The Last Time He Saw April

By Xlibris US

During a snowy, 1947 March afternoon, sophomore Dane Halden watches from an empty study hall window as his friends, April and Adam, make out in Adams car during lunch hour. Alone with his thoughts, Dane speaks of both. This is: The Last Time He Saw April. Until
The story returns to the summer of 1946, setting the stage for April and Adams romance. After many loving days, weeks and monthsTogether Forever, their most whispered endearmentApril moves to Connecticut to live with relatives. The end? Conceivably
After high school, April marries twice, moves to New York and inherits a successful music business. Her one child, Jonathan, becomes a rock megastar.
Paralleling Aprils life, Adam joins the USAF, meets and marries his English love, Jillian, after being stationed at RAF Sealand, near Chester. Like many GI marriages, theirs sadly ends in divorce.
After university, Adam becomes a professor at a Minnesota college.
Fate takes charge. In 1964 April and Adam meet in New York. Are their feelings still alive? Did they renew their relationship? If so, are they happy? Are friends truly friends? What about the boy in the window? All comes to light while visiting this narrative.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Aug 15, 2014
• ISBN: 9781499052459

Book preview

CHAPTER I

But… I really don’t want to go, April whispered, burying her tearful face, child-like, in her mother’s bosom.

I know, darling, but it’s for the best.

I love you, Mother… and… April replied, sobbing breathlessly. and… and…

The Hiawatha was right on time, ten thirty-five, even though the snow was still falling and beginning to drift.

I told you we should have left earlier. We’ve only just made it, Mrs. Roberts said to her husband.

Take it easy, Mother! It won’t be leaving for another five minutes.

Turning to his daughter, April’s father asked if she had everything: tickets, lunch, and purse—especially her purse.

Yes, Daddy.

Mr. Roberts then ushered both April and her mother out of the station and onto the train.

It’s too darn cold to wait on the platform, he said. Go ahead. Get on. I’ve got the cases.

As they boarded, April was hardly aware of anything her parents said to her. She felt she had to be living a dream.

Golly, I’ve never been on a train before… the station’s so deserted. I must be the only one getting on here… . I’m not going to cry anymore. I’m not! At least I won’t be alone after Jefferson.

One thought after another raced through her mind as they entered the car.

Here, April. Why don’t you sit here, her father suggested. I’ll put your cases up on the rack… . Say goodbye to your mother.

April and her mother embraced, neither controlling the tears, and only the conductor’s voice, announcing the train was about to leave, pulled them apart.

Don’t I get a kiss? April’s father said playfully, trying hard to make the parting less tense.

April rushed into his arms, clinging to him like it would be the very last time.

We have to get off now, he said, kissing her on the cheek. Don’t forget, sweetheart… I love you, and write.

The conductor touched Dan Roberts on the shoulder while he and his wife headed for the door, and said, Your girl must be the only one getting on here. If there’s anyone at the next station, I’ll be very surprised… least, not on a night like this.

He turned away, All abo-o-o-ard. He called out.

After April lost sight of her parents, she sat and gazed out of the window until the train had stopped at and departed from the next station, leaving her with the realization that Adam’s promise to join her to be illusory. By then the train had passed the Jefferson city limits and was plowing on— through the moon shadowed whiteness of the night.

Together forever, she thought. Somehow, deep down inside, she knew it was over.

***

The winter months of 1946–1947 were long, cold, and difficult. Months most people would like to forget and, even now on this late date, the 25th of March, gray skies were trying hard to cover everything with large, lazily swirling, wet flakes. As Dane leaned out of the study hall window nonchalantly collecting enough sticky snow from the ledge to make a perfectly formed snowball, he was struck by the movie-like scene taking place in the olive-green and black ’36 Chevy coupe parked on the south side of the school. It felt to Dane like this picture had to be for his viewing only, because—except for the embracing couple and him—everyone was at lunch. The stillness of the moment left him imagining he could hear the sound of their heavy breathing and snowflakes falling on the window ledge.

April and Adam had been the big romance of the school year from the moment Adam got up enough nerve to ask her to be his date for the homecoming dance. Consequently, they would never let a hot school lunch interfere with the one thing that helped them survive Mrs. Barstow’s painfully boring English class and Mr. Hendrey’s chaotic attempt to teach biology: their midday necking session in Adam’s car. During every one of Dane’s vigils, he couldn’t help but think he should have been the one in the driver’s seat and Adam the one making snowballs.

After watching the two of them rise from under April’s long, fur-trimmed winter coat a few times, undoubtedly for air, he thought that due to his present condition he should take his seat and complete the biology assignment. Then again, a thought’s only a thought.

Dane remembered that same hot flushed feeling, starting somewhere near the floor, rising slowly up his body, and exploding right through the top of his head the first time April looked at him and smiled. He had just moved from a one-room country school, Halverson, District 79, where Adam was in the seventh grade—a year ahead of him—to town school, when April caught him staring at—no, dreaming about her—and she smiled a warm, friendly greeting. A glowing, red-hot lump of coal couldn’t have been any hotter than he was at that moment. He wanted to burn a hole right through the floor and disappear forever.

If only I hadn’t been so slow, Dane thought, maybe things could have been different.

Michelle, a small girl with curly brown hair and a catty tongue, must have noticed April’s smile, along with Bo, the biggest boy in the class, because from then on neither of them missed an opportunity to make him feel out of place. Michelle punished his indiscretion with a quick, hurtful, expressionless smile, while Bo twisted his arm up behind his back until tears flooded from his eyes. How he longed to be back in country school, away from Michelle, Bo, and the other kids who spent most of their time tormenting him.

Still, even Michelle and Bo’s efforts to make him feel the complete outsider couldn’t compare with the feelings of terror he felt during music class, when, Shirley, a big, strong, thirteen-year-old farm girl, bore down on him from across the square dance circle, and on Miss Rose’s command, Swing your partner ’round and ’round, gleefully picked him up by the hands and twirled him through the air as if he were some kind of a rag doll.

April may have laughed at him, along with the rest of the class, when he played Fred Astaire to Shirley’s Ginger Rogers, but Dane only remembered her being protective and telling the worst offenders to leave him alone.

Dane wondered how anyone could have kept from falling in love with not only the prettiest, but also the most compassionate girl in class. Equally, he never dreamed that Adam, even at sixteen, would have been allowed to ask a girl to a dance. The way his parents usually carried on, just thinking about a girl would have been a sin.

Then Dane decided biology would simply have to wait, because his view of the proceedings was just too darn good to give up. If necessary, he could think of Mrs. Barstow and walk back to his desk.

When they were younger, Adam and Dane had often played together after Sunday school if, during the class, they could recite the Ten Commandments and their meanings off by heart. Still, even when grown, if someone were to ask, Dane would readily admit he had learned them only because of Mrs. Amundson’s doughnuts. She made them fresh every Sunday. It was simple logic: If they didn’t play, he didn’t eat.

Lunch is ready, she’d shout, and they’d come running, eagerly anticipating a plate piled high with fragrant hot doughnuts, followed by a cold glass of milk to wash them down. Unfortunately, Adam would have to say grace before the tiniest morsel was allowed to pass their lips. To Dane, this always seemed an eternity because Adam could seldom thank the Lord the first time with enough conviction in his voice to satisfy his mother.

Adam’s folks, Clara and Ollie Amundson, were hardworking farmers whose parents came from Norway before the turn of the century to homestead in North Dakota. They, Mr. and Mrs. Amundson, his grandmother, Avis—Adam’s grandfather having passed on—Adam and his older brother, Daniel, were all pillars of the Lutheran church.

Dane remembered Adam’s grandmother slightly, but only as a shadowy figure. If he were to shut his eyes, he could still make out an old lady barely able to squeeze into a huge handmade rocking chair. He did remember something about her far more explicitly though: the sound of her voice and her warnings of how little boys would be punished should they ever take the Lord’s name in vain.

Adam, she would say, you are such a good boy. Always remember how much your mother and I want you to become a minister of the church when you grow up, so never… never ever say bad words or have naughty thoughts.

To which he would obediently answer, Yes, Grandmother.

A sly, mischievous grin slowly crossed Dane’s face as he considered what she would have thought if she could have watched April and Adam from his vantage point.

Dane reasoned Mr. and Mrs. Amundson must have been old when they married because his grandparents were about their age, not young like his mom and dad. Maybe the reason Adam’s folks hovered and fussed over him so much was because they were too old to have any more kids. There were just the two boys, Adam and his older brother, Daniel. Of course Dane’s reasoning coincided with comments he overheard germinating from the older generation.

Adam told Dane that Danny never got the same amount of attention from his folks as he did, partially because he was always doing stupid things. Once, on the Fourth of July, Danny put a ladyfinger in Jack Palmer’s pocket and Jack got a bad burn in a very sensitive place, right on the end of his Johnny Whiliker. Another time, Danny raised a big lump on Adam’s forehead during a corncob fight. He always got it good for doing those kinds of things. But being hit with a razor strap didn’t seem to change him much. He was still big and kind of clumsy, and well—certainly not preacher material.

When Dane asked his mom why one brother always seemed to get more attention than the other, she simply said, It happens, Dane. It shouldn’t but it does, and often for unintelligent reasons. She added that Danny probably did crazy things because he wanted their parents to pay attention to him. Like I said, things happen.

Dane remembered that Danny didn’t seem to like school either, and was usually behind Adam in every subject except fire building. Each school day he would carry in the coal and wood necessary to heat the big potbellied stove used to keep the school warm and cozy.

Miss Olson, Dane’s teacher from first through third grade, would then tell Adam’s big brother how helpful he had been for tending to the fire. More to the point, the real reason he liked fire building was because he thought it would get him in good with a very young and pretty Miss Olson. She couldn’t have been many years older than Danny or Bill Tully, two of the three eighth-grade students.

Halverson School wasn’t much to shout about, but two out of those three went on to become quite famous. Bill became the regional Golden Gloves welterweight champion, while Betty Jean Hostettler went on to win the one and only Miss Grand Forks contest. She actually graced the cover of Collier’s magazine in 1946. If Dane were to be honest, he’d have to tell the world he had been in love with Betty Jean long before he ever laid eyes on April. Still, even at the tender age of eight, he instinctively knew it would be hard for an eighth-grade girl to take a scruffy little third-grade boy seriously.

Miss Olson was followed the next year by an equally pretty Mrs. Williams, whose husband was in the army somewhere in the South Pacific. That school year provided Dane with two of his most vivid memories of school at District 79. It really hurt when she slapped him across the face for talking back. But he instinctively knew that his momentary pain compared little to Mrs. Williams’ when, minutes later, her father came to the school clutching a brown envelope, took her in his arms, and tearfully told her to be strong.

Every student, from the youngest to the oldest, could literally feel her anguish because of her sudden ashen appearance and the tears that followed. Dane would forever wonder why the news of her husband’s death couldn’t have been broken to her in private. Needless to say, his feelings of dislike for her vanished with the first tear.

Adam always acted a bit older than his age, even though he hadn’t yet reached his tenth birthday. After Mrs. Williams had gone to the coat room with her father, Adam did a very grown-up thing by asking everyone to bow their heads and quietly say a prayer to make her happy again. This was done with closed eyes and tightly held hands, and then, after a few minutes, Adam led his small congregation in the Lord’s Prayer, just like he did at Sunday school.

With that memory, Dane could still envision Adam in front of the altar, a rather roly-poly, round-faced boy with blond slicked-back hair, dressed in a black ministerial robe, leading the parishioners of Saint John’s Lutheran Church in Sunday services. If there was ever any doubt he would one day become a minister, Dane suspected it to be in Adam’s mind, not his.

Dane suddenly awakened from his reverie when a sharp nudge bumped his side. It was Guy, his carefully coiffed best friend, doing the nudging.

What ya been doing? Guy quickly answered his own question when his eyes caught sight of the car. Oh yeah, you’re still wishing April was your girl and not Adam’s. Well, you can forget that. And besides, April likes tall guys like me.

You’re not tall.

I’m taller than you.

An inch, maybe…

Adam wasn’t the chubby, round-faced kid anymore, but a tall, six-foot, three-inch sixteen-year-old who had long since grown out of his puppy fat.

Come on, Dane, Guy said while leaning against the doorway, let’s go to the can before the bell rings.

Okay, in a minute… . Come on, Mrs. Barstow, do your stuff, Dane whispered to himself, figuring a fleeting impression of the old bat would be enough to make anything wilt.

Others were starting to drift back from lunch, and just as they were heading for the boy’s bathroom, Michelle and her friend, Charlene, came from Mrs. Barstow’s classroom.

Hi, Michelle. Hi, Charlene, Dane and Guy chimed in unison.

Although their look said they hadn’t time to stop and talk, they did manage a little Hi before whispering their way up the hall.

Boy, would I like to screw Michelle, Guy said with a huge grin on his face.

Why don’t you? Everyone else has—except for… maybe you and me, ever since she got laid by Pinky Jennings in the backseat of his car last spring—or so they say.

Or so he says, Guy added thoughtfully. I wish I knew what those other guys have got that I haven’t.

They’ve got a car, you silly shit.

Chuckling at what he considered a clever response, Dane pushed open the door to the bathroom and walked in with Guy close behind. Stepping up to the urinals, Dane continued his lecture by commenting on Charlene’s worthiness.

She’s not bad, you know.

Yeah, I know, Guy replied with the same shitty grin on his face, but you know she’s only a PT. Likes to get you going and suddenly remembers she’s got something better to do. I think I’m going to have to wait forever for my first bit of nooky.

Me too.

That was to be their final words on the subject, contemplating instead the sound of their streams splashing against the urinal. Suddenly Dane seemed inspired.

Guy!

What?

Save a little and we’ll pee on the radiator. The smell will drive Mrs. Barstow crazy. Remember how she flew up to the office the minute she recognized the fragrance drifting in under her door?

No, not really.

On second thought, I guess we’d better not. Joey Tedford got caught and suspended for two weeks the last time it happened. Damn! No matter how you shake or dance, the last three drops—

Come on, Guy said, quit playing with it. We’ve got to get to class.

Okay, okay, just one more shake and I’ll put Willie away.

You’ve got a name for it? God! . . . Oh-oh, there’s the bell now. Come on! Mrs. Smith will have a shit hemorrhage if we’re late.

Wait! That’s only the first bell. We’ve still got five minutes before we have to be in class. Besides, I really don’t care if she does have a fit. She never does anything about it anyway.

The door to the boy’s bathroom swung shut behind Dane and Guy as they headed back up the hall to the typing room. When they were about halfway there, a rather gruff voice called Dane’s name. It had to be Mr. Jensen, the school janitor who was—to hear most people talk—the one thing that kept the building from falling down. He’d been an integral part of the school ever since he became the one and only janitor the school had ever had, in 1910.

At eighty, Jed Jensen knew everything about the building and could fix any and all things that needed fixing. He was unmistakable with his head of thick, tousled red hair peppered with specks of white, and his large handlebar mustache of the same color—not exactly a sign of the times. On his right ankle resided the ever-present bicycle clip that kept one pant leg of his black-and-white-striped overalls tightly bound.

Dane figured he and his mom were the only people in town who couldn’t drive. After thinking about it, though, the one thing Dane knew for sure about Mr. Jensen was that if he came looking for anyone during school hours, he probably had a darn good reason. His fondness for climbing stairs had declined noticeably with each passing year.

Yes, Mr. Jensen, Dane answered. You want me?

Yes, I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t, he growled. It’s Adam. He told me a few minutes ago he didn’t feel well and had to go home. He looked a bit on the white side.

See ya in typing, Guy interjected. I don’t want Mrs. Smith bellowing at me.

Okay, I’ll only be a minute.

Before continuing, Mr. Jensen, not used to being interrupted, turned to Guy and gave him a look that would have made him pee his pants, if he had any left.

Adam won’t be here to do his work after school, so I would like you to clean his classrooms in addition to your own. Okay? You know he’d do the same for you if you were sick.

Sure thing, Mr. Jensen… . Sorry, but I’m going to have to hurry or I’ll be late for class. See you later.

Adam and Dane both worked as cleaners to earn a little extra pocket change. The school board paid them the princely sum of four dollars a week, which was probably less than an adult would have earned. But then, Dane didn’t mind; it kept him in snooker money. Snooker cost ten cents more than pool, but he preferred the difficulty of the larger table with its smaller pockets. He also preferred chess to checkers—the perfect analogy.

He had no idea what Adam did with his money, but he guessed he spent it mainly on taking April to the pictures, sitting in the back row and doing what they had been doing the entire lunch hour.

The second bell rang as Dane stepped into the typing room. Mrs. Smith was in the front, standing next to her desk with her arms folded across her chest. Right then and there she looked very much like the drill sergeant she had been during the war, and glared at Dane as if he had committed some treasonable offense.

Sorry I’m late, he uttered softly in a vain attempt to keep everyone from noticing he was the last one to come to class. Mr. Jensen stopped me in the hall.

That’s right, Mrs. Smith, Guy said, quickly coming to Dane’s defense.

Her look of disdain only abated after Dane had found his way to his typing desk and sat down.

Then, after a seemingly endless period of silence, Mrs. Smith said, in her most military manner, Don’t be late again, or the next time you will go straight to Mr. Boyer’s office.

Dane often imagined Mrs. Smith wished she had married Mr. Boyer, the school superintendent, rather than her jerk of a husband, Coach Smith, because every time he came anywhere near her, she would virtually fall apart. The thought of being with Mr. Boyer, who had reached the exalted rank of Major during the war, must have, Dane decided, made her grow weak in the knees in addition to going numb in the head.

Looking around, Dane couldn’t help but notice the empty desk next to his. On the first day of school when Mrs. Smith had assigned seats and he found that April was to be sitting next to him, he felt, Wow!—delight of the highest degree. Other than that, there was little he could find delightful about the class. Not only did his fingers refuse to cooperate and strike the right keys once in a while, he also found he had an equally uncooperative tongue whenever he summoned up enough courage to ask April for a date.

The room was warm. Warm enough, in fact, to have a couple of windows open even though the snow was falling heavier than before. Michelle raised her hand and waited impatiently for Mrs. Smith to acknowledge her.

Yes, Michelle, what is it? she asked in her usual stern manner.

Do you think we’ll get out of school early because of the weather? It looks as though we’re going to have a really bad blizzard, something similar to the last big storm in February. Remember? We didn’t have school for three days. Michelle spoke quickly, sounding more confident with each utterance.

It certainly does look as though some could have difficulty getting home this afternoon, Mrs. Smith said in a less menacing voice. Perhaps I’d better ask Mr. Boyer. I’ll only be a minute.

Dane thought her I’ll only be a minute had a noticeably sweet edge to it, most probably soothed by the image of her standing next to Mr. Boyer… the office counter being the only impediment between them and further familiarity.

God… he mumbled, feeling embarrassed by what he imagined to be her obvious delight.

You may open your books to lesson seventeen, she said as she walked out the door.

Everyone knew the chances of getting out early were practically zero, but still, there was always the hope that the Major—Dane thought he liked being called the Major—would weaken a little and send everyone home.

Not much chance of getting out early, Guy muttered. Anyway, I’ve never heard of a blizzard so late in the spring before.

When Dane looked out the window to check the weather conditions, he could see that Adam’s car had gone.

He must have left only a short time ago, he thought, because his car tracks haven’t been covered with snow. I wonder if he is sick… like Mr. Jensen said. Perhaps he and April have driven off somewhere and will be back soon. Anyway, she’s sure going to be in a lot of trouble for being late to class. It’s been at least five minutes since the second bell. I hope she comes in while Mrs. Smith is out of the room. Maybe she hasn’t noticed April isn’t in her seat.

Just then Mrs. Smith stepped back into the room, looking a bit red in the face.

What did he say, Mrs. Smith? I me-e-e-an, about getting out early? Michelle said with a hint of mischief in her voice.

Muffled laughter and giggling followed. No one would openly dare laugh at Mrs. Smith, but it was enough to make her ever-blushing face even more a contrast to her very blond hair.

She walked straight across the room to an open window and gazed out at the falling snow for a few moments.

She turned to the class looking considerably less flushed, and said softly, Delroy—I mean Mr. Boyer—informed me that if he and his troops could survive the Battle of the Bulge, then surely we should all be able to manage three more hours and still find our way home. I’ll take roll and then we can get on with our work.

Her voice was back to its usual stiffness.

Robert.

Here, Mrs. Smith.

Charlene.

Here, Mrs. Smith.

Guy.

Guy answered, sounding as though he would have loved to have been anywhere else. Here, Mrs. Smith.

Dane.

Here, Mrs. Smith.

April.

The teacher paused for a moment and then asked if anyone had seen her.

Michelle impishly replied before anyone else could answer. I haven’t seen her. I can’t imagine where she would be. I didn’t see her at all during lunch.

Again, there was a soft undercurrent of suppressed snickering from everyone but Dane. Guy turned and gave him an all-knowing wink, after which Dane raised his hand and said, She was with Adam in his car, just talking, the last time I saw her, Mrs. Smith.

In years to come, Dane always flushed with embarrassment whenever he remembered the harsh looks directed his way for giving away a secret known only to the entire student body.

CHAPTER II

Ten months earlier, the phone had rung at the Halden household just as Tonto had finally figured out how he and the Lone Ranger were going to get out of their latest mess.

If your buddy, Guy, is on the phone, talk quietly and get off quick, Dane’s father muttered while helping himself to another piece of cake.

The Lone Ranger was his favorite radio program and he didn’t allow conversation from six thirty to seven. Can’t you tell that kid not to call when we’re eating supper?

Okay, Dad, I’ll tell him.

It was Guy, asking Dane to meet him at the pool hall at seven thirty.

I’ll be there when I finish eating. See ya later, Dane answered.

Can I go out tonight, Mom? Guy wants to play snooker.

Didn’t you go out last night?

Yes, but it’s summer. It’s not like I have to get up for school, or something— Dane’s voice changed to an embarrassed whisper when he added, Oops, I nearly forgot.

All right, but first you and your brother have to do the dishes. The girls did them last night.

Okay, Mom.

And don’t be late. Remember, you start work early tomorrow. That’s your ‘or something.’

Yes, I remember, and I won’t be late.

A few minutes after and a quarter short, Dane was out the door, having bribed his younger brother, Jake, to do the dishes on his own.

Dane, along with Guy, Guy’s cousin David, Ronald, Guy’s younger brother, and Brent Fowler, last year’s most promising freshman athlete,