Work Text:
Go away from my window
Leave at your own chosen speed
I’m not the one you want, babe
I’m not the one you need…
Hailey DeLacy’s journal entry
July 28th, 1960 - I met someone special on the beach today. His name is Stephan Ambrose. He’s a swell looking guy, but he isn't from California. I could have told you that just by looking at him. His skin is pale and pasty, like he hasn't seen the sun in months. And apparently he hasn't. He’s a sled dog racer from Alaska, isn’t that exciting? He’s just here on vacation visiting his sister, and he won't stay long. I suppose we’ll just have to write to each other. It’s unfortunate. Because he really is a swell guy. He’s tall. A lot taller than me, but that isn't a difficult feat. He has dark coal hair that just reaches his ears, and quite the appealing mustache. He can really pull it off. He looks like he’d be from Alaska, if that makes sense. He’s gruff and burly and not much for words. But when he does speak, he’s so insightful, so full of knowledge and so interesting. He’s athletic, which I suppose you’d have to be with the type of job he has. He isn't much for completing either, but he did compliment my hair. ‘Golden spun thread’, he said. It makes me giddy just thinking about it. I’m smitten!
August 17th, 1960 - He stayed longer than either of us had expected, and I'd like to think it's because of me. We’ve hit it off, we really have. I don’t want him to go. But he, unlike me, really, has responsibilities, a job. He’s important in his commitment, but I suppose that isn't too large of an achievement when there's only a population of 3000. He has twelve dogs on his team. I forgot most of the names, and I suppose it's not that important anyway. Goose is his lead dog. That is such a silly name for a dog. I told him I’d like to meet them sometime. I might have hinted at the fact that I'd like to come with. Just to get away from all this war talk, that's all.
(Edit. April 30th, 1975 - I was a fool for thinking the war couldn't touch Alaska. For thinking it couldn't touch us.)
August 20th, 1960 - We’ve made the impulsive decision that I am, in fact, going with him. I need a change of scenery, you know? It’d be selfish if he moved in with me, leaving his successful career behind. It's not like I have much going on anyway. I'll miss the sun most of all, I think. Good things are coming my way, I wager!
Snippet taken from New York Times pasted in Hailey’s journal
(May 10th, 1961)
Westmoreland requests 206,000 more men to Vietnam, stirring debate in administration. Forces have now reached just over 510,000. Some in defense and state departments oppose the increase. Enemy hammers seven sites on the outskirts of Saigon.
Hailey DeLacy’s journal entry
October 17th, 1961 - I’ve been in Nome a little over a year now, and to put it plainly, I despise just about everything about it. It's cold and dark and snowy. The days are short and the winters are painfully long. Stephan’s sled dogs are a mental pain in itself. They are loud and they whine if they don't go on their daily runs. (Mind you, they very rarely miss them). Stephan is very vigilant towards all twelve of them constantly. I swear he must love them more than he loves me. He wants to teach me how to mush, even though I have expressed how very uninterested I am in doing so. I humared him back in August and I ended up right on back with the wind punched right out of me and a sprained tailbone. (Did you know you could sprain your tailbone? I didn’t). Stephan, ever so blunt, I told me:
“You’re nowhere near a level you should be at and I doubt you ever will be. You just don't have the instincts. You don't trust the dogs. And that’s something I can’t teach you. Trust.”
It was true, I didn't trust those mangey things. They're very pretty looking, all pure bred huskies. But I've never been much of an animal person. Of course I don’t trust them to drive me around snowy terrain! Stephan seems so graceful when he races. He makes it look so effortless and in a way, I do envy him. I stick out like a sore thumb in this bleak, damp place.
Snippet from The Stanford Daily, pasted in Hailey’s journal
(July 15th, 1961)
Local draftables shiver through televised draft lottery ordeal. Are you eligible to be drafted?
Are you….
Between the ages of 18 and 25?
Legally registered?
An American or immigrant male?
Physically and mentally sound?
You will be picked at random. Birth dates are assigned numbers from 1 to 365 and pulled weekly. Lucky number is currently 96, having not been called. If your number is drawn, a letter with instructions and shipping date will be mailed to you accordingly.
Hailey DeLacy’s journal entry
July 15th, 1961 - The draft seems to be all that anyone talks about anymore, and frankly, I am getting sick of it. I reserved a medical exemption letter months ago on account of my asthma, so It's nothing I have to worry about. This means all of my worries are now focused on Stephen instead. Perfectly eligible to be ripped right out from under me at any time. Just to fight in, what I think, is a very stupid and pointless war. Do you know the amount of guilt I would feel if he gets called? To know that I never even had a chance to go?
Letter addressed to Stephan Ambrose
Selective Service System: Order to report for armed forces physical examination
To: Stephan L. Ambrose | Local Board No. 207 Selective Service System
443200 Teller Street, Nome, Alaska, July 29th, 1961.
You are hereby directed to present yourself for Armed Forces Physical Examination to the Local Board named above by reporting it in Seattle, Washington, Fort Choras, at 7:30am on the 15th day of August, 1961
Selective Service No. 3-3-9-7
Letter from Stephan Ambrose to Millicent Ambrose
Millie - I can't say I’m happy about going away. Of course I’m not. But it's really just something that I have accepted. It's not me I'm worried about. I feel an immense amount of guilt for leaving Hailey alone in such a strange and unfamiliar place, after I had practically dragged him here in the first place. He isn't happy, that much is clear. He’ll be even worse off once I leave, and that truly is upsetting to me. He has no means of going back to California (he makes little to no money down here). You’ll take care of him while I’m gone, won’t you? As my sister, I trust you more than anyone else to watch him. Just make sure he doesn't bury himself into too big of a pit while I’m gone. Tell him I’ll take him to California for a nice trip once I’m back. Maybe that’ll keep him motivated. (I’m sure I’ll be well over the heat by then, though. I’ve heard Vietnam is sweltering year round. Not looking forward to that aspect of it). - Stephan
Letter from Stephan Ambrose to Hailey DeLacy:
Hails - Ideally, you aren't getting this letter until I’m already gone. I don't know how often I can write, or how much of it you'll actually be able to read, with the military censoring and all. Write to me everyday though, alright? Gotta make sure those writing skills are nice and polished when I get back. I look forward to reading what you will write whilst I’m gone. Don’t skim through this part. It's important, I promise. You know I trust you, right? I trust you more than most people. While I’m gone, take care of the dogs. Goose trusts you. You can deny it all you want, but he isn't stubborn with you like he is with other people. I am putting them directly in your care because I trust you, and I know you’ll do right by them. Take them for runs, okay? What I’ve taught you should be enough to get a couple miles in a day. Keep practicing. It’d be nice if we could race together when I get back. Just remember not to lean too heavy to your right side. You’ll do fine. Start counting down. 364 days until I’m back nagging you about your horrible mushing stance. - Stephan
Hailey DeLacy’s journal entry
July 19th, 1962 - It's so odd to think that Stephen will be sitting next to me the next time I write an entry. It’s been a little over a year since he left, and as far as I know, he's in Seattle, held up by the weather. He’ll be home within a week. It’s exciting that he’s coming home, of course. But so many things have changed. I’ve changed, and I know he has too. What if we’re too different now? I like Alaska now, I really do. I guess I should say I’ve learned to tolerate it. The weather is still awful, but I’ve learned how to actually keep the fireplace going all night. The dogs and I have become close. They trust me, and I am beginning to trust them as well. I take them on short runs into town for supplies once a week, and short runs around our property everyday. Stephan was right. All I needed was to keep myself busy, and the ache of his absence did not seem so prominent.
To say I am nervous for him to return would be an understatement. I know no man comes back from war unscathed, whether it be mentally or physically. I worry he’ll be plagued by memories and that there will be little I can do to help him. Will I just have to stand on the sidelines and watch him suffer? It fills me with such immense guilt.
The war isn't even over, they're just sending him home because his time was up. I wish this stupid war would end. Just because we’re no longer directly involved doesn’t mean that it won’t affect us any longer. They still broadcast everything on the tv and through the radio. We won't hear much though. We get a very weak signal down here, so the news seems avoidable enough.
Hailey DeLacy’s journal entry
August 3rd, 1962 - I believe I was too overzealous about him coming home. It's tortuous for us both. We’re driving each other mad. He isn’t so bad during the day. Maybe a little cold. A little distant. But I suppose that isn't too far from how he used to be. I just can’t remember. He keeps himself busy with the dogs. He tends to over groom them, but I don’t say anything. He’ll take them on runs, as he insists on polishing up his skills, after not having practiced for a year. He is very insistent on running the Iditarod Sled Dog Race this year, since he missed it last year. It’s not until March, so I'm sure he’ll participate.
Nighttime is the problem for us both. I can no longer sleep, not well anyway. It seems like my body is constantly in flight or fight mode, just waiting for his breathing to become rigid and his body to become tense. I absolutely have to be there to wake him before the dreams become worse. If I don’t, that truly becomes its own problem. He shuts me out, refusing to talk about whatever sick and twisted things his wind decided to conger up that specific night. I don't think I’ll ever get Stephan back. He’s home, but not really. Trying to rein him in, to get into his mind is like trying to train a rabid dog.
Snippet from The New York Times, pasted in Hailey DeLacy’s journal
(April 30th, 1975)
Minh surrenders, VietCong in Saigon; 1,000 Americans and 5,500 Vietnamese evacuated by copter to U.S carriers. The Vietnam War officially ends, following the flee of over 1000 American Soldiers.