Reluctant Warriors by Jon Stafford Read Free Book Online

severely,
If anything but death separates you and me.
    —Ruth 1:16–1:17
New International Version
    Wilson, North Carolina, August 4, 1980
    C laire DeValery Baines pulled the letter from the mailbox she was expecting from
her eighty-two year old grandmother, Hannah Thurmond, very ill in the hospital in
Raleigh sixty miles away. With the death of her father, Jimmy, Claire had called
her several days before and the two had had a brief conversation.
    “Is your Mama doing Okay, Claire? I talked to her last night.”
    “No, not really, but I suppose as well as could be expected.”
    Oh, Claire,” she had said, “it breaks my heart to have to miss your father’s service.
I would give anything to be there, but the doctor says ‘No,’ and I must accept that.”
She had gone on to say that she would write a few things. The letter had arrived
just before the service and Claire opened it. Inside were hand written pages which
Claire knew were not in her grandmother’s hand. Then she saw a note at the top in
a wavering scroll: “Claire, Mrs. Patterson, a very nice person who is sitting with
me, wrote this up. I just had to write something.”
    Claire went in the house, smiled as she passed those sitting in the living room with
her mother and sister, and went upstairs to her childhood bedroom where she had spent
the last two nights, and begin to read it.

    I have to say in my long life , it began, that besides the memory of my loving husband,
Hermes, and my wonderful daughter, Margaret Ann, I am most grateful for my son-in-law,
Jimmy DeValery.
    He was the handsomest and nicest man I ever knew. You might think it odd, but his
good looks were particularly hard on your mom, my dear and only child, Margaret Ann
Thurmond DeValery. Once, in my hearing, in talking to her two daughters about their
father, she blurted out something in great emotion.
    “I thought myself too plain for him!”
    It hurt my feelings for many years. I watched as she dabbed at her eyes with a tissue
for a long while she was consoled by the girls.
    I suppose most would have agreed that, like me, she was not thought to be any kind
of a great beauty. She was short rather than statuesque, had average skin, and mousy
brown hair which she admitted was “like straw.” I didn’t think so, but she always
thought her nose was too big. Certainly, most thought it a mystery as to what her
war hero husband, who might have charmed a fence post, saw in her. It was not made
easier for her that her girls, first Claire and her baby, Helen, called “Bye,” both
competed in the Miss North Carolina beauty pageant. But to Jimmy DeValery, she was
the world and all of its treasures.
    It certainly wasn’t that he could not function without her. He proved a very good
and innovative executive in the tobacco industry, a good provider, and a wonderful
father. In front of strangers, even large crowds, he could tell story after story,
entertaining them thoroughly, and leaving them laughing. But he so much preferred
being with his “Mara,” as he alone called her. And he did not have to be the center
of attention. He preferred that she drive. He regularly went shopping with her and
never complained even when he waited for long periods of time.
    Generally, he deferred to her in all things from fashion to things for the house.
When he left on a business trip on which she could not accompany, a number of times
I saw him he noticeably ill at ease at the airport in Raleigh. He would look back
at her when he was boarding, a worried look on his face, usually stepping awkwardly.
Twice I saw the former gifted athlete either brush into a wall or actually walk into
one. He and I often had long talks, and he told me that when he saw her his heart
leaped and sometimes he felt faint.
    It was a standing joke in our town, that he was just helpless near her. His first
thought always was to be with her and to care for her, and he did so every day of
their lives together until the moment of his death.