Riley & Ben Life Offers Second Chances

CHAPTER 1

August 21, 1941

Riley McHaney adjusted the visor to block the blinding rays of the setting sun. His wife, Claire, nursed their infant son in the seat behind him. Her father snored rhythmically, his mouth ajar. Sikeston was only a few miles away. They would be home from their day trip to Halls in time for supper, and baby Ben would have a normal bedtime. Trying to make out the numbers on the highway sign at the intersection ahead, Riley rubbed his eyes with his sleeve.

He heard the crunch of steel against steel and felt the wheel spin out of his hand. A kaleidoscope of reds, browns and blues whirled before his eyes. Then nothing. For several heartbeats Riley lay in a pile of loose dirt gasping for breath. The smell of gasoline seared his nostrils. His whole body ached. The sound of metal shearing and glass breaking rang in his ears, masking the screams that seemed to come from far away. He stumbled toward the crumpled steel lying thirty feet away that had been his father-in-law’s Chevrolet. Nearby, two of its hubcaps mirrored the sun. A barely damaged Kenworth tractor-trailer sat in the middle of the intersection, its motor still running, its driver scrambling to get out of the cab. When he reached what was left of the car, Riley saw Arthur Clinton still in his seat with a jagged sheet of glass piercing his chest and his shirt drenched in blood. He spotted Claire lying on the ground, clutching her stomach.

“Sweetheart,” he said as he dropped to her side.

Blood gushed from Claire’s midsection. She whispered, “Where’s Ben?”

Riley frantically scanned the road. “It’s okay, sweet. I see him.”

As if those words gave her permission, the light of life went out of Claire’s eyes. Riley gathered her to him and wept.

"Tell Cox Funeral Home we have two for them," the investigating officer who arrived eight minutes later barked into his two-way radio. “And alert Sikeston General. We’re sending over a baby with hardly any pulse."

Two medics pulled Riley away from Claire and strapped him onto a gurney in the ambulance with his son. Then, siren screaming, they sped toward the small privately owned hospital that served that southeast Missouri town of four thousand.

"This man doesn’t have any visible injury,” the medic told the attending physician at the hand-off. “But this baby is probably a goner. His skull is fractured, and glass shards are sticking out all over his head. He went through the window. We found him on the pavement, 40 feet away."

As he was rolled into an examining room, Riley saw nurses dressing the back of Ben’s skull and another removing glass from his scalp, gently dabbing each cut with alcohol. Riley immediately recognized Dr. Allen Buckley walking up with a stethoscope hanging from his neck and a penlight in his hand.

“Hello, Riley. The medics say you have no broken bones, and your blood pressure is normal. So, I only need to check a few things while the nurses clean up your baby. Look at my light, please. Up, down, right--don’t blink--left.”

Dr. Buckley returned the penlight to his pocket.

“Looks good,” he said. “Now, sit up, unbutton your shirt and breathe deeply.”

Dr. Buckley moved the head of the scope from place to place on Riley’s chest and back. “That’s good. Does this hurt? Good. How about this? Good. Now let’s check your reflexes. Very good. You can button your shirt now.”

The doctor tore off the top sheet of the pad he had scribbled on and handed it to Riley. “You don’t have any broken or displaced bones, and you don't show any signs of internal bleeding. You’ll be sore for a couple of days. This prescription will help with that. You don’t need to be admitted. Just get some rest. Let us know if you develop a severe headache or start throwing up.”

Dr. Buckley’s voice cracked as he continued, "I'm heartbroken about Claire. I delivered her twenty years ago, and I was at your wedding.”

Grief overcame Riley. He grabbed the physicians arm for support.

“Your son is two doors down the hall,” Buckley said. “Give me a few minutes with him, then you can come in.”

Ten minutes later a nurse directed Riley to the tiny room designated for infant emergency care. Riley hesitated before entering. All he could see of his swaddled son was a profile of bandages and tubes. If his legs had co-operated, Riley would have fled. Instead, he collapsed into the chair by the bed, buried his head in his hands and moaned. He tried to recall the accident but couldn’t. He felt a hand on his shoulder and recognized a voice.

“I can’t tell you how sorry I am,” Claire’s uncle Jim said. “I’ve just come from Millie. She’s in a bad way and had to be sedated. Alan told me he didn’t think you needed to be admitted, so I can take you home. Or to Millie’s if you prefer.”

“I’ll stay here with Ben for a while, then I’ll come to Millie’s. Without Claire, I don’t want to go home. Don’t wait for me, though. I’ll walk over when I’m ready.”

“Take your time, son,” Jim Clinton said. “Dr. Buckley and his staff are doing all they can for Ben. I’ll tell everyone you’ll be over later.”

Riley thought of when he met Claire two years before.

“May I help you?” she’d said in the gentlest, kindest voice he had ever heard.

“I’d like to cash my paycheck,” he’d replied. His voice came out gruffer than he’d intended, and without exactly knowing why, he was nervous. Was it simply this young woman’s charm, or was it more? Did she feel the same spark he did? Was she the woman he had been searching for since he, freshly certified as a linotype operator arrived in Sikeston two months earlier, ready to show the world he could stand on his own two feet, and eager to start a new life?

“You don’t have an account with us, do you?” Claire had said. “Why not open one?” Her eyes, which looked hazel in the indoor light, had locked on his while her slender hand pushed a pen toward him. Her nails were perfect ovals.

Riley leaned over the counter to get closer to the slight scent of gardenias coming from her reddish-brown hair and to try to guess her height, which couldn’t be over five feet.

“I only have a few minutes,” he said. “My lunch break is over at one.”

“It’ll only take a moment. Aren’t you Riley McHaney, the new man at Uncle Jim’s newspaper? I’m Alice Claire Clinton. My friends call me Claire.”

Riley turned crimson. Claire smiled, handed him the form he needed to sign, took $45 out of the drawer, watched Riley sign the signature card and handed him the cash.

“Hope to see you again,” Claire said as she turned away.

“Would you like to see Mr. Smith Goes to Washington Saturday night?” he stammered.

Claire turned and said, “Let’s not wait till Saturday.”

Within six weeks they were engaged. Three months later they were married. Their trip to Halls that day was to introduce him and Ben to Claire’s Aunt Ann.

Staring out the hospital window, Riley remembered their first year together: How beautiful Claire had been on their wedding day, carrying a small bouquet of calla lilies, wearing the delicate wedding gown her mother had made and her petite white shoes. How happy she had appeared when Reverend Morgan pronounced them man and wife before two dozen well-wishers at the First Presbyterian Church of Sikeston. Why had he not joined that church, even though he had been taught that the Church of Christ was the one true church? It would have made Claire so happy.

Riley left the hospital certain that he had seen Ben alive for the last time. He walked past the Bank, past Rexall Drugs and Beard Chevrolet and turned down White Oak Street to Millie Clinton’s small Craftsman style house at the end of the block. He pulled himself up the steps and sat down on the swing where he had proposed to Claire less than two years before. It still creaked as it swung. He thought about their last meal together and how happy Claire was for her aunt to finally meet him and their baby. He thought about the hordes of Aunt Ann’s friends who had come to see baby Ben and him for the first time, who would never see the baby or Claire again. He wondered why Arthur, who seldom drank, had taken that nip of Four Roses after dinner that required him to turn over the driving to Riley. He wondered why the sun had blinded him at the instant he reached that damn intersection.

A man with a gold cross on his lapel opened the front door. Riley recognized him as the minister who had married them. What was his name? He hesitated, then took the cleric’s extended hand.

"I’m Reverend Morgan, Millie’s pastor. Chief Kelly gave us a full report.” The minister beckoned Riley to follow him inside.

“Mildred’s in her bedroom sleeping off her sedative. She blames herself. She thinks that if she had gone to Halls with you, Arthur and Claire would still be alive. The family and some friends are in the living room. Would you like to join them?” Riley wasn’t up to talking with anyone. He wanted to be alone with his grief, his guilt, and his thoughts of Claire.

“How many stars can we see in the sky tonight?” Claire had asked as they walked hand in hand home from their third movie date. He loved her inquisitive mind, which matched her quick wit.

“Well, it’s not cloudy tonight but there’s a full moon, so we won’t see as many. Still too many to count. Why?”

“I want to know how many wishes I can make.”

“Do you need a different star for each wish?”

“Of course, silly,” she’d said. “You can’t wish on the same star twice. Everybody knows that. I want to wish us happiness every day for the rest of our lives.”

Claire stood on tiptoes when they reached her house and kissed him. That kiss told Riley she was as ready for him as he was for her.

They had married in February. Ben was born in December.

Some twenty minutes had passed when Riley, still lost in his thoughts, saw a woman wearing a tattered robe approach. She was slightly built and a bit taller than Claire, with almost identical facial features. Riley stood to embrace her.

"I'm so sorry, Mother Millie,” he said. “I wish it had been me. Please forgive me."

“There’s nothing to forgive,” Millie Clinton said. “It was an accident. The Lord will get us through this."

"Why didn't the Lord get me through that intersection?" Riley said.

"Let's not question His ways, Riley. When I first learned Arthur and Claire were dead, I wanted to kill myself. Fortunately, the nurse who came with Jim gave me something that knocked me out instantly. An hour later I was still groggy, barely able to listen to Reverend Morgan assuring me that Arthur and Claire are with God, and that He will give me the strength to bear this loss. With God’s help, I will be strong for Ben, Riley. You must be strong also. Ben needs us.”

“Why?” Riley said. “There’s nothing we can do for him. God doesn’t give a damn about me or my son." Anger saturated his words. He braced for Millie's lecture against swearing and her spirited defense of the Almighty, the power and majesty of whom had been drilled into him every Sunday since childhood and at weeklong revivals every summer.

The next morning his mother called. Her first words were, “Have funeral arrangements been made?”

“Millie is planning a joint funeral for Claire and Arthur Tuesday at eleven at the First Presbyterian Church. She considered delaying the service a day because of Ben. I’m glad she didn’t.”

Riley’s voice broke and he paused for a moment. “Losing Claire is so painful, Mother. I can’t talk about it, even with you. I let Millie select Claire’s casket. I wouldn’t have spent so much—certainly wouldn’t have bought a vault for it. Dust to dust. That’s the way it should be.”

“You’ll get through this, Riley. Put your trust in the Lord. He’ll give you strength.”

“I haven’t been on good terms with the Lord for a long time,” Riley replied.

“Don’t say that,” his mother snapped. “You grew up in God’s church. Trust Him.”

“Let’s not get into that again, Mother,” Riley said. “You dragged me to church till I was sixteen and could get a Sunday job. If the Lord wanted to save me, he had plenty of time to do it. Now let’s change the subject. You’ll come to the funeral, won’t you?”

“Certainly. I’ll get Mrs. Van Cleave to take me to the bus in Dyersburg. I’ve written everyone about Claire’s death. Eugene’s always on the road and Nora has a two-year-old, so they won’t be able to come. Of course, William can’t come."

“I understand,” Riley said. “It’s enough that you will be here.”

“I’d better hang up now,” Mrs. McHaney said. “No telling how much this call is costing. Get some rest, son. I’ll pray for you.”

“Thank God I’m off that bus,” Riley’s mother said the next afternoon as she hung her hat on the coat rack by his front door. “After three and a half hours in this heat, I need a bath and some lunch. I’ve been up since 5:30 and haven’t eaten since breakfast. I couldn’t bring myself to buy anything along the way. Too expensive.”

Riley put his mother’s things in his bedroom and placed the spare set of sheets on the arm of the sofa, which was not quite long enough to accommodate his five-foot eleven-inch frame but would work for a night or two. While his mother freshened up, he lit the front burner of the Magic Chef to warm the rest of the soup, and set saltines, sweet gherkins, and butter on the table for lunch.

“Doesn’t visitation begin at four this afternoon?” Mrs. McHaney said as she emerged from the bedroom, dressed in black. “We need to be there by three forty-five.”

“Uncle Jim is letting his son Bill run a shuttle service for us,” Riley said. “But as you noticed at the bus station, it’s hard to squeeze into the back seat of Bill’s coupe. We could walk. Cox’s is only five minutes away.”

“In this heat? I’d keel over. Let’s eat lunch. Then call Bill.”

For a few moments, except for the occasional slurp of soup and the crunch of crackers, Riley and his mother ate in silence. Then she spoke.

“If Ben dies, will you stay in Sikeston?”

“If that happens, I’d like to get as far away from here as I can.”

“If he lives, what will you do?”

“Honestly, Mother, I haven’t worked that out. At first, everyone said he would die. Now, with no reason other than that he hasn’t died yet they say he might live. I don’t know how long he’ll be in the hospital, or how much care he’ll need if he survives, so it’s hard to make plans. I won’t be able to stay home and take care of him ‘cause I need to get back to work, and I can’t afford a housekeeper. I don’t like it. I just don’t believe I have any choice other than to stay in Sikeston and let Millie help me raise him.”

“Has she offered to keep Ben?”

“Yes,” Riley said. “Although I’ll have to pay her something and she’ll have to go to work herself—at least part time. Arthur mortgaged their house to get money to buy the paper with Jim. I don’t know the details. I do know there isn’t enough money to go around.”

“How do you feel about your mother-in-law raising your son?” Mrs. McHaney asked. Riley’s jaw twitched.

“Absolutely rotten,” he said. “Of course, I want what’s best for Ben. I certainly want him to recover and have as full a life as possible. He’s my responsibility and I love him, but I’m limited in how much time I can give him and in how much medical treatment I can afford. Whatever Millie could do for Ben would help. I just don’t want her to take over his life. I don’t want him to grow up thinking I abandoned him.”

“I know it’s painful, Riley,” Mrs. McHaney said as she rose and put her arms around Riley, “but you’ll get through this. You’ll never abandon Ben. Keep in mind—a more financially secure life is not necessarily a better life. A father can give his son a lot more than money. You’ve only lived in Sikeston a couple of years and none of your family is here. You don’t have to stay.”

“You’re right. I don’t. However, I have a job here, and anywhere I go I’ll have the same problem of finding someone to keep Ben while I work. Millie has arranged for the woman who lives next door to her to keep Ben weekdays for a dollar a day and Millie would keep him at night and on weekends. I could walk to Millie’s to see him as often as possible and when he’s old enough, he could live with me.”

"Or Nora could keep him," his mother said.

Three months later Japan bombed Pearl Harbor. Three months after that Riley was drafted. One month later he married Eileen Crosley, a beautiful twenty year old he met on a bus. Riley did not tell Eileen about his son until the day before their wedding.