Long Way from Lonely

By Kathryn J. Martin and Michelle Williamson Dukes

In his early twenties, Alan Woodward returns to Baltimore from World War II only to find himself alone and lonely. With meager possessions, on a cold dreary day in 1946 he begins a trip southward to a warmer clime in his search for a college, a home, and someone to love.

Along the way, his journey takes an amazing turn. Is it culturalor something else?

• Language: English
• Publisher: WestBow Press
• Release date: Mar 27, 2013
• ISBN: 9781449788537

Kathryn J. Martin

Kathryn Martin and Jacklyn Welch Shockley, known for their inspirational speaking, writing and Miz Maudie humor team, now enter the world of fiction. Nicknamed “Thinker” and “Doer,” Jacklyn, who is legally blind, introduced the characters and story line, while Kathryn researched, developed, and wrote. Home is Ponchatoula, Louisiana.  Memphis native Michelle Williamson Dukes is a graphic artist with a degree in applied science in graphic design. She and her professional photographer husband, Greg, own Dukes Photography+Design in Southaven, Mississippi. As an illustrator, she honors her grandmother, Jacklyn, who first introduced her to art.

Book preview

Prologue

Alan Woodward took one last look around his father’s Baltimore apartment. It was not a nostalgic look, for this place had no special memories. It had held only one object of value for him and now that was gone.

Yesterday he’d said his final goodbye to his only known relative, his father. A year ago in early 1945 Alan had been granted leave from the Army-Air Corps when his mother was killed in an automobile accident in the frantic traffic of the city. His father had been only slightly injured but the loss of his beloved wife took his reason for living. When he developed a heart condition, he seemed to give up.

There was actually no one else to say goodbye to. A few men from his father’s job had attended the graveside funeral but other than these acquaintances, the quiet reticent couple had made no close friends since moving to the city a few years before. People all around them seemed busy with their own affairs and they hadn’t wanted to intrude.

Alan himself knew no one except the apartment manager to whom he returned the key and thanked for being kind to his parents.

Turning to leave, he caught a glimpse of his reflection in the lobby mirror and was startled at the changes. His olive complexion appeared pale against the darkness of his slightly wavy hair and his brown eyes, serious from concern.

After unfolding the flaps of his winter cap to cover his ears, he buttoned his jacket and walked out into the damp cold of an early spring morning of 1946.

His father’s small truck was parked at the curb and he climbed in. He didn’t have to look at the map again for he knew the direction he was taking.

To his relief, the engine caught as soon as he stepped on the starter. He headed for U.S. Highway One and turned south toward an uncertain future…

Chapter 1

Alan didn’t need the barren trees and empty fields to remind him of how slow warm weather was in coming to the North as he navigated small towns and the countryside between Washington and Richmond.

Shivering, he was thankful for the 1939 truck despite its age and lack of working heater as he recalled the early forties when the threat of war limited the manufacture of vehicles for civilian use.

Soon the windows and black paint absorbed the sun’s heat enough to keep him comfortably warm and even a little drowsy. Lowering the window brought a rush of air that made him more alert as he kept watch for a grocery. He’d not taken time for breakfast so a couple of hours down the road he turned in at a little store where he was the only customer. The merchant in his bib apron attempted conversation, Morning. What can I do for you?

Morning. I’d like a half pound of coffee, a loaf of bread, two cans of pork and beans … Alan replied, pausing as the grocer wrote his order.

Stranger hereabouts, aren’t you? Going far? he tried again without looking up.

Quite a distance, the tall, young man answered vaguely as even he didn’t know.

The clerk’s curiosity wasn’t satisfied but he let it go. Probably another boy home from the war, he thought. They all have the same withdrawn manner about them.

Half dozen eggs, a box of soda crackers. About a dime’s worth of cheese, Alan continued. Pint of milk and a ten-cent slab of streak-of-lean, please.

After placing two one-dollar bills on the counter, Alan picked up his purchases and change, saying, Thanks as he turned to leave.

Good luck, the merchant called after him.

Thank you, replied Alan wondering, Is that what life is, good luck or bad? How much is chance? One thing he knew - if it took luck, he was going to make his own if at all humanly possible.

Back in the country he parked in a clump of trees where he got out and stretched before sitting against a tree to use his pocketknife for cutting pieces of cheese for his crackers. Each bite he followed with a big swallow of milk. He was so empty it tasted good.

Allowing himself a few minutes of relaxation, he plunged the blade of the knife into the dirt a few times to clean it before leaving.

The increased traffic of Richmond took all his concentration and he was well south of the city before he could get back to his own thoughts, deciding to go over his inventory in his mind to pass the time.

His steamer trunk held a few shirts and pants for everyday and dress wear and old white shirts and white overalls for work.

Alan choked up as he thought of the overalls. The last time he’d worn his he’d been working side by side with his father in the other pair, now Alan’s too. Not wanting to let go of his emotions he forced himself to focus on the trunk. Dress shoes, work boots, tennis shoes, socks, and underwear. A few ties to match his one good suit in the cleaner’s bag across the steamer trunk.

Books. A small box of books was all he had left from his treasured collection now in a used book store. Needing every cent he could scrape together and with space at a premium, he’d chosen carefully what he kept and felt regret over the loss of the rest. His mother’s Bible and a few pictures were wrapped carefully as they were the only tangible things he had left of her.

As sorrow began to engulf him, he was relieved to enter a small town where pulling in to a filling station, he lined his truck up by the gas pump. A smiling young man came out from the adjoining repair garage wiping his hands on greasy coveralls. He took Alan aback with his familiarity when he said, Howdy. Name’s Joe. How many gallons you need today?

Warming toward the friendly young man he answered, Alan here. Ten gallons.

He watched Joe pump gasoline to the ten-gallon mark on the glass container before pushing the release for it to drain into the hose now inserted in the truck tank filler.

Joe nodded toward the tarpaulin covering the bed of the truck and commented, Looks like you traveling. From Richmond?

Baltimore, said Alan. Getting pretty tired too. Know some place I can camp overnight?

Enjoying the company, Joe drew his story out as he checked the oil, water and tires, then washed the windows. He’d been so nice that Alan was careful not to show how anxious he was to be on his way.

Probably need a quart of oil by tomorrow if you still traveling, Joe said.

Okay, Alan replied, again not adding any details.

If Joe felt rebuffed at Alan’s vague answer, he didn’t show it. His manner was still friendly as he said, Know the perfect place right here in McKinney. Our dad took us camping there when we’s children and we still go there for picnics. After you cross that bridge yonder over Nottoway River, turn right.

First roads on your right go to farms on the river, Joe continued. So take the one just before a little wooden bridge and in the trees on your left is what’s little more’n a dirt trail. Take that. They’s a clearing with a creek at the end with water fit for bathing and drinking both. Trees all around the rest and weather’s still chilly of a night probably nobody else’ll have the same idea so it’ll be private.

Alan thanked Joe and drove off after getting the change from his two one-dollar bills. Well away from the station, in his mirror he could see the young attendant gazing after him, seemingly reluctant to go back inside. No doubt feeling nostalgia for the old camping place, Alan thought, or maybe he’s wishing he could be off on an adventure too.

Then he turned his attention back to his own adventure, finding the directions easy to follow.

His first glimpse of the campsite convinced him Joe was right. It was a perfect place to camp. Turning the little truck around and pointing it toward the road, he knew he had somewhat private enclosure. To his satisfaction, he found a shallow fire pit edged with rocks. Dried twigs and branches soon produced a crackling campfire.

Rolling back the tarpaulin covering the truck bed he lifted a box that contained only the most essential needs for cooking food and washing dishes. From it he pulled out a rack taken from an old stove to use as a grate over the stones.

After slicing bacon into a skillet set on the edge of the fire where the meat wouldn’t cook too quickly, he added an opened can of pork-and-beans to the grate.

While waiting, Alan chose a clear grassy spot to make his bed by piling leaves and covering them with a small tarpaulin. Doubling his mother’s quilts he made a cot-size mattress and put another quilt and Army blankets over that. It looked even cozier after he added his pillows.

He’d have preferred sleeping in the back of the truck but its bed was so small even his few belongings filled it. Besides it was only six feet long, the same as his height, and didn’t allow for stretching out in comfort.

It’d been a long time since cheese and crackers so he hurriedly filled his canteen with clear cold water from the flowing steam and an old family plate with beans and bacon. Adding three slices of bread he sat on a nearby stump where he ate every bite he’d cooked. There he stayed a few minutes gazing into the dying embers.

Aware darkness was near he used a stick to push the grate to one side, throwing on a few more pieces of wood.

He had a flashlight but wanting everything in place by dark he made one more trip to the truck to gather a small pile of necessities. With these on his bunk, he looked around, feeling sure he was alone but still being cautious, he quickly undressed except for shoes and a towel wrapped around him. Taking a washcloth and bar of Ivory soap, he walked to the creek and behind a screen of bushes caught his breath as he waded barefoot into the shallows of the cold water. He scrubbed vigorously and quickly and felt good to be clean. Rubbing dry and wrapping himself in the big towel, he balanced on one foot then the other as he pulled on his shoes.

Back at his bed he quickly donned long underwear and his father’s old flannel pajamas. Neatly folding his trousers for another day’s wear, he put the rest of that day’s clothing in a paper bag for laundering. Between his parents’ teachings and his military discipline that reinforced them, he was a stickler for cleanliness.

The air was crisp, but soon he was warm in his cocoon, lying still a short time gazing up at the stars before the sorrow he’d suppressed all day swept over him.

Overwhelmed by his grief, he shook with great sobs, crying out, I’m so alone! If there is a God up there, can’t you help me?

Then exhausted by tears and his long day’s travel, Alan fell asleep and did not stir until morning.

Chapter 2

Alan awoke slowly as he felt the rays of sunlight filtering through the trees. At first he didn’t know where he was but in a few moments it all came back to him with memories of his parents flooding over him afresh.

But I must go on, he thought, even if my future looks pretty uncertain right now.

So, getting up from his pallet, he started the day on a somber note, making a fire, heating water for shaving and coffee, and beginning his breakfast preparations.

Soon comforting smells and sounds permeated the air - coffee percolating in the little pot, eggs crackling as they fried in the bacon grease from the night before and bread toasting on the grate.

After two cups of coffee with his breakfast, he felt his spirits somewhat revived as he quickly dressed and loaded his gear.

Soon back on the highway, he saw a sign that he was only forty miles from North Carolina.

It was farming country and far enough south the fields were getting greener. It was warmer too, one of the reasons he wanted to live in the South.

He was tired of harsh winters with snow and ice both in the States and overseas in the service. For some, crowds and noises of the city were exciting, but not for him. He’d felt smothered there, especially after the war, and wanted to find a place with breathing room. He wished he could live in a small community where the pace was slower.

His thoughts flew to Army buddy, Bob Turner, and the way he lit up when he described his hometown of Albany, Georgia.

I really like my town, he’d said. Big enough to have the convenience of city life but still a small-town feeling. Not crowded. Not hurried. Most folks, whether you know them or not, speak and bid the time of day, he had continued.

You sound like an advertisement for your Chamber of Commerce, Alan had kidded.

Guess I do, Bob had admitted. I still want you to come visit me after the war. Be great if you feel the same way I do and settle there.

Memories of these conversations came back to Alan as he continued his drive southward. He was unsure of his final destination but willing to take a good look at Albany and the surrounding area. It might meet his other criteria too if the college offered his field of study. If only he could determine what to do with his life…

Hunger pangs interrupted his reverie and after stopping to gas up and buy two cans of ham spread he parked under a tree to eat two sandwiches, washing them down with water from his canteen.

The rest of the day was uneventful and he took pleasure in the changing scenery. Trees and ground cover became greener yet as he journeyed farther into North Carolina. Some fruit trees showed beginning buds. The countryside and warming climate excited him. He was almost sorry when approaching dusk forced him to look for a camping spot.

It wasn’t hard to find a good site for the night. All he had to do was to turn off the main highway and pretty much repeat the ritual of the night before. The North Carolina temperature dropped rapidly after dark and he lay snuggled in his makeshift bed, dreamily listening to an occasional passing car out on the road as he began to doze …

Suddenly, he was alert, hearing a car slow, then stop. He could hear the murmur of voices but even straining to listen couldn’t hear what was being said. He’d read of murderers dumping bodies away from civilization. Was that happening here?

Grabbing his flashlight but leaving it off, he slipped on his shoes, left his pallet and crept through the trees closer to the road where a car was parked, engine running and lights on.

His fears seemed justified as a man’s voice said, We’ll leave it here at the edge of the woods.

Alan peered from behind the bushes where he was hiding, seeing the silhouette of the man against the headlights.

After the car sped away and all was quiet again, Alan turned on his flashlight and followed a whimpering sound coming from a moving gunnysack. As he neared it, he saw a small furry head emerge.

A puppy! he exclaimed aloud, his racing heart calming.

The puppy shook itself free from the sack and stood trembling and crying in the glow from Alan’s flashlight.

Why, you poor little thing, sympathized Alan, speaking soothing words, hoping he’d not frighten it away. Here, pup. I won’t hurt you. Come here, little fellow.

The puppy, sensing the friendliness in Alan’s voice, allowed itself to be picked up and carried back to camp. In the dim light of the embers, Alan looked closely at the soft fuzzy little dog. As best he could see it was fawn colored with white face, chest and paws.

You’re a cute pup, Alan said. Nice and clean too. Somebody took good care of you. Come on and let’s go to bed, little fellow.

Alan once again went to his pallet. This time he was not alone. The little pup was snuggled up to his side and already finding its way into his heart.

Chapter 3

The next morning Alan awakened when something touched him on his cheek. He jumped and quickly opened his eyes to glimpse a little pink tongue delivering good-morning kisses.

Recalling the events of the night before, he picked up the squirming little pup, saying, You make a good alarm clock, little fellow. The sun’s already up. You’re probably hungry, too. I’ll have to hustle around and get some breakfast for us.

He dressed as fast as he could with the puppy underfoot. It was in a playful mood and Alan had a hard time building the fire and cooking.

I see I’ve got some training to do, little fellow, Alan said as he held the pup back from the fire. Say, you’re a little girl puppy! No wonder you’re so pretty!

When the coffee and food were ready, he mixed broken pieces of bread with a cooked egg and fed a little piece at a time to the pup who ate greedily. Alan was relieved to see she had been weaned and could eat solid foods.

After eating his own breakfast, washing dishes and shaving, he stowed his equipment in the back of the truck and settled the puppy on the front seat beside him.

Let’s see, he said, studying his map. About thirty miles to South Carolina line then on to Columbia looks like about another eighty. Ought to find a place there where we can buy you a collar and leash. You’re awfully little for that, but traveling we’ll need it, Alan made his last statement almost apologetically as he looked at the feisty pup beside him.

You know, he said, You and I are in this adventure together now. We don’t know where this quest will lead. That’s right, girl, you and I are both on a quest for new lives.

Hmmm… Quest, Alan thought, as he traveled down the highway.

Quest, he repeated this time out loud.

The pup’s ears came up and Alan laughed. ‘Quest’ it is. ‘Quest’ will be your name!

With company it didn’t seem long until Alan entered South Carolina and told the little dog they’d soon get her fixed up. But she was curled in a little ball beside him – lulled fast asleep by the hum of the motor. He patted her and she sleepily opened one eye and feebly wagged her tail before settling back to her nap.

Oh, well, Alan said, as he resigned himself to the loss of her company.

His thoughts turned to his own situation. His family had barely made it through the Great Depression of the thirties with his dad’s taking any kind of honest work he could find, wherever he could find it. They traveled a lot following news and rumors of work. Even if the rumor was true, many times the work lasted only a few months, a few weeks and sometimes only a few days.

He wondered how his parents had stood the insecurity of not knowing where they’d be living or what they’d have to eat. In this moment he understood better and felt a new appreciation for that gentle couple who’d no doubt hidden their fears.

Quest stirred restlessly beside him and Alan pulled off the road under trees saying, Well, little girl, time for a break.

While he stretched his legs, he drank water from his canteen then poured some into his palm for his pet. Soon they were on the road again and traffic grew heavier as they entered Columbia where he bought gas, potted meat and a pint of milk.

Finding a pet shop, he entered, firmly holding a wriggling Quest as she struggled to get down. But when she heard all the yipping of an assortment of puppies and squawking of parrots she buried her head under Alan’s arm as if she’d be hidden and safe there.

Got a pup for sale? inquired the man behind the counter.

No, just need a leash and collar, Alan replied.

Probably nothing that small even in puppy collars, the man said, but easy enough to poke some holes to make one fit. She’s a pretty thing.

Looking into Quest’s big brown eyes, he raised the tone of his voice into the higher pitched baby talk that babies and animals can get out of even the hardest of hearts. "Yes, you are! You just so pretty! And look at your little feet. That means you not gonna be great big old dog. No, ma’m, you gonna be a nice little dog even when you grow up! Quest twisted every which way trying to lick his hand from Alan’s grasp. Put her on the counter and try this collar. It’s my smallest."

It would work so Alan bought it, a leash and a coil of long rope. The man used an awl to punch some extra holes in the collar. When he learned the story behind Quest’s rescue and that they were traveling, he threw in a small tin water bowl and toy bone that would occupy her during the ride ahead as well as ease her gums as she got new teeth. Alan couldn’t believe the generosity of a person whom they’d likely never see again.

When they returned to the truck, Alan’s good feeling turned momentarily to alarm when he tried the starter and all he heard was a grinding sound. After sitting a moment, he tried again, letting out a sigh of relief when the engine started.

A few miles beyond the city limits he found a grove of trees looking down upon a valley of fruit trees. It was obvious others had picnicked here so Alan made potted meat sandwiches and broke off little pieces for the ravished pup. Pouring a little milk into the tin dish for Quest, he drank the rest from the bottle. Then he leaned back against a tree as Quest crawled up into his lap and snuggled contentedly in his arms.

Alan was content himself at this moment. His appetite was satisfied, he had companionship and he was well on his journey – wherever that might be.

Soon he stirred saying, It’s nice here, but we need to be on our way. Lazily he rose and settled them in the truck. But when Alan tried the starter, for a second horrifying time nothing happened. Then it caught and he breathed another big sigh of relief. They were on their way again.

Now, however, his brief feeling of exhilaration was gone, replaced with unease about the truck as he said, Quest, I sure hope this old truck doesn’t quit on us. I’m going to stop at the first garage we come to.

It wasn’t long until he came to a little town called Batesburg and, careful to leave the motor running, he pulled up in front of a mechanic shop. A tall, slender man came out and Alan’s hopes sank as he noted clean coveralls and hands. Must be no mechanic here after all.

Hi, the man greeted Alan with a smile. You just caught me. What can I do for you?

Alan quickly described what had happened when he tried to start the truck.

The man told him to turn the engine off and start it again but when Alan stepped on the starter, all they heard was a clunk.

The mechanic said, Has to be in your electrical system but we’ll know in a few minutes.

Alan felt heartsick. He could visualize a big hole in his small savings but he gave no evidence of these feelings as he said, I came at a bad time. Hate to delay you.

Actually you came at a good time, the man replied. I’m going in to Columbia for parts and need to get some things for you too. You timed it just right because I’m the only mechanic around these parts. By the way, name’s Tom Larkin.

Alan Woodward. Sure appreciate your taking the time to check.

Yep, just as I thought, Tom said a little later. Ignition coil. Distributor cap is cracked. Needs new points. Spark plugs pretty worn. Wires cracked too. Don’t know how you’ve made it this long.

My dad bought the truck used a year ago, Alan said. Told me it’d been neglected but he hoped it’d hold out until he could do better. Always kept his own vehicles up like new, he added, not wanting the mechanic to think the truck reflected poor care on his or his father’s part.

Well, you’re fortunate it’s not something major, replied Tom, as he glanced at a chart. Let’s see. A ’39 Ford.

He quoted a figure for parts and labor. It wasn’t as bad as Alan expected, and though he had little to spare, he felt better.

How long you think it’ll take? he asked.

That’s the bad part, answered Tom, wiping grease from his hands. Ordinarily I’d stop what I’m doing to work on yours seeing you’re traveling. But I’ve got two rush jobs I need parts for and they can’t wait. A county ambulance needs to be up by this evening and a school bus coming after school that needs to run its route early tomorrow morning. This car and another have to be out tomorrow and with me the only mechanic it’ll be late tomorrow before I can even start on yours. Sure sorry.

Alan felt real concern. What would he do? Where would he stay?

Is there a spot in walking distance I can camp? he asked.

Eyeing Alan thoughtfully, Tom replied, I have a better idea. Let me check on something.

Alan waited in the truck with the puppy while Tom went back inside. Through the open door, Alan could see Tom talking on the telephone.

Still feeling somewhat apprehensive about the fix he was in, he idly watched an unkempt man come around the side of the building to return the restroom key to a nail on the wall. Opening the lid to the soft drink container, he lifted out a cold bottle and placed change on the counter. While drinking, he looked at the free maps then put the empty bottle in the rack and ambled to lean against the doorway and study some blooms in the flower bed by the door. Probably another traveler stranded.

Alan hadn’t heard any of Tom’s conversation except the murmur of his voice until he now heard a louder Thanks, Sis.

In a moment Tom was back out with a broad smile and big news. "Alan, our state church camp is close by. In the summer with camp meeting and camps for different age groups all the cabins are full. But right now it’s almost empty.

My wife and I own a cabin there and you’re welcome to spend the night so I can work on your truck tomorrow. There’s just basic plumbing and cold water in the cabin but a bathhouse is close by. Won’t cost you a dime to stay. They don’t allow pets during camp season but my sister and her husband are the managers and she says it’s okay to bring yours and keep her inside since she’s so tiny. How’s that sound?

Sounds wonderful! Alan said aloud, and to himself, Almost unbelievable! Thanks a lot, he added gratefully, finding it hard to fathom that