All We Have To Believe In , livre ebook

The Conrad Press - J Lousteau Jeffrey

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207 pages

English

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'All We Have To Believe In' is a captivating story of love and loss, of betrayal and redemption, set against the backdrop of America in the 1920s. Edward Dooley is a disillusioned veteran of the Great War who comes home to San Francisco, struggles to fit into a fast-changing society, and falls in love with the daughter of immigrants who is as headstrong as he is idealistic.

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Historical fiction

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Publié par	The Conrad Press
Date de parution	08 août 2020
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9781839780905
Langue	English

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0200€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

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ALL WE HAVE TO BELIEVE IN
Jeffrey J. Lousteau

All We Have To Believe In
Published by The Conrad Press in the United Kingdom 2020
Tel: +44(0)1227 472 874 www.theconradpress.com   info@theconradpress.com
ISBN 978-1-839780-90-5
Copyright © Jeffrey J. Lousteau, 2020
The moral right of Jeffrey J. Lousteau to be identified as author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved.
Cover: Palace of Fine Arts, San Francisco - Bernard Maybeck, Architect; image adapted from photograph collection of 1915 Panama-Pacific Exposition; History Center - San Francisco Public Library
Typesetting and cover composed by: Charlotte Mouncey, www.bookstyle.co.uk
The Conrad Press logo was designed by Maria Priestley.

To E, who made this possible

The winds out of the west land blow,
My friends have breathed them there;
Warm with the blood of lads I know
Comes east the sighing air.
from Stanza XXXVIII - A Shropshire Lad A.E. Housman

PART ONE

Chapter 1
May 1919
H e would remember it as a night gone terribly wrong – suspended in disbelief, then reaching for her sprawled unconscious at his feet, another casualty, one more innocent unprepared for the truth. What had she done to deserve it? For that matter, what had any of them done to deserve it? Clear answers would elude him, however, leaving only a nagging feeling of complicity…
The evening had begun with such promise, the world seemingly reborn as a sea breeze and the smell of jasmine filled the air with a sense of anticipation. From trolleys, touring cars, and horse-drawn carriages, guests had alighted at the Lombard Gate to the sounds of a stirring military tune in the distance. Ladies in diaphanous gowns were born along on the arms of men, a courtly procession on gravel paths lit by Japanese lanterns, culminating in a rose garden forecourt to the Parthenon, as re-imagined in Columbia River Basin timber. White-gloved Marines stood at attention before the backlit colonnade, red, white, and blue bunting ran along the entablature, and a banner below the pediment read “Welcome Home Boys!”
‘Look, Edward,’ Constance exclaimed, ‘it’s simply magnificent!’
‘Grand,’ he said distractedly as they paused before the edifice that four years earlier had been the Oregon Pavilion for the Panama-Pacific Exposition. ‘I used to see it from my barracks,’ he remarked, ‘—hovering out there in the fog, just like my dreams of a classical education…’
‘Oh, but you’re a hero now – you’ve helped win the peace!’ Constance said, prompting them on through the rose garden and passed the marine band.
Tall and rail-thin, his overseas cap covering a receding hairline, Edward Dooley knew he was no hero; he’d managed to survive, that was all. Delivered from the trenches the previous autumn and told he was free to pick up his life where he’d left off, he’d grown wary by the time the ferry pulled up to the docks of San Francisco two weeks ago. Tearful reunions with family and friends since then, a host of accolades, and an exuberant parade down Market Street had left him unsettled. It was all happening so fast – there was no time for reflection, for taking stock. But knowing that after this Victory Ball he could put away his uniform for good, he had resolved to push his doldrums aside and make the most of the evening.
Sensing this in his silence, Constance squeezed his arm. ‘Let’s enjoy ourselves tonight, shall we, Edward? Let’s be glad it’s finally over, and that you’re home safe and sound…’
If he felt more guilty than fortunate to have made it home with merely a knee injury, he also knew that everybody had been through trauma of some sort lately – whether the war or the influenza epidemic – and the last thing he wanted was to feel like an outsider. With his sweetheart caught up in the festive atmosphere and looking so pretty in her new indigo gown, Edward guided her into the stream of guests climbing the steps at the base of the pavilion.
At the top landing they had just taken up a spot beside a column to look out for his parents when Constance noticed a group of civilians at the great doors nodding to them deferentially. Holding her clutch in her gloved hands, she nudged Edward with her elbow. ‘See how grateful everyone is for your service!’ she said, before returning a happy wave.
Edward looked on benignly a moment. Though the gulf between his experience overseas and what people at home wanted to believe disturbed him, the evening’s promise of catharsis buoyed his spirits. Placing his arm around her shoulder, he said, ‘It’s good to be home.’
Constance looked up at him, her blue eyes sparkling. ‘Oh, let’s go inside, Edward!’ she said excitedly, turning to the great doors, ‘Your parents will find us somehow!’
The mood in the hall was boisterous, the music of a popular minstrel band nearly drowned out by laughter and shouted conversations. Society ladies in heavy silk gowns and dowagers in somber wool suits lingered at the coat check, passing judgment on the young women who were gathered like exotic birds at the edge of the dance floor, eagerly awaiting the opening ceremony. Patriotic deprivations were a distant memory now, so eager were they to preview their stylish hats and slim-line chiffon frocks – Georgette crepe for Constance, with a light blue taffeta sash and matching bonnet. Such festive colors were offset by military men in olive drab uniforms, business leaders and public officials in black tie. Smoke from cigars and cigarettes rose with the laughter, high above the bunting, balloons, and crystal chandeliers, swirling around the golden eagle atop the proscenium arch.
Edward didn’t recognize many other soldiers – most men from his regiment, the 362 nd , were already back in their hometowns across the Pacific Northwest. Steering Constance through the commotion, they made their way to the hospitality station at the north end of the hall, where they were relieved to link up with her brother as planned.
‘It’s a miracle we could find each other in this bedlam!’ Morgan shouted as he shook Edward’s hand and kissed his sister on the cheek.
‘I had no idea it would be such a big deal,’ Edward yelled back. ‘I doubt the boys of the San Francisco corps have ever been assembled together in one room!’
Plucking two glasses of punch from the bar and handing them to Edward, Morgan said with a wink, ‘These are the ones who made it back…’
Morgan Doherty had been a classmate of Edward’s at Sacred Heart, the Christian Brothers high school where the aspiring merchant class of Irish ancestry sent their sons. Quick-witted but slight of stature, he’d taken to Edward immediately for what he mistook as aloofness (in fact, Edward had been shy, but with two older brothers he’d earned a pass with schoolyard bullies.) Despite differences in their stations, they’d become fast friends – they enjoyed discussing their favorite books, going to the pictures together, and afterward ambling through the lobbies of the city’s opulent hotels. Edward came to know Constance, four years Morgan’s junior and then under the tutelage of the nuns at Convent of the Blessed Sacrament, by spending many happy afternoons at the Doherty’s genteel home.
Now seeing her delighted by all the pageantry, Edward grew nostalgic. Though he’d been compelled to quit high school after his family’s business foundered, he was touched when Morgan had vowed not to let their friendship lapse; as for Constance, she’d looked up to Edward all the more for his sense of responsibility. The three had been inseparable at the Panama-Pacific Exposition, ending each day in the Court of the Universe, where Morgan, then in college, would recite poetry by the fountain and ignore their snickering. Reunited once again, Edward’s blue-grey eyes twinkled as the three of them took in the splendor of the Victory Ball.
‘Look – there’s Mayor Rolph!’ Constance called out as a spotlight streaked across the dance floor, catching up to a dapper man in a top hat making his way to the stage. The musicians lurched from a ragtime number to a military drum roll as the Presidio Commandant, an officious, bespectacled man, tried in vain to call the crowd to order.
When a measure of decorum had descended over the gathering, the beaming mayor declared, ‘It is my honor to stand here on behalf of this great city…the Queen of the Pacific that was nearly vanquished just thirteen years ago…to recognize America’s ascendance in world affairs…and welcome home our heroic sons of San Francisco – I promise to be brief…’
The crowd erupted in delirious cheers, and as Mayor Rolph bowed to the military brass assembled on stage to his right, Morgan quipped, ‘I don’t recall Sunny Jim ever being brief.’ Constance giggled, while Edward surveyed the crowd, looking for his parents.
Holding his right hand aloft until the cheering had subsided, the mayor then proclaimed in his melodious baritone, ‘We bade you valiant men in uniform bon voyage when you set off for France…part of a vast army of deliverance whose deeds in the face of a relentless foe…turned the tide of battle…’ here he brought his fist down to the podium for emphasis, ‘and made as certain as fate the overwhelming victory won by Allied arms!’
A great roar rose up and shouts of ‘Hear! Hear!’ echoed in the rafters as the mayor waved majestically to the crowd.
After the army chaplain had invoked God’s blessing, the Mayor and the Commandant turned to the gigantic American Flag that formed the backdrop to the stage and tried leading the crowd in the Pledge of Allegiance. But with their backs to the audience the effort faltered, and to keep the ceremony from unraveling altogether the Mayor quickly returned to the podium to present the Commandant with a proclamation from the city’s Board of Supervisors. Much o