Miss Vicky

By Alan Jorgenson

The sudden tragic death of their parents leaves the two young children as orphans. Who will be able to take them in and care for their needs as they grow older? An aunt? Their grandparents? Or a complete stranger? Or maybe two complete strangers.

The Rocky Mountains of Colorado provide the perfect backdrop for the hiking and skiing venues that occupied the lives of the people who took the journey. A journey through triumph and tragedy as their love stories unfolded while they sought to provide a home and lasting environment for the two loving children.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Fulton Books, Inc.
• Release date: May 6, 2022
• ISBN: 9781639859436

Book preview

PROLOGUE

The Phone Call

July 1958

Boulder, Colorado

The constant ringing of the doorbell awakened me from a good, long, deep sleep. Slowly shaking out the cobwebs and drowsily searching the floor for my slippers with my feet, I began cursing the person under my breath, whoever it was that was banging away at my doorbell at this ungodly hour. After finally getting my slippers on and locating my robe, I made my way to the front door. I turned on the porch light and slowly opened the front door a crack. Seeing nobody in the light through the slightly opened door, I cautiously opened the door wider to get a full view of the front porch. There was nobody standing there.

Quickly shutting the door, I soon realized that the damn persistent ringing noise was not coming from the doorbell but from my telephone. My phone was in the kitchen, but I did have an extension in my bedroom on my bedside table. If my cobwebs had cleared earlier, I could have just leaned over in bed and picked up the offending device.

Finally answering in my best two o’clock in the morning voice, I heard Karen’s mother’s voice frantically asking for Karen.

Bill, I need to talk to Karen right away. Something bad has happened. Can I please talk to her?

Sure. Hold on. I’ll go down and get her. What’s going on?

Go down and get her? I thought that you two were… Oh, never mind… I just received a call from the Colorado Springs police department. There apparently has been a bad traffic accident involving my daughter Claire and her husband. Their babysitter called her parents when Claire and Jim did not arrive back home as scheduled last night. One of us, either Karen or I, or both of us, need to go down there as soon as possible.

I got down to Karen’s room in a flash and gently woke her, briefly explaining to her that her mother urgently needed to talk to her. As I handed her the phone, I whispered something like, I’ll go make some coffee. Karen quickly motioned for me to remain there with her instead.

As I sat on the bed next to her, listening to her side of the conversation, I tried to make a few mental notes about what needed to be done if she had to leave in a hurry. A suitcase, money, what else?

After a few minutes on the phone with her mother and slowly wiping away a few tears, she finally said to her mother, Okay, you make the phone call, and I’ll quickly pack a few things. I’ll try to pick you up in about fifteen or twenty minutes. Okay?

Turning to me, she mumbled the word suitcase and pointed to the top of her closet and began removing articles of clothing from her dresser drawers and laying them out on her bed.

It’s bad, she said, looking at me. According to the police, there is at least one fatality, and they aren’t saying who it is over the phone. The babysitter’s mother is there at the house now as she sent her daughter home for the night. My mother will call the house and let them know that we’ll be on the way there shortly and we should be there in about an hour and a half.

As she started to pack her suitcase, I went into the kitchen to make her some coffee and then went into my bedroom to get some money together for her. Even though I had an important meeting to attend in the morning at work and a school class that evening, I offered to cancel these two activities and drive with them to Colorado Springs. She politely refused my offer and said that she and her mother would drive down there and assess the situation, do what needed to be done immediately, and then make plans accordingly for the future. I told her that I would call her at the house after I got home from my school class this evening. She quickly gave me the phone number of her sister’s house and then went back to finish her packing.

Despite my current sad feelings of what had just happened, I could not help but think that this event might lead to the end of my beloved bachelorhood.

CHAPTER 1

Out of the Army

January 1957

It all started about eighteen months ago when I was discharged from the army at Fort Sheridan, Illinois, which was just north of Chicago. We had just been flown from Germany to New York City, where we were put on an overnight train to Chicago. A bus had picked us up at the train station and dropped us off at the mess hall at Fort Sheridan for breakfast, which was nice of them.

After a hearty breakfast, we were sent to the separation center to receive our final separation and discharge papers, our DD 214s, etc. Before being processed, we waited as a group inside the separation center until all of us had returned from breakfast. I would guess that there were about forty or fifty GIs in our group waiting to be processed. Being that this was January, the middle of winter, we had been issued winter parkas while in Germany; but now that we were back in the good old United States of America, and being discharged, the army wanted their parkas back, which was not so nice of them.

Fortunately for me, when they finally started processing us, they went alphabetically by last names, which was nice of them. As my last name was Barnes, I was one of the first to be processed. A clerk typist sitting behind a desk shouted out my name almost immediately after they started processing us, Barnes, William H. I almost ran to his desk as I was getting impatient to get out of the army finally.

Are you Barnes, William H. Barnes? he asked in a stern voice.

I am Bill Barnes, I replied, trying to be sarcastic.

Not for another five minutes, you’re not! You are still in the army. And in the army, you are Barnes, William H. Barnes.

I decided that I had better keep my mouth shut. I did not want to be put back at the end of the line. I hated lines. I did not want to stand in any more lines.

Walking out of the separation center with my discharge papers in hand, I was tempted to just head south to warmer climes, someplace like Miami perhaps; but my cooler head prevailed, and I decided to head home to my parents’ house, which was in a small town near Cedar Rapids, Iowa. After all, I had been away from home for four years now, and I was sure that my parents would want to see me as soon as possible, wearing my nice, almost new, army dress uniform, wouldn’t they? I’m sure they would!

With that in mind, I used the services of a local travel agency that the army had provided for all of us GIs returning from their deployment at bases around the world. The travel agency had set up shop right there in a small building next to the army separation center on the grounds of Fort Sheridan, which made it very convenient for all the returning GIs. The cheerful young lady assisting me in my quest for a ticket that would transport me and my army duffle bag to my hometown as quickly as possible kept shaking her head as she searched for the best way possible to get me home. An airplane? No! A train? No! Then how about a bus? We were quickly running out of options.

Finally, she admitted, I can get you to Cedar Rapids by bus late tonight, but apparently, nothing goes from there to your hometown.

I replied, Four years ago, there used to be bus service to my hometown from Cedar Rapids three times a week, but that has probably changed since then.

I see that here. But that means that you would have to sit at the bus station in Cedar Rapids for a day waiting for that bus. Is it too far for you to walk home from there? Or how about a taxicab? Would that work?

I could easily hitchhike a ride the rest of the way home, but how many people would stop and pick me up on the road at midnight?

But you are wearing a uniform, she said politely. Wouldn’t that help you in getting a ride?

Realizing that there were quite a few GIs in line behind me waiting for the services of the travel agents, I decided to cut our conversation short and just ask her for the bus ticket to Cedar Rapids. I actually had a way of getting home from Cedar Rapids, as all I had to do was call my dad when I got to the bus station, and he would gladly come and get me. She then handed me my bus ticket to Cedar Rapids.

She smiled at me and said, Welcome home, soldier.

*****

Before I got on the bus just outside of Chicago, I called my father to let him know that I would be arriving in Cedar Rapids around 11:00 p.m. that night. No problem, he said; he would be there to pick me up.

The six-hour bus trip to Cedar Rapids was uneventful as most of the latest snow that had fallen had already been cleared from the roadways. When the bus finally pulled into the station, both of my parents were there, sitting in the car, waiting for my arrival. This was probably the latest my parents have been up in years, except for maybe for one or two New Year’s Eves. After all, this was the first time they had seen me in four years, so I was glad that they both were able to be there to greet me. My dad took a picture of me in my army uniform as I was stepping off the bus into the arms of my mother. What an old romantic he was.

We arrived at our house about midnight, too uptight to be going to bed yet, so the three of us sat and talked for quite a while, enjoying some freshly made cake and some hot chocolate. I would have preferred a nice cold beer or a glass of merlot, but my parents very seldom drank and did not usually have any sort of alcohol libation in the house.

We chatted for over an hour before my mother finally indicated that she was getting weary and would like to call it a day. We all agreed that we can continue our homecoming greetings tomorrow morning and catch up on all the latest gossip at that time.

As I started to walk up the stairs to my old bedroom and my old comfortable twin bed, my father called after me, Oh! By the way, there are a few beers in the refrigerator here that I bought for you, knowing that you enjoy a cold one occasionally.

*****

I had been wearing an army uniform for ten straight days now, ever since I departed Germany on my way back to the United States and home. As I started to take off my uniform in my small bedroom, I looked in my full-length mirror attached to my closet door and suddenly realized that this would probably be the last time I would be wearing an army uniform. A bit of nostalgia overtook me for a moment as I looked at myself in the mirror wearing my uniform, but I quickly recovered and immediately took it off and hung it in the closet.

Before I left Germany, I was given a wooden crate to pack all my personal possessions in, including all my civilian clothes, which I had purchased while in Germany. The army would then ship the crate to my home address in Iowa. As I would be under the army auspices for almost two weeks, I would not require my civilian clothes until I was discharged from the army at Fort Sheridan.

When I questioned my father earlier about the crate, his reply was about what I expected, What crate?

Looking in my closet as I hung up my uniform, I knew I was in trouble. I would need to either borrow some of my dad’s clothes or buy a few civilian clothes to tide me over until my crate arrived. And there was no telling when that would happen.

As I lay in bed that night, staring at the ceiling, waiting for sleep to overtake me, I started thinking; thinking about some of the questions I would be asked in the morning by our neighborhood friends and especially my parents. Of course, the most important question I would be asked would be, What are your future plans, Bill?

Future plans? What future plans? I did not have any plans for the future. I never really took the time to think about the future. During the last few months in the army, all I could think about was becoming a civilian once again.

Although I attained the rank of sergeant while I was stationed in Germany, I was not that enthralled with army life. The recruiting sergeant in our unit, in his attempt to get me to reenlist, painted a good picture of the benefits associated with being a soldier in the US Army. Weighing the benefits of the army against the freedom of civilian life was a challenge for me at times. In the end, however, civilian life won out, even though I did not have any idea of what I would do once I got out of the army.

The next morning, I slept in. I slept in until eight o’clock. After being in the army for four years, usually getting up between five o’clock and six o’clock, even on the weekends, I finally realized one of the benefits of civilian life—I was able to sleep in until eight o’clock if I felt like it. And I felt like it this morning.

I smelled the coffee brewing as I got up and dressed leisurely, enjoying the aroma wafting up from the kitchen below. I tried on most of my civilian clothes that were hanging in my closet, and right away I knew that I was in trouble. Absolutely nothing seemed to fit. I did the best that I could and headed downstairs to greet my parents, who were up and active already, going about their usual morning chores. When I got down to the kitchen, I quickly grabbed my first cup of coffee as a new civilian and headed back upstairs to take a slow relaxing shower, ignoring their questions about my plans for the day.

When I got back downstairs after my leisurely shower, my mother prepared a nice, big breakfast for me of eggs, bacon, toast, and fruit. The whole works. And then we started talking. After being away for four years, we had plenty to talk about, and I was brought up to date on all the latest gossip about the neighborhood, family, friends, and the like. A lot had changed in the last four years, some things for the better and some things for the worse, so it was going to take some time for me to get caught up on all the issues facing me on my return.

And then the inevitable most important question of all came up: What are your plans?

I knew this question would eventually come up. I knew for a long time that this question would come up. For the past month, I had been thinking about this question, and I still did not have a viable answer for them. I really did not know at this point what my plans were, as sad as this might sound.

The only intelligent plan that I could come up with during the past month or so would be to just take two weeks off, relax, and do absolutely nothing. I would sit and enjoy a good cup of coffee, jot some notes down, have lunch, make some more notes, take a short nap, make a list of things that I should be doing, eat dinner, and then ask my parents for their input. For two days, my plan worked well, but then I had to get serious.

Among my notes from the previous two days was a list of my priorities, number one, of course, being a job. I needed a job, a good job. I also needed a means of transportation, a vehicle, a good car, or a truck. The prospects of finding a good job here in my hometown were slim, so I knew that I would have to at least go to Cedar Rapids for any kind of decent-paying job, and that might entail finding a suitable apartment there.

I was getting a little discouraged at my prospects that morning when my mother suddenly spoke up and said, Oh, by the way, while you were in the shower this morning, your old girlfriend Vicky called.

Vicky? I was startled at the mention of her name.

Yes! Vicky.

How on earth did she know I was home? Where was she calling from? Is she in town? I had a few questions about Vicky for my mother.

Yes. Vicky is in town, my mother replied. She is back home for a week, on vacation.

Vicky is here in town for a week on vacation? A vacation in Iowa in the middle of winter? What for? There is nothing to do here in the middle of winter. Seems to me to be a waste of vacation time. I did not understand the logic behind it at all.

My mother continued, She is in town for a few more days, she said, and she heard that you were out of the army and are here back in town. She left her phone number and said that she would like to see you before she had to go back to Boulder.

Boulder? I asked. That’s in Colorado. What is she doing way out there in Colorado?

She said that she works for a doctor out there, and she enjoys the skiing in the mountains.

*****

Vicky was one year my junior, and we had dated off and on for a few years while in high school and junior college. Our mothers were close friends from church groups, sewing circles, etc., so my mother had all the scoop on Vicky and was gladly going to bring me up to date on an old girlfriend.

It turns out that after two years of junior college, Vicky got a job in Boulder, Colorado, working as a lab technician in a doctor’s office. She had a good job, was paid well, and with good benefits. The only problem with her job was that her boss was a skiing enthusiast, so during the winter, he took a two or three-week vacation in January or February just to go skiing at one of the beautiful skiing venues out there in Colorado. Vicky could take some time off in the summertime also, but her main vacation time was in the winter when the office was closed.

My mother and Vicky’s mother would love to see the two of us get together again and get serious about each other. Unfortunately, the two of us acted more like brother and sister toward each other in the last few years that I was home than potential lovers. We practically grew up together as our parents were close friends, playing cards together, going on picnics together in the summertime, and quite frequently enjoying dinner together.

I decided to give Vicky a call, and within twenty minutes, she was knocking on our door. We both stood there, looking at each other for a quick minute, finally giving each other a quick hug, a peck on the cheek, and then we quickly separated, looked at each other again, and both of us started laughing. We were both thinking the same thing: what a wonderful time we had together a few years ago when we were younger and dating.

As it happened, Vicky and I started spending quite a bit of time together in the next few days, mostly talking about the past and the good times we have had together. Romance was not out of the question, but it certainly was not on either of our minds at the present time.

Then one afternoon, as we were sitting on the couch in our living room, talking with my mother, Vicky suddenly turned toward me and asked me point-blank, Okay, luv, what are your plans?

I knew this same question would come from her sooner or later just like everyone else, and I still was not ready to reply with a good answer. I still did not have a good answer.

I really do not have any plans was the only response that I could come up with now.

I know that the job market is pretty bleak here in Iowa right now, and you would have to move to a big city somewhere to find gainful employment, she said.

Gainful employment? I replied. Gainful employment! I love that term.

It means ‘a good job.’ It’s a legal term.

I know what it means. I was just surprised to hear you use it.

I didn’t just fall off the turnip truck, you know. I went to junior college for two years and then to school to become a physician’s lab assistant. I do have a good education behind me.

We both had a good laugh, and then she got serious.

Why don’t you pack a bag and come out to Boulder with me? Vicky asked.

I was a little stunned at first to hear her question as I thought it was a little bold of her to ask me that. But her question did not surprise me. In the past, while we were dating, we were close friends, and there was hardly anything that we could not or did not talk about.

She continued talking before I had a chance to answer her, I’ve got a two-bedroom apartment, and you can stay there as long as you want while looking for a job and for your own place to live. There are probably more job opportunities out there right now than there are in Iowa.

My mother had been sitting there quietly all this time, doing some knitting while listening to our conversation; and when Vicky mentioned Boulder and me in the same sentence, her ears quickly perked up, and she boldly said, Yes! Why don’t you go out there with Vicky? It would be a good opportunity for you.

At first, I did not know how to take her statement. Was she trying to kick me out of the house after having been home for only a few days? Was she trying to get me romantically involved with Vicky so soon upon my return from the army? Or was she just being nice and trying to be helpful? Knowing my parents, it had to be the latter statement. She was trying to be helpful. She understood the job market in our small town and the whole state of Iowa was not the best at this time.

Vicky continued talking about Boulder and the state of Colorado, describing the scenery and the beauty of the Rocky Mountains. She mentioned the multitude of hiking trails available in the summertime and the many skiing venues and trails in the wintertime. She painted a nice picture of the splendor of the mountains of Colorado. Also, she mentioned that the Denver/Boulder area was growing and that more manufacturing businesses were moving into the area each year. She also indicated that there was probably plenty of employment opportunities available no matter what occupation I chose. It sounded as if she was seriously interested in my coming out there with her.

*****

At dinner that evening, I had a good chance to talk with my mother and