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rights to the characters and story universe remain with the copyright holders
Jacob Morgendorffer, Esq.
Chapter 2
Blue Ridge Mountains of Virginia, Late Summer 1979
Ambrose Powell Hill Barksdale III,
'Trey' for political purposes back when he was running for public office but
'Porky' to his few intimates since his high school days, was surprised to find
his son-in-law not only awake but fully dressed sitting on the back veranda
sipping coffee his eyes locked on the mountains covered in the wispy fog of
early morning. He and his daughter had
only been in Virginia two days yet Jake looked to have already adjusted to the three-hour
time difference from the west coast.
Ambrose despised Jake from a distance
for many years. The reasons were manifold: shacking up with his daughter, for
being a hippie, and for not serving in the military. To see his daughter again
after such a long absence, Porky reluctantly agreed to allow them to stay at
'Mossy Creek' the Barksdale's ancestral home for a couple of weeks before they
began law school. In his mind, having Jake under his roof was a small price to
pay to be able to reconcile with his middle daughter. Life, however, is filled
with the unexpected. Once Ambrose
finally met Jake, he found the young man to be genial, polite, and intelligent
if not particularly deep and respectful. Helen told him how hard a worker Jake
was and Ambrose saw how well he treated his daughter. After years of detesting
a man he never laid eyes on, Ambrose found to his surprise, that he genuinely
liked Jake.
"It's quite a view, isn't it?" Ambrose
asked.
Jake snapped out of his reverie. "Yes,
sir, it is," he quickly stammered.
Ambrose eased his bulk down onto a
chair setting his own coffee mug onto the small table between him and Jake.
"See that mountain there?" he asked pointing in the distance. "That's West
Virginia."
He swung his hand to the northeast.
"Now if you climb to the top of that mountain to the left there, you can see
the Potomac River and Maryland."
"I didn't realize that we were that
close to either state," Jake admitted.
"Close,"
the older man mused. "Yeah, I reckon these days with automobiles, the
interstates and the like we are fairly close but back when I was a boy they
seemed mighty far away. Not many cars at all and what few roads there were
weren't all that good and none of them were paved. More than a few people got
to and from their homes in the hollows by traveling up and down creek beds."
"Almost sounds like another century,"
Jake said politely.
Ambrose smiled. "Or even two. My
great-great-great grandfather, Robert Barksdale built this house in 1791 yet
his son would have been at home in my boyhood. Change came slowly to these
mountains. Dad was ten when Granddad had indoor plumbing installed. Electricity
didn't get added until after I got discharged from army in '45."
"What was the biggest change?" Jake
asked.
"Well, the war, of course," replied
Ambrose.
"World War II?" asked Jake.
Ambrose chuckled. "Son, when a
Southern says 'The War' he means the War for Southern Independence what you
Yanks like to call the Civil War. Could be that a relative of yours traded
shots with great-granddad a time or two."
"Helen mentioned that the Barksdales
have been in Virginia since colonial days," Jake said.
"1662, to be precise," interrupted
Ambrose
Jake nodded than continued. "But mine
only goes back to 1889 here in America and that's my Mom's family. Grandpa
Morgendorffer didn't come to America until 1921."
"Mercy, you're practically an
immigrant yourself," Ambrose joked. "Morgendorffer is what? German? Swiss?"
"Alsatian," Jake clarified. "After the
Treaty of Versailles control of Alsace passed back to France. It wasn't the
warmest place after that for a young man who had proudly fought for his Kaiser
so Grandpa came to America. One former enemy spurned him, another welcomed
him."
"So then it was my father and your
grandfather who traded shots," Ambrose said.
"Looks like they both missed," Jake
deadpanned.
Ambrose laughed before turning his
attention to his coffee. It had cooled to the perfect temperature so he
remained quiet savoring the simple delight of his brew. Jake was glad of the
reprieve. His father-in-law made him nervous. He feared saying or doing the
wrong thing angering the elder Barksdale into changing his mind about funding
Helen's legal education.
The harsh ring of a telephone cut
jaggedly through the peaceful fabric of early morning. Jake heard the quick
footfalls of Dinah, one of the Barkdale's servants, scamper across the kitchen
floor. The ringing stopped abruptly. Moments later, she poked her head out of
the door.
"Who in the world has the audacity to
call me at five-thirty in the morning, Dinah?" Ambrose asked.
"It's for Miss Helen's young man," she
replied "It's your momma. Your daddy's awful sick in the hospital."
"Excuse me, sir," Jake said rising
from his chair.
"Of course, my boy," he replied as
Jake disappeared inside.
Ambrose did not intentionally
eavesdrop but he turned in surprise when less than a minute into the
conversation Jake's voice rose in argument.
"Dad can rot there," he growled into
the phone. Jake quickly moderated his tone after he caught his father-in-law's
staring at him. The strident tenor if not the words continued to catch Ambrose's
ear. The only thing he heard clearly was a heartfelt 'I love you, mom' before
Jake hung up.
The
younger man's features were tight but otherwise unreadable to Ambrose when he
returned to the veranda dropping back into his chair.
Ambrose sipped his coffee patiently.
Some folks, he knew, would tell you their whole life story upon meeting you.
Others would drop hints like breadcrumbs in the forest allowing someone with a
good memory to reconstruct their biography. Others still give away nothing. Usually
those were the ones with something to hide or something from which they were
running. Jake, he had pegged for the last sort.
"Son," he began gently. "I don't
reckon you would've come back out here if you really didn't want to talk."
"Son," Jake chuckled without humor.
"You know, I can't recall my dad ever calling me that or anything resembling
it. If he had to point me out for some
reason he would say 'that boy there' or 'him' usually".
Ambrose shifted uncomfortably. He
loved his daughters but he could not hide the fact that he regretted not having
a son. He could not imagine having a boy and not shouting the fact from the
rooftops.
"I'm sure he loves you," he ventured.
Jake rudely snorted.
"Every father and son have some
difficulties," Ambrose said.
"Have mercy, Daddy, don't get him
started about his father," a bathrobe and slipper clad Helen said as she
stepped out from the kitchen clinging to a coffee mug. "I don't need that
before I've even eaten breakfast."
"Will miracles ever cease," Ambrose
said expansively the delight of his reunion with Helen evident in every
syllable. "You're awake before noon.
Good morning, sweetie. "
"Good morning," she mumbled. "Who
called so damn early?"
"Mom," Jake replied simply.
"Your mother?" she asked. "Why? "
"Mad Dog's in the VA hospital in
Philadelphia," he replied.
"Who's Mad Dog?" Ambrose asked.
"Mad Dog is my father," Jake answered.
"What's so wrong with him that Ruth
felt the need to call at the crack of dawn?" Helen quickly asked before her
father could put more questions to Jake.
"He's dying," Jake coolly replied.
Ambrose shivered chilled by Jake's
utter lack of emotion. He himself had kept a brave public face when his father
died but in private, he wept for days.
"Is there anything I can do?" He asked
in concern. "I have been out of office for a few years but I still have
contacts at the VA and the Defense Department."
Jake shook his head. "No, thank you,
sir," he replied. "I'm sure they are doing all they can."
"Will you be going with him to
Philadelphia?" Ambrose asked Helen.
Jake spoke before she could. "I
haven't seen or talked to Mad Dog in eleven years. I see no reason to now."
Ambrose paused for a few moments
eyeing Jake speculatively before nodding his head slowly. "Son. I don't know
the history between you and your father."
"It's short if not too sweet," Jake
snarled. "I was born a week after Private Morgendorffer, U. S. Army shipped out
to Korea. By the time, Sergeant Morgendorffer returned from battle and a stint
in a Red Chinese POW camp, I nearly three. He was a genuine war hero and one
mean, miserable bastard. I endured ten years of hell at his hands until he
dumped me in a military school paying others to continue to abuse and ridicule me."
Jake leaped to his feet. "You can damn
well rot where you are, old man!" he shouted more or less in the direction of
Philadelphia. "I hope you don't die easy!"
He kicked a stool before leaping over
the veranda's railing onto the dew-laden grass. Without a backward glance, he
stormed into the woods. Wordless, An astonished Ambrose and his daughter
watched him disappear amongst the trees.
"What in tarnation is wrong with that
boy?" Dinah asked from the kitchen door.
"His father's on his death bed,"
Ambrose replied.
Dinah looked at the footprints left in
the wet grass and shook her head. "Peculiar way of showing grief, if you ask
me," she muttered moving back into the house.
"Daddy," Helen hesitantly began.
Ambrose patted his daughter's hand.
"Your Jake might have some problems but I don't think he's crazy or anymore
crazy than the rest of you hippies."
"He's just..." Helen started.
"Sweetie, don't try to explain a
relationship that neither you nor I are really privy to," he said kindly. "Just
have Jake an overnight bag ready when he gets back. Yourself one too if you're
going with him and I think you should."
"Daddy, you heard him," Helen said.
"He's not going to Philadelphia."
Ambrose stood. "I know people so trust me on this, daughter, he's going if for no other reason than his momma wants him there."