The White Knight (9 page)

As the boat continued to plow through the Atlantic, a sense of futility came over Luke. He had spent most of his life chasing some dream he could not even identify. He had thought he would find his purpose when he went to Spain to help free the Spaniards from the evil fascists, but that dream
had gone down in flames, as had many of his companions. It was just as dead as they were. He tried to think of a purpose that would bring him the type of contentment his brother had possessed as long as Luke could remember, but his mind was a blank.

He pulled the remaining money from his pocket—what was left of it after his contribution to the craps game—counted it, and jammed it back into his pocket.
Sure I've got a rich daddy. Won't he be glad to see me coming home with my hand out?
he thought bitterly. Turning abruptly, he started pacing, the wind in his face, doubt in his soul.

****

Luke awakened in the pitch-black darkness, the same in the tiny cabin whether it was high noon or midnight. He had not taken off his clothes but simply thrown himself on the lower bunk. Groping his way to the door, he went outside and turned down the corridor to the ladder that led to the upper deck. Thoughts of Melosa filtered through his memory after having dreamed of her that night. He stepped outside on the deck and stumbled in the force of the wind. A storm was slashing at the ship with what could be the beginnings of a fury. He ducked his head and made his way to the bow. The waves were making huge troughs, and La Vaca rode them down, then was driven upward. The cold water sprayed Luke, but it was a relief to have something to think about other than his dreams.

His emotions were a mixed jumble. Part of his spirit cried out with grief over the loss of the woman he loved. The other part of him was a boiling caldron of anger. Not a good mixture—grief and anger. He stood on the deck trying to make his mind blank, but he heard a voice behind him, shouting above the wind.

“Señor—”

Luke turned and saw Ricardo, one of the hands he had
come to know fairly well. “Hello, Ricardo. It looks pretty bad out there. Are we going to sink?”

“Sink? No. This is good boat. No sink.” He was wearing rain gear, and his teeth made a white slash across his olive features. “Your friend, he lose all his money last night. I got most of it myself. Don't be mad with me.”

“It's none of my business. How long before this old tub gets to Charleston?”

“Should be before noon today, Señor Winslow.”

“If we don't sink.”

Ricardo shrugged. “Don't be afraid. We no sink. This is good boat.”

Luke nodded and found a smile at the thought that Ricardo did not need a lot to make him happy. If a boat like La Vaca could satisfy him, and winning a few bucks in a card game could fulfill his dream, Ricardo was a fortunate man indeed!

Luke stood in the bow for a half hour before he was joined by Garrison. Luke turned to his friend and grinned. “Have you figured out what we're going to do with all that money you won, Streak?”

Garrison draped himself across the rail. “They cheated me, Luke. I don't know how but they did. I lost all our money.”

“Life is hard.”

“It sure is! Here I've been killing Germans for two years now and I don't have a cent. You know, they should have paid us a bounty on those Germans. Say, a thousand dollars a kill. You'd be rich and I'd have a pretty good stash myself.”

“That's what some people did back before the Revolution.”

“Paid a bounty on Germans?”

“No, on Indians.”

“Is that right?”

“Yep. Some of the British offered a bounty on Indian ears or scalps.”

“Well, what can you expect out of a bunch of limeys!” Streak exclaimed with disgust. “How do you find out about all this useless stuff you know?”

Luke did not bother to answer, and he straightened up and pointed. “Look. I think that's land over there.”

“I can't see that far, but I'm sure ready for it.”

The two men tried to stay out of the way while the activity on the deck increased. Sailors were scurrying around, and Ricardo paused to wink and say, “Señor Garrison, you want to gamble a little?”

Streak glared at him and said, “Get out of here, you thief! Is that Charleston up ahead?”

Ricardo laughed. “I'm no thief, but yes, that is Charleston.” Ricardo left Luke and Streak to gaze at the approaching land. The wind died down, and as they passed by an island, Luke said, “That's Fort Sumter.”

“It looks like it had a bad accident.”

“Why, you ignoramus! Don't you know anything at all about Fort Sumter?”

“No. What about it?”

“That's where the Civil War started.”

Streak straightened up and peered through the mist that surrounded the island. “I'll be dipped in gravy! If that isn't something. It all started right there? You know, I had grandpas and great-grandpas who fought in that war.”

“So did I.”

“Fought for the Yankees?”

“Some of the Winslows did. As a matter of fact, it was about fifty-fifty, I guess.”

“Imagine that!” Streak exclaimed. His eyes grew thoughtful. “Just think about it, Luke. Suppose you were in a dogfight with your own brother. That'd be pretty hard to handle, wouldn't it?”

“Pretty hard. I don't know as it ever happened like that to any of my people.”

“By gum, the next time we fight the Yankees we'll whip 'em.”

Luke laughed. “There's not going to be any next time. That's all over.”

“That's what you think. Back in Tennessee where I come from, it's not over.”

The two stood talking until the ship finally glided into the docks. Luke and Streak went below and gathered their few things, then disembarked from the ship. As the two walked on the firm land, Luke commented, “I'm pretty sure this land isn't moving, but it sure feels like it is.”

“It sure does. Maybe we're having an earthquake.”

Luke laughed. When they got to the street, Luke spotted a taxi but quickly realized his cash supply was very low. “I don't have the money for taxi fare. We'll have to hitchhike, as much as I hate to do it.” In his mind, it was similar to panhandling. He felt like a beggar, but he couldn't walk all the way to Arkansas.

“Not me. I'm gonna stay here.”

“In Charleston? You don't know anybody here.”

“No, but I will before I've been here too long.”

Luke grinned. He knew this was true. You could put Streak Garrison in any town in the world in the morning, and by nightfall he would have made friends. He often envied this about Garrison, knowing he would never have that same ease with people.

“Well, I'm headed for Arkansas.” Reaching into his pocket, Luke took out his remaining money, divided it in two, and held out half to Streak. “Here. Try not to lose it all before I get out of town.”

“Aw, I can't take your money.”

“Whose money would you take?”

Luke shoved the money into Streak's shirt pocket, slapped him on the chest, and said, “You've got my address. Let me know what's happening.”

Garrison hesitated and then for a moment he looked thoughtful and chewed his lower lip. He was a surprisingly emotional man, considering he was able to kill so efficiently in the air. Nonetheless, he cried over movies and poems and practically anything else that was sad.

“I hate to say good-bye.” Tears formed in Streak's eyes. “You saved my bacon that time that kraut was on my tail. I'da been dead meat if it wasn't for you.”

“Keep the change. Next time you can save my life.” Luke laughed. “Don't cry. We'll meet again.” He turned and walked away quickly and knew that Streak was watching him go.
He's got a heart, old Streak has,
he thought as he left his friend, heading toward the nearest main road.

Luke didn't have any difficulty hitching a ride to get him a few miles out of town. When the driver turned onto the dirt road, Luke got out and started walking again, his thumb out. As he walked, he began to feel the emptiness returning. He felt like a man adrift in a tiny boat in the vast ocean. He knew he had a family and friends scattered about the country, but he still felt empty inside, broken only by the anger at those who had destroyed the Chavez family and the world he had wanted for Spain.

A farm truck mounded high with watermelons finally slowed and came to a stop. When Luke ran up, he found a rawboned man with a long horse face and a broad grin waiting for him. “Howdy. Need a ride?”

“Sure do.”

“Folks call me Junior.”

“Luke Winslow.”

“Where you headed, Luke?”

“Going all the way to Liberty, Arkansas.”

“Whereabouts is that? Don't know it.”

“Just outside of Little Rock.”

“Well, I can get you to Memphis. From there it's just a hop, skip, and a jump.”

Junior put the truck in gear and pulled out on the road. He was a talkative fellow and did not seem to expect answers for the most part. He pretty well gave Luke his entire life story, including his three marriages, as they drove across South Carolina and into Georgia. The man finally paused and cast
a curious glance at his passenger. “You're all tanned. Where you been? On a vacation?”

Luke Winslow reflected on his time in Spain, dodging death in the skies while watching his friends go down, some of them burned alive as they fell, others shot to pieces by the guns of the German planes. He thought of the wreckage of the country and of the limp body of Melosa Chavez.

“Yep, Junior, that's right. I've been on a vacation.”

“Whereabouts?”

“In Spain.”

“Is that right? I always heard that was a nice sunny place with lots of pretty señoritas. May give her a whirl myself sometime. Always wanted to go to that place.”

Luke managed a smile and then let his mind wander as the driver began describing the woman he had met at the last truck stop.

The two rode along, Junior chatting and Luke's mind wandering, all day and into the night. Finally Junior admitted to being exhausted, and he pulled over at a park in a small town. The man produced a couple of blankets for Luke and a couple for himself and they got as comfortable as they could on two park benches.

They both awoke before the sun rose and climbed into the truck again. They finally arrived in Memphis in the middle of the afternoon. Luke helped Junior unload the watermelons at a market and then thanked the man for the ride.

“You're welcome, Luke. Wish I was going all the way to Arkansas.”

“I'll find a ride.”

For over an hour Luke tried without success to flag down a car. Finally he gave up sticking his thumb out and simply turned and looked whenever a car came by, thinking,
They know I'm on foot, and they know I need a ride. There's no point in my begging by sticking my thumb out.
He would walk all the way to Liberty before he would stick his thumb out again.

A new Ford passed him and suddenly slowed and pulled over to the side of the road. Luke trotted up and asked, “You going my way?”

“Get in.”

Luke got in the car and saw to his surprise that the driver was wearing an army uniform and was a captain. The soldier did not speak until he got started, and then he turned and gave Luke a searching glance. “I'm Sam Ketchum.”

“Glad to know you, Captain. I'm Luke Winslow.”

“Where you headed, Winslow?”

“Just outside of Little Rock.”

“You're in luck, then. I'm going all the way through Little Rock. I can drop you off.”

“That'll be real nice. I appreciate it, sir.”

Ketchum was not a big man, but he had an athletic quality in him. He looked like he could be a middleweight prize-fighter. His hands were square and brown on the wheel, and he had a blunt jaw that looked like he could take punches.

“What's your outfit, Captain?”

“Armor. Tanks mostly.”

Luke shook his head. “You know, next to submarines I think tanks would be my last choice.”

Ketchum turned to give Luke a hard look. “What's wrong with tanks?”

“Nothing's wrong—I just admire you fellows who can handle it. I'm pretty claustrophobic myself. But I'd take tanks over submarines. Being under the water like that would make me nervous.”

Ketchum smiled briefly, which made him seem much younger. “Funny you should say that. I feel the same way myself.”

As Ketchum drove, Luke, always curious about the latest military advances, asked him questions about the newest tank. Luke had studied considerably and talked to military men before he got to Spain, so he was knowledgeable. Ketchum
was surprised. “You know a lot about tanks for a fellow that doesn't like 'em.”

“I think we're going to need your tanks before too long.”

“You mean the war in Europe?”

“That's right.”

Ketchum was silent for a time. “I wish everybody could see it like that.”

“I've been out of the country for a couple years, but I've been reading the papers. Don't people back here know that Hitler's gobbling up Europe a bite at a time?”

“There's a verse in the Bible somewhere. My granddad was a Church of God preacher. I can't remember where it's at, but it speaks of the Jews. Some of the Israelites were described as having eyes that didn't see and ears that couldn't hear.” Ketchum snorted with disgust and dodged a dead armadillo in the road. “That about describes our country. We're sitting around with eyes shut and our fingers in our ears.” He suddenly demanded, “Where have you been?”

Luke hesitated, then decided there was no harm in telling the truth. “Spain.”

“You mean you've been fighting in that war?”

“Yes, Captain, I have.”

“What kind of fighting?”

“I'm a pilot.”

“That war sure didn't turn out the way I'd hoped,” he said bitterly.