“Did Roger feel bitter about the war, do you think?”
“I don’t think he felt bitter aboot the war. But he dinna understand why people looked doon on him for answerin’ the call to serve.”
“People weren’t rude to him, were they?”
“When Roger first came home he walked with a cane. On one occasion, he was walkin’ downtown with his cane and a young man came up to him and asked him if he’d lost his leg in the war. And when he replied he had, the man said, ‘Got what ye deserved.’”
“Poor Roger. That kind of treatment must have been hard to take.”
“The man who went to war liked to laugh. The man who returned rarely did. Your sister could get him to laugh a wee bit.”
“What did my brother look like? Do I look much like him?”
“Ye don’t favor your brother . . . very much.” Mac looked closely at Richard and then squinted into space, as if he were forming an image of Roger from memory. “While you’re tall and slender, Roger was stocky and muscular in build. His hair was dark broon like yours, and his eyes were blue like your father’s, while yours are hazel like my dear Kathleen’s and your mither Mary’s. His face was rounder than yours. Ye both were born with the Hawkins’ chin—square jaw with a cleft. He dinna have a mustache as ye do; he had a beard for a while after he returned from Vietnam. And one more thing, like ye, he had a slow smile; as if he had to think aboot it first.
At this point, Mac sat back in his chair, lethargically stirring the half-filled cup of tea in front of him. His mind was on the events that led up to the accident that had taken away some of the dearest people in his life.
“Well, I guess I might as well clear the table,” Richard said. He saw that his words interrupted his uncle’s thoughts about the past.
“What? Oh, the dishes. Aye. Ye don’t have to do that. I believe it’s my turn.”
Richard got up and picked up his plate. “You made dinner; why don’t you let me take care of the dishes tonight. Then you can watch one of your favorite TV shows—the Boston Pops is on.”
“Well, okay if ye’re sure.” Mac went into the living room, and settled himself before the TV.
3
A Pleasant Interruption
Rinsing dishes in time with a Viennese waltz, Richard was about finished when the phone rang.
“I’ll get it!” yelled Mac.
Richard heard his uncle say, “He canna come to the phone right now. Can I take a message?”
“Uncle Mac, I can take it!” Richard yelled.
“It’s a lassie on the line. A bonny lass I bet.”
“Hello. This is Richard Hawkins.”
“Richard, this is Melissa Ingram. You rescued me from those men in the van today. The policewoman gave me your name and phone number. I’m not calling at a bad time, am I?”
“No, not at all, Melissa. How are you? I hope you had no bad effects from your experience.”
“Yes, one bad effect.”
“Oh . . . may I ask what?”
“Embarrassment. I’m embarrassed, because I never thanked you for coming to my rescue. Those men . . . were . . . I don’t know who they were. But it’s clear they wanted to hurt me. Who knows what they would have done? But for you, they would . . .”
Richard could hear Melissa’s voice choke up. Soon he could hear her crying.
“I’m sorry, Richard . . . just . . . give me a minute. I’m sorry . . . to lose . . . control this way.”
“That’s okay, Melissa. Take your time. I can wait.”
Soon the sobbing at the other end of the line lessened. Richard heard Melissa ask someone for a handkerchief.
“I’m all right now. I told myself that I wouldn’t lose control. But, here I go, crying in your ear.”
“You have every right to feel upset in thinking about those two men.”
“But, they’re not the reason I was crying. I was crying because . . . of you.”
“Crying because of me?” Richard had often wished that he had a mother and sister to teach him about women. Though his occasional confusion didn’t diminish his interest.
“Every time I think about what you did for me . . . the gratitude I feel overwhelms me. I owe you so much.”
Now it was Richard’s turn to be embarrassed. He had always found it difficult to take praise. He never knew what to say. “I’m glad the Lord put me there to help.” As Richard said that, he wondered if Melissa would understand what he meant. The words came out before he realized Melissa might not be a fellow believer.
“I’m glad He did, too.” She continued, “My parents would like to meet you, Richard. I believe they want to thank you for saving their only child. I promise they won’t get emotional—and I promise not to also—but it would mean a lot to them if you would let them invite you over for dinner. Of course, I’d be there, too.”
“Well, sure, that would be nice.” Melissa’s last words prompted a quick response of agreement from Richard. Seeing the attractive runner again in better circumstances was a pleasant prospect.
Richard and Melissa agreed on a date and time, and said their good-byes.
During the phone conversation, Mac had gone to the kitchen to finish cleaning up. When he walked back to the living room, he found Richard smiling to himself and humming a little tune.
“A bonny lass?” asked Mac.
“A bonny lass, Uncle. My damsel in distress.”
The Scot patted his nephew on the shoulder.
“Well, I’m off to my bed, Richard. I’m feelin’ a bit tired.”
As Mac headed for his room, Richard heard him quoting lines from Robert Burns. His uncle often found occasion to share lines from his favorite poet.
“Ay waukin, O,/Waukin still and weary:/Sleep Ah can get nane,/Fur thinkin’ o’ my Dearie.”
4
Dividing of Time
Ouch!” Richard bellowed as he danced around on one foot. Clad only in a sock, his other foot had come down hard on a nailhead protruding from one of the old porch floorboards.
“I guess city boys are supposed to wear shoes,” he muttered to himself.
As the pain subsided, Richard eased himself into the Adirondack chair that stood guard, and planted his feet on the railing, and sipped the coffee from the mug he’d placed on the chair arm. He watched a gray squirrel dig at the base of the 40-foot slippery elm that dominated the front yard. The early-morning sunshine—making amends for yesterday’s rain—promised a beautiful day.
“It’s gude to see ye relaxin’ and takin’ time to appreciate God’s creatures, laddie,” said Mac, making an appearance on the porch.
Richard glanced up, smiling, “Uncle, do you have squirrels in Scotland?”
Richard didn’t see the mischievous smile flicker across his uncle’s face. “No, no squirrels in Scotland are awaitin’ my return. But the countryside has plenty o’ them.”
Richard, used to Mac’s teasing, chuckled at the thought of his uncle keeping squirrels in Scotland. “I thought the Scots raised squirrels to save money on food.” In spite of Mac’s innate generosity,