“We’re all of us protected.”
Saying it out loud that way made me finally understand. Even Marrs in the fire, even Foy’s leaking and blistered body. No matter the pain, every story has a happy ending, if only because the letting go is sweet.
“I dreamed about Miller,” I told him.
“A good man,” Riddell said.
Miller, who knew forgiveness; who, despite it all, believed in justice. When I dreamed that dream again, I decided, I would walk down the hall that smelled of floor wax and camphor. I would stop in the gentle spill of light from the doorway, and this time I would go inside.
I know things, Bobby, so I know that when I take the toy horse from Pa’s cupped hands, he’ll raise his head. Our eyes will meet and we’ll see each other for the first time.
Riddell said, “Nice to ’ave your gift. A comfort, like.”
“I’m lucky that way.”
It was homey there. Over the stink of the trench, Riddell’s dugout smelled of pungent herbs and hay.
Nothing much happened that afternoon, Bobby, but I’m telling you about it because it was important. It helped me understand what had happened the night before. I woke up from a sound sleep and saw the calico girl standing before me, solid and as real as life. And I swear to God I wasn’t dreaming.
Behind her stretched the graveyard. The moon was high there, and everything shimmered. Past the marble angels, a golden inferno went walking: O’Shaughnessy. Marrs and Trantham walked with him, bright and unknowable as stars.
The calico girl leaned so close that I could smell the lavender scent of her. No, I thought. I prayed hard to anyone who would listen: Please not yet.
She straightened, looked down at me a while. “Not quite yet,” she promised.
She faded then. Everything faded until I was looking at the peeling door of the aid station and remembering her sad smile. I’d let us both down, you see? For despite everything I’ve been through, despite everything I’ve seen, I’m still afraid of the dark.
You listen careful now, Bobby, for I must tell you the most important secret: The black by the cypress looks threatening, but beyond waits a calm and sparkling place. And if I never bequeath you anything else, I give you this certainty: That shimmer I’ve seen is the power of the universe. It runs through me and you, through the dead men in the field and through the rats that eat them. It’s love. Funny how simple ...
Mrs. Leon Stanhope
Box 56
Harper, Texas
December 24, 1916
My Dear Mrs. Stanhope,
I regret to inform you that your son, Travis Lee Stanhope, expired of battle wounds yesterday. I did not know him well, but I have heard that he was a brave lad and acquitted himself well during the campaign. You should have been proud of him.
He was sitting in his dugout when a gas shell hit. It may be some consolation for you to know that he bore his injuries with extraordinary courage and with little complaint. All in all, he did not suffer long.
Enclosed please find his effects along with a stack of personal papers which were found in his haversack.
My deepest sympathies,
Roger Dayton Gilchrist, Captain, B.E.F.
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Table of Contents
00_Cover
00_Back_Cover
00_Intro
00_Copyright
00_Dedication
Chapter_01
Chapter_02
Chapter_03
Chapter_04
Chapter_05
Chapter_06
Chapter_07
Chapter_08
Chapter_09
Chapter_10
Chapter_11
Chapter_12
Chapter_13
00_Epilogue
00_ehecat_00
00_dsbcat_00
Flanders Page 37