baby. Its mother had been one of the ones shot, blood pooling down around her body. The poor thing fell to the floor when she did and was crying its head off.
A little boy that had been running down the aisles was cowering next to me, tears running silent trails down his pudgy little cheeks. I knew the children had to get out to be safe. I turned to the boy next to me and whispered that I wanted him to be quiet. I told him he needed to sneak up behind the man in black, grab the baby and run for the door. He just shook his head no, but somehow I managed to convince him to do it, to make a break for safety. I wish now that I hadn't.
He did really good, staying silent as he pulled the baby into his arms. All of a sudden he panicked when I motioned for him to run out the door. He made a lot of noise as he went and the image that played out before my eyes haunts me to this day.
One of the men turned around in time to see the boy get within five feet of the door. He raised his gun and shot the boy in the head. He didn't die though. Instead, he would live out the rest of his days as an invalid while his parents lived off the money that my family had to pay because of my actions.
I don't know what happened after that. I don't know what happened to that baby. It's as if black washed over my vision and I passed out. When I woke up again, there was a bright white light in my eyes. Somehow, I started to remember everything clearly.
I must have made some kind of noise or something when I saw the boy get shot. I ran out to grab the child and the baby when the three men and daddy turned to see me. I heard four shots ring out before I ducked down to the floor.
Logan didn't even know I was there until it happened. He watched the whole thing, firing three of those shots himself. He successfully took down the three robbers then rushed over to my side. Sometime during the fray, I ended up stretched out on my back.
He ran to me, cradling my head in his lap. I looked into his grief stricken face. I tried to tell him that I was okay, that everything was okay, but I couldn't make anything work. Logan kept telling me he loved me, that everything would be all right. He loved me. He loved me. He loved me. I tried to tell him the same, but then, all I could see was the ceiling and the white lights of the fixtures. Then everything went black.
You might think that I would be depressed over all these things, but I am strangely at peace. I'm gonna be with Logan again soon. It's that feeling I had the day he came back from the war. I wish that I could see grandpa right now. I have to tell him something important. There is a heaven. I know. I saw Scott, grandma, and my sweet babies, Logan and Anna. That's what we decided to name the baby if it was a girl. She's beautiful, too. The reason I know there is a heaven is because I am there, right now.
That fourth bullet hit me in the chest, piercing my heart. I died in Logan's arms today. I died in the arms of the man I love. I was a 28-year-old married to a 33-year-old devoted, faithful husband. His life is forever changed now. Our baby died with me, so his whole family is gone. He's gonna stay at the farm, but never in our little house again. After he lets go, he'll have it torn down. Logan's going to care for Jean's son as he would both of his children, but he won't ever move on. He couldn't ever do it because he thinks it's marring my memory. Instead, he'll just pretend he's a father to Charles, but never a husband to Jean. After all, the boy does need a father, and Logan and I were Charles's godparents.
He slipped the wedding ring off my finger today. Later, he's going to put it on a chain to wear so he never forgets me or the love we share. And I know everything's going to be okay, because Logan will be with me soon. We'll be happy again. We'll be the family that we never got to be while we were living. Logan, me, and our babies. And this time, our happiness will last forever.
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Story Notes:
This was a dream I had. That's all I'm willing to say. The idea came originally from my own head, subliminally through REM