What Stella Left Behind

Chapter 1

Duchess of Duluth Welcomes President Harry S. Truman!

Duluth Sentinel, October 13th, 1948

When you upstage the President of the United States, well, that’s something.

Celeste and Roger Thompson had been on their way to Duluth to see Harry Truman on his whistle-stop re-election tour when the bumpy rural road broke Celeste’s water. Banners flew, horns blew, and the drums rolled. She had never seen him speed, and he had never heard her swear, but to a tune from the President’s marching band, they careened into the hospital parking lot. They didn’t get to see the President but got a baby daughter instead.

Little Stella Thompson was a homely little thing at 7 pounds and 23 inches long. She took after her lanky father—square jaw and hair… well, everywhere. And to top it off, there was a pink birthmark in the shape of a star in front of her right ear.

She had a face only her parents could love. And they did.

Poor little thing, Stella was born into an uphill battle and a challenge that only a gifted spirit that was hers alone could surmount, tackle, champion, and ultimately win in a way that was only hers.

The city heralded her arrival. That’s what Celeste and Roger would always say, although the fanfare was for the President. It was their private joke. Excitement filled the hospital and spilled into the streets. Everyone was caught up in the celebrity! The Duchess of Duluth, a pretty girl named Jackie Galvin, was going to be plastered all over the papers, reading an official welcome to him. Stella’s parents had been so excited that the President of the United States was just a few miles away, they had hopped in their car and raced into the city to try and see him.

The new mother lay in her hospital bed, holding her little bundle in her arms, filled with ultimate love.

“What should we name her?” Celeste gazed into the little face who was trying out her new eyes and looking up at her mother for the first time.

“I couldn’t love you both more. She is my ‘Little Star’, my Stella.” Roger was awestruck at the depth of his adoration. He caressed the tiny pink cheek with the dark pink star tenderly.

“Perfect.” Celeste was thankful for her new daughter, for her loving husband, and as she drifted off to sleep, she remembered those early days of their love.

Friday night at the dance hall, and the weather had been exceptionally warm for the last weekend of May. It was the Decoration Day dance, and with the end of the war, it took on a deeper significance. Celeste heard that Roger Thompson was back from France. Excitement lit up the air like the bulb lights strung through the trees as Celeste went into the hall with her friends, who made up most of the girls from the small town. The boys were BACK!!

Music streamed out the doorway as the girls swept through into the warm, darkly lit room. The beat from “Ballerina” thrummed into their bones, the warmth of the room caressed their arms, and their eyes systematically scouted out the boys from their childhood; the boys who they might have loved from afar in their adolescence, through the war, and now could love up close, now that they were home. It was going to be a hot night in many ways.

Celeste watched as the more outgoing girls zeroed in on the most popular boys. They could have them. She was never drawn to the really handsome boys. They never treated her friends properly. They were too caught up with their own good looks, thinking that alone made them special. Yeah, maybe up to a point, but your looks won’t get you respect if you cheat, or get you a job if you’re a slacker. Celeste knew you had to earn respect and work hard to get ahead.

Her father owned the hardware store in town, and she saw too many popular boys go through the ranks of employment, expecting to go somewhere with just a fancy smile and no work, or be promoted as a result of excellent sales, only to be exposed as a thief. She saw it happen every year and, as a result, she knew the character and integrity of almost every guy in the small town of Anderson, nestled between the Precambrian Shield and prairie farms, near Duluth, Minnesota.

Celeste watched closely as her friends slowly, one by one, slipped their arms around or into the crooks of the elbows of long-lost friends and lovers, and spun them onto the dance floor. She watched in amusement, wondering if Roger would show up. She hoped he would.

He was different from every boy she had known. Tall, a bit of a philosopher, and quiet, he wasn’t like the other guys. He knew how to handle himself, and with his quiet confidence, he was the one Celeste was intrigued by. She didn’t really expect him to show up. She was just there for the fun of seeing her friends finally dance and swoon with the boys they had been dreaming about for four long years.

Celeste loved the music but was too shy to dance with anyone. She loved seeing the interaction of her friends as they danced and flirted with the guys. She was no match. There was no way she could handle herself with all those loud and aggressive boys. She secretly wished Roger would come so she could have a nice, quiet conversation with him.

The night wore on, and as much as Celeste loved being there, she realized she was the only one who was alone the whole night. It was time to go. She’d had a great time, but the night belonged to those who had found a friend, companion, lover… who knew? Yes, time to go.

She made her way through the crowd and found the entrance. Heaving the heavy door open, the night blasted her face with fresh air. She pushed through and let the door swing closed from its own weight. Standing in the moonlight and the hushed sounds of the night, Celeste smiled as the muted music thronged inside. She was happy to be done with it, but a mild disappointment lingered.

“Hello, Celeste.” The deep voice from the shadows reached out to her and made her heart skip a beat.

“Roger?” She smiled in the half-light. Looking up at the moon, she couldn’t believe his timing as he moved toward her from behind a tree. She had given up on him.

He stepped out of the shadows and into the moonlight. His face was, as usual, a mask of nothing. A genuine smile. No pretense. And that was what she liked about him.

“No dancing tonight?” He was a hulk in the night, but somehow endearing.

“Not yet”, she said, smiling. “How about you?”

“I can’t dance.” He looked down. “And anyway, my shoelace is undone.”

Excuses.

The music shifted as the band slowed down and sang, “Near You”.

Something made Celeste move toward Roger, and in a reckless moment without a plan, she bent and tied his shoelace, stood, and took his hands and put one on her waist, the other held high, and she moved toward him and gently urged him into a dance to the rhythm of the poignant music inside the building.

There’s just one place for me, near you. It’s like heaven to be near you.

A spell took over them, and they became two different people. Gone was the shy woman, and gone was the awkward man. They moulded their bodies together and swung and stepped as one. They swayed and swirled, looking into each other’s eyes, and from that dance on, they were committed.

Celeste loved his gentle presence, and Roger loved her compassion. She didn’t care that he wasn’t suave, and he didn’t care that she was quiet. He was huge, and she was small. He was smitten, and she was dazzled.

“You are my stars, my lights in the dark, my Celeste,” he whispered to her ear.

“You are my man, my fortress, to keep me safe,” she whispered back.

It was 1947, and the world was recovering and hopeful. Roger had come home to his family farm near the small Minnesota town after fighting in France. He had been a pilot and had had a bird’s eye view of the beauty of the towns and countryside being blown to pieces. It had affected him deeply. He loved the country, with the rolling hills and lush forests. They reminded him of home.

The towns were delicate and different from Minnesota. They had a history that oozed tradition, culture, and beauty. It broke his heart to see the ancient churches and bistros and farmhouses torn in half so that the world could gaze in horror at the inside of people's shattered lives. The intimate clocks, kitchens, and bedrooms with their pretty, flowered wallpaper splayed wide open were indecent to him.

Roger had been there for three years, and now, twenty-one, he was ready to get his real life started. He had come home to find his mother aged from worry and his father silent and angry. His father had wanted to join the fight, but he was too old, and it was patently obvious that he resented Roger for the “glory” of participating.

Roger couldn’t explain the pain and suffering he had seen and endured. He couldn’t admit how terrified he had been, flying in the dark and seeing enemy ammunition searing the sky only a few feet beside his plane. His father had served in the first war, and all he remembered was the excitement and honor of being a part of it all. The uniform, belonging to something great… he cared more about the possibility of being a hero.

When his father came home after not even seeing one battle due to the timing of his enlistment, he still raged on about how great it was to be there, to fight for his country. What a sham. Roger never called him on it, or he would be beaten. His father was a charade. A puffed-up drunk who spun the truth to his liking and benefit, and Roger couldn’t stand him.

Roger had gone to the dance hoping to blend in and feel normal again. He never made it in the door. He was so relieved to be home, but his old life seemed surreal after all he had seen. He couldn’t forget the terror of the fear of being shot down, the ripping anguish of knowing your buddies had been. The exciting purpose of his missions that fueled him and the futility of all the death wreaked havoc with his sense of morals and judgement. He was messed up.

He stayed outside, listening to the music and laughter inside. He was tired of berating himself to join the fun and was about to go when the door opened, and Celeste Hart appeared in front of him. She was the one girl he would have gone in to see, the one girl he would have asked to dance.

He caught his breath. She didn’t see him in the dark. Should he call out to her? He didn’t want to frighten her. Maybe he should just let her walk by. No, what kind of man was he? He had flown and fought in the war, and now he was intimidated to say hello to a friend from the past? He slowly stepped out from the shadows.

“Hello, Celeste.”

That summer was lit up by the fizzing and sparking of first love. Celeste and Roger would see each other every chance they got. They would walk down dusty roads, picnic in the forest, and on hot days, swim in deserted lakes.

He would read the newspaper every day. His world had gotten big from going overseas, and he loved telling Celeste what he knew was going on in the country and beyond. The summer wore on, and their love grew. They were comfortable in each other’s company, and sometimes Celeste would paint the landscape while Roger read a book. She was a talented artist and gifted in many creative ways.

He loved how her house was always welcoming, with pots of flowers running up the stairs to the front door, or how the place would smell of delicious pies steaming through latticework crusts. Celeste loved to help her mother keep a beautiful home.

The Hart family had a small farmer’s market selling soaps, candles, flowers, and starter plants in the spring, canned goods and knitted gifts in the fall, and vegetables and gifts all summer long. As Celeste grew older and was able to help more, the items for sale grew and became a thriving side business to the hardware store. The Hart Family Farm was known throughout the county, and every Saturday, when they opened for their weekly market, the lineups went far down the road.

Roger had become a fixture at the dinner table of the Hart home. He had become more and more distant from his parents. His father was belligerent, and his mother turned the other way, never defending Roger against the verbal abuse. He went to work in the fields and tended the cattle early in the morning, and tried to avoid his father for most of the day.

Early November, Roger was sitting with Celeste in front of the fire after dinner. He had told her family all about the wild Howard Hughes, who had flown his giant, wooden flying boat, called the “Spruce Goose”, for only eight minutes. It was the largest private aircraft ever built, and the eccentric designer from California had made all the papers.

Reading about other pilots lit up Roger’s eyes. Anything about planes thrilled him, and Celeste was caught up in the elation. They laughed and talked about the exhilaration of flying and the beauty of California. Roger was especially wound up that night. He turned toward Celeste on the couch and stopped smiling his huge smile. He looked frozen all of a sudden, with his eyes wide and his mouth half open like he had just thought of something riveting.

“Marry me!” Roger whispered and gently grabbed Celeste by the shoulders.

Celeste looked up at the man who had dominated her life for the last six months. He had broadened her scope of life in so many ways, introducing her to the world beyond and the passion of love within. She looked into his gold-flecked hazel eyes and up at his bushy eyebrows that always accented his thoughts. Her heart swelled with a desire that was far from love; it was devotion, and she would throw herself down for him.

“Marry me, my starlight.” And he kissed her gently on the lips.

How could she say anything but yes?

Chapter 2

COLD WAR ESCALATING!

Duluth Sentinel, Monday, September 6th, 1954

Stella didn’t have a lot of friends. Her family lived outside the town limits, and they didn’t have many neighbors, so she didn’t interact with many kids before she began school. Her early years were spent running through the fields chasing large-eared, hopping little mice. Near the house, there was a little pond, and every spring she would catch tadpoles and witness their magical metamorphosis into frogs.

By summer’s end, Stella had a little menagerie of tiny brown toads, large, slimy green frogs, a couple of field mice, and often a swallow with a broken wing. With the addition of the Easter Egger chickens, barn cats, ducks, and geese that called the farm home, Stella never needed additional friends, and so grew into a loner, a deep thinker, and a quiet child.

On Saturdays, when her mom set up the market on the edge of the road, sometimes kids came by with their families, but they never hung around long enough for Stella to get to know anyone. So, when it came time for her to start first grade, Stella couldn’t wait to meet all her new friends.

“You’re going to have so much fun! There are going to be kids from all over who will be your new friends!” Her mom had said, all beaming with smiles as she sewed Stella’s new dress. Stella could feel her excitement build as the first day of school got closer. Her mom kept saying how much fun she would have and how nice her teacher was going to be. When the big day finally came, Stella was almost bursting with excitement!

That morning, Stella put on her newly made outfit, and her mouth watered as she went into the kitchen. Her mom had made special apple pancakes for breakfast. It was a celebration! Celeste pinned a note with her name and her teacher’s name to the front of her dress. When it was time to go to school, Stella grabbed her new backpack and climbed into the truck. All the way to school, she thought about the new coloured pencils, erasers, pads of paper, and other goodies in her backpack. She had the notion she could be doing art all day long!

When they pulled into the lot, her mom helped her down from the high seat in the truck. Kids of all ages were there! Stella held her mom’s hand, and as she got closer to the door, she panicked and felt tears prick her eyes. She could sense her mom was anxious too and looked up into her eyes.

“It’s okay, Bean,” she said gently. “I’ll be right here waiting for you when it’s time to go home.”

Stella had no choice, so she clenched her lips together, went through the doors, and didn’t trust herself to look back, or she would burst into tears.

She took a look around her classroom. It seemed all the girls were wearing beautiful, store-bought clothes. She felt terribly self-conscious. It seemed everyone was staring at her, and she felt her face get hot and her little heart beat faster and faster.

When it came time for recess, Stella walked around the school yard, avoiding the other kids. She saw three girls from her class playing together. They giggled and whispered behind their hands while throwing Stella sidelong looks. She felt like she had done something wrong. They were so cruel, and Stella didn’t know why they didn’t like her. They didn’t even know her. They hadn’t even given her a chance. She didn’t fit in, and she didn’t know how to fix it. All the kids found friends by the end of recess, except Stella. By the end of the day, she couldn’t wait to see her mom’s smiling face.