Chapter Forty

JUNE 1945

If only Marshall had telephoned ahead, Joe could have met him at the train platform or Olney and his kids would have been there. Maybe, if there’d been enough people around, those guys wouldn’t have jumped him.

The news came because Chester had run down a half hour after the first train to check for passengers and found Marshall beaten and prostrate in the bushes by the side of the road. Joe was already racing out the door, Celia close on his heels, by the time Gladys Percy had picked up the telephone to call the town doctor.

Joe was at Marshall’s side, dressing wounds and swearing in Italian words that he knew would have made a sailor blush, when a car pulled up.

An older man carrying a black bag got out and knelt beside Joe, who was struggling to remain steady on one knee. “A fine job. May I take over?”

“Doc,” Marshall moaned. His eyes, despite their beating and swelling, tried to focus.

“Rest easy, my son.”

Joe straightened. “Dr. Vishnevsky?”

Doc Vishy nodded. “And you must be Joe. Marshall wrote me about you. I’m glad you were here, Joe.” The doctor spoke while deftly running his hands over Marshall, who moaned only when the doc reached his ankle. “Nothing broken, I think, but a bad sprain.”

Joe allowed Chester to help him to his feet as Doc Vishy braced Marshall’s leg.

“Followed me off the train and jumped me before I knew what was happening.” Marshall’s breathing came hard. “Shoulda known better than to get off with nobody around. I thought they’d leave me alone, my uniform and all.”

“Who were they?” Chester demanded.

“Don’t know.” Marshall had a hard time talking through swollen lips. “Nobody I recognized.”

“But why?” Joe pleaded. Why, God? Why now?

“To control through fear, to make certain that nothing changes here.” Dr. Vishnevsky spoke through clenched teeth. “Still, even after this war, they are ignorant of the equality of men.”