Book Of Ruth

Forgiveness

By the time I return to Zell am See, my stomach is clenching with hunger. I haven't eaten since the previous afternoon. After returning the vehicle to the hospital, I march down the street.

My thoughts have been consumed with Leon since dropping off Florence. I led him to believe I would be waiting when he woke from surgery. I wish I had been honest.

The memory of his confession has left a stain on my memory, warping how I have seen him from the beginning. I should never have told him my name that first day. I wish I had ignored him and wrapped up his leg. Left that day with Lawrence and never spoken with him again.

I wish I had never met Leon Wagner.

Gathering myself at the door of the small bakery, I enter the warm, doughy air of the establishment. A small line leads up to the counter. I take my place behind three others.

The door opens once more, sunlight spilling across the tiled floor. I peek over my shoulder and see a young black serviceman removing his hat. He looks to be around 19 years old. He nods to me and I return the favor mechanically, too overwhelmed by the bee's nest in my brain.

"Got here just in time, I see," he comments, rubbing his head as he takes his place in line behind me.

"Looks to be that way," I reply, lifting my brows. "Transportation corps?"

"Been here since last summer."

"Red Ball Express?"

"Sure thing. How long you been here?"

"We arrived a couple days after D-Day."

He makes a low hum in his throat as a few other servicemen enter the Bakery. "I'm Leon Gardner."

I almost scoff at the irony, but manage to keep my face straight. "Ruth Tucker."

"Nice to meet you, Miss Tucker. Where you from?"

"West Virginia-"

Our conversation is cut short as an American paratrooper punches the back of Leon Gardner's shoulder, shoving him forward. He catches himself before stumbling into me.

"I can't believe they let you people in here." The man snarls, chewing on the end of a cigar. His accent has a southern, country edge like mine. "Getto the back of the line, boy."

Leon Gardner turns as though he is about to say something, but the man's friend comes up alongside him. They are both bigger than him. It would be a massacre if things came to blows.

"You heard him," the other man snaps in a thick New Yorker accent.

My mouth goes dry as Leon Gardner peers over at me. He lets out a slow breath before trudging to the back of the line with his fists clenched. I feel sick. The instigator blows a cloud of smoke in my face, his thin mouth is more like a paper cut than lips.

"Sorry 'bout the unpleasantness, sweetheart." The New Yorker grins.

My turn at the counter, I study the ruddy, impatient countenance of the Austrian baker. And I realize. I have done nothing.

My family lives in a coal mining town in the hills, the population almost entirely made of poor white. But West Virginia has segregation laws I have known of my entire life. It never affected me, so I've never thought about it. 

I am no better than the men pushing Leon Gardner to the back to the line. No different from Leon Wagner with one less leg in a lonely hospital bed.

"Well? What will it be," the baker demands.

I blink. "Just a moment."

I lift a hand and peer back to theend of the line. By sheer chance, I manage to catch Leon Gardner's attention. I wave him up wordlessly with lifted eyebrows. He smirks quizzically before walking towards me. I push him ahead.