GOIN' POSTAL: TRUE STORIES OF A US POSTAL WORKER
Chapter 1: If You Hear Yelling, HIDE
Gertrude had been working for the United States Postal Service for a few decades, when she insisted that her niece, Jessica, apply there. Any job Jessica had prior to the Postal Service was “menial” in Aunt Gertrude's eyes. It did not matter that Jessica managed stores, or at one point, even owned a business that had 80 employees. Gertrude just lectured about how the economy could change, and that Jessica had no guarantee of a future or pension. After years of being belittled, Jessica decided to close her struggling printing company, and give in to Aunt Gertrude's suggestion. The idea of suddenly not being responsible for decisions, for the livelihood of employees, and being able to rescind the stresses of business ownership was quite appealing. It was a decision that changed not only her life, but opened a whole new world that she did not know existed.
Jessica approached the Personnel Office, pulling on the heavy door which led to the tiny little room that had nothing in it but a glass window--- the kind of bullet proof glass that you expect to see at a police department or bank. An older woman sat behind the glass, and when Jessica approached, she rolled her eyes and huffed. Politely, Jessica asked, "Hello. Could I please have an employment application?" The woman ignored her. Again, she stated her request. Again, Jessica was ignored. Finally, Jessica tapped on the glass window to get the woman's attention, to which the woman responded, "Do you see me typing on this computer? What do you want?" Wow, that was warm and welcoming! Again, Jessica requested the application. The woman replied, "You have to be at least 18 years old to apply here. Come back next year, honey!" The woman turned back towards her computer screen. This woman's customer service skills are among the best ever!"Ma'am, I can appreciate that you have a difficult job, however, I would like to ask you once again for an employment application. I am 25 years old, I own my home, am married, and until recently owned my own business. I appreciate your concern for my employment eligibility, however, you would be able to return more quickly to your computer if you just give me the application." With that, the woman slammed an application onto the counter and pushed it through the slot in the glass window. Is this REALLY the place someone wants to work if people like this are the norm?
A few months later, Jessica got the call for the interview process. She was told to report to a hotel conference room, which, when she got there was more like an assembly line. There were hundreds of people crowded in a various rooms, all in different steps of the hiring procedure. The first step was filling out a ton of forms, then Jessica went into another room where the drug tests were being held. After being patted down, she was told to fill a little cup with urine, while the restroom stall door remained opened, and a big nasty looking nurse stood in the room. After the cup was filled, the nurse inspected the UNflushed toilet, then patted down Jessica again to check for test tampering.
The next step was the background check. A man who claimed to be an FBI Agent held a laptop, asked for Jessica's social security number, then instructed her to place her palms flat on a scanner connected to the laptop. After a few seconds, a message flashed on the screen "No Known Warrants/Arrests". Wonder what would have happened if there was something found? Would a SWAT team come rushing in? She then had to go through a physical exam by a doctor, and lift at least 70 pounds of weights. The final step entailed a short interview with a man who gave a bright, toothy smile. He explained the position, the expectations of USPS employees, and told Jessica that the USPS is a great place to work. He went on to explain it can be an excellent second job, and that the number of work hours and shift assigned were negotiable. Boy did he get most of that wrong! The entire process took about four hours, and when she left she wondered if the job was even worth it.
Two weeks later, Jessica was hired at the United States Postal Service's Processing Center as a temporary employee known as a "Casual". This position is the bottom of the ladder, was just above minimum wage, and received no benefits, vacation time, or sick leave. In a Processing and Distribution Center which operates 24/7/365, it is the casual employee who works six days a week, and is forced to work 60-72 hours a week during federal holiday weeks (including Christmas Day). In order to get a "permanent" job, Jessica would have to take a written exam which is only given every couple of years, so she figured that she would work there until the exam. After a three hour new employee orientation, the group of 50 new employees were herded like cattle out of a conference room and through metal security spindles, similar to the ones found at city subways. The twisting of the spindle clanged with a sound like a prison gate saying, "You are ours now! You are trapped!" When Jessica approached the door to the building, she saw a hand written sign on the door, "Abandon Hope All Ye Who Enter Here". What? That is from Dante's Inferno! Is this the eighth ring of hell?
Entering that door was like entering an entirely new world. Nothing Aunt Gertrude could have said would have prepared Jessica for what she would see. Initially, the whistles and beeps of the machines made her feel as though she were in a science fiction movie. A loud intercom system overhead was constantly bellowing names and phone numbers. Forklifts were zipping around, lights were blinking, and the noise was so loud, Jessica could not hear herself think. As Jessica looked around at the different types of machines that were sorting millions of pieces of mail, she wondered how anyone ever got the mail at all--let alone on time. It was then that she looked up at the thirty foot ceilings and saw the security cameras, similar to the "eye in the sky" types that are used in casinos. There was a catwalk around the walls of the building that had slats of mirrors periodically. It was obvious that these were for U.S. Postal Inspectors to view employees to prevent theft. In addition, there were directional microphones pointed to the employee work floor. Note to self, never discuss personal information such as yeast infections or constipation with a co-worker!
Soon, Jessica learned that every person who worked there was completely different, but all were accepted for their differences, and gelled together as one whole unit. In a building of 1000 people, a close knit community formed, which was more like a family than a workplace. There were so many extremely intelligent and well-educated people there. Several were former teachers, nurses, professors, and even Ivy League graduates. Many were military veterans who had spilled blood for our country and commanded a great deal of respect. The ages of employees ranged from 18 to 80, and all seemed to bustle the mail in a cohesive manner, ignorant of any difference of age or culture. Many of the employees were Filipino, Chinese, African American, Hispanic---and the gender ratios were fairly even as well. With all of the diversity, with all of the differences, these people were like one body.
Just walking around, Jessica could tell there was a thick sense of tension in the air, an urgency to meet truck dispatch times. There were all sorts of alarms going off, bells ringing, forklift horns honking, and yes--- even people screaming. It was almost like a city. A city alive with a purpose, with a people, and often a mind and language of its own. Walking through that door made Jessica feel like an ant in the middle of a freeway of vehicles passing by. Jessica felt a lump form in her throat from the fear of the unknown.
One of the first people that Jessica met was a man named Joshua. He looked like an anorexic Santa Claus. He had these piercing blue eyes nestled upon big puffy red cheeks. His salt and pepper gray hair circled his face in a nicely trimmed beard. But it was when Joshua smiled and laughed that he really gave his Santa persona away. When things delighted him, he let out a hearty "Ho Ho HO", and immediately anyone around him found him to be a pleasant man. Jessica and Joshua talked for some time while sorting sacks of mail, until she said to him, "Darn, I forgot to record a new documentary on tonight-- Russia: Land of the Czars".
Joshua had been in mid swing of a 70 pound sack of mail. He intended to throw it over his shoulder so that he could carry it across the room, however, at Jessica's statement, the sack went flying over his shoulder and landed on the floor. Joshua was no longer interested in the mail, he heard a word that fascinated him. "RUSSIA? Did you says R U S S I A?"
Jessica could appreciate someone who loved conversations about history, but she was not prepared for a mail sack to go flying across the room because of it. Joshua approached her with raised eyebrows, and the excitement that a child has when seeing something for the first time. She responded, "Oh yes. I majored in History in college. European and Russian Monarchies are amongst my favorite aspects of History."
To Jessica's surprise, Joshua was even more excited now. Names of Czars, political theories of the ages, and questions on assassination conspiracies came flowing out of his mouth. He hardly even took a breath, and certainly did not give her enough time to answer. Finally, he said, "I love history, especially Russian history. The Romanov Dynasty was my favorite course to teach when I was a professor at University of Maryland."
Now it was Jessica who looked at him with amazement. A professor with a PhD D working here? Joshua spoke with a bit of southern twang, which she realized seemed to prejudice her from expecting him to have a PhD D. However, Jessica knew from that moment that she and Joshua would become good friends. It did not matter that he was 25 years her senior, with his Army jacket literally being older than her. The two discussed various European countries and rulers throughout the rest of the night. They discussed the wives of Henry the VIII, the ruthlessness of Catherine de Medici, the idiosyncrasies of King George III. They discussed how they each had a collection of biographies and other non-fiction works. There were 12 other workers in their area at the time, but they just seem to fade into the walls as Jessica and Joshua became consumed in conversation while they worked the mail sacks.
At one point another employee interrupted them, and Joshua and the employee shook hands. Joshua turned to Jessica, "Ms. Jessica, I would like to introduce you to Mr. Andrew Blade. He is one of the best employees in this building, and if you need to know anything, He is the man to find."
Mr. Blade seemed honored for that announcement, greeted Jessica, then asked Joshua for his assistance, "Joshua, do you still have your knife on you? I need you to cut this cardboard box open for me. My cheap blade won't do it."
Joshua quickly reached behind his back, and from out of his waistband, he pulled out a huge hunting knife that looked like something a samurai warrior would carry. Look out Rambo, this guy has you beat!
Andrew must have realized that Jessica's eyes were bulging out, and in an attempt to quash her fears, he said, "Ain't that some shit? The first time I met him, I saw him with this knife while he was hacking into cardboard. After hearing that southern accent of his.... all i could think of was the song Dueling Banjos from the movie Deliverance." Joshua continued to cut the boxes that Andrew had requested, then Andrew went on, "Don't worry little lady, he won't hurt you. But yeah, I was scared shitless too when I first saw him whip out that weapon. And my name is BLADE... and I'm from the hood." Andrew then proceeded on his way.
By the end of the night, Jessica and Joshua decided that they would exchange books with each other like a library. Jessica's first day went by very quickly until an incredibly loud and frightening voice bellowed, "PPPPPPPPUUUUUUUSSSSHHHH IIIIIIIITTTTT OOOOOOOOUUUUUUUUUTTTTTT!"
"What the hell was that?" she looked at Joshua, realizing that deep, scary pit of hell sound came from him.
Once again with his Santa Claus voice, Joshua stated, "Oh that? That is my nightly alarm to the employees in this section. That is how they know we are finished in this section, then it is time to push out the mail to the platform for dispatch. I yell that every morning at 4:30 am." Jessica then realized that her first night was finally over. What originally was supposed to be a six hour shift had become a twelve hour night, but was pleasantly broken up with interesting and intelligent conversation. Not bad, maybe I can survive here.
Jessica's second day started out normally until she saw a black woman driving a forklift, blasting the horn and screaming, “All you white devils must die! The Lord told me that your day is coming soon!” Jessica was scared to death. She felt her pulse start to race, her respiration increased, and she tried to devise a way to stay out of this woman's way. Everyone knows the term “going postal” and she did not want to be anywhere near someone who was going to start shooting! She made sure that she steered clear of this woman as much as possible, forming a wall around herself made of containers called APCs. Each APC was about six foot tall and on wheels. Jessica continued over the next few days to hide from the woman while surrounded by these APCs, ducking her head down every time she saw the crazy woman drive by.
One day however, the black woman purposely ran her forklift into one of these containers, breaking Jessica's wall of fortitude, and screamed, “Gotcha!”
“Hello” Jessica said very timidly, not knowing what to expect. Perhaps if I am quiet, she will not notice my blue-eyed blonde, very white devilish complexion that turns into a lobster in the sun!
She seemed startled herself, “Oh I'm sorry, I thought you were Erica. Do you know where she is?”
Thankfully, she was looking for Jessica's co-worker, “Sorry, she is not scheduled today. She will be in tomorrow.” Jessica hoped her politeness would keep the woman from trying to attack this “white devil”. The woman just thanked Jessica, and went on her way. She wondered if the woman had just had a bad day when Jessica first saw her screaming---either that or the woman was bipolar. Wow... dodged a bullet on that one! Maybe even literally. Jessica found out later that her name was Terry, and she was actually a very nice person---just loud.
There were plenty of loud people who worked there, some were to be taken seriously, and others not so seriously. Part of the problem with being new in any environment is the lack of knowledge of correct procedures. Another problem is that with so many different people working in one environment, it is nearly impossible to satisfy everyone. Jessica had to learn this the hard way. A soft spoken man in his sixties walked Jessica around, showing her from where to get mail once she was finished processing the mail she had. "When you finish sorting the mail you have, go to that section across the aisle and get a full container of mail to bring back with you. Whenever you take a full container, please replace it with an empty one. Not only does this save the person in that section time, but that person will respect and appreciate you for your consideration." Sounds simple. Take a full container, and give them an empty so that they can fill it again.
An hour later, Jessica finished her mail, and did what she was told. She pulled an empty container across the aisle, took her full container of mail, then went back to sorting her mail. Ten minutes later she heard the loud clang of metal, as well as yelling that was very deep and angry. The voice was coming closer to her, "Who the hell keeps bringing these empty containers over here? Was it you? Does it look like I need anymore freaking containers? I work with the world's biggest idiot who has 40 freaking containers here! I don't need another container until the end of the freaking millennium, thanks to him! If you EVER bring me another freaking container, I will push all 40 of my containers into your section so that YOU cannot walk in your section the way I can't!" This man was literally throwing these rolling containers into others. His hands were flapping around in the air, his face got really red, and he was so incredibly mad that he was perspiring. As veins bulged from his temples, he screamed, "That's it! I need a freaking beer!" The man then walked away.
When Terry the forklift driver heard the commotion, she approached the confused Jessica, "Don't worry honey, he's crazy. Everyone knows that. He is one of the ones at the top of the list. Just try to avoid him."
Now even more confused, Jessica asked, "He's on the list? What list?"
"You know, the list of people in the building most likely to go crazy and shoot up the place. One day, he will probably go off, so in the mean time, try to be on his good side--- just in case." Terry said this with such a serious look that Jessica was unsure whether it was a joke, or real.
Jessica prodded, "Are you serious? You all actually have a list of likely shooters?" Jessica's eyes started scanning the area looking at the faces of other employees, wondering who else might be on the list, or just how many "crazies" were in the building.
"Jess darling, not only is there a list, but there is a betting pool guessing who will be the first one to go crazy, in what part of the building, and what method they will use. I have $100 on a supervisor named Mark... on the platform....with a bomb. You need to talk to Jose if you want to get in on it." After that, Terry drove away on her forklift, and Jessica was praying the rest of the day would go by without incident.
THE CREEK: WHERE STORIES OF THE PAST COME ALIVE
Love Revolution Style, 1777
The British had captured Philadelphia, the seat of the Continental Congress. The American troops were exhausted, wounded, and spiritually broken. As they rowed their boats down a small tributary of the Delaware River, they found a good place to camp. Battered and bloody, they pushed the boats ashore, trying not to injure the wounded any further. The only structure in site was a small farmhouse on a hilltop with a barn. The area was tranquil, and Colonel Thomas was amazed that there is still one place on earth that has not been touched by this bloody war. He was a serious, yet compassionate man in his 40s, a good leader, and protected his men as he would his children. He took this last loss personally, as his company was from the Philadelphia area, therefore they were truly fighting for their homeland.
"Lieutenant Harkins, take your men to recon that barn and house. See if there are supplies, and be kind to the owners, remember we fight for them," ordered Colonel Thomas. He knew the men had not eaten a real meal in months, and the sight of a stocked kitchen might turn civilized men into beasts. Lieutenant Harkins did as instructed. He took two groups of men, one to surround the barn, and another to surround the house. Men might not actually be the correct word, most were in their teens and were scared to death. They were definitely traumatized after this last battle, and suffering from the heat. The cool water of the creek was a refreshing sight, but they had to be wary of impending danger, so rest would have to wait.
As the first group of men approached the house, a woman came out with a rifle extended. She was quivering in fear, as if she had never shot before, but she was determined to protect herself. "I don't want any trouble. You can stay in the barn, and I will provide you with what food I can, but you must leave me and my family alone," she said with a cracking voice, showing her fear. Her long yellow hair was pulled back with a ribbon, and her bright blue eyes were filled with terror.
Lieutenant Harkins approached the woman with a hand slightly raised, trying to relax her. He was a 30 something attractive man, even more so with his rugged looking beard. He had deep forest green eyes, and light brown hair that shined like gold in the summer sun. "We mean you no harm, ma'am. We only need to camp, rest, and tend to our wounded. We appreciate your generosity of nourishment, we are much obliged. If you would allow me, I would like to speak with you, as my men make camp." He then signaled to the men to back away from the home and return to the creek bed.
The woman lowered her weapon, nodded her head and invited the lieutenant onto her veranda, as she pointed to a wooden bench. To ease her nerves, he sat as she suggested, trying to move slowly. She offered him some lemonade as he questioned her. "Have you seen any enemy troops in these parts?" She shrugged him a negative response. "Do you have any men here to whom I may speak?" Again, she shrugged him a no. He realized that she was trying to avoid eye contact out of fear. He then twisted his head to stare directly at her and said, "On my honor as a gentleman, as a soldier, and as an American, you are safe from harm." At last her demeanor seemed to relax. She began breathing normally, and her shoulders seemed to slump back to a normal position. A slight smile broached her face.
"Thank you, sir. My husband and son have gone off to fight, and I have had heard no word in months. I have two young children here, and do not want any trouble". He wondered about her age, as she looked very much like a child herself.
They continued to sip the lemonade when he asked for her permission to speak to his men, "Do you mind ma'am if I inform the men that it is permissible to utilize the barn? We will remain in the barn and by the water, as you requested. My men are young and weary. They are famished, and need to bathe in the cool water for a bit. But as I said, I promise you that we will remain away from the house. With your permission, I would like to speak with them, and then return to you. Is that agreeable?" He spoke in a low, and calming tone that put her more at ease with every word he spoke.
"Yes, sir, Thank You."
He headed down the hill to the shoreline where most of the men had assembled, laying about on the ground due to exhaustion, from both the heat and battle. He informed the colonel of his conversation with the woman, then the colonel began barking orders to make camp. Once the men knew they were out of danger, it seemed as though a dark cloud was lifted. Some of the men began undressing to jump in the cool water, others pulled the boats onto shore, while yet others tried to rest, sprawled out under the shades of trees. Even the shade could not shield them from the extreme humidity, so the healthy began sponging down the weak.
The lieutenant then went back to the woman as promised. He wanted her to know that he was there, to protect her from what seemed like a bunch of frightening men. He found her door closed when he reached the house, so he sat on the porch step to wait. He would sit there all day and night, if need be.. He wanted her to feel guarded. He could hear the mischievous laughter of his men, finally getting a break from fighting. He could hear the splashing of the water as men jumped in the creek, and wrestled like children. He laughed, appreciative that they were getting a chance to relax. Hopefully, this mental break from the war would last for quite some time.
The woman came to the door with cheese and bread. She informed the lieutenant that his men could slaughter and roast one of her pigs. He was taken back by the generosity, and very grateful. As the men built the fire to roast the pig, the woman and the lieutenant spoke for most of the night.
"Where are the children you spoke of? I have not seen, nor heard from them."
She explained, "I fear that I have misled you, sir. My father owns this land. He went off to fight, leaving me behind. I do not know if he is dead or alive, and legally I cannot inherit land. Therefore I told you that it was my husband's. I cannot be removed from my childhood home, as I would be devastated. It is all I have left of a connection to my family. I thought that even a strange man would be less likely to harm a woman with children."
"Understood. Does that mean that you are not married?" He asked with a smirk on his face, as he had not seen a woman in almost a year. She shrugged a negative, nervously. His own wife and infant had died in childbirth, and since then he had shown no interest. This woman was capturing his attention, though. She was about 22 years old, with a sweet voice, and was schooled. Over the course of the night, they discussed both of their families, the war, and animals. He told her stories of how he had grown up on a farm, and offered to help her milk the cows in the morning.
As the day turned to dusk, the soldiers sang over the campfire and filled their bellies. The lieutenant and woman walked the acres of her land, pointing at the stars, and listening to the sounds of the night. The lieutenant then looked the woman in the eyes and said, "For hours we have talked about everything from stars to horses, and yet, I do not know your name. Please do not leave me in suspense, give me the gift of your name."
She smiled and seemed pleased. With an innocent smile and cast down eyes, she said, "Miss Sarah Collins." She was hoping that he would call her Sarah, but she knew that was too presumptuous. They did not know each other, and the proper way to address her would be to call her Miss Collins. Most of the men her age had been off to fight for over a year already, so she had no prospects, no gentleman callers. The only men who remained in her town were the elderly, lame, and the preachers. This was the first real attention she received from a man, and yet she knew it was improper since she was all alone, without a chaperone.
"Well, Miss Collins, I can promise you that we will be moving out in a couple of days, once the men are rested. Unless that is a problem for you, and you require we leave earlier?"
"No. Of course not. The men need their rest. Then I shall see you tomorrow morning?" She really wanted to see him again, but did not want to appear anxious. "To milk the cows?"
His eyes had lit up at the question, hoping that she wanted him as much as he wanted her. He was impressed with how well read she was. She could quote Shakespeare and Plato better than most scholars, and it fascinated him. She was beautiful, intelligent, and generous. He kissed her hand and said, "Until the morrow, Miss Collins." Then he quickly turned from her walking back to camp, before he was tempted to kiss more than her hand.
In the morning, the birds were chirping, and the air was still filled with the smoke of the roasted pig. The lieutenant realized that during most of the war, he hadn't paid attention to the sounds around him, mostly because it was all cannons and rifles--he had learned to tune it out. But last night, the owls and crickets were soothing. And this morning, it seemed that the chirping birds were encouraging him to run to the barn, to await his new found love interest. He went to the creek, washed himself, put on a change of uniform, and went back up to the farm house to see his lovely Miss Collins.
She was struggling with a large tin jug, so he offered to take it from her. She insisted that they each carry it by one handle. "Good morning, Lieutenant Harkins, and thank you for your assistance with the jug." She was bright eyed this morning, and much more at ease than she was the day before. He smiled back at her, as he felt butterflies in his stomach. They approached the barn, and she put stools beside two separate cows, expecting them each to milk one. The lieutenant looked nervously at the stool, but she did not notice, she just began her work.
It was obvious the man had no idea what to do. He sat there staring, then started yanking on the udders. Finally, he confessed, "Miss Collins, I regret I told you a falsehood. I did not grow up on a farm. I only told you that to ease your fears, as you seemed so concerned yesterday. I do not wish to harm your cattle with my lack of skills."
Flattered, she just laughed at him. "How did you know so much about farming then?" she said with surprise.
He shrugged and admitted, "Books. You have read Plato and Shakespeare, and I have read about farms and animals. However, you have worked the farms and animals, which makes you far more educated than I." He said it with a smile. In actuality, he was the son of the upper class, whose family made their fortune from fur trading and the West Indies spices. He rarely disclosed his family's background. Not only was he modest, but he wanted people to like him for who he was, not who his family was. Sarah sat next to him on her stool, and tried to show him how to properly milk a cow. He just could not do it successfully, and when he bent the udder, a stream of milk splattered all over them. They both laughed, breathlessly, as they looked into each others eyes. After a length of time, she became nervous again, cast her eyes down at the floor, and noticed his boots.
"My heavens! Look at your soles, you have almost nothing left!" She was surprised at the condition because she did not see how badly some of the other men's boots were. "How long have you been wearing those things?"
"I don't really remember now. They still have a bit of wear left on them. It is not winter, yet. That is when it will matter what is one my feet." He smiled, but she frowned.
He wanted so much to kiss her, but he dared not. Instead, he took a piece of cloth from his pocket, then wiped her hands and face free of the splattered milk. With each stroke, he fell deeper in to her eyes, wanting her more and more. After repeated attempts, he finally grasped the concept of milking, and began to fill the jug. She stood and said, "Good. Now you can milk the other nine cows while I go retrieve the eggs from the chicken coop." He gave a disappointed sneer as he realized that she would no longer be lavishing attention upon him. Eventually, she instructed him to take the jugs of milk he filled, as well as the baskets of eggs to the men. She told him that she and her father recognize the sacrifices that the men were making, and felt it necessary to give them all she could.
The men greatly appreciated the unexpected gifts, which reminded them of the homes they left behind. The homes for which they were fighting. The men then told stories of their families, of jobs and women they hoped to see again someday. They discussed how they were going to marry, and have children. They discussed how the children would then be raised in a land free from tyranny and monarchies. All during the discussions, Lieutenant Harkins could only lie on his back, and daydream about one thing--Miss Sarah Collins.
That evening, Lieutenant Harkins again sat on Miss Collins' porch until she appeared. "Is there something I can do for you, sir?" she inquired.
He stood to face her, trying to memorize every line and curve of her visage. He was determined to take that image back to the hell called the front line. "I was hoping that you would once again honor me in a stroll this evening, Miss Collins." He bowed his head, as if he was afraid of rejection, as he did not realize that her heart was racing as quickly as his.
"Well yes, sir, I do believe that this evening is a beautiful time to take advantage of such a stroll." The two walked over the pastures, and along the tree line which bordered the property. She went on about how she wanted to become a teacher and a famous author, but that her father discouraged her. He needed her to maintain the farm while he was away, and the war could go on for years. They both knew that she was getting on in years, and waiting until the war was over was basically resigning her to the role of spinster. "My mother died of smallpox when I was very young. Fearing that I would become ill, my father sent her away. When she died, he blamed himself. Because of this, I feel obligated to him. He saved my life, and I need to care for him in lieu of my mother." She could have told him that she wanted to throw a rope around the moon, and Lieutenant Harkins would not have minded, as long as she was talking to him.
He stopped walking, stared at her with the moonlight dancing across her porcelain face, and asked her, "Would you be happy staying here with your father, never having a family of your own?"
"I accept my duty, as God has assigned it to me." She had long ago accepted this as a fact, yet she was never tempted by a man to dissuade her from it, either. He grimaced. He had already decided that he wanted to court her, and eventually marry her.
"It is getting late, we should be returning, Miss." He reluctantly said. He walked her back to her porch, and as she climbed the steps, he reached down and kissed her hand, bidding her a good night.
The next morning, Colonel Thomas approached the lieutenant, "The scouts have come back with good news. The creek is free from enemy troops; since our men have been well rested, we are going to move out at nightfall. I suggest that you say your farewells to Miss Collins quickly, as we need to pack up camp." Colonel Thomas was an observant man, and he realized that the lieutenant was smitten. "Perhaps, you could ask the lady's permission for us to return to nurse the wounded in the future?" Harkins would accept any excuse to see her again, and his eyes lit up.
"Colonel, sir, would you find it useful for me to scout resources for a hospital in the area? We could leave the wounded here, to be cared for by the townsfolk. That is, if I could find proper accommodations."
The colonel thought, "It would have to be someplace far enough from the creek bed that should the enemy attack here, an alarm could be signaled for preparations. Perhaps you could ask your friend to rally the townspeople, so that upon our return, this can be discussed." This disappointed the lieutenant. He was hoping that he could delay their departure, but the colonel was committed.
The lieutenant quickly approached Miss Collins' home. He knocked on the door frantically, when she answered, he was almost at a loss for words. He was terrified he would never see her again. "We are leaving tonight. I wanted you to know, for I did not want you to be frightened if you heard the noises of us packing up." That was not why he was there. He was there to say good bye to the woman who brought a glimmer of hope back to his life, hope that he thought had died long ago.
"Oh. Well, I hope you know that you men are invited here whenever you need to rest or gather supplies--as a demonstration of the people's gratitude for your efforts." Her lack of personal references disappointed him, so he officially thanked her and began to walk away. Perhaps he read too much into their conversations, he thought. Just then, she shouted, "Lieutenant Harkins, wait." She pulled the blue ribbon from her hair, and said, "Please, take this. It will remind you of a safe place, and a good friend." His mood lightened, although he was hoping to become more than a friend---he just didn't know when he would have the time. War is hell on the heart, as well as the mind and body.
"Miss Collins, do you think it would be possible for you to ask your townsfolk to set up a sort of hospital for the wounded? The entry to this creek is rather hidden from the river, therefore unlikely that enemy troops would find it. This is an excellent place for our injured to rest and get treatment." He hoped she would oblige his request. He needed to see her again.
"Of course, Lieutenant Harkins. I will see to it at once. Do you know when you will next return?" He did not, but that would give the people time to gather supplies and proper shelter.
He kissed her hand and said his goodbye, then walked down the hill to the rest of the men who were preparing to leave. When dark came, the men moved out, and Lieutenant Harkins left a piece of his heart in an old farm house, with a young lady named Sarah.
Chapter 1: If You Hear Yelling, HIDE
Gertrude had been working for the United States Postal Service for a few decades, when she insisted that her niece, Jessica, apply there. Any job Jessica had prior to the Postal Service was “menial” in Aunt Gertrude's eyes. It did not matter that Jessica managed stores, or at one point, even owned a business that had 80 employees. Gertrude just lectured about how the economy could change, and that Jessica had no guarantee of a future or pension. After years of being belittled, Jessica decided to close her struggling printing company, and give in to Aunt Gertrude's suggestion. The idea of suddenly not being responsible for decisions, for the livelihood of employees, and being able to rescind the stresses of business ownership was quite appealing. It was a decision that changed not only her life, but opened a whole new world that she did not know existed.
Jessica approached the Personnel Office, pulling on the heavy door which led to the tiny little room that had nothing in it but a glass window--- the kind of bullet proof glass that you expect to see at a police department or bank. An older woman sat behind the glass, and when Jessica approached, she rolled her eyes and huffed. Politely, Jessica asked, "Hello. Could I please have an employment application?" The woman ignored her. Again, she stated her request. Again, Jessica was ignored. Finally, Jessica tapped on the glass window to get the woman's attention, to which the woman responded, "Do you see me typing on this computer? What do you want?" Wow, that was warm and welcoming! Again, Jessica requested the application. The woman replied, "You have to be at least 18 years old to apply here. Come back next year, honey!" The woman turned back towards her computer screen. This woman's customer service skills are among the best ever!"Ma'am, I can appreciate that you have a difficult job, however, I would like to ask you once again for an employment application. I am 25 years old, I own my home, am married, and until recently owned my own business. I appreciate your concern for my employment eligibility, however, you would be able to return more quickly to your computer if you just give me the application." With that, the woman slammed an application onto the counter and pushed it through the slot in the glass window. Is this REALLY the place someone wants to work if people like this are the norm?
A few months later, Jessica got the call for the interview process. She was told to report to a hotel conference room, which, when she got there was more like an assembly line. There were hundreds of people crowded in a various rooms, all in different steps of the hiring procedure. The first step was filling out a ton of forms, then Jessica went into another room where the drug tests were being held. After being patted down, she was told to fill a little cup with urine, while the restroom stall door remained opened, and a big nasty looking nurse stood in the room. After the cup was filled, the nurse inspected the UNflushed toilet, then patted down Jessica again to check for test tampering.
The next step was the background check. A man who claimed to be an FBI Agent held a laptop, asked for Jessica's social security number, then instructed her to place her palms flat on a scanner connected to the laptop. After a few seconds, a message flashed on the screen "No Known Warrants/Arrests". Wonder what would have happened if there was something found? Would a SWAT team come rushing in? She then had to go through a physical exam by a doctor, and lift at least 70 pounds of weights. The final step entailed a short interview with a man who gave a bright, toothy smile. He explained the position, the expectations of USPS employees, and told Jessica that the USPS is a great place to work. He went on to explain it can be an excellent second job, and that the number of work hours and shift assigned were negotiable. Boy did he get most of that wrong! The entire process took about four hours, and when she left she wondered if the job was even worth it.
Two weeks later, Jessica was hired at the United States Postal Service's Processing Center as a temporary employee known as a "Casual". This position is the bottom of the ladder, was just above minimum wage, and received no benefits, vacation time, or sick leave. In a Processing and Distribution Center which operates 24/7/365, it is the casual employee who works six days a week, and is forced to work 60-72 hours a week during federal holiday weeks (including Christmas Day). In order to get a "permanent" job, Jessica would have to take a written exam which is only given every couple of years, so she figured that she would work there until the exam. After a three hour new employee orientation, the group of 50 new employees were herded like cattle out of a conference room and through metal security spindles, similar to the ones found at city subways. The twisting of the spindle clanged with a sound like a prison gate saying, "You are ours now! You are trapped!" When Jessica approached the door to the building, she saw a hand written sign on the door, "Abandon Hope All Ye Who Enter Here". What? That is from Dante's Inferno! Is this the eighth ring of hell?
Entering that door was like entering an entirely new world. Nothing Aunt Gertrude could have said would have prepared Jessica for what she would see. Initially, the whistles and beeps of the machines made her feel as though she were in a science fiction movie. A loud intercom system overhead was constantly bellowing names and phone numbers. Forklifts were zipping around, lights were blinking, and the noise was so loud, Jessica could not hear herself think. As Jessica looked around at the different types of machines that were sorting millions of pieces of mail, she wondered how anyone ever got the mail at all--let alone on time. It was then that she looked up at the thirty foot ceilings and saw the security cameras, similar to the "eye in the sky" types that are used in casinos. There was a catwalk around the walls of the building that had slats of mirrors periodically. It was obvious that these were for U.S. Postal Inspectors to view employees to prevent theft. In addition, there were directional microphones pointed to the employee work floor. Note to self, never discuss personal information such as yeast infections or constipation with a co-worker!
Soon, Jessica learned that every person who worked there was completely different, but all were accepted for their differences, and gelled together as one whole unit. In a building of 1000 people, a close knit community formed, which was more like a family than a workplace. There were so many extremely intelligent and well-educated people there. Several were former teachers, nurses, professors, and even Ivy League graduates. Many were military veterans who had spilled blood for our country and commanded a great deal of respect. The ages of employees ranged from 18 to 80, and all seemed to bustle the mail in a cohesive manner, ignorant of any difference of age or culture. Many of the employees were Filipino, Chinese, African American, Hispanic---and the gender ratios were fairly even as well. With all of the diversity, with all of the differences, these people were like one body.
Just walking around, Jessica could tell there was a thick sense of tension in the air, an urgency to meet truck dispatch times. There were all sorts of alarms going off, bells ringing, forklift horns honking, and yes--- even people screaming. It was almost like a city. A city alive with a purpose, with a people, and often a mind and language of its own. Walking through that door made Jessica feel like an ant in the middle of a freeway of vehicles passing by. Jessica felt a lump form in her throat from the fear of the unknown.
One of the first people that Jessica met was a man named Joshua. He looked like an anorexic Santa Claus. He had these piercing blue eyes nestled upon big puffy red cheeks. His salt and pepper gray hair circled his face in a nicely trimmed beard. But it was when Joshua smiled and laughed that he really gave his Santa persona away. When things delighted him, he let out a hearty "Ho Ho HO", and immediately anyone around him found him to be a pleasant man. Jessica and Joshua talked for some time while sorting sacks of mail, until she said to him, "Darn, I forgot to record a new documentary on tonight-- Russia: Land of the Czars".
Joshua had been in mid swing of a 70 pound sack of mail. He intended to throw it over his shoulder so that he could carry it across the room, however, at Jessica's statement, the sack went flying over his shoulder and landed on the floor. Joshua was no longer interested in the mail, he heard a word that fascinated him. "RUSSIA? Did you says R U S S I A?"
Jessica could appreciate someone who loved conversations about history, but she was not prepared for a mail sack to go flying across the room because of it. Joshua approached her with raised eyebrows, and the excitement that a child has when seeing something for the first time. She responded, "Oh yes. I majored in History in college. European and Russian Monarchies are amongst my favorite aspects of History."
To Jessica's surprise, Joshua was even more excited now. Names of Czars, political theories of the ages, and questions on assassination conspiracies came flowing out of his mouth. He hardly even took a breath, and certainly did not give her enough time to answer. Finally, he said, "I love history, especially Russian history. The Romanov Dynasty was my favorite course to teach when I was a professor at University of Maryland."
Now it was Jessica who looked at him with amazement. A professor with a PhD D working here? Joshua spoke with a bit of southern twang, which she realized seemed to prejudice her from expecting him to have a PhD D. However, Jessica knew from that moment that she and Joshua would become good friends. It did not matter that he was 25 years her senior, with his Army jacket literally being older than her. The two discussed various European countries and rulers throughout the rest of the night. They discussed the wives of Henry the VIII, the ruthlessness of Catherine de Medici, the idiosyncrasies of King George III. They discussed how they each had a collection of biographies and other non-fiction works. There were 12 other workers in their area at the time, but they just seem to fade into the walls as Jessica and Joshua became consumed in conversation while they worked the mail sacks.
At one point another employee interrupted them, and Joshua and the employee shook hands. Joshua turned to Jessica, "Ms. Jessica, I would like to introduce you to Mr. Andrew Blade. He is one of the best employees in this building, and if you need to know anything, He is the man to find."
Mr. Blade seemed honored for that announcement, greeted Jessica, then asked Joshua for his assistance, "Joshua, do you still have your knife on you? I need you to cut this cardboard box open for me. My cheap blade won't do it."
Joshua quickly reached behind his back, and from out of his waistband, he pulled out a huge hunting knife that looked like something a samurai warrior would carry. Look out Rambo, this guy has you beat!
Andrew must have realized that Jessica's eyes were bulging out, and in an attempt to quash her fears, he said, "Ain't that some shit? The first time I met him, I saw him with this knife while he was hacking into cardboard. After hearing that southern accent of his.... all i could think of was the song Dueling Banjos from the movie Deliverance." Joshua continued to cut the boxes that Andrew had requested, then Andrew went on, "Don't worry little lady, he won't hurt you. But yeah, I was scared shitless too when I first saw him whip out that weapon. And my name is BLADE... and I'm from the hood." Andrew then proceeded on his way.
By the end of the night, Jessica and Joshua decided that they would exchange books with each other like a library. Jessica's first day went by very quickly until an incredibly loud and frightening voice bellowed, "PPPPPPPPUUUUUUUSSSSHHHH IIIIIIIITTTTT OOOOOOOOUUUUUUUUUTTTTTT!"
"What the hell was that?" she looked at Joshua, realizing that deep, scary pit of hell sound came from him.
Once again with his Santa Claus voice, Joshua stated, "Oh that? That is my nightly alarm to the employees in this section. That is how they know we are finished in this section, then it is time to push out the mail to the platform for dispatch. I yell that every morning at 4:30 am." Jessica then realized that her first night was finally over. What originally was supposed to be a six hour shift had become a twelve hour night, but was pleasantly broken up with interesting and intelligent conversation. Not bad, maybe I can survive here.
Jessica's second day started out normally until she saw a black woman driving a forklift, blasting the horn and screaming, “All you white devils must die! The Lord told me that your day is coming soon!” Jessica was scared to death. She felt her pulse start to race, her respiration increased, and she tried to devise a way to stay out of this woman's way. Everyone knows the term “going postal” and she did not want to be anywhere near someone who was going to start shooting! She made sure that she steered clear of this woman as much as possible, forming a wall around herself made of containers called APCs. Each APC was about six foot tall and on wheels. Jessica continued over the next few days to hide from the woman while surrounded by these APCs, ducking her head down every time she saw the crazy woman drive by.
One day however, the black woman purposely ran her forklift into one of these containers, breaking Jessica's wall of fortitude, and screamed, “Gotcha!”
“Hello” Jessica said very timidly, not knowing what to expect. Perhaps if I am quiet, she will not notice my blue-eyed blonde, very white devilish complexion that turns into a lobster in the sun!
She seemed startled herself, “Oh I'm sorry, I thought you were Erica. Do you know where she is?”
Thankfully, she was looking for Jessica's co-worker, “Sorry, she is not scheduled today. She will be in tomorrow.” Jessica hoped her politeness would keep the woman from trying to attack this “white devil”. The woman just thanked Jessica, and went on her way. She wondered if the woman had just had a bad day when Jessica first saw her screaming---either that or the woman was bipolar. Wow... dodged a bullet on that one! Maybe even literally. Jessica found out later that her name was Terry, and she was actually a very nice person---just loud.
There were plenty of loud people who worked there, some were to be taken seriously, and others not so seriously. Part of the problem with being new in any environment is the lack of knowledge of correct procedures. Another problem is that with so many different people working in one environment, it is nearly impossible to satisfy everyone. Jessica had to learn this the hard way. A soft spoken man in his sixties walked Jessica around, showing her from where to get mail once she was finished processing the mail she had. "When you finish sorting the mail you have, go to that section across the aisle and get a full container of mail to bring back with you. Whenever you take a full container, please replace it with an empty one. Not only does this save the person in that section time, but that person will respect and appreciate you for your consideration." Sounds simple. Take a full container, and give them an empty so that they can fill it again.
An hour later, Jessica finished her mail, and did what she was told. She pulled an empty container across the aisle, took her full container of mail, then went back to sorting her mail. Ten minutes later she heard the loud clang of metal, as well as yelling that was very deep and angry. The voice was coming closer to her, "Who the hell keeps bringing these empty containers over here? Was it you? Does it look like I need anymore freaking containers? I work with the world's biggest idiot who has 40 freaking containers here! I don't need another container until the end of the freaking millennium, thanks to him! If you EVER bring me another freaking container, I will push all 40 of my containers into your section so that YOU cannot walk in your section the way I can't!" This man was literally throwing these rolling containers into others. His hands were flapping around in the air, his face got really red, and he was so incredibly mad that he was perspiring. As veins bulged from his temples, he screamed, "That's it! I need a freaking beer!" The man then walked away.
When Terry the forklift driver heard the commotion, she approached the confused Jessica, "Don't worry honey, he's crazy. Everyone knows that. He is one of the ones at the top of the list. Just try to avoid him."
Now even more confused, Jessica asked, "He's on the list? What list?"
"You know, the list of people in the building most likely to go crazy and shoot up the place. One day, he will probably go off, so in the mean time, try to be on his good side--- just in case." Terry said this with such a serious look that Jessica was unsure whether it was a joke, or real.
Jessica prodded, "Are you serious? You all actually have a list of likely shooters?" Jessica's eyes started scanning the area looking at the faces of other employees, wondering who else might be on the list, or just how many "crazies" were in the building.
"Jess darling, not only is there a list, but there is a betting pool guessing who will be the first one to go crazy, in what part of the building, and what method they will use. I have $100 on a supervisor named Mark... on the platform....with a bomb. You need to talk to Jose if you want to get in on it." After that, Terry drove away on her forklift, and Jessica was praying the rest of the day would go by without incident.
THE CREEK: WHERE STORIES OF THE PAST COME ALIVE
Love Revolution Style, 1777
The British had captured Philadelphia, the seat of the Continental Congress. The American troops were exhausted, wounded, and spiritually broken. As they rowed their boats down a small tributary of the Delaware River, they found a good place to camp. Battered and bloody, they pushed the boats ashore, trying not to injure the wounded any further. The only structure in site was a small farmhouse on a hilltop with a barn. The area was tranquil, and Colonel Thomas was amazed that there is still one place on earth that has not been touched by this bloody war. He was a serious, yet compassionate man in his 40s, a good leader, and protected his men as he would his children. He took this last loss personally, as his company was from the Philadelphia area, therefore they were truly fighting for their homeland.
"Lieutenant Harkins, take your men to recon that barn and house. See if there are supplies, and be kind to the owners, remember we fight for them," ordered Colonel Thomas. He knew the men had not eaten a real meal in months, and the sight of a stocked kitchen might turn civilized men into beasts. Lieutenant Harkins did as instructed. He took two groups of men, one to surround the barn, and another to surround the house. Men might not actually be the correct word, most were in their teens and were scared to death. They were definitely traumatized after this last battle, and suffering from the heat. The cool water of the creek was a refreshing sight, but they had to be wary of impending danger, so rest would have to wait.
As the first group of men approached the house, a woman came out with a rifle extended. She was quivering in fear, as if she had never shot before, but she was determined to protect herself. "I don't want any trouble. You can stay in the barn, and I will provide you with what food I can, but you must leave me and my family alone," she said with a cracking voice, showing her fear. Her long yellow hair was pulled back with a ribbon, and her bright blue eyes were filled with terror.
Lieutenant Harkins approached the woman with a hand slightly raised, trying to relax her. He was a 30 something attractive man, even more so with his rugged looking beard. He had deep forest green eyes, and light brown hair that shined like gold in the summer sun. "We mean you no harm, ma'am. We only need to camp, rest, and tend to our wounded. We appreciate your generosity of nourishment, we are much obliged. If you would allow me, I would like to speak with you, as my men make camp." He then signaled to the men to back away from the home and return to the creek bed.
The woman lowered her weapon, nodded her head and invited the lieutenant onto her veranda, as she pointed to a wooden bench. To ease her nerves, he sat as she suggested, trying to move slowly. She offered him some lemonade as he questioned her. "Have you seen any enemy troops in these parts?" She shrugged him a negative response. "Do you have any men here to whom I may speak?" Again, she shrugged him a no. He realized that she was trying to avoid eye contact out of fear. He then twisted his head to stare directly at her and said, "On my honor as a gentleman, as a soldier, and as an American, you are safe from harm." At last her demeanor seemed to relax. She began breathing normally, and her shoulders seemed to slump back to a normal position. A slight smile broached her face.
"Thank you, sir. My husband and son have gone off to fight, and I have had heard no word in months. I have two young children here, and do not want any trouble". He wondered about her age, as she looked very much like a child herself.
They continued to sip the lemonade when he asked for her permission to speak to his men, "Do you mind ma'am if I inform the men that it is permissible to utilize the barn? We will remain in the barn and by the water, as you requested. My men are young and weary. They are famished, and need to bathe in the cool water for a bit. But as I said, I promise you that we will remain away from the house. With your permission, I would like to speak with them, and then return to you. Is that agreeable?" He spoke in a low, and calming tone that put her more at ease with every word he spoke.
"Yes, sir, Thank You."
He headed down the hill to the shoreline where most of the men had assembled, laying about on the ground due to exhaustion, from both the heat and battle. He informed the colonel of his conversation with the woman, then the colonel began barking orders to make camp. Once the men knew they were out of danger, it seemed as though a dark cloud was lifted. Some of the men began undressing to jump in the cool water, others pulled the boats onto shore, while yet others tried to rest, sprawled out under the shades of trees. Even the shade could not shield them from the extreme humidity, so the healthy began sponging down the weak.
The lieutenant then went back to the woman as promised. He wanted her to know that he was there, to protect her from what seemed like a bunch of frightening men. He found her door closed when he reached the house, so he sat on the porch step to wait. He would sit there all day and night, if need be.. He wanted her to feel guarded. He could hear the mischievous laughter of his men, finally getting a break from fighting. He could hear the splashing of the water as men jumped in the creek, and wrestled like children. He laughed, appreciative that they were getting a chance to relax. Hopefully, this mental break from the war would last for quite some time.
The woman came to the door with cheese and bread. She informed the lieutenant that his men could slaughter and roast one of her pigs. He was taken back by the generosity, and very grateful. As the men built the fire to roast the pig, the woman and the lieutenant spoke for most of the night.
"Where are the children you spoke of? I have not seen, nor heard from them."
She explained, "I fear that I have misled you, sir. My father owns this land. He went off to fight, leaving me behind. I do not know if he is dead or alive, and legally I cannot inherit land. Therefore I told you that it was my husband's. I cannot be removed from my childhood home, as I would be devastated. It is all I have left of a connection to my family. I thought that even a strange man would be less likely to harm a woman with children."
"Understood. Does that mean that you are not married?" He asked with a smirk on his face, as he had not seen a woman in almost a year. She shrugged a negative, nervously. His own wife and infant had died in childbirth, and since then he had shown no interest. This woman was capturing his attention, though. She was about 22 years old, with a sweet voice, and was schooled. Over the course of the night, they discussed both of their families, the war, and animals. He told her stories of how he had grown up on a farm, and offered to help her milk the cows in the morning.
As the day turned to dusk, the soldiers sang over the campfire and filled their bellies. The lieutenant and woman walked the acres of her land, pointing at the stars, and listening to the sounds of the night. The lieutenant then looked the woman in the eyes and said, "For hours we have talked about everything from stars to horses, and yet, I do not know your name. Please do not leave me in suspense, give me the gift of your name."
She smiled and seemed pleased. With an innocent smile and cast down eyes, she said, "Miss Sarah Collins." She was hoping that he would call her Sarah, but she knew that was too presumptuous. They did not know each other, and the proper way to address her would be to call her Miss Collins. Most of the men her age had been off to fight for over a year already, so she had no prospects, no gentleman callers. The only men who remained in her town were the elderly, lame, and the preachers. This was the first real attention she received from a man, and yet she knew it was improper since she was all alone, without a chaperone.
"Well, Miss Collins, I can promise you that we will be moving out in a couple of days, once the men are rested. Unless that is a problem for you, and you require we leave earlier?"
"No. Of course not. The men need their rest. Then I shall see you tomorrow morning?" She really wanted to see him again, but did not want to appear anxious. "To milk the cows?"
His eyes had lit up at the question, hoping that she wanted him as much as he wanted her. He was impressed with how well read she was. She could quote Shakespeare and Plato better than most scholars, and it fascinated him. She was beautiful, intelligent, and generous. He kissed her hand and said, "Until the morrow, Miss Collins." Then he quickly turned from her walking back to camp, before he was tempted to kiss more than her hand.
In the morning, the birds were chirping, and the air was still filled with the smoke of the roasted pig. The lieutenant realized that during most of the war, he hadn't paid attention to the sounds around him, mostly because it was all cannons and rifles--he had learned to tune it out. But last night, the owls and crickets were soothing. And this morning, it seemed that the chirping birds were encouraging him to run to the barn, to await his new found love interest. He went to the creek, washed himself, put on a change of uniform, and went back up to the farm house to see his lovely Miss Collins.
She was struggling with a large tin jug, so he offered to take it from her. She insisted that they each carry it by one handle. "Good morning, Lieutenant Harkins, and thank you for your assistance with the jug." She was bright eyed this morning, and much more at ease than she was the day before. He smiled back at her, as he felt butterflies in his stomach. They approached the barn, and she put stools beside two separate cows, expecting them each to milk one. The lieutenant looked nervously at the stool, but she did not notice, she just began her work.
It was obvious the man had no idea what to do. He sat there staring, then started yanking on the udders. Finally, he confessed, "Miss Collins, I regret I told you a falsehood. I did not grow up on a farm. I only told you that to ease your fears, as you seemed so concerned yesterday. I do not wish to harm your cattle with my lack of skills."
Flattered, she just laughed at him. "How did you know so much about farming then?" she said with surprise.
He shrugged and admitted, "Books. You have read Plato and Shakespeare, and I have read about farms and animals. However, you have worked the farms and animals, which makes you far more educated than I." He said it with a smile. In actuality, he was the son of the upper class, whose family made their fortune from fur trading and the West Indies spices. He rarely disclosed his family's background. Not only was he modest, but he wanted people to like him for who he was, not who his family was. Sarah sat next to him on her stool, and tried to show him how to properly milk a cow. He just could not do it successfully, and when he bent the udder, a stream of milk splattered all over them. They both laughed, breathlessly, as they looked into each others eyes. After a length of time, she became nervous again, cast her eyes down at the floor, and noticed his boots.
"My heavens! Look at your soles, you have almost nothing left!" She was surprised at the condition because she did not see how badly some of the other men's boots were. "How long have you been wearing those things?"
"I don't really remember now. They still have a bit of wear left on them. It is not winter, yet. That is when it will matter what is one my feet." He smiled, but she frowned.
He wanted so much to kiss her, but he dared not. Instead, he took a piece of cloth from his pocket, then wiped her hands and face free of the splattered milk. With each stroke, he fell deeper in to her eyes, wanting her more and more. After repeated attempts, he finally grasped the concept of milking, and began to fill the jug. She stood and said, "Good. Now you can milk the other nine cows while I go retrieve the eggs from the chicken coop." He gave a disappointed sneer as he realized that she would no longer be lavishing attention upon him. Eventually, she instructed him to take the jugs of milk he filled, as well as the baskets of eggs to the men. She told him that she and her father recognize the sacrifices that the men were making, and felt it necessary to give them all she could.
The men greatly appreciated the unexpected gifts, which reminded them of the homes they left behind. The homes for which they were fighting. The men then told stories of their families, of jobs and women they hoped to see again someday. They discussed how they were going to marry, and have children. They discussed how the children would then be raised in a land free from tyranny and monarchies. All during the discussions, Lieutenant Harkins could only lie on his back, and daydream about one thing--Miss Sarah Collins.
That evening, Lieutenant Harkins again sat on Miss Collins' porch until she appeared. "Is there something I can do for you, sir?" she inquired.
He stood to face her, trying to memorize every line and curve of her visage. He was determined to take that image back to the hell called the front line. "I was hoping that you would once again honor me in a stroll this evening, Miss Collins." He bowed his head, as if he was afraid of rejection, as he did not realize that her heart was racing as quickly as his.
"Well yes, sir, I do believe that this evening is a beautiful time to take advantage of such a stroll." The two walked over the pastures, and along the tree line which bordered the property. She went on about how she wanted to become a teacher and a famous author, but that her father discouraged her. He needed her to maintain the farm while he was away, and the war could go on for years. They both knew that she was getting on in years, and waiting until the war was over was basically resigning her to the role of spinster. "My mother died of smallpox when I was very young. Fearing that I would become ill, my father sent her away. When she died, he blamed himself. Because of this, I feel obligated to him. He saved my life, and I need to care for him in lieu of my mother." She could have told him that she wanted to throw a rope around the moon, and Lieutenant Harkins would not have minded, as long as she was talking to him.
He stopped walking, stared at her with the moonlight dancing across her porcelain face, and asked her, "Would you be happy staying here with your father, never having a family of your own?"
"I accept my duty, as God has assigned it to me." She had long ago accepted this as a fact, yet she was never tempted by a man to dissuade her from it, either. He grimaced. He had already decided that he wanted to court her, and eventually marry her.
"It is getting late, we should be returning, Miss." He reluctantly said. He walked her back to her porch, and as she climbed the steps, he reached down and kissed her hand, bidding her a good night.
The next morning, Colonel Thomas approached the lieutenant, "The scouts have come back with good news. The creek is free from enemy troops; since our men have been well rested, we are going to move out at nightfall. I suggest that you say your farewells to Miss Collins quickly, as we need to pack up camp." Colonel Thomas was an observant man, and he realized that the lieutenant was smitten. "Perhaps, you could ask the lady's permission for us to return to nurse the wounded in the future?" Harkins would accept any excuse to see her again, and his eyes lit up.
"Colonel, sir, would you find it useful for me to scout resources for a hospital in the area? We could leave the wounded here, to be cared for by the townsfolk. That is, if I could find proper accommodations."
The colonel thought, "It would have to be someplace far enough from the creek bed that should the enemy attack here, an alarm could be signaled for preparations. Perhaps you could ask your friend to rally the townspeople, so that upon our return, this can be discussed." This disappointed the lieutenant. He was hoping that he could delay their departure, but the colonel was committed.
The lieutenant quickly approached Miss Collins' home. He knocked on the door frantically, when she answered, he was almost at a loss for words. He was terrified he would never see her again. "We are leaving tonight. I wanted you to know, for I did not want you to be frightened if you heard the noises of us packing up." That was not why he was there. He was there to say good bye to the woman who brought a glimmer of hope back to his life, hope that he thought had died long ago.
"Oh. Well, I hope you know that you men are invited here whenever you need to rest or gather supplies--as a demonstration of the people's gratitude for your efforts." Her lack of personal references disappointed him, so he officially thanked her and began to walk away. Perhaps he read too much into their conversations, he thought. Just then, she shouted, "Lieutenant Harkins, wait." She pulled the blue ribbon from her hair, and said, "Please, take this. It will remind you of a safe place, and a good friend." His mood lightened, although he was hoping to become more than a friend---he just didn't know when he would have the time. War is hell on the heart, as well as the mind and body.
"Miss Collins, do you think it would be possible for you to ask your townsfolk to set up a sort of hospital for the wounded? The entry to this creek is rather hidden from the river, therefore unlikely that enemy troops would find it. This is an excellent place for our injured to rest and get treatment." He hoped she would oblige his request. He needed to see her again.
"Of course, Lieutenant Harkins. I will see to it at once. Do you know when you will next return?" He did not, but that would give the people time to gather supplies and proper shelter.
He kissed her hand and said his goodbye, then walked down the hill to the rest of the men who were preparing to leave. When dark came, the men moved out, and Lieutenant Harkins left a piece of his heart in an old farm house, with a young lady named Sarah.
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