Velma

By Bob Fields

The love story begins in a small town in northern Maine, when Mimi-an attractive, bright,
fun loving nursing student meets Chad, a handsome, athletic, intelligent young college
student. The relationship begins with a casual meeting at the town library. But the
intense chemistry between the two leads to a passionate love affair.
VELMA is the consummate love story. The author cleverly conveys the drastic,
sometime tragic events that befall Mimi and Chad and shows how adverse
circumstances can be overcome by love.
VELMA is not a love at first sight story, first love, or puppy love tale. It is pure life-lasting
magical love with an unforgettable ending.
What a wonderful, inspiring, and encouraging book! I would have read this in one
sitting if I could. At any rate, it left me on edge to know what is going to happen.
next. Once again, Bob Fields is at his best in portraying the best (and sometimes
the worst but redeemable) people in real life. The reader finishes the story
greatly encouraged by hopes for change and betterment of life. It was also hard to
say goodbye to an extraordinarily uplifting novel.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Bob Fields
• Release date: Sep 23, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215614037

Bob Fields

Bob Fields possesses an exceptional talent for translating his broadly based life experiences to the written page. A veteran of two wars (three if you count Wall Street), his hardscrabble early life taught him real life lessons; the application of which propelled his success in a military career and numerous business ventures.After his retirement from business in 1999, he began a career as a Free Lance Writer. His work has been published in regional magazines and company oriented newsletters related to the environment. He has published two print books describing life as a boy in the 1940s, and a highly acclaimed novel; “Rendezvous with Destiny” a well-paced story about discrimination, love, murder, revenge, redemption, and the ultimate understanding between people with disparate backgrounds in small town America.Bob is currently working on several short stories soon to be published as an anthology about Maine as it once was.Like me on Face Book

Book preview

Velma

Bob Fields

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 2023 by Bob Fields

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or used in any manner without written permission of the copyright owner except for the use of quotations in a book review.

First paperback edition October/ November 2023

www.BobFieldsBooks.com

DEDICATION

To my confidante and favorite niece

Jan Lyden Phillips

In this highly anticipated novel, bestselling author Bob Fields deviates from his tales of youthful adventures to a captivating romance novel.

The love story begins in a small town in northern Maine, when Mimi-an attractive, bright, fun loving nursing student meets Chad, a handsome, athletic, intelligent young college student. The relationship begins with a casual meeting at the town library.

Early in the affair, Chad convinces Mimi to go to Boston with him for a weekend. The couple goes first class staying in upscale hotels, eating in the finest restaurants and attending concerts and shows.

The intense chemistry between the two leads to a passionate love affair spanning several months and many miles. The clandestine Boston trip the young lovers enjoyed has unintended consequences, leading to a separation the two strugggle hard to overcome.

Fields writes the consummate love story. He cleverly conveys the drastic, sometime tragic events that befall Mimi and Chad and shows how adverse circumstances can be overcome by love.

VELMA is not a love at first sight story, first love, or puppy love tale. It is pure life-lasting magical love with an unforgettable ending.

Breen Bernard life-long friend

Contents

Chapter One: Houlton

Chapter Two: The Getaway

Chapter Three: Trading Cards

Chapter Four: Boston

Chapter Five: Leo Herbert

Chapter Six: Boston Cream Pie

Chapter Seven: Busted

Chapter Eight: Mr. Levesque

Chapter Nine: School is Out

Chapter Nine: The Exorcist

Chapter Ten: Jim

Chapter Eleven: Baie-Saint-Paul

Chapter Twelve: Saint Noemie

Chapter Thirteen: The Teacher

Chapter Fourteen: Baie-Saint-Paul High School

Chapter Fourteen: Confession

Chapter Fifteen: Marty

Chapter Sixteen: The Note

Chapter Seventeen: Home

Chapter Eighteen: Baie-Saint-Paul Two

Chapter Eighteen: The Biopsy

Chapter Nineteen: Confession

Chapter Twenty: Doctor Quinn

Chapter Twenty One: Forgive and Forget

Chapter Twenty Two: The Trip

Chapter Twenty Three: Boston Again

Chapter Twenty Four: The Parker House

Chapter One

Houlton

After, when we lay in each other’s arms, she caressed my ear and whispered to me in French. I never understood the words, but my body warmed to their melody. I was in love. Her name was Velma. She came from a town near the Quebec border. A shy girl, she spoke French, as did most folks in her village. Since her name means Gilded Warrior (Greek) or Valiant Protector (German), I found her modest demeanor contrary to that of a Greek Warrior, or a German protector.

I learned later that she came to Houlton to study nursing. Houlton, in her mind, was the big city. Uncertain of her place in this strange environment, she tended to bond with other French-speaking girls in the nursing program at the Madigan Hospital.

We met at the town library on a crowded Saturday morning. I stood behind a long line of pupils, teachers, and scholars asking for keys to the microfiche machines and moms borrowing the latest children’s books. A young girl stood before me, thumbing through a nursing textbook. She turned, smiled, put her hand on my arm, and asked if I would hold her place in line. She needed to retrieve a notebook she had left in the stacks. That smile and touch would be the first of many to melt my heart.

The line tightened when she returned. I turned to the young man behind me, excused myself, and told him I needed to back up to make room for the spot I was holding. He looked at me, then the girl, and gave me a thumbs up. She smiled, showed me the missing notebook, and squeezed back in line. The mom in front of her did not move, giving me a chance, the first of many, to feel the warmth of her body touching mine.

She checked her book with the clerk and returned to the reference room for her coat. I was not old enough and experienced enough to have a rehearsed list of successful pickup lines, so I decided to say what I thought. I followed her to the reference room and watched her struggle to balance three books while getting the jacket on. I told her I could help and held the top of her jacket as she struggled to find the sleeve for her right arm. I kept the empty sleeve at arm’s length, then slipped it over her arm. The arm problem solved, I gently pulled the neck of the jacket until it rested on her shoulders. Not ready to quit the contact, I tucked the jacket collar around her neck and said, There you are, good to go.

She clasped my hands, looked over her shoulder, fixed her eyes on mine, and said, Go where?

Her question caught me off guard. I tried to respond but had no breath to form a word. I decided to smile, my way of using the time to answer. My heart thumped as I realized she had asked me to take her someplace. I sucked in my breath and said, "I know you have to get back to the dorm and study, but I wondered if you have time for a cold drink or coffee at Al’s diner. They are open for lunch until two.

She turned to me, her face lighting up as she said, I would love a coffee, and I have always wanted to see Al’s diner. Do you mind carrying some of these books?

Not at all, I told her and added, Why not leave them here until after we have coffee? Susan can keep them for you in the Will Call bin.

Good idea; we can enjoy the walk and Al’s dinner without balancing books.

Here, hand me the books. I will take care of them. I waved to Susan while holding the books high to tell her I wanted her to do something with them. She came to the desk and said, I bet you want these books in the hold bin. What is your friend’s name? I need that to mark them.

I turned to my new friend and said, "I feel like we have been friends forever, but I don’t even know your name. Mine is Chad. Can you tell me yours?

She smiled, stood on her tiptoes, and whispered in my ear, Je m’ appelle Velma.

I hugged her, leaned down, and whispered in her ear, I don’t speak French. What does that mean?

She locked her eyes on mine, twisted an auburn curl around her ear, and said, Velma is my given name; my friends call me Mimi.

Can we be friends if I call you Mimi? I like the sound. It’s lively, pretty, and it matches your personality.

Fair enough, she beamed, "now, how about Al’s dinner and that cup of coffee with Mimi?

Mimi’s aggressive moves confused me. She took my hand as we left the park to cross Broadway to Main Street. Was it for safety reasons, or did it indicate that she trusted me? Or like me? This all moved so fast. My mind was racing about handling a woman I met moments ago who now treated me like a friend, maybe a boyfriend. This was new territory for me.

And it got more complicated at Al’s diner. Mimi did not drink her coffee. She caressed the edge of the cup with her lips and sipped the coffee like a fine brandy from J.P. Morgan’s wine cellar. Captivated by this vision, I watched her pucker and blow on the coffee to cool a sip before wiping her lips with her tongue. I struggled with a surge of warmth bordering on the erotic.

After two short sips, she set her cup down, slid it to the center of the table, leaned back in the booth, and said, It’s funny, Chad, we met less than an hour ago, but I feel like I’ve known you forever. I need to be back at the dorm by four. We have a couple of hours, what say we get to know more about each other? I will go first.

Her words came out like soft English words wrapped in a French accent. I was mesmerized. She spoke of her hometown, a small farm on the Maine-Quebec border west of Madawaska. She spoke of her childhood and of being teased because she wore glasses. Little four-eyes, they called her in school. She spoke of her father, Leo, whose family immigrated to Madawaska, Maine, when he was a small boy. Raised in a devout Catholic family, he insisted, after marriage, that his new family followed the strict teachings of the Catholic church. Her childhood, she recalled, seemed to be a continuum of prayer. Grace at each meal, the Angelus at noon for those at home, and the rosary at five in the afternoon except on Sunday.

I sat straight, sighed, and said, Wow, Mimi. I know the rosary is important in most catholic families, but your dad seems to have taken religion to the max. Your home sounds like a convent or a monastery.

Mimi lowered her eyes, It was not always like that. It began when my sister Annette died at age seven, her young body ravaged by smallpox. My dad saw this premature death as a sign from God. A sign that the family had somehow strayed from the strict precepts of Catholic teaching. He insisted that his two surviving daughters wore no makeup, dressed in dark clothing, and refused their pleas to participate in after-school social activities. He argued that good Catholics should avoid the near occasions of sin. His only exception was basketball games in the winter. We could attend those but must return home fifteen minutes after the game ended.

Not even connecting with friends after school or during vacations…weekends?

Daytimes were acceptable, she said. I had a best friend, Betty Fitzpatrick. Her family operated a farm on Frenchville Road. I spent time at their farm, usually on weekends. Her brother, Chet, was my first and only boyfriend.

Surprised, I asked, boyfriend? How did dad react to that?

Oh my God, my dad never suspected I would have a boyfriend. My sister Yvette knew, and of course, Betty, but that was it. None of my other friends suspected I would be interested in boys.

"Were you close to your boyfriend?’

Not really. We swam in the river behind the farm, rode bikes together, and shot hoops in the backyard. Towards the end of that first summer, we became closer, necking, touching, that kind of thing. It ended when I was unwilling to go all the way and have sex with him. Even though I liked him, I always pulled back because of my Catholic upbringing.

Chad steepled his fingers and asked, What about your sisters? Did your dad treat you all the same?

Yes, but Yvette was more of a challenge than me. She is two years older and has an independent streak. My other sister, Annette, as I told you, died young. When she died of that horrible disease, I did not understand how someone so young could die of a strange disease. It was then that I promised myself I would study nursing. My friend Betty also wanted to be a nurse. When the time came, we decided to apply for entrance to the Eastern Maine General Hospital. School of Nursing in Bangor.

The Madigan in Houlton is a long way from Bangor. How come you decided to come here?

My dad would disapprove of my career choice unless I intended a Catholic nursing school. As you know, the Madigan program is operated by nuns. So, like it or not, here I am.

She then leaned forward and took my hands in hers. She took a deep breath and spoke of how surprised I must be that she was so open with me, a stranger, until an hour ago. She told of her uncertain future. She was pleased to be studying nursing but needed to be more comfortable with the religious focus of the program at the Madigan. She wondered if Bangor or Portland would have been a better choice. And then she leaned across the table to me, squeezed my hands, and said, I know it is bewildering, perhaps mysterious, but when you touched my neck at the library, I was overcome with a sense of closeness to you like we met in an earlier time or place. Like we belonged.

Releasing my hands, she leaned back in her chair and said, Weird, huh? Tell me about Chad if I have not frightened you away.

The idea that she wanted to hear my story stunned me. I was not sure I knew my own story. I was the poster boy for reticence. I walked through life wearing a mask, hiding my family life, feelings, and dreams. How can I tell Mimi things I do not acknowledge to myself? She opened the book on her life. My book has yet to be written. Should I tell her about my family being on welfare? About my experience with alcohol? About Oakfield? About Mrs. McLeary? I lied to our parish priest about my life. How could I tell the truth, if I knew the truth, to a stranger? I imagined myself melting, sliding off the chair onto the floor in a puddle.

She took my hand, her face lighting up as she said, "I can see your reluctance to be as forthcoming as I was with you. I understand; perhaps I was more ready than you for a personal connection. It is weird, as I said, but I care very much for you. I care