An Uncommonly Good Man 15

The Journal of Julian Corsair,

An Uncommonly Good Man

Julian Corsair – Chapter Fifteen –"Till the war drums throbbed no longer and the battle flags were furled." – (Alfred, Lord Tennyson)

Pauley assured me he'd handle everything for the Fourth of July family gathering at the "Rabbit Patch." I wasn't really certain what he meant by "everything," but I was beginning to get some vague idea. All I ever did for the Fourth in La Crosse was go downtown in late afternoon, carouse around, hitting the bars, until dusk when Dr. J. joined me along the riverfront to watch the fireworks display. Mornings, he and I generally visited the cemetery for one of the ceremonies honoring our local deceased veterans. Dr. J. always said "we owe that much at least," and he was correct. Personally, I thought, even as much as our veterans did for us, we also had a huge debt to pay to those who'd been left behind to carry on without them, but perhaps I was in the minority. It didn't' seem we remembered or honored the widows or, especially, the children who lost mothers or fathers in each and every terrible conflict. They seemed to be often forgotten; no stone monuments erected to remind us to keep them in our thoughts and prayers as well.

Listening to Pauley talk, conjecture, plan, and coordinate activities with his Mom and Dad, it became evident to me this wasn't the first time the La Pont Family gathered for some sort of celebration or other. I wouldn't have the slightest idea where to begin planning for or hosting such an event. Now, putting together a syllabus for a class that I could do, but this was a totally different scenario. Between Pauley and his Dad, Tom, the physical arrangements for the reunion began taking shape at the "Rabbit Patch."

Hugh, Pauley's oldest brother and a forest ranger with the U.S. Forest Service at the National Forest located in the Fox Creek area, measured and mapped and fiddled around on the open ground between the lake and the house, and finally drew up a sketch of where he thought we should put the campers and the tenters. Notice he indicated where "we" could put these things. I didn't think he had a mouse in his pocket so it must be the rest of us. When they placed their plans and anticipated costs in front of me, Pauley apologized for the amount, questioning whether I wanted to spend that much, but I merely pulled a Dr. J. response from the hat, stating simply, "Don't fuss about it, I think we can afford it." Tom looked at me rather strangely, but it was new experience to me and, after all, Pauley was planning it. It was really an exciting time for me, readying the "Rabbit Patch" for the fun, frivolity, and comradeship I expected to be around us each and every day the La Pont Family was here.

The last week of June I was starting to get antsy wondering whether we'd be ready by the Fourth of July. I saw nothing different being done at the "Rabbit Patch" other than a grassy area mowed closer "for tenters" according to Pauley and five other places skinned clean of the sod, off to one side of the clearing so our view of the lake wasn't blocked. Tom informed me that's where the "trailer pads" were going to be. Now I had no idea what the hell a "trailer pad" was. If it was for a suit coat, such as a shoulder pad, or an apartment some called a "pad", or a "paddock" where people kept horses or in some cases, where some of the guys who had horse dicks hanging and dangling, referred to their britches, I could relate, but trailers, don't thinks so?

My curiosity was satisfied the next day when dump trucks full of gravel, bobcat tractors with buckets attached to the front, and rollers attached to the back, began pushing, leveling, and compacting the gravel into twenty foot wide and sixty foot length gravel "pads" where the trailers would park. Now I knew what they meant –made sense to me! Tom, Pauley, and Hugh buried electric lines from the garage to outlets attached to posts alongside each of the pads for the trailers. Tom thought a bigger and separate service box was needed to handle the trailers, so he contacted the power company and an electrician to do that.

Pauley still muddled around, finally stopped, looked at the trailer pads, and muttered to his Dad, "We'll still have to figure out water for these sites." Later in the afternoon, when I brought each of them a cold beer, I interrupted their discussion concerning a "proper water distribution system that wouldn't tax the house."

Since I am so damned wise in the world of construction, plumbing (exception: the male anatomy's pipe work), and electricity (exception: there is a jolt charging through me every time I pump a load into Pauley's pipes or vice versa), I said off-handedly, "I generally opened the nearest tap and let the water distribute itself, usually in a glass or all over me in the shower. Beats hauling it from the lake."

"That's it!" shouted Pauley. "Thanks, Matt, a great idea! Now, if you were to have a garden, where would it be?"

Garden- shit, the only thing I could ever get to grow was my cock and that to barely six inches at full stretch! How the hell should I know?

"Closest to the nearest supermarket."

"Good idea," Tom said excitedly, evidently appreciating my remarks or totally ignoring them, I wasn't certain. "I think," he continued, over there in that open space east of the house. It would get sun most of the day. Perfect!"

With that, he and Pauley took off at a trot toward the proposed location with me doing the quick-step to keep up. Pauley and his dad stopped, Pauley stamped his foot on the ground and announced, "Right here," evidently indicating the spot where my garden was going to be. I looked around and I could see no sign of a supermarket nearby so I figured Tom ignored my suggestion. I took a quick look at the spot of ground his foot rested on and was going to remark it'd be a mighty small garden, but before I could say anything, Pauley had his cell phone out and was placing a call to Hugh, asking him to stop by the hardware store and pick up electrical cable, electrical and water connections, an inch and a half "sand point" (whatever the hell that was), three one hundred foot rolls of inch and a quarter black plastic pipe, three ten foot lengths of inch and half metal pipe, the shallow well pump with the pressure tank in the garage at his dads, and the pipe driver. Of course, charge it all to me, not that I really cared- well, I did since I still didn't have a clue what was happening.

Within the hour, Hugh was there along with his two oldest sons, Jared, a junior in high school and Benjamin, a sophomore. They weren't exceptionally burley boys, built about like Pauley but perhaps a touch taller, but had his smile and the eagerness of youth (and stamina, I might add). Everything was carted over to where the garden was going to be and they started to work. Tom and Hugh connected the "sand point" to one length of pipe and a "driving cap" on the other end while Jared and Loran used a post hole digger to dig a round hole about four foot deep.

"That," explained Pauley pointing at the hole, "is where the well head," pointing at the sand point and pipe his dad and brother were working on, "will be driven into this sandy soil until it hits water. We run electricity to the pump, hook it up to the well, and Walla, we have water."

Apparently, good water was only about fifteen or twenty feet down, since the lake was so close, but they wanted to have enough flow in the pipes, hence more pipe in the ground, so there wouldn't be any problems supplying the campers. I could agree for once, since I was convinced the more pipe Pauley laid into my plowed ground, the more intense the harvest was. Which, of course, had nothing to do with the present venture but I still got as hard as the Rock of Gibraltar imagining it. Once the reunion was over, the same well would be used to water the garden. Now it made sense!

Pauley lifted the pipe driver, waited patiently while Hugh and Tom positioned the pipe and the boys steadied it, looked at me and winked, evidently thinking about driving a little pipe himself, and slammed it down on metal well casing.

"I think I'll fix supper," I announced, thinking those guys could handle the well. I knew damned certain I didn't want to hammer away on that piece of pipe for very long and walked off toward the house. I put steaks out to thaw so we could grill when the well was done.

I thought Pauley might be a little too tired to drive any pipe that night, but I guess he wasn't – twice! Good thing we didn't have close neighbors the way Pauley squealed when his personal well-point pumped a full load the first time.

July 1 and I started to pace again, full of questions; each answered calmly by Pauley, Tom, or Ben and Jared (who, by the way, decided to stay at the "Rabbit Patch" in the spare bedroom.

"Will we have enough food for everyone or do I have to go to town and order some?"

"Just have enough tables; Grandma will organize all of that," answered Benjamin.

"We haven't starved yet," interjected Jared.

"How about drinks?"

"Put a couple of ice chests out; one for sodas and one for beer," answered Hugh. "I'll pick up the ice."

"Picnic tables and chairs?"

"County and the church," responded Tom, "I'll take of that and Ben and Jared can help haul."

"Quit worrying, Matt," pleaded Pauley, "everything will be just fine and dandy. Enjoy the day and the celebration."

I took Pauley's advice and just did that, after I'd enjoyed him that night when everyone else was asleep, I hope! There are times when I shove in for my final shuddering, ass clenching, butt-filling, bowel drenching orgasm into him, I have to bury my head in his neck and stifle the extreme soul-satisfying, intensely sexually released roar of the male lion that seems to want to leap out of me when I make love. Pauley, when he's fucking me, begins to whimper, then shake, and with a final deep push and low grunt, begins pulsing inside me. I can feel the head of his dick swell and then subside and swell again with each spurt of cum.

We sat on the porch after breakfast was finished, waiting for Gareth and his family to arrive from Madison. Adam, their youngest, was Pauley's nephew Danny's age and he was anticipating a great time with his cousin. They arrived in their motor around nine in the morning, having driven, according to Susan, "half the damned night."

"We left at four this morning," responded Gareth.

"It's not as if you never see your brothers and sister," Susan snorted, "but I guess I knew how close you all were coming into this," smiled and gave him a big hug and kiss.

Susan looked at me, then at Pauley, then at me again. "So this is the handsome young professor who stole my brother-in-law's heart and makes him hard as nails with just the sound of your name," she said, bringing about a very embarrassed silent response from Pauley and from me. "Momma Rosa chatters about you all the time," she continued.

"Please excuse Susan," Gareth moaned, "she's known to be a bit outspoken at times."

"Yeah, but you love me for it!" With that she walked up to me, took me in her arms, saying, "Pauley's a lucky guy and so are you. Welcome to the family."

Gareth busied himself setting up the motor home on one of the new sites while the boys, all five of them and Pauley, put on swim wear, and headed for the lake. It wasn't long until Jared and Benjamin joined them. They hadn't been in the lake twenty minutes until Steve and his wife, Adele, from Green Bay, along with their four offspring, arrived pulling a thirty-two foot camper trailer behind a suburban. Pauley waved them into a site alongside Gareth and while Steve unhitched and set up their camper, their children (two boys and two girls) headed for the lake.

Emily and her husband, Bill, from Lake View, along with their three children, drove in a half hour after that and announced, since Bill had a taken a few days off, they were going to stay over and moved into one of the cottages. I hadn't anticipated that, but was reassured by Pauley it'd all work out. Wyeth and his wife, Mary Beth, and their five arrived from St. Ignace around one in the afternoon. Their thirty-five foot tow-behind camper was parked with the other two on the camper pads. The earlier swimmers, now fed and rested, decided more company was needed at the lake so all of the cousins headed down there again. I noticed Benjamin and Jared ended up lifeguarding while the others swam.

There was no shortage of food for either lunch or supper. Hugh, his wife Kathy, and Benjamin and Jared's younger sister and two younger brothers came from town to join us. All of it served potluck on the tables in the garage. Pauley decided a campfire was in order that evening, so down to the lake as the sun set for campfire and s'mores. Benjamin and Jared's brothers and sister bunked in with cousins in campers.

John and family drove down from Copper Harbor the next morning and settled into another of the cottages. Momma Rosa, as she insisted on me calling her, arrived late afternoon, but this time on a mission! Everything had to be ready for the next day, so family members were sent scurrying around doing her last minute bidding.

"Because," as she explained to me, "by the time we go to the cemetery ceremonies and watch the parade, I won't have time to get lunch ready. Then, in the evening, there'll be fireworks in town to watch." She leaned closer to me when I offered to help, put her arms around me, kissed me on the cheek and continued, "You've done so much already – just look at my Pauley!" and beamed.

"He's so happy!" and kissed me again. God, she made me so important, yet humble, and loved! I went to bed happy and proud to part of this family!

A loud "WHOMP!" followed by an evening louder "KA-BOOM!" the next morning wilted my lily before I could even plant it; Pauley just rolled his eyes and smiled.

"That's Dad, he always likes to start the Fourth of July with a bang. Sets off the biggest damned aerial bomb he can buy." He stretched, scratched where he itched, and commented resignedly, "May as well get up – everyone else is by now!"

Thus awaked, I started my first Fourth of July holiday with Pauley La Pont and family. Momma Rosa, her daughter, and daughter-in-laws fixed pancakes, sausage links, bacon, coffee, and juice for breakfast; all served cafeteria style in the garage on paper plates and cups. A side dish of freshly baked scones was available for those who wished them. I'd not had them before so, I grabbed one, spread a dab of strawberry jam on the top, tasted it delicately, and then really began to enjoy the delicious lightness of this baked treat.

Momma Rosa witnessed my delight and enjoyment, sidled up to put an arm around my waist, explaining, "Thomas always has been partial to scones. I finally had to contact his mother, for the recipe and how she prepared them. It took a while, but I knew this Italian wife cooked a great English scone, when one day, he smiled, kissed, me and said, `hide the rest so the kids don't eat them all.'"

As we talked, Tom walked by, gave her a smooch and a pinch, commenting, "Nothing like a hot scone for breakfast," and continued on to a table where some of his family gathered.

The ceremony at the cemetery honoring the veterans was typical of most in small towns; invocations and prayers, speeches by local politicians, reading the names of those fallen in defense of the flag, a couple of tunes by the high school band, and taps. The parade downtown mirrored our small community with floats, fun, music, candy, politicians, and, up here in the north, fire trucks and logging trucks rather than farm tractors found in other parts of our state.

When we gathered in front of the garage back at the "Rabbit Patch" for lunch, waiting for Tom to ask the table blessing, our eyes wandered to the tables inside loaded with all sorts of epicurean delights tantalizing us with sight and smell, begging us to fill each platter or plate and gorge ourselves. Tom held up his hand and when all was quiet, he offered the blessing, asking for the Almighty's blessing on the food, companionship, and our community. It was the usual, but he closed with "May God bless those who sacrificed, in any manner, for their countries, their homes, and their loved ones, especially our fallen service men and women in the past, present, and future. May God bless these United States of America that welcomed me and God bless the Queen!"

The last part struck me odd!

We ate heartily, laughed uproarishly, played hard, swam hard, visited constantly, and drank a bit, but God, it was a fun day! It was a Fourth of July I'd always remember I thought.

Later that night, when Pauley and I were snugged up alone in bed, I asked him what his father meant in the table blessing.

"Dad is a naturalized citizen, a Canadian by birth, and came here when he was seventeen or so, just out of school. Dr. Edwards, Dr. Corsair's mate, invited him to come down and spend the summer. According to Dad, Dr. Edwards was an old family friend. One day, while in Iron Mountain, he met Mom, they married, and he became a U.S. citizen. Beyond that, he doesn't say much. Want to read some more?"

You bet I did, especially if my lover read to me!

I entered the eighth grade in the 1944-45 school year and the war still raged on overseas in both Europe and in the Pacific. I had a friend overseas, flying fighter planes, and this war had become very personal for me. Oh, I know, I should've really been concerned for all of the other combatants, but I didn't know them as I knew Geoffrey. I worried about his safety, how his two boys and daughter were doing, and whether they had enough to eat. Miss Harrison claimed I was "just an old worry-wart" and I suppose she was correct.

In October, a major naval battle was fought in Leyte Gulf in the Philippines (another pin on my map) and in December and early January, Allied troops were caught in something called the "Battle of the Bulge" until reinforcements allowed them to spring free. The wise heads who gathered monthly at Dr. Arnold's house were of the opinion this war was definitely winding down!

In March, American bombers began firebombing Tokyo and the battle of Iwo Jima was fought. Geoffrey's letters suddenly stopped about then, as battle after battle was engaged and won or lost, both in Europe and I the Pacific. In my heart, I knew something terrible happened to my friend; I just didn't want to admit it!

The spring of 1945 was met with great sadness, even though the war was going well for our country: President Roosevelt died April 12 and Harry Truman, the Vice-President took over. We all mourned, but, according to Miss Harrison, "life must go on" and it did. That same month, German forces surrendered in Italy and the Soviets and Americans linked up at the Elbe River.

May 8, 1945 Germany surrendered and the war in Europe was over and still I heard nothing from Geoffrey. People were jubilant in Prairie du Sac, throughout the state and across the nation. Church bells rang, sirens wailed in celebration, and people danced in the streets. What a celebration it was, but we had to be reminded the war was not yet won in the Pacific!

Two days later, I received a letter from England, the envelope addressed in a fine, neat hand, to me as "Master Julian Corsair." My hands shook as I carefully opened it, knowing the contents would portend sadness and loss for me as well as others. I read it carefully, completely, and then read it again and sat on the front steps of our house and sobbed, my grief overwhelming me. My anguished cries of pain and loss echoed up into the house, bringing Miss Harrison to the door and then to the steps to sit beside me. Comforting me, an arm around me as a loving grandmother would do, she retrieved the letter which slipped from my hand onto the steps, and learned what I already knew. Evelyn Bentley-Hughes, Geoffrey's wife sadly informed me he'd lost his life while escorting some bombers on their return flight to England. Although his fighter was crippled from a battle with one of the very few Germany fighters left flying, he dogged it back home, but crashed upon landing at some place called "Half-Penny" field.

Her closing to me was one of loving remembrances from Geoffrey to her and the youngsters, of his acquaintance with me. "Geoffrey thought you such a bright lad," she wrote, "and hoped beyond hope, given your home situation, that you could attend university some day and continue to learn and grow your mind."

After that, there was no doubt what I'd do after high school and I needed no more encouragement than a referral to her letter to cause me to double my efforts to do well in school.

Darnell graduated from high school that spring and June 26 he married his sweetheart. I was best man at the wedding, although I thought I was too young. Darnell insisted since "Julian is my best friend" and he was mine and always would be. Darnell was the only person who really understood how I felt about Geoffrey and once said to me, "Don't fuss, Julian; someday you'll be able to make it all good."

Miss Harrison and Dr. Arnold acted as grandparents of the groom and sat down front. Miss Harrison was so proud of Darnell. She beamed and cried just like a grandmother would do and Darnell was just as proud of her. Without her constant and patient tutoring and a grand place to live in Prairie du Sac, he knew he would've ended up on the streets of Milwaukee with no education and no future.

In August, Japan was bombed by an "atomic bomb" and the war was over and the world changed forever.

To be continued:

***

Thank you for reading Julian Corsair– Chapter Fifteen –"Till the war drums throbbed no longer and the battle flags were furled." – (Alfred, Lord Tennyson)

If you enjoy my stories and the many others found on this free site, please consider a donation to Nifty. It is your donations which make all of our stories free and available for you to read and enjoy. Other stories of mine may be found under "Nifty Very Prolific Authors." Thank you.

Nick Hall

The Literary works of Nicholas Hall are protected by the copyright laws of the United States of America and are the property of the author.

Positive comments are welcome and appreciated at: nick.hall8440@gmail.com.