The Improbable Journeys of Billy Battles

Chapter 18-1

Chapter 18I remained in Saigon with Difranco and Linh Thi for

another month and then decided it was time to return to the United

States. I had received a long letter from my mother along with some

photos of Anna Marie, who was now almost eight. As I looked at

those photographs, I could see Mallie’s eyes and mouth. Anna Marie

was her mother’s daughter, and she was turning into a real

beauty.

My mother, who had turned sixty-one, spent

much of the letter pleading with me to return to Denver.

“Anna Marie needs a father,” she wrote. “She

asks after you often, and I am getting weary of making excuses for

you. And the McNabs, as kind and gracious as they are, probably

have had enough of me.”

The next day, I wrote back saying I would be

coming home within the next couple of months. With the mail to the

United States taking anywhere from thirty to forty-five days, I

hoped that my letter would arrive before I did. I also wrote a

letter to Katharina in Chicago, telling her that I would send her a

telegram once I reached San Francisco and that I looked forward to

seeing her in Chicago.

I was apprehensive about Katharina. I had

not written my mother or the McNabs about her. I wasn’t sure how to

explain what Katharina meant to me, primarily because I didn’t know

myself, though I knew I was enormously fond of her. I wasn’t sure

how they would take such a revelation. Would they think my

relationship with Katharina was appropriate, or would they see me

as some philandering widower?

I spent most of my time those last few weeks

with Difranco and Linh Thi. Occasionally, Dr. Son and his wife

joined us for dinner. We never discussed the events at Ba’s base

camp in Tay Ninh Province very often, and when we did, it was not

in earshot of the Linh Thi or Mrs. Son.

I found myself taking long solitary walks

through the streets of Saigon, taking in as much of the atmosphere

as I could. I loved the mixture of exotic odors—especially the

aroma of the street food. I would miss the melodious sounds of the

language that I still had not mastered, the sounds of the ships on

the Saigon River, and evenings sitting in one of Saigon’s

ubiquitous sidewalk cafes.

About a week before I left, Difranco

confided that he was planning on selling his black pepper

plantations and returning to Italy in a year or two. Linh Thi was

elated, but her family was not. They were already disappointed that

her marriage to a man who was almost twice her age had not produced

any grandchildren, and now they were about to lose their only

daughter also.

“You are lucky that you have a daughter,”

Difranco told me one evening as we sat in his garden, sipping

cognac. The comment generated a lump in my throat. He was right, of

course. But I had left Anna Marie in Denver while I went

gallivanting halfway around the world.

“I am just beginning to understand that

blessing,” I said. “Took me a while.”

“Don’t be too hard on yourself, William. You

probably needed this time to get yourself back on an even

keel.”

I wasn’t sure I agreed, but I appreciated

the sentiment. The next day, I visited the offices of William G.

Hale, who was the agent for the Pacific Mail and Steamship Co. in

Saigon and purchased a ticket to San Francisco. Difranco and Linh

Thi had a going-away party for me at their house. Just about

everybody I met during my two and a half years in Saigon came,

including Dr. Son, Major Friant, and Mr. DeCotte.

A week later, I was on a mail packet ship

bound for the Philippines where I would board the company’s

steamer, the SS Nile. The Nile was newer than the

China and larger—almost six thousand tons.

From the Philippines, the voyage to San

Francisco was another twenty-two days with stops in Hong Kong,

Nagasaki, Yokohama, and Honolulu. During that journey, I kept to

myself, writing in my journals and composing six or seven stories

for the Denver Sun. I was not eager to meet another baroness

in distress or another Oskar Eichel. I just wanted to get back to

the United States with as little trouble as possible. There were no

storms, no pirates, nothing to slow us down.

The Nile docked in San Francisco as promised

twenty-two days later. It was late afternoon, and I hailed a

hackney to the Palace Hotel. Once there, I sent three telegrams—one

to my mother and the McNabs in Denver; one to James Harris, editor

of the Denver Sun; and one to Katharina in Chicago.

The next morning, I bought a ticket on the

Atchison, Topeka & Santa Fe’s California Limited train that

would take me on the three-day, thirteen-hundred-mile journey to

Denver. It was the same train I had taken in the opposite direction

three years before, and it included four luxurious Pullman sleeping

cars, a club car, and a dining car catered by Fred Harvey

restaurants.

Just as it had three years ago, the Limited

took me through familiar territory, including Las Vegas, New

Mexico. As it did, I found myself recalling the gruesome events

almost nine years before at the Coker ranch. I thought about

Sheriff Lopez, Chan Bellamy, the Makepeace Brothers, and my cousin,

Charley Higgins—all of whom had joined me in my search for Nate

Bledsoe and his band of cutthroats.

And I thought about Giang Văn Ba, whom our

posse met wandering half dead through the New Mexico brush. I would

never have guessed that when I saw him again, he would be a

commander of anti-French guerillas in French Indochina.

The train trip from San Francisco to Denver

provided me with hours to reflect and record events and memories in

my journals. It also gave me time to think about what I would say

to my mother, the McNabs, and not least of all, to Anna Marie, who

was now an eight-year-old girl. I wondered if anything I said would

provide any justification for my departure to the Orient three

years before.

Then there was Katharina. I still had not

decided how to tell my mother or the McNabs about her when the

train pulled into Denver’s new Romanesque Union Station. As the

train lurched to a stop, I looked out the window. My heart was

pounding, and I felt more fearful and nervous than at any time

since the attack on Ba’s guerilla base camp. My eyes scanned the

platform, but I didn’t see anybody I knew. Had my mother and the

McNabs not received my telegram telling them when I was arriving?

Or were they so angry they simply refused to meet me at the

station?

I grabbed the same two leather satchels I

had left Denver with and stepped out onto the platform. I looked

for a porter because after three years away, I had accumulated

enough new clothing, souvenirs, and other knick-knacks that I

needed a steamer trunk to get it all back to Denver. As he loaded

the trunk and one of my satchels onto a baggage cart, I continued

to survey the platform looking for a familiar face.

When I didn’t see any, I signaled the porter

to follow me into the cavernous Great Hall of the main terminal.

Once there, I continued to look around for my mother and Anna

Marie. I wondered if I would recognize Anna Marie if I saw her. She

must have changed considerably in three years.

To say I was disappointed that I didn’t see

a friendly face in the crowd would be an understatement. In fact, I

was both dismayed and wounded. Of course, what did I expect? A

hero’s welcome home. I wasn’t a conquering hero returning from the

wars. I felt more like the prodigal son coming home from exile.

Union Station looked different from the way

it looked three years before. I mentioned that to the porter as we

walked toward the front of the station.

“Yes, sir, the old station burned down in

1894. This’n is only about a year old.”

As we reached the front of the station, I

was feeling a little sorry for myself. No one had come to meet me.

I began looking for a Hackney when I heard a voice amid the chatter

of the crowd, the cacophony of wagons, and the neighing of

horses.

It was small and weak, but I instinctively

knew it. It was Anna Marie.

“Papa, Papa!” The words melted my heart, and

my knees weakened for a moment. I turned around and around, trying

to locate the source of them. Then I heard them again.

“Papa, Papa, over here!” Finally, I saw her;

and when I did, I had tears in my eyes. She looked like a miniature

version of Mallie. She wore a blue and white knee-length dress,

black stockings, and button up boots. Her curly strawberry blonde

hair spilled onto her shoulders from under a large white hat

replete with ribbons and lace.

Next to her, I saw my mother and Mrs. McNab,

but my eyes focused only on Anna Marie as she ran toward me, her

eyes wide and a huge grin on her face. I was relieved. She was

obviously happy to see me.

When she reached me, I grabbed her and

lifted her up. She was almost twice as tall as when I last saw her

and a lot heavier.

“Papa, I knew you would come home again!”

she shouted as I held her tight in my arms.

“Well, sure, sweetheart… I will always come

home.” I swung her around and around. Her hat began to fall off,

and she grabbed it with both hands.

“Papa… my hat!” she squealed. I put her

down, and she grabbed my hand. “Come, Papa. Grandma and Oma are

right over here.” Oma was the German word for “grandmother”

that Anna Marie always used for my mother.

I looked to where Anna Marie was pointing. I

saw Mrs. McNab first. She hadn’t changed too much. Then I saw my

mother. She had changed. She wore a smile, but she looked weary and

much older than I recalled. As I got closer, she stepped forward

and put her arms around me. Anna Marie moved to Mrs. McNab.

“Welcome home, William.” Then she stepped

back to look at me. “Well, you have put on a few pounds, I see.

That oriental fare must have agreed with you.”

“Yes, but they don’t have your fried

chicken,” I said. I looked over at Mrs. McNab.

“You haven’t changed at all, Marguerita,” I

said.

Mrs. McNab smiled. “You are such a flannel

mouth, William. But I don’t mind at all.” Then she walked over and

hugged me. “Welcome home… we have missed you terribly—especially

Anna Marie.”

Anna Marie looked up at me. “Have I changed,

Papa?”

“Yes, you have… You are such a big girl now.

I hardly recognized you.”

We talked a while longer, and then we walked

to the McNabs’ carriage. It was late summer, and a brisk wind was

blowing in from the Rocky Mountains. I found myself shivering.

“My goodness,” my mother said. “You don’t

think it is cold, do you? Why, it’s sixty-five degrees.”

“Don’t forget, I’ve been in the tropics

where it gets above one hundred degrees regularly,” I said. Weather

as cool as this is considered the heart of winter. I guess I’ll

have to adjust.”

“Yes, I imagine you have a lot of adjusting

to do,” my mother said as she settled inside the carriage.

The first adjustment came as we pulled up to

the McNabs’ house. It was the house where I began courting Mallie,

where we spent hours and hours together discussing the future,

where I first kissed her. As we entered, I half expected to see

Mallie come bounding down the steps as she often did when I was at

the door. But there was no Mallie. Instead, I felt a tightness in

my chest and an ache in my throat. I stumbled a bit and for a brief

moment. My knees weakened.

“Are you all right, William?” my mother

asked, grabbing me by the arm.

My eyes watered slightly, and I wiped at

them with my jacket sleeve.

“It’s hard, coming back here. So many

memories.”

Mother squeezed my hand. “I know, I know…

but Anna Marie needs you, and so do I.”

Anna Marie had run into the house ahead of

us and was eager to show me her room.

“Papa, come up and see my room!” Anna Marie

shouted from the top of the stairs.