Chapter Four
“Rollin’ Stone”
July 11, 1955
Red Rocks Amphitheater
Denver, Colorado
Grab a chance and you won’t be sorry for a might have been.
—Arthur Ransome, We Didn’t Mean to Go to Sea
Hank McCluney turned his thoughts away from the Academy and studied the stage, now filled with Boy Scouts from La Junta, Colorado. Dressed in authentic Koshare Indian garb, they danced to the beat of drums and Native American chants. They moved deftly in a circle, darting in and out of shadows, making the outdoor performance seem mystical.
The wooden benches surrounding the stage were packed with honored guests and dignitaries from the Academy dedication ceremony; they had been bussed from a massive barbecue to the outdoor amphitheater immediately after Rod’s swearing-in ceremony. The stars shone brilliantly overhead, burning bright in the thin, cold Colorado air, looking as diamonds glittering in the clear sky. The air was crisp and biting.
A sheet of massive red sandstone rose up around the stage, creating a natural amphitheater. Wooden benches were set on a steep hill with sandstone guardians on either side of the aisle. It was the perfect setting for the perfect ending of a perfect day.
Hank McCluney put his arm around his wife as she pulled a blanket tightly about them. Although she was a head taller than he, she moved her head to his shoulder. She still wore her green Coachman dress and white gloves, looking out of place in the casually dressed crowd, but she always dressed well and carried an air of elegance about her.
Hank kissed her head. “Pence for your thoughts, lass.”
She snuggled up against him, not looking up. “They say his education will be worth over forty thousand dollars.”
“I can’t stop thinking about him, either,” Hank said, admitting where his own mind had been drifting. “I just hope he learns not to be so impulsive. Or obstinate. That will get him dismissed more than any other reason.”
He had thought parting with Jean-Claude would be easier than this. Leaving Mary during the War had been tough, but they’d both known they wouldn’t go through the experience alone. The whole nation had been behind them then, and in many ways it had been easy to be apart, even though they both knew there was a chance he wouldn’t return. But at least everyone shared in the experience, from Speedy Beaumont, his wingman in combat, to the ladies’ circles back in San Bernardino.
Now they were alone. Tonight, once the last speech had been given, the last tickertape floated to the ground, and after the janitors had cleaned up the spilled drinks, he knew that Jean-Claude would still be at Lowry Field, with three hundred of his classmates; and it was Rod now, not the little boy he’d rescued in France so many years ago.
It shouldn’t have been a big deal, but with the anticipation that had built up over a decade of struggling to establish the Academy, it was as though he had climbed the world’s largest mountain, and once reaching the top, was suddenly left with nothing more to do. He just wished that Rod and he had parted on better terms.
Mary spoke into his coat. “How hard would it be to stay another day, change the train tickets and sightsee, so we wouldn’t have to leave so soon?” Rod’s departure had hit her hard—this wasn’t the independent woman he’d known all his life. She’d been that way since they’d married, a no-nonsense Scottish girl from the east Texas town of Tyler. They’d known each other for years, from two families of a dozen who’d emigrated from the Lowlands to work the newly discovered oil fields. She wasn’t afraid to set him straight, to speak her mind. And when she knew what she wanted, she wasn’t one to ask; she just did it. Rod really was like her: persistent, yet impulsive.
A surge of memories tugged at Hank. Rod had been with him years ago at General Fairchild’s review of the siting options for the Academy.
He’d always enjoyed taking Rod with him on such trips, but he wished Rod hadn’t been with him that last night at the Hay-Adams Hotel in Washington, D.C.; the lad was too young to be exposed to hardball politics. Thank goodness Rod hadn’t seen that woman forcing herself on him; Hank had known immediately that George Delante was behind it, blackmailing him for insider information, but Rod would have never understood.
Rod was just too damn stubborn for his own good, not to mention brash and impetuous; but unlike Mary, the lad reacted without thinking. He’d known that ever since Rod had killed that German. So Hank knew that if he was ever going to turn things around with the lad, then he had to be patient.
But with Rod starting his new life, he may never have the chance.
Hank whispered, “It shouldn’t be too hard to change our tickets. People do it all the time.”
Mary said, “I’d like to see some of the places you wrote about when you were on the Site Commission: Garden of the Gods, Manitou Springs, Pike’s Peak.…”
Hank pulled her close. “We won’t be able to see him until next summer, even if we stayed. And don’t worry about Rod. I’m sure they’re taking care of him.”
She looked up sharply. “This isn’t about Rod, husband. This is about me.”
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