Hello, Do You Know Me?: Those Gals From Minter, WI, #5

By Sherry Derr-Wille

Vietnam took Jerry Fellows away from Minter, WI and returned him in a body bag. Thirty-five years later Matt Bratzman begins to remember a life he lived before he went to Vietnam. In that life he was Jerry Fellows. When DNA testing proves he isn't Matt, he returns to Minter to find out the truth about who is buried in the grave with the name Jerry Fellows on the marker?

Thirty-five years ago, on Christmas Eve, Betsy Connor received a call telling her that her husband was dead. Now widowed for a second time, she receives a Christmas Eve call from the man who was her first love. Can it be possible or is it a clever con game?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Wings ePress, Inc.
• Release date: Mar 6, 2023
• ISBN: 9781597051538

Book preview

Dedication

This book is dedicated to all the young men who went halfway around the world to fight an unpopular war in the 1960’s and 1970’s as well as to you young women who waited for their return and mourned their loss.

Prologue

Artillery shells exploded over the heads of the two men lying in the trench soaked in mud mixed with blood from both bodies.

I’ve found two more over here, he heard someone say.

My God, this is one hell of a mess, a second man said. How are we going to tell which one is which? Even if there was someone from their company left, they’d never be able to identify them.

What about their dog tags?

They’ve been blown off. We’ll just have to put names to them and hope we’re right.

Since they’re both dead, it won’t matter.

Holy shit, this one is still alive. I sure as hell hope we’ve put the right name with the right man.

NO! MATT SCREAMED. His shouts shattered the dream he’d experienced so often over the past thirty-four years.

Why? Why did I have to have the dream tonight, on the eve of Donna’s funeral? he silently questioned.

Are you all right, Daddy? his daughter, Chrissie, asked as she entered his room.

I’m fine, honey. It was just a nightmare.

The Vietnam one? Chrissie questioned.

Matt nodded. How did you know?

I’ve always known, Daddy. Mom told Kevin and me about your nightmares years ago. Do you want to talk about it?

Matt could see her as a little girl who came into their room when she’d had a nightmare. The difference was that, now, he was the one with a bad dream, and this beautiful young woman was at his side to dissolve the terror.

What’s the dream about? she probed, sitting beside him on the queen sized bed.

Matt took a deep breath. You know I have no memory of my life before the war. My life began after I woke up in the hospital. That was where they told me who I was. After that, I went through a lot of surgery.

What does that have to do with the dream?

The dream is about what happened before I woke up. In it, I’m in a firefight with my friend. We’re both so badly wounded that, when it’s all over, they can’t identify us. Even our dog tags are blown off. What if I’m not Matt Bratzman? What if I’m someone else?

It’s only a dream, Daddy. Things like that don’t happen.

TWO MONTHS AFTER DONNA’S funeral, Matt could stand the nightmares no longer.

I’m selling the house, he told Chrissie on the phone.

Why, Daddy?

There’s nothing left for me in Wichita. My life here centered on your Mom and you kids. Now she’s gone and so are you. With Kevin in Seattle and you in Boston, there’s no reason to stay here. I got a good offer on the house, and I’ve decided to take it. Considering I retired just before your mom died, I’m restless. I’ve bought a motor home, and I’m going to do some major traveling.

What about all your things?

I’ll put them in storage. Face it; this was something your mom and I always said we’d do when I retired. I’m doing this for her. She’d be all over me if she knew how I spent the past two months.

Although his kids didn’t understand, Matt signed the papers on his house the next day. After putting most of the money in the bank, he got behind the wheel of his motor home and left Wichita behind him.

Mile after mile, he watched the scenery as he drove across the country. With each stop, he prayed something he saw would trigger a forgotten memory.

By the time he got to Washington, DC, he’d given up on his obsession with finding his past. Instead, he was beginning to enjoy the trip.

Matt had stopped at a small restaurant for breakfast when a man about his own age approached him.

Did you come to see The Wall? the man who introduced himself as Al Powers asked after he took the stool next to Matt at the counter.

The Wall? Matt questioned. As soon as he spoke the words, he remembered the Vietnam Memorial. At the time of its conception, he’d sent a donation, not because of his memories, but because of what he couldn’t remember. What he wouldn’t give for the memory of the men with whom he’d served, his comrades in arms. Who were the soldiers that shared his company? What had happened in their lives? Were their names on the wall?

Oh yes, The Wall. I thought I’d get there while I’m here.

Were you in Vietnam?

Matt swallowed the lump in his throat. I was, but I don’t remember it.

Good God man, how could you forget? I’ve lived that nightmare for over thirty-five years. I’d give anything to forget.

And I’d give anything to remember. I was hurt so badly in the last battle I was in; no one could even identify me without my dog tags. The only way I know who I am is because someone told me in the hospital.

That’s a bad trip, man. I thought my drug addiction was a living hell, but it can’t hold a candle to your story.

Matt nodded. Do you live around here? he finally asked.

This is where I landed after I sobered up. I’ve bummed all over the country though. When they built The Wall, I wanted to be close to my buddies who didn’t make it. I worked at a lot of odd jobs until I came on my current business. I do research on the people listed on the wall for their families. Not everyone can get here to do rubbing of the names. Some folks want to know how their loved one died, or who was with him when it happened.

Matt held back his opinion of how he thought Al was exploiting the families of the men who never came back. Instead, he turned away from the man and concentrated on his breakfast.

I’m going over to The Wall when I finish here, Al said, as though trying to get Matt’s attention. I have to get a rubbing for a woman in Oklahoma. Her kids ordered it. The daughter sent me an E-Mail yesterday. It seems that her mother is dying. The kids thought it would give her some peace.

Isn’t that a bit morbid? How could a rubbing of someone’s name give that woman any peace?

You’ll understand once you see The Wall. Before I first saw it, I thought it wouldn’t make a difference, but it did. Every time I go there, I find another name, another friend. Even if I didn’t serve with them, I know them. We all went through the same things when we were little more than kids playing soldier.

Matt played with his food, all the while contemplating what Al said. If I gave you my name, could you do some research on me?

I don’t understand. Why would you want me to do research on you?

Like I said earlier, I have no memory of the war. The only thing I know about Matt Bratzman is what the people in Wichita told me. The only reason I can make myself look like any of the pictures my folks had is because of the amount of surgery I needed. Do you think you can help me?

Not until after you see the wall. If you still want me to do the research, I’ll be glad to help you with it. I just won’t do it for you. This is one trip you have to take for yourself. I have the knowledge and the access to the materials, but you have to do it. It will mean more that way.

Matt agreed. This was his quest, his desire. He certainly couldn’t pawn off the responsibility on a virtual stranger.

After paying for not only his meal but also Al’s, Matt went out to his RV.

Are you staying at a campground? Al asked.

Matt nodded then told Al which one.

Good. We’ll take your rig back there, and I’ll drive you over to The Wall. With the amount of traffic in and around the city any more, there’s no need to try maneuvering anything this big through it.

Al made sense. As Matt pulled out of the restaurant’s parking lot, he watched Al get into a fairly new pick up truck and follow. It made Matt feel good to have made a new friend. In all the years since he’d been stateside, he’d never found anyone who wanted to talk about the war. To Matt, the subject was no more than what his kids learned in history class. Of course, that wasn’t much. The teachers had a way of glossing over the Vietnam War as though it wasn’t important. To his friends, it was repulsive and something other vets didn’t want to talk about.

Once he parked the RV in the space he’d reserved last night, Matt got out of the driver’s seat and waited for Al to pull down

the gravel road of the rural compound.

You sure found a remote place to stop, Al commented, when Matt opened the truck’s passenger door.

It was late last night when I got here. I had no idea how far out it was.

Why did you drive fifteen miles for breakfast then?

Matt didn’t know the answer to Al’s question. I guess I thought it was on the way. Now I realize I went there to meet you.

To meet me?

I’ve never met anyone I could talk to about the war. The way I see it, most vets don’t want to talk about what happened over there. That’s not my problem. Maybe it would be if I could remember.

For the rest of the ride back to DC, Matt listened as Al related story after story about jungles, battles, and an enemy that could blend in with your allies.

When they arrived at The Wall, Matt was overwhelmed by the amount of information he’d gleaned from Al. Ahead of him, the black granite wall stretched across the landscape; the etched names drawing him like a magnet.

Jerry Fellows - the name jumped out at Matt. With it came the vision of a young woman as well as a baby boy. The names of Betsy and Ronnie assaulted his mind.

Overwhelmed by the memories that were flooding back as though a dam had broken, Matt sank to his knees with tears streaming down his cheeks.

Why? he sobbed. Why was this the first name I saw?

Maybe for the same reason you came to the restaurant. Maybe it’s the name you were meant to see. I don’t have to do any research for you. I did it for Betsy Fellows Conner. She asked me to do the research on Jerry about three years ago. Your name was listed as being with him when he died. To be truthful, I looked into your life as well. You were the lucky one. No one else from your company made it.

You’ve got it all wrong. They were the lucky ones. The war and what happened have haunted me for years. You don’t know what having no memory, except for what you see in your dreams, can do to a man. Am I Matt Bratzman or Jerry Fellows?

One

The lights of the Christmas tree brought back memories for Betsy. For the first time in her life, she would be completely alone for Christmas.

Her daughter and her husband, Callie and Frank Grant, both worked at a remote hospital north of Anchorage, Alaska. Frank was an ER doctor, while Callie was a pediatric nurse who was known to double in the operating room. It seemed like this hospital needed all the help they could get, and Frank and Callie made a good team.

Her son, Ronnie, was also far from home. Against Betsy’s protests, he’d competed for, and received, an appointment to the Air Force Academy and had decided to make the military his career. Now, eighteen years later, Ronnie had made the rank of Major. This Christmas would be spent at his base in Turkey.

Since both of her children had been home in September for the funeral of Callie’s father, Ed Conner, thoughts of returning for Christmas were out of the question.

Betsy couldn’t help thinking of the number of years she and Ed had been together, and the thought brought tears to her eyes. She’d graduated from Minter High School and married Jerry Fellows. Jerry was a year older than her, and since he had gotten her pregnant their forbidden love had been tolerated. When he was killed in Vietnam, Ed was one of their first friends to come to her side. He and Jerry had been next-door neighbors, best friends and graduated from the same class at Minter High. He and Jerry had been sent to Vietnam at the same time, but Ed returned home three months before Jerry’s death because he had been wounded. He’d even received special permission to serve in Jerry’s honor guard.

Thinking of both of her husbands brought back memories of the phone call she’d received thirty-five years ago tonight. It was the call every Army wife anticipated and dreaded. The man on the other end of the line told her Jerry had been killed. That call had shattered her life, but without it, she would have never had the years of happiness she found with Ed.

As though history was repeating itself, her phone rang, causing her to jump at its intrusion into her innermost thoughts.

Hello, she said, picking up the receiver after the third ring.

Is this Betsy Conner?

Damn telemarketers. Don’t they know it’s Christmas Eve?

Who is this? she demanded.

My name is... the man paused giving Betsy a moment to contemplate the sound of his voice.

A chill ran through her body. The voice was more mature, but she would have known it anywhere.

Do you know who I am? The man continued posing a question that brought tears to her eyes.

Who—who?

I’m Matt Bratzman. At least, that’s who they told me I was in the hospital. It’s only been over the last few months that I’ve come to believe I’m Jerry Fellows.

To hear this man call himself by Jerry’s name made Betsy’s mind spin and tears to begin to flow down her cheeks. It-it can’t be. You can’t be Jerry. Jerry’s been dead for thirty-five years. I buried him. I-I...

You married again, and now you’re a widow. I’ve done my research well. As far as who I am, I’m not certain of anything and won’t be until I get to meet you. If these crazy memories I’ve been having the past few months are right, we were married and have a son together.

Where are you? Should I be frightened? Should I be calling the police?

I don’t mean you any harm. I’m in Boston at my daughter’s house. If you don’t want to see me, I promise I’ll never contact you again.

Betsy took a deep composing breath. While she did, she got up to check the caller ID on the phone in the kitchen. Since she’d answered the portable, she hadn’t taken the time to check to see who was calling before she’d picked up the phone.

Brad Monroe was the name of the readout followed by a number with the 781 area code. She’d have to look up the number later, but she knew the call hadn’t originated in Wisconsin.

Are you there? the man on the other end of the line asked.

Ah—yes, I was just thinking. How long will you be at this number?

I’ll be here until after the first of the year.

I can’t make a decision on the spot. I need time to think this over. I’ll call you back, I promise.

I understand completely. This has to be a terrible shock to you. Take all the time you need. If you don’t call back, I’ll understand and continue the search for my identity in other directions.

Betsy hung up the phone then stared at the receiver as though it was a deadly snake ready to strike at a moment’s notice.

This can’t be happening. Jerry is dead. It’s impossible that I just talked to him.

The phone rang again, and Betsy hesitantly answered.

Merry Christmas, Mom, Ronnie greeted her.

Until this moment she hadn’t realized how much Ronnie sounded like Jerry. Tears ran down her cheeks at not only the realization, but also at the confirmation that she had just talked to the man she buried thirty-five years ago next month.

Merry Christmas to you too, she answered, unable to stop the tears that continued to flow.

Don’t cry, Mom. I wish I could be there with you. It’s got to be hard being alone tonight.

It’s not that, Betsy replied once she regained her composure. I just had a very disturbing phone call.

Is Callie all right? Ronnie’s voice was suddenly filled with fear.

My call wasn’t from your sister. It was from your...your dad.

My what? Ronnie’s question came across the line so clearly she would have thought he was sitting in her living room rather than in his quarters half a world away.

Your father, she replied trying to sound as calm as possible.

Are you sure you’re all right, Mom? Did you have a dream?

I’m fine, and I didn’t have a dream. I was sitting right here wide-awake when I got the call. As a matter-of-fact, I just hung up. Do you remember when we contacted that website to have your dad researched?

Of course I do. At the time, I told you that it was a waste of good money. Is someone trying to scam you?

I don’t think so. The information I got was that only one man in your dad’s company survived. His name was Matt Bratzman. That’s who just called me, only it was Jerry’s voice.

Are you in any danger? Should you be calling the police?

I asked those same questions. I don’t think I’m in danger since he’s in Boston.

And you took his word for where he was?

Of course I didn’t. I checked the caller ID, and the call originated in Boston. Considering the distance between here and there, I don’t think I have to worry tonight. I did tell him I’d call him back once I had time to think.

You aren’t really going to call him back are you?

I don’t know. I wish you were closer.

Look, Mom, I’ll be home in three months. I don’t suppose you can hold off until I get back, can you?

I think you know the answer. My interest, as well as my curiosity, has been piqued. He’ll only be at his daughter’s until the first of the year. It’s the only number I have for him.

Ronny let out an exasperated sigh. It was something she’d heard him do many times when he was completely frustrated with either her or something else that was going on in his life.

"I’m too far away to argue with you, but please talk to Uncle Cal before you do anything crazy. For now, let’s change the subject. Nancy should be calling you tomorrow. Since I already know I’ll be at Truax, she wants to move back to Minter after the first of the year. Do you think she and the kids can stay with you until she can find a place for us to buy? It would