https://www.literotica.com/s/virtue-in-iniquity Chapter 1 A Chat Between You and I Mark: You are looking out a window, wearing blouse and jeans. I move up behind you. I push against you, and you lean back against me. I put my hands on your arms. When we finally speak, it is in whispers, or that sex voice that men and women get when they are familiar and hot and ready for sex. 3 Mark: Do you feel my dick against your ass? 4 Terry: I do. It is getting hard. Now it's pushing into my cheek. 5 Mark: Of course it is, your bottom is sexy, all of you is sexy, and in a few moments I will put my dick under that bottom, between those wonderful legs of yours. 6 Terry: I want that. I want it. I love your dick. Touching it, feeling it, pulling it, sucking... 7 Mark: I run my hands up your arms. I put them around you in front, and you grasp my hands and put them on your breasts, over your clothes. 8 Terry: Please open my blouse, open it and put your hands on my tits. 9 Mark: I am grasping the blouse with each hand, and I rip the fabric and buttons go flying, pulling this blouse open for the last time, exposing your breasts in their bra and grabbing them, grabbing them harder than usual, and I squeeze. I feel their softness. You feel my want. You moan. 10 Mark: My dick is hard now, and I push it into your clothed bottom as I pull you by the breasts fiercely against me. 11 Mark: I'm gonna pull your clothes off you. Then I'm gonna fuck you. Now, here, on the floor. Don't try to stop me. 12 Mark: You shiver, desiring. 13 Terry: I want your dick in me. I won't stop you!! I want it. I need it. Hurry, don't wait, be rough, get it out now, now, get it in me, put it in, please, please. 14 Mark: I am throwing open your clothes as I turn you and your arms are back and the remnant blouse falls off, then your bra follows. Your arms are about my neck, then hands on my shoulders or pulling my head to a rough, painful, open-mouth kiss. 15 Mark: Your blue jeans I open and yank down, and I cradle you for a moment and put you on your back, my left hand behind your head, a gentle moment in a wanton act. You are on the floor, the floor of the kitchen. I have my pants open and down and my dick is hard and straining to find you. 16 Mark: I put your legs over my shoulders and consider eating the magnificent cunt before me, its fragrance urging me on, but you want a dick and so I give mine to you. I put it at the entrance to your hole and I push, push, and I am in you grunting and you are spreading your ankles away from my head. I rock it into you, and our sexes meet fully. You groan and move, opening, grasping, thanking me to the fuck. 17 Terry: Screw me, I whisper, eyes closed for a moment, as if registering your length and girth and preparing... My eyes open, looking straight at yours, you must know I can't wait. 18 Terry: Ram it in, ram me! Hard. I want it. 19 Mark: I stick you then, one time, two times, three, four, five. I feel semen building up in me, welling up, I look in your eyes and you know it is coming. 20 Mark: I will give you what we both talked about. Now. NOW! 21 Terry: My eyes are wide with fear and lust. You can't come in me, don't please no! No child please... 22 Mark: But I ram it in two more times and I'm spurting, spurting, and my seed is in you and my child will be yours and mine, and it will be good knowing I fucked his wife and he won't know he raises my child. 23 Terry: Oh, Mark, I'm (she could not type more) 24 We calm. For a while, no one types. 25 Mark: You are lovely. 26 I say it, I type it, wishing I could lay my head on her breast. 27 Terry: I came this time, Mark. It was the impregnation Never saw that one coming. 28 Mark: You always said orgasm was not necessary, Terry. 29 Terry: Not necessary. Fun, though. I have a mess to clean up here, now. I'll be in contact. Soon. 30 M: Give me a half a day and I'll be ready. 31 Terry: You! Never enough, huh? 32 Mark: Never. 33 I clicked out of chat. 34 Chapter 2 A Death Far Away I felt Miriam through the chat connection. She'd divulged her name, trusting me. I had given mine, but she still called me Mark. "I...we have suffered a terrible blow. My mother has passed suddenly," Miriam wrote across the ether. I could feel the grief of this beautiful young woman I had only seen in pictures, hundreds of miles away, suffering at this most intimate loss. 36 "How old was she?" I typed. 37 I remembered that she was so hesitant at first, unsure, using her alias that remained her chat name. We had never met in person, but we'd written, communicated online really-twice weekly almost, sometimes more times and for long hours. I knew she was Miriam, she remembered my name if she thought of it, but I was the Mark persona online, never Charlie. For three years now I had come to know her. I sexted her, taught her new words, things to do-in words, typing, jerking. She was so young when we started, I felt guilt, she was but 23 at this untimely death of her mother. 38 "49," she wrote. "Some sort of aneurysm in her brain. There were no symptoms. One moment fine and then unconscious. Five minutes and her breathing stopped. My dad is distraught," she said, her words stopping with emotion. She did not go on. 39 I tried to imagine the family tragedy. She'd rarely mentioned family, had requested we not discuss her husband-she kept our discussions on me or my obsession and her want for sex. We discussed sex ad nauseum probably to her, if not to me. But she was a good kid at heart, loving and not wanting to hurt anyone, worried about her marriage because he showed so little interest in her physically, sexually, and she wanted it badly, even very badly. But in that community these were things a man handled within his marriage and it was not discussed outside. 40 Until she'd found me happenstance. I was a much, much older man, three times her age, wanting and rarely having sex with the woman of my life, winding down a happy but practically sexless marriage. After ten-no, thirteen-years, I was rationally obsessed with sex and moderately capable of performing (probably). At times I wished every good-looking or nice woman would throw off her clothes and demand to be done right then and there, demand to be fucked, licked, sucked, poked, right in the produce section of the Fool Lion or behind the last shelf of books in the library or by the side of the busy street under the tree (no one would notice). Propriety was a casualty of lust. I wondered if passing women had any idea I was thinking such thoughts of them. I struggled to maintain composure much of everyday. I struggled for it in my online relationship with this pretty young woman. 41 And she was pretty. She sent me pictures, unexpectedly and innocently, face carefully blocked out, of herself in babydoll and thong: gorgeous, thin, 20, demure considering the attire. She sent others, not blocked, of her at a birthday party, just standing in a room, and some from her wedding. She had wonderful eyes that looked out of those pictures, and I wished she did not block the sexier ones. "I would be ruined," she said, in explanation. The internet remembers everything, and distributing sexy pictures was not discrete. It was too bad. It was all I had for sex, real sex with a real person I knew and built something like a relationship with. That was the difference between a random picture and the picture of someone you discuss sex with: it is sharing, and sex is sharing. Even this. 42 She had never seen me. "I will never send a picture on the internet," I had said. She sent hers, anyway. I considered them a gift, almost holy. I looked at them and realized-I was not gone yet. I felt the stirring, the desire, when I saw them. 43 The funeral, she wrote, would be at their cemetery in just one day, in their tradition. I decided to go, if I could think of a way or find a plane in time. I knew the name of her city and she mine, by mention over the months. She knew very little else of me. Indeed, she did not use my real name having read it but once several years before. We had discussed our aliases, protecting our marriages, our children, our spouses, ourselves, from scandal. But I wrote once my real name for her-she never used it. Yet I knew Miriam Eisenman Marx as a real person whose name was part of her, and I did not forget. I loved her, in a pure but purely limited way. 44 Chapter 3 Finding Miriam I flew north and landed safely. It was a cool October morning in her city. I rented a car at the airport and found the place, with a bunch of mostly bearded men standing about. I was dressed in dark sport coat and slacks, tie and dress shirt, but I was just about the only one. I wore a light overcoat, many years old now, a gift of my wife. 46 I joined the men, who silently regarded me. One young man said, "Shalom, you are welcome, Friend. This is the burial of Ruth Eisenman." I nodded grimly and said, "Good. I am in the right place." I volunteered nothing else. The women were separate, speaking together, some noticing an older man with grey hair, heavier than he should be, with skin that said 63. I was silent. 47 I looked at the family, once I identified them, and at Miriam, obviously Miriam, and my heart leapt. It was really she with her father and brother (both much older). I had told her that I empathized, having lost my mother some years ago, but I had given no hint that I would attend this event. The man I came to assume was her husband joined them then, and the prayers and talk commenced. I was the only person not in black, the only man obviously Gentile. Most of the prayers I did not understand, spoken in Hebrew or Yiddish or Aramaic, I assumed. There were words spoken. Miriam held onto her husband's arm, leaned her head against his shoulder, and his arm was about her patting her back, holding her close, as a husband should. 48 I wondered, what have I done? For some time she and I would meet on the internet and talk of our lives, our loves, and our dreams. Both frustrated for lack of sex, she at just 20, I at 60, we met by accident as she visited a site for her first time and I my millionth. I sought any relief but prostitution. I found none until Miriam. She was a year married, had no college, worked a dead-end job, and wondered if this was all there was. She said that she had put effort into encouraging her husband toward sex, tried seduction, tried the brazen, but he was not much interested. She gave no details. Her sex life was not null, but it was not as she had expected or hoped. Both of them had been virgins at marriage, he several years older. It was as if he retreated, and she was soon defeated. 49 At our start, they were less than a year married. 50 My only purpose at the website had been to find a chatmate, a sexual chatmate to exchange dirty fantasies and masturbate successfully. It was a sad and pathetic purpose, but I'd found success in Miriam. She was shocked at my language, and encouraged me. She was confused by words she had never heard, but absolutely wanted me to use them. For some time she would only answer a question, often "I don't know" or "I won't say" and I'd fill in. Then we played a game and it forced her to answer, then one to make her use bad words, then I was masturbating to climax as she occasionally described us doing it. I had those wonderful pictures, from her cell phone probably, but showing skin and form and youth. Beautiful-she was very, very pretty in the digital image. 51 They filed by the coffin, placing rocks on, and I asked a young man if it was proper I do it. He smiled and said, "Yes. How did you know Mrs. Eisenman?" 52 "I didn't. I know someone she loved." So without ending his wonder, I followed along, picking a stone and placing it beside the others. Miriam and the rest of the family were near then, and after I placed my stone I looked up at them and her, and she looked at me. She did not recognize me, did not immediately think this is Mark, really Charlie, this is the man I let encourage me to touch my vulva, this is the man I tell to fuck me. She looked at me, and then at the next man, the young man I had queried. She nodded to him, and he nodded back. She had a life I had never touched: classmates, teams, clubs, friends, temple-and I was no part of that. I told her to pinch her nipples, to feel a cock in her cunt, and to imagine a whole load in her mouth. It was suddenly without meaning, a pitiable obsession of a man hobbled by life's vagaries. 53 The ritual over, I drifted alone among others toward the parking lot. Someone touched my arm. It was the young man who had spoken to me. 54 "May I ask you to our gathering, Friend," he said. His eyes were sincere. "At the house of the family. I am Ruth's nephew. It would please them, I am sure. Miriam asked if anyone knew you. Please." 55 I considered the ramifications and could think of none if I were prudent. It was a loving gesture by a family noticing the outsider and welcoming him. I assented. He handed me a small paper with an address, and said park on the street. I thanked him and said I had gps and would be there. I watched as Miriam, her husband, and father left in a dark car. I went on to my own. 56 It was a small, inconspicuous house in a neighborhood of similar houses. The Eisenmans were not rich nor did they have any pretensions about it. Miriam worked in this house, as her father's helper in his accounting business. Here she used the internet with me, sometimes when she was not home. I walked up the walk to the front door. I knocked, and Miriam opened it. 57 "Hello," she said seriously, "Come in. I am Miriam, Ruth's daughter. And you are...?" 58 "Charlie Potter," I said. She looked at me, not recognizing my real name, not understanding and most definitely not expecting. She might have recognized Charlie, perhaps, but she'd only seen Charlie Potter once, years ago, within an internet address. She still called me Mark in our shared dreams. I had described myself: average height, receding gray hair, now 63, too much weight-she did not put it together from such a general and common appearance. 59 "I did not know your mother. I am here because I know someone who was greatly saddened by her passing, and is in great pain." I stepped past her. She took my coat. I joined others in the various rooms, never committing to identification. I had never been among so many orthodox Jews, and I was surprised they welcomed me so-but I knew Miriam from so many conversations that were not just about sex, not about emotion, not about frustration-so I decided I should not have been surprised. These were her people and like her were friendly and genuine. 60 It was her father who put things together-that something did not fit and it was connected to me. Maybe he was just wary. She and I had discussed it weeks before. He seemed to suspect her, she said. Perhaps he had discovered her internet activities, or thought she had a boyfriend, or had bugged her computer. Perhaps he just knew his daughter's situation and understood it a bit. 61 "May I speak with you, Mr. Potter?" he asked. "In the next room, please." I followed him. It was a small bedroom, the bed made, the drawers shut, everything in its place. It seemed feminine. 62 "Why are you here?" he asked, his eyes not friendly, his tone accusing. So he did not know everything, but he suspected something: an affair, perhaps. 63 "I came to show support for a friend of mine who was greatly hurt by the passing of your wife," I said, sticking to the story because it was true. He did not seem persuaded by my answer. Nor would I have been. 64 "Who is this person wounded by my good wife's demise?" he asked. I considered telling him the truth, but I could not, would not, and did not. I looked at him, so he saw my hesitation. "I apologize. I should not have come. I will leave. You have my sincerest condolence, Mr. Eisenman, for your loss." I nodded slightly and went through the other room, saying I must leave and speaking condolence to each as I passed by. Mr. Eisenman followed me and signalled ahead, and Miriam was waiting with my coat, her husband beside her. 65 "I am sorry you must leave so soon, Mr. Potter. Is something wrong?" 66 I smiled at her. "'It is a wise father that knows his own child.'" Miriam started and dropped the coat at that quotation which she recognized, recognized because we had discussed it when we discussed his suspicions a few weeks ago. She looked at me, and at her dad. Many thoughts passed quickly through her mind, I'm sure. I picked up the garment and put it on. Mr. Eisenman was with me then. 67 "Goodbye, Mr. Potter," he said, firmly. He did not offer to shake my hand. I turned and opened the door, felt the chilling wind of Canada in October, and headed to my car. 68 Chapter 4 This Time of a Life As all things must end, I was shocked to find that my internet relationship with Miriam continued a month later. She mentioned my visit only once, thanking me for the gesture. I said, our talk has meant something for me, and she said for her also. Perhaps her new knowledge that I was not tall, not particularly handsome, not thin, or not a movie star inhibited the activities we enjoyed, but I did not notice it. 70 She was, if anything, more energetic, more vocal, quicker to climax, naughtier. The one change was that she called me Charlie, never again Mark. It excited me more, and I considered it a gift. We engaged in activity every week, sometimes twice, when one or the other of us wanted sex but could not have it with spouse, or in my case never had it. We had sex only by text, actually. We had considered phone or Skype, but we preferred the effect of written words. Sometimes it was very hot. I think she had orgasms; she claimed some. I did, sometimes, but it was not as important WITH her as when I was solo. I enjoyed the idea of this woman typing about a sex act for my pleasure, so far away. Sex of a sort, experienced with someone, even this way, was sadly better. 71 It went on for five or so more years. She gave birth twice in that period-both boys-and we continued. It took a turn to bondage and sadism which we finally decided was diminishing rather than enhancing, so we turned back. We played roles, laughing at the stereotypes. She and her husband considered divorce at one point, and their sex life dwindled to almost nothing for some time. But eventually they came back together, and their sex life resumed if less actively. For some reason he had never had the sex drive I'd have expected-she wanted it and badly, but he was a once- or twice-a-month guy, if that. Far away, I'd shake my head at such a thing. 72 As all things must end, so soon shall my life. I am now and finally 68. I noticed the nausea and then pain in my stomach and spreading pain in my back, and the doctor did tests and shook his head. So did the next one. "We have a new drug," the last one said. 73 "Use it, test it on me, at least it will mean something if it helps or doesn't," I replied. It let me live another month or so in pain. 74 During this time, Miriam and I continued but rarely, and she did not know I was now impotent. She asked if something was wrong, and I said, "Not feeling well, that's all." She did not question more, but she must have suspected it was more serious. Still, our relationship was based in trust, ONLY in trust, so she accepted that that was true or what I wanted her to believe for my own purpose-so she did. 75 My wife and I have faced the reality of the sickness that is weakening me, and I will be glad to go as a relief for her. She worried that I suffered, and it was increasing, but so far bearably. I sleep more with the increased pain medication. I expected to be moved to hospice soon, at my wife's prerogative. My wife, lovely woman, took care of the arrangements, and notified the kids spread all over the USA. They wanted to fly in despite the fact I could linger. I was still a bit energetic. I said, let them visit when I am declining, unable, or the doctors say I will be too drugged. You will have lots of things to discuss, then, about the funeral and property and me. 76 "Tomorrow to the hospice," my wife finally decided, refusing to say a full sentence with such dire meaning. I'd been practically bedridden the last two weeks, and the doctors thought I might go within a month. The pain was everywhere as my body was giving up fighting this tumor and that. I asked for my laptop and sent my wife to the other room to watch tv without the sight of a dying man hard by. 77 I sent a chat request. She was there. "Hi," she typed. 78 "Miriam, I'm dying." 79 Pause, more than usual. 80 "Oh no, no, I thought you were just sick once in a bit. What is it?" 81 "Cancer. Probably soon. Within the month. They'll take me to hospice tomorrow." 82 "Oh, Charlie, I'm just devastated." 83 I waited a little longer. "I had to go sooner or later. We had to end sooner or later." 84 "I will miss it...it was good, for me. I had more of a sex life with you-without a touch or sound-than I could have imagined possible. I'm so sad." She paused a moment. "Have you prepared everything?" 85 "Yes. As well as can be. We saw it coming. I didn't want to worry you." 86 It was silent a moment for two so far apart. What to say? 87 "Has it been a good life, Charlie?" 88 "Yes, I think so. I have the kids, my wife. Grandchildren. And finally you-just a joy. Yes, good." 89 Quiet again, not awkward, we were just old friends, lovers of a sort, wishing time did not pass. A wave of exhaustion passed over me. 90 "I doubt I'll contact you again. You have those kids, you take care of them. And that husband of yours." 91 "Of course. How will I get through the droughts?" she said, and laughed probably. She meant the periods her husband did not want sex. She thought he had a lover, but she did not know for sure. 92 "Perhaps he'll come around. Or you'll meet someone online, like me." 93 "I'm being selfish. You are passing and I worry about me." 94 "I know you were thinking on screen." I took a breath. "It was important to me, our moments." 95 "For me too. I will so miss you." 96 "Very tired now, Miriam. Lots of drugs. I must go. Goodbye, Miriam." I had to write her name, to think it, as much as I could because soon I would never. I felt the sleep coming as she sent her last. 97 "I wish it were never this time of your life, or mine with yours. Goodbye, Charlie." 98 Chapter 5 Martha and Miriam Martha Potter picked up Charlie's laptop, the chat page open still but several pages full of semicolons from Charlie's hand resting on the keyboard unsent, and composed an email letter to the woman she knew as Terry, still the chat name at the top of the page. She understood computers and programs more than Charlie realized. He'd drifted off as he closed. The address of Terry was there to be had. She considered paging back to the chat, but decided against it. 100 Martha had known for many years of Terry and Charlie's long, masturbatory relationship. She had not read many of the chats, although she'd had many opportunities. Charlie would get in a hurry and leave the chat on his screen, or minimize and forget and think he'd gotten away with one. But she'd seen an early one, cried-and realized its utility, and finally its limits. She realized her role in it. Had she really thought he could be perfectly celibate-or SHOULD be celibate? 101 She wrote to Terry-the name in the address. 102 Terry, or Whoever You Are, 103 Charlie is failing. The doctors gave him a month to go, but I think that was generous. Perhaps a week. His drugs will be increased in one or two days, likely, and he will probably not be sensible much after that. You should consider his last chat to be his final communication. 104 I know in your own way you have cared for Charlie for a long time. There are all kinds of love, and the longevity of your relationship astounded me and made me respect it-and even you. But we are not friends. I will notify you at the present address when Charlie passes. I will check his address for any message you might want to send anyone here, Charlie or myself. 105 Martha 106 Miriam reread that note many times, wondering that Charlie had written so little of Martha, as Miriam had written little of her family or husband. So it had been. The relationship was sexual, sometimes advisory, friendly, but not familial. They built a sexual friendship without a meeting. It was not an affair to be expanded into a life. Neither of them wanted that. Charlie loved Martha, but her lack of sexual appetite had left him sexually destitute. He'd finally turned to the internet chat and eventually met Miriam. Martha did not fight it. Charlie never mentioned it, and probably thought it was his secret. The few chats Martha read convinced her Miriam was committed to her family, too, and was in no way attempting to wreck the Potter family. 107 Two and a half weeks later, with Martha holding his hand, Charlie's countenance eased from furrowed and strained to relaxed, and his life abandoned him. The three thirty-something children were gathered around, but the teenaged grandchildren were home, having visited days before when Charlie was mostly awake-and made final goodbyes which they perhaps did not realize were final. The family hugged. The one son and one of the daughters made a point of kissing Charlie's forehead before leaving the room. Eventually it was only Martha and Charlie's remains. She held his hand, lifeless as it was, for several minutes. 108 She got up and went to the closet. She pulled out his laptop and set it up, using his password to get into his accounts. She found Terry, with Miriam explained in the address book, and typed a new message. 109 Miriam, 110 Charlie passed away a few minutes ago. The funeral will be in a few days. 111 I will make no further communication unless you contact me. 112 Martha 113 She clicked Send. 114 Chapter 6 Decency and Honor Charlie Potter was not a well-known man, but his wife was involved in church and civic organizations, had worked at the public library running a local branch for decades, and had grown up in the town. She'd been on the town council for a decade when she was younger. The citizens came out for her and because he had been not unlikeable, not unpopular, and not evil. They did not mind him, nor did they mind showing up for her. He was known as a good father who yelled too much at sporting events-a laid-back guy who often made jokes that were just a tad inappropriate. No one really disliked him, he just didn't have any close friends. The church was mostly filled, in a widely-spaced way. 116 Martha was there, bustling about. She greeted people she knew, nodded to many, and thanked some for coming. There were many things that needed doing at a funeral. She had the help of her two daughters, Lizzy and Marie. Charles Jr., youngest of the children at 35, stood about and did not seem to know what to do with his hands. His two boys were 12 and 13 now, and sat in stiff clothes while his wife kept them mostly quiet in the second pew. Lizzy's daughter was now 15 and would sit by her mother since her father left them a year earlier. Marie was engaged to be married for the second time, but her beau was in Europe on business. (Oddly enough, her first husband was in a rear pew and she wondered, now why was HE here?) Martha and Charlie's children sat with their mother in the long front pew to display support for their mother, who thought that reasoning was backwards. 117 Just before the funeral was to begin, as the priest and servers were seen milling about in the vestibule, there was a hush as everyone found a seat. The organist was ready to commence and looked for the priest to signal. Then a woman in all black walked in and down the center aisle, toward the casket, stopping in the center. She looked about, not sure where she should sit, and everyone watched her. She wore a hat and a dress that reached her ankles. She was thin and dark-haired and wore just enough makeup for people to think her attractive but not painted. Her tummy was a little round. She was 29. Except for the widow, she was the only other woman wearing a veil, wispy and suggestive more than concealing. Martha turned in the pew and saw her standing in the center aisle, halfway down. Martha inhaled sharply and her children took note. 118 Martha stood and exclaimed quietly, "Miriam!" The whisper was clearly heard by her children. They looked where she did and saw the woman staring at their mother. She was a very elegant, black-haired woman, so young, and completely unknown to them. She was asking something with her look and the cant of her head. Martha then said to the children, "I am going to ask her to sit with us." 119 She walked over to the woman as the priest and servers lined up to enter. Martha whispered to her, "Miriam? You are so young!" She saw the priest waiting to begin. "Would you like to sit with me?" 120 Miriam smiled and said, "Yes, thank you," nodding. Martha took her elbow. 121 The two women in black moved to the children in the first pew, whom their mother introduced, saying that Miriam was someone their father had known for many years. The Mass began, and the women sat side by side. Somehow the children-and anyone in the congregation who looked-knew that they were not intimate, not kith. Nor were they enemies, at least here. 122 They sat together for the ceremony. The stranger wept gently during the eulogy, and Martha did, too. At communion Miriam walked up with the family, first of all the people in the congregation, and the priest offered her the Eucharist. She shook her head and said, "I am Jewish, Father," at which he smiled, said "As was Our Lord," and gave a brief prayer after raising his hand over her. 123 The thirty-somethings were puzzled for the whole Mass, but the ceremony only allowed a few moments for whispers. Martha smiled at their wonder. Marie and Lizzie gave each other looks occasionally. "How did she know Dad?" Marie asked Lizzie at one point. Lizzie shrugged as if to say, I have no idea. Later, Charlie Jr. thought, when Mom was alone with the family, he'd ask. He wondered if she would answer. It was impossible, he realized: Dad had a secret?! It couldn't be... An affair? Was she a love child? 124 Charlie, Martha thought, I had no idea. She's younger than our son! That thought brought a smile to her lips, too. It wasn't about dirty words and imagined sex acts, Martha realized. It was about sharing what can only be loving when shared, and is so much better when it is. She had called Charlie a rascal; perhaps he was that and more. She wondered at Miriam's motivation-such a pretty girl, such a life yet to live! 125 I wonder if I could have done for him what she did, Martha thought. I wonder if I could have been more to him in our marriage. I should have tried, she thought, yes, I should have. She did not feel sad, and she did not feel regret for her loss but for his. She had taken a turn in the road that had left her husband only celibacy or sin. Charlie had figured it out, maybe not fully, but mostly. Dumpy, plain, common Charlie and the Jewish girl... Perhaps he was in heaven. There were certainly greater sins. 126 Miriam felt welcomed and alienated at the same time, and she marvelled at the strange relationship that had brought her to this place. Martha held her elbow whenever they walked together-to the cemetery, to Charlie's and Martha's house which bordered the cemetery, and during the reception there. Miriam was grateful for her consideration. She felt protected. Martha was never far from her side, asking her to help with food and chores in the kitchen. Miriam gradually eased into the family dynamic for this one afternoon. Charlie's children spoke quietly and asked her, How did you know Dad? How did you meet? But Martha always saved her, swooping in, explaining they had met ten years before, after all of them had left home. She intimated that the relationship was mainly by correspondence, which was true. 127 The children discovered only that Charlie knew Miriam and that his death was a loss to her, also. It was all very vague. Perhaps, they thought, Charlie was not as simple as they'd assumed. 128 "Charlie would appreciate you being here," Martha said once. 129 Miriam looked at her, and Martha remembered an old statement of her mother's: funerals are for the living, not the dead. Miriam had not come for Charlie. 130 "I appreciate it, and the children...they will appreciate it differently," Martha said with a smile. 131 "They want to know, and so would I," said Miriam. 132 "Charlie was a man of no mystery during life," replied Martha. "They thought they knew everything about him and it was uncomplicated, straightforward, dull. Let them wonder. No child should know everything about a parent. Just as no child should know all of a parent's sins, there is no right to know all his loves. I look forward to their speculation." Martha was smiling and Miriam felt as if they were conspirators. 133 She was a remarkable woman, Miriam thought. She compared her father to this lady and saw two people of strong character and strong motive. Her father protected her relationship to Charlie in his way, and Martha protected it now that it was resolved. 134 She was glad she had come. 135 "You're a good person, Martha. Charlie always said he was lucky you loved him." 136 Martha patted her arm at that and went about serving more hors d'oeuvres. 137 https://www.literotica.com/s/finding-uncle-billy CHAPTER 1: THE VANISHED WARRIORS BALL 1999, Sky Grey, Ohio 140 "Mom," the little girl said, lying in bed, "did anyone in our family ever do anything great? I mean, I know I'm cousin to the Greys around here, but did a Finch ever do anything?" 141 Barb Finch looked at her daughter Trish, the love of her life, a miracle of existence. Dark hair, hazel eyes, thin, smart as a whip, athletic. If Trish didn't have a book in her hand, it was because it's hard to hold a book while carrying a lacrosse stick or tennis racket. She always had a skinned knee or elbow, always a bruise here or there. She could be absent from home for whole mornings or afternoons. Sky Grey was a town of free range parenting, of parents who wondered that there was any other kind. Most nights, Trish was tired. 142 A name came to mind. She remembered seeing a picture of Billy Finch, in his army uniform before he went to war and didn't return. 143 "Oh, I don't know if you'd call him famous, or great, but your great uncle is in some history books," she said. "Billy Finch, on your dad's side of the family. Your great-grandpa's big brother. You remember Great-grandpa Finch who died last year?" 144 "What did he do?" Trish asked. A relative in history books? 145 Her mother looked at her. "Billy? He fought in World War I. And he disappeared. He and his whole group. They call it the Lost Platoon. No one knows what happened to them. Forty or fifty guys, and he was their lieutenant. They probably all died." 146 "World War I?" Trish asked. "When was that?" 147 Barb hesitated. "Long time ago," she said. "Before Grandpa was your age." She didn't remember the years of World War I. "Everybody who fought in that war has died now, I think. Or they'd be over a hundred, probably." She was mostly right about that. 148 "Uncle Billy?" Trish asked, imagining derring-do in that war that was not much of a stage for heroics. 149 Her mother kissed her cheek. "Nobody knows what happened. Maybe you'll figure it out," she said. "Now, SLEEP!" 150 Trish rolled over. She thought, Billy Finch and the Lost Platoon... 151 * 2008, Sky Grey, Ohio 152 The dance was a vestige of another time. A small group played dance songs from decades past, the mayor of Sky Grey said a few words. But its title was evocative, and for some time it represented something to the rural people of the area. John Glenn attended two as a senator; several governors from Ohio and Indiana came for the attention, even an ambassador from France once. 153 The Vanished Warriors Ball was held every decade near the Fourth of July, and for Sky Grey, it was quite a party. Several hundred attended every time, wearing the best they had. Tickets were expensive, although no one was ever turned away at the door. Most paid. After the bills were paid, any money went to a veterans charity. 154 Tables were arranged on the carpet from the main entrance to the dance floor. There were chandeliers, it was brightly lit, and drinks were served. This year a small, live band played, a disabled former Marine lieutenant fronting the group. 155 At eight, the memorial commenced. 156 "Good evening," the singer said, using crutches but smiling, "I'm Josiah Langer, and I live in Sky Grey now. I was in the Marines. But I sing, so the Army guys put up with me." He nodded toward a table of soldiers also in uniform. 157 People smiled and laughed politely. Langer then introduced the mayor of the town, who took the microphone to conduct a ceremony. Tricia Finch, about to begin her sophomore year at Ohio State, was manning the table at the door, taking tickets and collecting money, but she turned for the little ceremony she'd never seen. Her Aunt Sheila Grey spoke into the microphone. 158 "It's time we take our seats. Everyone, please," she asked gently, and the room became quiet. 159 "Thank you. Welcome to the Ninth Vanished Warriors Ball. We have a small ceremony that goes back to 1928 and the first Vanished Warriors'. We begin with the fourth verse of the Star Spangled Banner, which at that time was not the national anthem and the fourth was the verse sung before the Lost Platoon boarded the train to leave for World War I. Please rise." 160 Langer stood forward and sang, to the accompaniment of his small group, the rarely heard fourth verse. The hall was not so large that he needed electronics, so for this song he did not use the amplifier. There was clapping then, and the mayor began. 161 "Thank you Mr. Langer. It is our custom to sit for this ceremony, so please be seated." All sat and watched Mayor Grey. "These words are read at every Ball: Hear Ye All Present," she read loudly. It became quiet. There may have been five hundred there. 162 "We gather to remember the men of the Lost Platoon, feared lost since June 23, 1918, men from Sky Grey and other parts of western Ohio and eastern Indiana, and one from Missouri. They are not forgotten, and we still await their return. If anyone here present awaits the return of a family member, please rise and remain standing when I read his name." 163 One by one, she read the rank, full name and hometown of each member of the Lost Platoon. As she did, various people stood at their seats for a relative unmet by them, lost 90 years earlier. She read on as more and more people stood, the great-great nieces and nephews and distant cousins of boys killed at 19 so long ago. From lowest to highest rank, she read the names. At the mention of Sergeant Harvey Lancaster, the lone soldier from Missouri, a very, very old woman in a wheelchair was pushed forward a bit, onto the hard dance floor by a young woman of perhaps 25, who stood behind. 164 The mayor saw those two and smiled, and finally said, "First Lieutenant William Finch, of Sky Grey, Ohio," and she saw Finches and Greys all over the room stand. "I add myself to that number," Sheila Grey said. 165 Trish turned at her table. 166 "You should stand, too," Mattie Morrison said, her coworker for the evening. "You're a Finch. None of them ever met him, either." 167 Trish stood at her table. 168 "Ladies and gentlemen, the living relatives of the Lost Platoon," The mayor said, and began to applaud. She was joined by all in a gentle ovation. 169 There were no direct descendants. None of the Lost Platoon had children. That fact impressed itself on Trish as she saw all those standing. 170 Finally, the mayor read from her paper again, "Sky Grey Platoon: We await your return. This will always be your home." At this gathering, no mothers cried, no brothers wept, no sisters wailed. She handed the microphone to a minister, who gave a prayer for their souls or their safe return, which no one had considered possible for fifty years or more. 171 The mayor said, "Thank you. You may be seated. There is someone who would like to speak." 172 The mayor took the portable microphone and visited the Missouri women, and then called for quiet. 173 "Ladies, Gentlemen, your attention please." A spotlight pointed at the mayor and the two women. 174 "I'm with Clara Lancaster Jones, the sister of Sergeant Harvey Lancaster of Missouri. She would like to say a few words about her brother." The mayor turned the microphone over to the very old woman. 175 "I was five when Harvey was killed in 1918. I expect I am the oldest relative alive, here, but I want you to know that they were real people. I remember Harvey in his uniform, our parents so proud." She hesitated at the thought. "I didn't know him well, he was 17 years older. Still, he was my brother. He didn't know where Sky Grey was, I remember him saying." She smiled. "I'm here with my great-granddaughter Evelyn. We think it's wonderful what you are doing here, and we hope you continue it. Perhaps someday, we'll find out what happened to them." She handed the microphone back to the mayor. 176 Trish had never seen such a commemoration. It was a sober and lovely night. A US senator stopped in. The lieutenant governor was there with his wife, daughter and son-in-law. The governor of Ohio sent his regrets. 177 CHAPTER 2: NEVERENDING WAR For a decade after the end of the Great War, mothers in western Ohio told their children about the local boys who went to Europe. 179 They sent their sons Over There, thanked the Army they were together, and hoped for a best that was not to be. From Europe came a few letters immediately after landing, some more over the next few months, but the last notes just said they were soon to move up. Then there was nothing. No letter came, nothing for months. The army declared them missing. Eventually they were presumed dead. Letters were sent to Senators and Congressmen, to the Army, to the President, but no one knew anything. The army sent an officer to find them, but the war was still raging and he found no sign of anyone. 180 "One day," parents and relatives said to their surviving children, "God took them, and every one of them was carried to heaven by an angel. One second they were soldiers, and then they were saints." It was a great tragedy for the likes of Sky Grey or Eaton, Ohio, or Lynn or Muncie, Indiana. 181 A door slammed once in 1924, and Mrs. Finch looked up, thinking it must be Billy. Mrs. Noe saw her son Douglass in the 1930s at the new Union Terminal train station in Cincinnati, from a distance, as he got on a train, but he never turned around and then he was gone. She cried for hours, convinced he was alive and just didn't come home for some reason. 182 Tom Canally saw his brother once walking along the street in Sky Grey in 1936. He ran up to him, pulled on his arm, but when he turned it wasn't him. Tom said, "Sorry, I thought you were someone else." 183 Mother Lindstrom told her daughter, "Every time the steps creak I look up and think it might be Ted, finally home. Remember how he always bounced on those steps?" 184 That happened for decades. Finally, all who had hoped for their return were gone, too. They were just a legend. No old man wandered in fifty years later claiming to be the long lost Private Simkins or Sergeant Lancaster. No Billy Finch, no Allen Scranton. No Doug Noe. No one. 185 They stepped onto a troop transport train in early 1918, and no one from Sky Grey ever saw them again, alive or dead. 186 * 2010, Rochambeau, France 187 The screen door creaked open, its spring twinging. 188 "Mama, come quick, we found something!" little Cheri, almost six, yelled from the backdoor, excited and smiling. Amie Durand took her hands out of the dishwater, dried them on a towel, and wondered what the children had gotten into. 189 "Come on, Mama, come on!" Cheri insisted, pulling on her hand. They went outside on that brilliant, cool spring Saturday. Cheri pulled on her mother's hand until they were jogging to the base of the ridge, where it merged with the floor of the valley. The ground was always a little moist there. Around the point of the spur it became a swamp pond. 190 Jean was there, holding a small cylinder of metal, caked in mud and dirt. Seeing his mother approach, he held it out to her proudly. 191 "Look, Mama! Look what we found right here, just sticking out of the ground!" 192 Amie saw what he held and her heart stopped. She didn't want to frighten them, but she was frightened. 193 "Jean, don't move." Her voice had a commanding tone neither of the children had ever heard. "Just hold it out and don't move. Let me have it, please," she said. "Gently." 194 "What is it, Mama? Why are you..." he said. Then he remembered all the times she or Uncle Jacques had warned them not to touch things they found on the ground. They had not said it for some time, so it hadn't mattered. 195 Amie gently put her hands around the cylinder, which had two bands of iron or steel belted about the tube that looked to be brass. It was heavier than she expected. Jean pulled his hands back. 196 "Good," she said, not moving. "Now listen to me. I want you to run to the house. Get your uncle. Hear me? GET YOUR UNCLE!" 197 Jean and Cheri were scared, now. Their mother was scared, and they could feel her fear. Jean saw her perspiring, saw her trembling. 198 "GO! RUN!" she said, standing there with her arms out, scared to pull her hands closer, or to accidentally shake or jostle the old bomb. 199 They ran. Uncle Jacques should be in the house or the front field. 200 Amie slowly squatted, and gently, oh so gently, put the cylinder down on the ground. 201 The children heard the explosion, and Cheri screamed. 202 CHAPTER 3: A GRADUATE SEMINAR IN HISTORY "Patricia Finch?" 204 "Here. Trish, please. I'm interested in the impact of war on small communities." 205 The professor made a notation. 206 "Arlington Jeffries?" 207 "Here," said a tall guy in the corner. His hair is perfect, Trish thought. He probably spent more on those clothes than I did on my car. "I'm studying the role of women in my life," Jeffries said. There was a groan from two of the three women in the room. 208 Dr. Simms raised an eyebrow and smiled. "Sociology seminar is down the hall. Psychology is downstairs. Pickup Bar is down the street. Seriously, Mr. Jeffries?" 209 "American fascist movements, Simms." 210 Trish was startled by the rude tone of the reply. Dr. Simms was not smiling, and he looked for some seconds at the student. He didn't seem amused by Jeffries. Jeffries looked back at him. Was that insolence? 211 "Thank you, Mr. Jeffries." Simms's voice was harder, quieter, Trish thought. 212 He went on with the class list then, perhaps having measured Jeffries or tired of him. 213 Most of the discussion was about the nature of history doctorates, their uses and limitations (several of the students appeared to be considering other programs), and the level of work necessary to finish successfully. 214 Jeffries spoke up almost as if his participation was a gift to everyone. "I planned on reading the major historians and what they wrote on the Klan and the German-American Bund. My idea was to conduct a meta-synthesis of the best historians and critics." 215 Meta-synthesis? Trish looked at Jeffries, wondering if he were serious. 216 Dr. Simms waited a moment, perhaps wondering who the "major historians" might be. "Do you mean only Bund? Not the American Nazi Party founded by Rockwell later? There have been several other significant fascist groups and movements. The Black Legion. Business Plot. Silver Legion. Coughlin's followers. Recent groups that might be fascist like White Aryan Resistance, or left-wing groups that have similar structures. You need to show there is a lack of knowledge or study of your topic as well as your plan to investigate it before it will be approved. You need to identify a change or idea, perhaps an event, that has not been adequately investigated." 217 Jeffries seemed flustered, never having considered that Simms might expect more than that he read popular histories of American nazis. Trish thought she saw amusement in Simms's eyes, quickly veiled. She thought Jeffries had picked a subject out of thin air because he thought it would be easy or impressive to someone, and hadn't considered he was expected to defend his project every step of the way. Perhaps he was surprised Simms knew more than he about the subject. 218 "Racism precludes rigor," Jeffries said. "You act as if there is a philosophy of intellectual depth. My thesis is that it is a shallow ideology based in their ignorance and lack of education." 219 "Why do you think it's based in lack of education or ignorance?" Simms asked. 220 "The Nazis? Skinheads? You expect me to read tons and tons of that propaganda as if it's anything other than white supremacist caterwauling?" 221 "You chose your topic," Simms said. He shook his head. "Perhaps you underestimate the depths of intellectual thought among the fascists. It's not my field but I've seen references to Nietzsche, Schonerer, Riehl, Heidegger, Savitri Devi, and other writers, Darwin, Ploetz, and other scientists. American fascists are not in a bubble. I doubt the topic will be as superficial as you assume. And the meta-analysis of secondary readings is more suited to studies of effective educational techniques than history. We don't study just because we can. Of course, if you approach it another way, your Phd could be a study in intellectual history, but it would have to be carefully approached. I doubt you'll find much enthusiasm for a study of the studies of fascism. We use primary sources and reach our own conclusions. You should see your advisor, Dr. Marshall, I think?" 222 "I will," Jeffries said, almost disgusted, accusingly. Trish wondered if it were possible for him to be humiliated. 223 "Dispassion is not difficult, one just need not care," Simms said. "But approaching every subject, every statement, every event, with an open mind, associating with the vast experience of humanity, and treating each historical actor as a full human being... that's what makes an historian different. Historians take great advantage of hindsight. Our subject is the memory of humanity, and there's purpose in that." He stopped and shook his head. 224 "It is quite possible for a reporter or general to write a great history of a battle or event. What makes the historian's job important?" he finished. "We with degrees compete with every participant, every knowledgeable observer, everyone who wants to explain. We bring diligence, hindsight, knowledge, time, years of study, books, consideration of every possibility, and hopefully open mindedness." He looked directly at Jeffries. "I don't believe in perfunctory history. We train people to write the major history, not just summarize it. It requires work and intelligence. It can take," he paused, "a lifetime." 225 Jeffries said nothing, and Trish thought that he didn't want to defend laziness. 226 She smiled. She raised her hand. 227 "It's a seminar, Ms. Finch. You may speak without raising your hand, whenever appropriate. Yes?" 228 "Of course, forgot, uh, some of what I'm interested in for my eventual dissertation is probably only available in France. How should I handle that?" 229 Dr. Simms looked at her with sudden seriousness. "History is really going to be your field? And you want to investigate something with many documents in another language and country?" 230 Trish answered yes to both. 231 "If you're serious, there's only one serious answer, and you already know it."He looked at her, and she realized he was saying she must study French, which she could already speak adequately but not like a native, and she'd have to go to France, if that was the only way to get the information. She had taken years of French in her high school and undergraduate years; perhaps she would add French to her schedule now to improve. It was not daunting to her; it was exciting. She looked at her teacher; he was not smiling but his eyes were twinkling. 232 Simms saw her excitement at the prospect of language and geographical obstacles and wanted to smile. The room was quiet. He looked at them. "You are going to be the experts in your fields, small as you may define them. That Phd means you have made every, EVERY, effort to understand it thoroughly. NOT that you understand those who have written about it. That you understand IT." 233 "Studying history doesn't save anyone's life," Dr. Simms said. "But it can reveal its meaning." 234 The room was silent. Perhaps he was trying to discourage the charlatans, Trish thought and smiled. Simms saw her smile, and he wanted to smile also, but didn't. 235 "Okay, that's enough for tonight. Don't forget the reading for Thursday. I know it's a lot, but you're worth it. Ms. Finch, Mr. Seymour, you are my advisees so if you'd see me after class for a minute? Okay, see you all Thursday."Trish and Seymour nodded and stayed in their seats as the other ten filed out. Dr. Simms stood by the door, shaking hands with each student as he or she left. He was an interesting guy, Trish decided. 236 He started off talking to Seymour and arranged a bi-weekly meeting to discuss things. Seymour left then. 237 "Ms. Finch, you went to Merciful Saviour in Sky Grey?" Dr. Simms asked. 238 "Yes, graduated four... no, five years ago. I have a bachelor's and master's from Ohio State,"she said. 239 Simms smiled, sitting down across from his advisee. "I used to teach at Saviour," he said. "Right before you got there, probably. I still live in Sky Grey." 240 "I'm commuting from there to here, this semester anyway," Trish said. 241 "Your proposal said that you had compelling evidence that a member of the Lost Platoon survived. What is that evidence? Needless to say, the Lost Platoon is fairly famous—the army officially declared them dead long ago but the bodies have never turned up. There's quite a bit of interest, even outside the country." 242 "I have contacted several of the families," Trish said, "and my family is one. From what I can tell, about two months after the war ended, some families received a letter. Handwritten in pencil. They said the same thing, word for word, except for one, the one my family received. They start with the name of a platoon member, then: 'Your loved one died without suffering and with his fellow soldiers at 5:15 a.m. French local time on June 23, 1918. He is with his platoon, as is fitting. I will not leave any of them.' None of the letters was signed. Some of them thought it was a cruel hoax. Others wrote to congressmen, but nothing came of it." 243 She stopped. Simms was quiet and willing to wait. Trish went on. "Our family's letter said, 'I am the lone survivor of my unit. I gave my word. Here, obedient to your word, they lie. Go tell their parents that I will never leave them while I live. I survived June 23, 1918. They did not.' No signature. His mother said it was his handwriting. Lt. Billy Finch's. My great-great uncle, I believe. No, one great, not two." 244 Simms let the next pause lengthen, and said, "It's very moving. You must realize the Simonides association in it. By now he must be long gone. Do you think he stayed with their graves?" 245 "My great-grandfather said that Billy promised he would not leave a man behind, living or dead. He said he would stay with them, and he thought that's what he did. He wondered if he was crazy or hurt. The army presumed him dead after some time missing in action, with all the rest." 246 "You think it's worth a dissertation?" Jonas inquired. 247 "As part of the larger story, I do. How Sky Grey handled the loss of so many, so suddenly. The Great War in small town America. But I'd like to find out what happened. And how. I think a lot of communities face tragedies in the sudden deaths of so many, especially so many of the young." 248 Jonas was quiet and nodding. "Start thinking about a larger thesis, regarding the impact of the war on Sky Grey. I know there was a book about the loss of a large number of boys from a Mississippi town in the Civil War; that could give you help, perhaps. I don't know much about the Sullivans in World War II. We'll talk. About the Lost Platoon, I have no contacts with the army, but I have a friend who's a Marine general now, though a lawyer. He has contacts everywhere, especially in the Pentagon. I'll let him know what you're doing; he might have an idea. Doors open for him. Let me know what obstacles you run into." 249 Trish felt relieved—he seemed to like her project. She'd worried he'd find it laughable. She was on the phone to Ryan as soon as she was out the door. 250 CHAPTER 4: LOVE AND CONFLICT Ryan Armbruster was a year older than Tricia and hoped soon to finish medical school at the University of Cincinnati. He was not tall, not particularly handsome, not rich, not many other things. But he was kind in demeanor, well-read, smart, knew enough baseball to converse with Trish's dad, and loved her mother's cooking. He was witty in a wry, sly sort of way and her father sometimes hesitated before laughing uproariously at something he said. Ryan was smart and didn't force it on one. Sometimes an hour might pass after he said something, and someone contemplating would realize, THAT was really smart. 252 After placidly dating Trish for almost a year of her graduate study with Dr. Simms, he became serious. Looking to his future, he knew he'd be pursuing residencies around the country; he didn't want all his experience to be in southern Ohio, his grades and recommendations were solid to very good, and he was sure he'd be moving elsewhere. Trish was pretty and calm and pleasant; she liked a ball game or a night watching the moon, equally. She was always reading this history or that memoir. With her Phd project about Sky Grey, she'd been absent more than he'd like, interviewing people, looking for connections in town and county records, trying to find the relatives of this farmer or those soldiers. But history is a malleable study, he thought, and would fit in with any flexibility his career might demand of a young couple. 253 THOSE SOLDIERS! She was obsessed with finding the relatives of the Lost Platoon, which to him was of little consequence. So another batch of kids were killed far away long ago. What did it matter now? All their grieving relatives were gone. Their loss, like all human losses, was mitigated by time. Absorbed by history, he thought. Ryan saw loss in his daily work; he'd been lectured and the other medical students had discussed the best ways to maintain sympathetic distance, even in the face of the worst tragedies. It was too late for those dead for four generations. 254 He shook his head at her earnestness. He humored her by driving with her to some place the other side of St. Louis, Missouri to find the distant relative of a sergeant in the "LOST PLATOON."That had been a bust. Some old couple that hardly knew what she was talking about and only knew that they'd never met the guy (he died before they were born!) and some other older relative had talked about him going missing in World War I. It was just too long ago. His sister, his much younger sister, they had met. She was ancient, but still breathing. She talked of Harvey in his uniform, and Harvey's girlfriend who eventually married somebody and probably died in 1965 with a passel of grown kids. Trish ran around this little town talking to one guy after another and wasting a lot of time looking for Harvey Lancaster's girlfriend's children. 255 History was a tenuous connection, Ryan concluded. His connection with Trish was much more solid. 256 On the long drive they'd discussed their plans and she said she was falling in love with him, that she was beginning to think of him as her husband. She said she didn't make significant decisions without thinking how they might affect him and his career. She said, "I'll always talk to you before a big decision, now. I want us to work things out so we can be together." 257 She's serious and she understands, Ryan thought. He thought the same way for some time: she should avoid making commitments that might take them apart. He was looking at residencies just as her program was reaching the dissertation, so there was pressure on them both. Logically, he felt they must compromise. His schooling was costing so much, his ultimate reward would be so much the greater, that he knew she'd understand the practicality of his program carrying more weight than studying history; in particular, studying a town a century before. But once she had the degree, she could study history anywhere, so she'd be much more flexible. 258 Flexible, he thought. She WAS flexible. 259 They'd finally had sex. Not pretend sex, half-sex, this sex or that sex: sex. Let's-have-fun-and-do-lots-of-things sex. He smiled remembering one evening and night. Trish had been grateful he'd put up with the trip and her running around, leaving him alone much of two days. Very grateful. 260 He concentrated on sex, and she was different with their mutual declarations of love. She was not just a willing but an enthusiastic lover. She talked during it, the whole thing. Her head was in his lap and then his was in hers; he was massaging her breasts or clit, and she would talk on about "loving it" or "don't stop" or "keep doing it" or "do me this way" and on and on. He slowly slid into her, she was on top and backwards, and he kept his hands on her hips. She wanted him to hold her hard down on him, his full length within her and without moving for many long seconds; then she swung around and raised herself up and down on him, smiling at him as he squeezed her breasts. Then she bent over on the bed, and he stood above to screw down into her, just his dick touching her until his hips met hers. She said, "I feel all of you in me, and just you in me!"He came and came at that, realizing she was something of a contortionist. 261 She'd not avoided sex because she was a prude; she avoided it until she was sure she loved. She was finally convinced he loved her. She knew what she was doing, she was sure. She'd waited until he expressed strong emotion for her, and until she felt it for him. It slowly dawned on Trish that she loved Ryan. It had seemed a very momentous thing to say she loved him. 262 He wasn't perfect, but he was kind, he was joining a caring profession, and she appreciated his patience. She liked being with him. Her parents remarked on it: a doctor of medicine married to a doctor of history. Or as he saw it, they'd be a real doctor and a liberal arts Phd. He'd be supporting lesser studies by simply marrying her, and it made him feel beneficent. He never put it that way, of course; he didn't want her to feel inferior in their relationship. 263 Ryan was thinking he would like to be married by the time he finished residency, and Trish was pretty, capable, and smart. 264 It's ironic how much time a man can spend with a woman and not notice her fundamental qualities. He knew she was obsessed with that small town, with how people did things a hundred years ago, about how they dealt with the loss of forty boys. He never realized she was getting to know those who were still alive, and through them she thought she knew the dead. He didn't understand why she thought it was important to know people so well. She didn't just want to know, and then know why: she wanted to feel. 265 She wanted to feel what they felt a hundred years ago: the good, the loss, the daily life. 266 * After the Missouri trip, Ryan and she saw each other less as their programs demanded more time and effort. Trish's last classes were finishing, papers were being written, and dissertation was starting. She had lots to do. 267 Ryan was studying and working at his hospital, not sleeping much but earning praise and positive comment. He and she were together, not exactly living together; she still commuted from Sky Grey for her remnant classes, but most of her work was at the town now, and she could more easily make an appointment with her advisor in town than both of them travel to Cincinnati. But the Cincinnati and University of Cincinnati libraries had local papers she needed, so she was getting to town and could see Ryan then too, if he wasn't caught up at the hospital. She had a key to his room. 268 They had sex. As his program was winding down, she saw the confidence building in him, and decided to do something he would not forget. He came in one evening and found her wearing long black gloves, fishnet bodysuit, and on all fours in his living room. 269 "I hope you like what you see, and love what you are going to do," she said to him. She didn't turn to look at him. 270 Her bottom was perfect, he thought, her pussy red and visible. 271 "I'm going to fuck your pussy," he said. His clothes were off, he was hard, and he ran his cock up her slit to her hole. 272 "First," she said, "you're going to fuck my pussy FIRST." 273 He pushed into her then, and she thought she was appreciated. 274 * They lay together on the carpet, Trish's head on Ryan's right arm, as she tickled his chest with her fingrer. She kissed his cheek. 275 "You know," Ryan said, "if you didn't have so many meetings with Simms, we could do this a lot more." 276 "You don't think we do it enough?" she asked. They had sex once or twice a week, but not usually a marathon evening of oral and intercourse with multiple orgasms. They were young and in good shape, and sex was fun. She loved him, and he loved her, she said to herself. 277 "I'm getting to the end of my program, too," she said. "I need to visit France, to find the Lost Platoon." 278 He was quiet. "Are you sure? It's not like they won't stay lost. I mean, we see each other so little now as it is." 279 "Oh? What are you getting at?" she asked, suddenly serious. 280 "No, nothing big," he said. "I just don't see the point in hurrying to finish a history program. I mean, it's not like much changes a hundred years ago. I need a residency." 281 "Well," Trish said, "you apply around. Give us some options. Just be aware I have to finish my program here. All the papers are here, my sources. Or in France. We should do what's best for us and find a way for both of us." 282 Ryan nodded, kissed the top of her head. "I love you, Trish." 283 "I love you too, Ry," she said, slid down him, enjoyed swirling her tongue around the head of his soft dick, but she never felt him harden. She liked knowing she could give him so much pleasure. She learned a man could come without erection. There was not much semen this time, but it was a lot of fun for her. 284 CHAPTER 5: TOGETHER OR NOT Ryan was from Denver; he came to Ohio for medical school. He applied for residencies in Montana, Wyoming, Colorado, and a few other places, hoping eventually to work in the Rocky Mountain region. His parents and sister were there, and it had so much more to offer than southwest Ohio: mountains, national parks, culture (although he'd learned a curt lesson when he'd said that at one of Trish's family gatherings). He knew Denver and the Rockies; Trish knew southwest Ohio, and his experience was so much deeper, he thought. 286 Ryan was accepted at two hospitals, one in Salt Lake City, the other in Billings, Montana, and he quickly accepted the offer in Salt Lake City. It was perfect. Trish could come with him, maybe they would marry over that time. She could find time to get back to Ohio when she must, or finally to France. 287 He couldn't wait to tell Trish. 288 He carefully prepared a romantic dinner to tell her of the Salt Lake City offer, and his acceptance, but she surprised him. 289 "I've gotten two residency offers," he said. They were eating lasagna that he'd worked on for hours. Candles. Wine. Trish could see the effort. She wondered if he were ready to propose. 290 "Oh?" she asked. "Where?" 291 "Salt Lake City and Billings, Montana," he said. "l start this summer in Salt Lake City. I think you'll be able to finish here without too much delay." He was proud, she could see, and he wanted her to be happy. She looked at him. "We could get married, find a place there, and you could come back. It might only put you back a semester." 292 "You already accepted?" she said. "You only applied out west?" 293 "Yeah. I had the two offers, quickly, and I decided this was the better for us." 294 Trish was silent. She'd thought he might ask her to marry him, but instead he'd given her a fait accompli. She spoke French fairly well now. Apparently her trip to France would not be a honeymoon. 295 She finished the meal. She said no to dessert. He wondered why she was suddenly cool, what had gone wrong. Finally, she looked him squarely in the eye. 296 "Ryan, I made a mistake. I understand you have a wonderful opportunity. You were wise to take it. But I am disappointed. I would not have taken a position in Tampa, or Cleveland, or anywhere without asking you if you thought we could still be happy or survive as a couple. You assumed I would turn my back on my life here, my plans, and much of my work. I understand you think your work is the more important. I don't mind working things out with you. But it had to be WITH you. I will not take a back seat in my marriage. Thank you for so much. I wish things were different." He saw tears sliding out and down. 297 "I loved that guy who waited patiently for me in Missouri. I could have loved him." 298 Saying that, she looked at him. She realized that he had no idea what had gone wrong. She smiled sadly. She understood the Lost Platoon families better than he understood her. "For the first time, Ryan, I think my profession is more important than yours." 299 She remembered what Dr. Simms had said at that first seminar and realized she believed him. 300 * Trish came to know Dr. Simms very well, but she came to call his wife her friend despite their age difference. Emily arranged a flight for Trish to Washington D.C. to visit some archives of World War I, saving Trish a hassle and some money. Emily said, "If I can arrange it, Kansas City has a marvelous World War I museum..." Trish jumped on the proposal; the museum was renowned. Emily flew her to Kansas City and she spent two days at the museum and talking with one of its historians (who knew Dr. Simms). It was a marvelous experience, the site was beyond good. She learned about unit historians from him. 301 Jonas smiled when Trish knocked on his office door. 302 "You know you can always come right in, Miss Finch," he said, motioning to a chair. 303 "I hate to do that," she said, sitting down. 304 "So," he said, "are you ready for your trip?" It was almost two years since she'd started her Phd program. 305 "I think so. Emily's planning to fly me to New York, and from there I'm off for Paris. I have appointments with..." but she interrupted herself. 306 "General Marx gets things done, doesn't he? I mean, people do things when he shows an interest or has a request," she said. 307 Jonas Simms was smiling. "Indeed. I told you that doors open for him." 308 "He called me," she said, "after I told you I was having trouble finding the Army records from that time. You know, written orders, maps from the day they disappeared. Stuff that's sometimes in a file someplace. I told him what I needed. 309 "He said, 'Let me look into it.'" 310 Trish was shaking her head, and Simms had an expression as if he knew what was coming. 311 "And?" Jonas asked. 312 "Two days later, I got a call from some civilian historian who had the file for the Lost Platoon's activities in France. He said they'd been misplaced probably since the war and a reorganization thirty years ago made it harder to find them. He was apologizing! 313 "Anyway, he faxed the contents to the office here at school. But that's not all. The next day I got a call from a GERMAN army historian, and he said he was searching for information. Four days later he sent me an essay in English explaining about the German withdrawal near Rochambeau the morning of the Lost Platoon's attack. I now have maps in English with all sorts of military markings, maps in German with all sorts of markings and translations, and..." 314 "You're pleasantly exasperated, I guess. Pretty typical Tom Marx stuff." 315 "I don't understand it, I can't pay for it, and nobody even asked for a cent," she said. "And, can you take some time and explain a lot of what I'm seeing? I'll bring it all by tomorrow or whenever you're free," she said. 316 Simms laughed. "Come by the house, Emily will be home tomorrow night." 317 "I'll be there," Trish said as she left. She spent the evening gathering papers, writing down questions, and wondering who Tom Marx really was. 318 "Wow, just wow," Simms said upon seeing everything. 319 So began her crash course in understanding military maps. She and Simms huddled for days and evenings, locating places and figuring gps coordinates by associations of old maps and Google maps with an area northeast of Paris near a little town. For some reason, this company commander's map had marks in pencil on vulnerable paper, regardless, and Trish now had the faxed copies.There was also a hand drawn map of the platoon's position on a finger, with a swamp and trenches and certain landmarks included. A note in the corner said, Moreau Farm, June 15, 1918. Was it Uncle Billy's drawing, she wondered? She had faxes of orders to the company commander and several other papers. 320 They poured over the papers. After days, Trish and Dr. Simms identified the likely position of the platoon on modern topographic maps, as well as the farm owners. There were false leads; other searchers had identified the platoon's location on a farm north of Rochambeau: the Morneau farm. Jonas Simms was convinced they were in error, based on the family name, similar topography, and not actual maps from the period. Trish was prepared to investigate both locations, although much of the Morneau farm was now a housing development. 321 Despite their close work, Trish worried about her relationship with her advisor. 322 Dr. Simms called other candidates by their first names, some of whom he barely knew, but for some reason not Trish. She wondered why that was until she spoke with Emily, at a backyard gathering he held every spring and fall for his students. Emily planned to fly Trish to New York in just a few days. 323 Trish was helping Emily set up for the gathering. "Why does Dr. Simms call the other candidates by their first names but not me? I think we know each other better than any of the others, but he's never used it." 324 Emily was mixing a bowl of salad and stopped to smile at her. She looked directly at Trish. "Because he likes you," she said. Trish registered surprise. 325 Emily smiled and explained, "He doesn't call you by your first name because you're doing business and he wants to keep the professional distance. With the others that he advises, he doesn't fear he'll become their best buddy or cross a professional line. With you, he feels friendship, but until you get your doctorate, he wants to keep it professional." Emily's eyes were wide and sincere. 326 She knew her husband a lot better than Trish had known Ryan. 327 "It's not a crush. He did the same thing with a guy a few years ago. The one he just wrote a review of his book," she said. 328 Trish said, "Oh, I thought he was just formal with women." 329 "Well, he notices women but he's pretty consistently professional. With you he wants to be sure you see him as your advisor, not a guy hitting on you or anything." Emily finished with the salad and pulled some vegetables out of the oven. 330 "I'm ready to go to Europe," Trish said. "I'm kind of scared to look for the Lost Platoon. What if I find nothing, after all this?" 331 "Your dissertation's almost ready?" Emily asked. 332 "Yeah, except for the last draft and resolution of the Platoon's situation. It's a hole in the story. I've interviewed people of three generations. It was quite a crisis in 1919...A lot of people were just devastated around here," she said. "They had no closure. Some wrote their congressmen, Senators, President Wilson." 333 Emily shook her head. "I hope you find them. It's not very likely, is it?" 334 Trish shook hers. "I'm going to the last known position, look around there. The Germans say there's no record of an infantry attack on that date at that location, nor of taking time to bury a bunch of Americans—the Germans were pulling back that day. There was a big artillery bombardment to protect their withdrawal. There's a swamp right there, so maybe they went into that and were machine gunned or something. Who knows?" She seemed resigned to failure, if it should happen. 335 "You have a plan for being over there?" Emily asked, knowing there was no way her husband would let Trish go to Europe without an itinerary. 336 "I have appointments with the mayor of the town, a nearby museum director, some old guys in a nursing home, and I think the local priest. Also some guy who wrote a book on World War I in that area. I read the book, he hardly mentioned the Lost Platoon except to say it's final location was in question. But I'll be busy. I also have some days to wander the woods, if I can find where the Platoon was." 337 "I hope it's worth your while," Emily said. 338 "I'll see what the locals think. Hopefully it will be the denouement." 339 Emily smiled. "Practicing your French again, huh?" 340 * Simms insisted on knowing everything about her trip, since she'd be flying alone. She promised to keep him updated. He was nervous about the trip, and didn't want her to notice. She was nervous, too. 341 She met with him at his house the night before she left. He said, "I may, uh, contact you to check on things. I don't want you feeling abandoned. Sometimes history is a lonely subject, alone in the stacks, or climbing over hills and through cemeteries." Trish smiled at that and saw Emily nodding, as if to say, 'Told you so.' 342 Emily flew Trish to LaGuardia privately, even letting her sit in the copilot seat for the flight. Trish found it exciting to sit on the right as the plane landed. 343 "Be sure to keep Jonas aware of everything," Emily said. 344 "I will," Trish promised, as she lugged her bag to find the Air France terminal. 345 It was the longest flight of her life, from LaGuardia to Paris. She had time to think, read, and wish things were different. Originally, she hoped Ryan would accompany her. She missed him, several months now. 346 CHAPTER 6: TRAVEL IN TIME The inn was run by an old woman who introduced herself in English as "Audree, just Audree" and proceeded to the routines of the inn. Breakfast at seven, not after 7:30, room cleanings, run of the house. It was at breakfast that they talked. But for her, the inn was empty. 348 "Why are you here, mademoiselle?" she asked Trish, perhaps to test her French. "Rochambeau is not a tourist attraction." 349 Emily enjoyed using her French. "I'm studying history. Something happened near here, to some American soldiers in World War I. I was hoping to find out what happened to them." 350 Audree was nodding. She was perhaps 65, certainly not close to the World War I generation of a hundred years ago now, but old enough she may have spoken with them before they all passed. 351 "So much has happened since then," Audree said, sadly. "We have... the Germans took all of... the First War is now almost forgotten around here. We were occupied in the Second. We had Jews, they are all gone now. We lost all our boys to work in German factories, a generation. We had... collaboration. Resistance. Maqui. The Second War haunts us. If you were here for that, there would be trouble. Feelings are still very hard between families of the Resistance and those of the collaborators. Some are both." 352 Trish saw the emotion at lost lives, tragedy in lives changed by evil before Audree was even born. Many had remarked on the relationship of the First to the Second World War; here, the lines were probably even more indistinct. 353 "There is, to the east, a place where there were trenches, from the First War. The trenches are mostly gone, but some on the Moreau farm remain, or did when I was a child. We would run along them, but they were eroded and overgrown. I think that might be the place to start. Or maybe you'll see how hopeless it is." 354 Trish nodded, as if admitting she was close to defeat, but really more determined. 355 "Thank you so much. I planned to visit the Moreau farm." 356 "Oui, the old man still lives, he is perhaps 99? Not of the generation you seek, but they are all gone," Audree said. "He would have known them." 357 "Is he... lucid? Capable of remembering?" asked Trish. 358 Audree laughed. "Capable? He will tell you everything and more. But he will answer the question in his head, perhaps not exactly the one you asked. And be careful: he pinches. It's out the dirt road to the east, on the north side of town, not the paved one on the south side of the village, that one turns south." 359 "I will. I have an appointment with your mayor... Monsieur Gadot? In a few minutes. Tomorrow I think I will go to the Moreau farm." The Moreau farm might be the site she wanted anyway; the last known position of the Lost Platoon was east a few "clicks," as Dr. Simms said. 360 Trish was pleased. Audree saw her hope. "Just don't touch anything you don't understand. Bombs still come up from the ground every year. Especially on that farm. From the First." 361 * She walked to the mayor's office, because she didn't have the money to rent a car. She wore loose pants, a light shirt, a jacket, light hiking boots, a ball cap. It was June and would be warm. 362 Perhaps the Moreau farm was their last location. It was east of the town, and about the right distance, according to Audree. She had copies of the orders to the platoon's company commander, the description of their last known position, the unit diary for the days before and after their disappearance, a report from a captain sent to investigate the unit's disappearance, and an old map with the platoon's location and the plan of attack for that morning, June 23, 1918. The pencil on the attack map was very faded, but Trish had it digitally enhanced, at some expense. Rochambeau was just two point five kilometers west. There was a trail or road marked nearby, communications trenches and the platoon's front line trench marked. She had the GPS coordinates entered into her phone. 363 Monsieur Gadot was older than Audree, tall and thin. "The First World War?" the old guy asked. "Yes. Moreau Farm." He mumbled something that Trish did not understand. 364 "Pardon?" she asked. "I didn't hear what you said." 365 "There is the ridge there. Some trench. No good for farming, overgrown with weed and scrub trees now. They said since the First War." 366 "Do you know anymore about it?" Trish asked, but the man shook his head no. 367 "We played there, army and cowboys and Indians, growing up in the DeGaulle years. We called it Crête Folle." Trish didn't understand at first, but then 'folle' came to her. Fool. Madman. 368 Madman Ridge. 369 He directed her to the Moreau farm, said the road was bad and might destroy her car. 370 "I will walk, then," she said. 371 That first evening in Rochambeau, Dr. Simms called her. She was no longer surprised. 372 "I intend to visit the Moreau farm east of town tomorrow," she said. 373 "Good luck, Miss Finch. Let me know what you find, if anything. And, please, be careful." 374 * By the time she reached Moreau farm, Trish was perspiring. The day was hot in the sun, and the exertion made her thankful for the two water bottles she'd filled at the inn. There was a brick pylon where a dirt driveway intersected the road from the left. Trees lined the drive, but thinly, and crops were growing to left and right. At the end of the drive was a small farmhouse of white stucco, a barn, and a covered bin for silage, she guessed, Beyond were more fields, but to the northeast the ground rose rather distinctly. It was not terribly high, but it overlooked all of this land and would afford a good view were it not for the trees. The trees were not large; perhaps the soil was rocky, thin, or poor. The trees clung to a measly life. 375 She checked her copies of the maps while sitting under a tree beside the drive, checked her gps. Dr. Simms had taught her about contour lines and fingers and ridges and cliffs, and she'd identified saddles and spurs around Sky Grey and found them on maps and the old military maps of this area. She understood all of these things before he'd started with her, but he was right: the ground never looked the way the map seemed to describe. She understood the difference between contour lines and contours. 376 Before her was a ridge, actually a finger sloping from a hill some mile or so away. She assumed it was the platoon's last known position. It probably was. 377 Trish reached the small house, thankful for the shade of the trees near the house. There was a porch that brought some relief from the sun then. She knocked on the wood screen door. 378 "Ha!You never saw us!Ha!" she heard from behind and in French, startling her so she jumped. Two voices, from little people. She turned to face them but there was no one there. She looked about. 379 Behind her, she heard a man say, "You must look up." 380 She raised her eyes, and in the tree to the left she saw a thin arm stretched around the trunk and holding a branch in a small hand, and then a girl's head with a smile peeked around the tree. Nine, maybe? She saw movement to the right and noticed a boy, perhaps eleven, standing on a larger branch in another tree across the lane, smiling as if to say "gotcha." 381 "It's their way of saying welcome," the man said as she turned. He was short, her age and height, with a day's growth of beard and dark hair and eyes. 382 "Hello," Trish said. "I'm Trish Finch. I was told that a man lived here, and I was hoping I might talk to him." 383 "I live here, and I'm a man," he said. "Jacques Moreau." He studied her closely, unusually. 384 "No... I mean yes, but I was told an older man might tell me about the history of the area." 385 "Come in, Miss Finch. I heard that right?" he said, almost as if it meant something to him. "My grandpa is inside in the back room. It is the only one air conditioned, we have it running constantly in the humidity; it helps him breathe. He must be the one you seek." 386 He held the door for her 387 "Yes, Finch, thank you." 388 "You are American?" he asked, pointing to a chair in a small living room with a couch, coffee table, two chairs, a full case bookshelf, and assorted toys. 389 "Yes. I've never been to France. It's my first chance to speak French outside a classroom or one trip to Quebec years ago."She sat in the one chair, he took the near side of the couch about three feet away on the other side of an end table. 390 "Ah, I noticed how slowly you speak, but very well. You must have a talent. May I get you some water? Lemonade?" 391 "Lemonade would be great. Thank you." 392 He left the room and she heard him in the kitchen. He opened the kitchen door and yelled something to the kids, and she heard the girl answer back something. He came back with lemonade with ice in a tall glass. 393 "So why do you visit us, Miss? "He was looking directly at her, sipping his own lemonade but very serious. 394 "I'm a history student, working on a Phd. I'm studying the impact World War I had on my hometown. Near here, in 1918, was the last known position of an American platoon that never returned home. They died or something. June 23, 1918. It was quite a loss for such a small town as most of them were from. For all of western Ohio, really." 395 He was quite good-looking, she thought. His eyes were so direct and unwavering. She wondered if she seemed foolish to a man who worked the land, a more practical occupation than studying history. Who comes so far at such expense to find out what happened to some guys a hundred years ago? 396 She answered herself: Historians do. 397 "World War II was devastating to us in Rochambeau, you know. The resentments remain. There were many collaborators here, many acted out of fear, some were guerrillas or Maqui, one woman, who had her hair shaved in retribution, killed herself and they let her body hang..." 398 He said nothing but steadily looked at her. 399 She was quiet, and finally he went on. "But here, on this farm, we are famous." 400 She detected an ironic or sarcastic quality to his tone. 401 He continued,"We set a record, four years ago. We are still fighting not World War Two but World War ONE. You see, in our fields, we have an old trench from World War I, three trenches actually. What's left of them. There was fighting here early and then late in the war. Yes, there were Americans here, but for all these people, the Germans and British and Americans, everyone who was here in that war, it's over. You see?" 402 She did see but not what he was getting at. He seemed angry at the world, and he wanted her angry, too. 403 "For poilus and tommies and yanks it's all over. They were killed or injured or captured and the survivors, they went home." He was speaking with such emotion, she wanted to say, it was a hundred years ago! 404 "I didn't mean to upset you," she said, holding the cold wet glass to her cheek for some relief from the heat, wondering what was so unnerving to him, hoping her simple common gesture would bring him calm. 405 "No, no," he said almost in distress, as if he were having trouble making himself clear. "You must understand, at Moreau Farm the war is still being waged. The Great War is not over." 406 He paused, obviously with more to say. There was a passion in him that demanded respect.. 407 "We have yet to defeat the Bosche. You see, the last casualty of World War I was here, on this farm." 408 She spoke up, hoping to calm him if she could. "I thought the last action was to the east and north in 1918?" 409 "No, you don't understand. No," he said, almost incoherently to Trish, "The soldiers stopped fighting and went home. Their war was over. The politicians signed a paper: It is over, celebrate! But farm wives, they fight on, for them the war goes on now a hundred years. My sister Amie. The children's mother, almost four years gone now." He looked angry. 410 "She was the last killed in World War I." 411 * Of course, Trish knew that bombs were regularly making their way to the surface at all the modern battlefields. The freeze-thaw cycle exposed them; farmers near a battlefield were cautioned to watch carefully where they plowed, to check for unexploded ordnance of any type. Duds could prove deadly a hundred years later. Hand grenades, landmines, artillery shells, bombs dropped from planes: all were deadly threats to generations to follow. Dr. Simms had warned her about poking around unmarked, unchecked, perhaps unremembered battlefields. The European governments even had a highly paid and highly trained unit to recover or dispose of unexploded ordnance whenever found. 412 Jacques left her alone then to check on the children, who a few minutes later followed him into the living room and sat beside him on the couch. 413 "Cheri, Jean, this is Miss Finch. She came here all the way from America." The children perhaps had calmed him. 414 "Hello, Miss Finch," they mumbled looking down, suddenly shy at the close encounter. 415 "Hello, Cheri, Jean. That was quite a fright you gave me outside," Trish said and smiled. 416 They had little smiles now, but said nothing for a few seconds. Then Cheri said something to Jean that Trish could not hear. Trish raised an eyebrow. 417 Jean said, "She thinks you sound funny." 418 "I'm still learning French. I speak English at home," Trish replied. 419 "Oh," they nodded. "Could you say something in English?" Cheri asked. 420 In English, she said, "When I get home, I will tell my parents I met two French children named Cheri and Jean." 421 They laughed, probably not understanding. Jacques hushed them and told them to play within sight of the house, and they ran off. 422 "I can tell you a lot about what happened here, but my grandfather is the one who knows the most. He even has some papers. Come with me, bring your lemonade, we'll let him stay in his air conditioning," he said, turning and leading the way through a dining room and then a passageway. 423 He knocked, opened a door, and Trish felt the welcome of cool, dry air as she entered a small room with a daybed and a rocking chair. An old man was rocking gently in the chair. 424 "Grandpa," Jacques said, "this lady has come to visit us from America. From Sky Grey, Grandpa." 425 She'd not said Sky Grey, assuming they'd not know it. Jacques recognized her name. 426 The old man looked at her closely then. He had the mottled skin of great age and outside work, but his eyes were not dull. He could see, and Trish thought she saw memory there, intelligence. 427 "Her name is Miss Finch, Grandpa. Miss FINCH," he said, spelling it for the old man. 428 Silence. Trish stepped forward. 429 "I'm Patricia Finch, from Sky Grey, Ohio, and I'm trying to find out what happened to the American platoon that was posted here in June, 1918. The platoon leader was my great-grandfather's brother." 430 The old guy, sitting in his rocker, held out his hand and Patricia shook it, but the guy did not let go. She thought he was thinking and wishing. Wishing? 431 "I met your great-grandpa's brother once. I was a child." 432 Trish almost stopped breathing. He did not want to let go. Nor did she, perhaps for another reason. She realized his mind was sharp. Other things were sharp, also. 433 "We were playing up on the ridge. The one we named for him, Madman Ridge. We didn't do that much because he was up there, our parents told us to stay away. He would watch us from up in a tree, or a hole in the ground, so many bombs went off around here there are still holes. We'd see him but he'd stay far away, unless we got too close to the lower part of the ridge. He chased us off, swinging a stick or throwing rocks." He laughed, or cackled." Anyway, one day the others all ran down the other side around the pond down there, more of a swamp really. That's the edge of our property. I went in this direction and suddenly he jumped me. I was ten? This would have been about 1927." 434 She finally extricated her hand and sat on the daybed. Jacques stood. 435 Nine years after the war? How'd he lived? Did he work? 436 "Did he hurt you?" she asked. 437 "No, he saved me. He smelled. His clothes were just rags. He was very, very thin. You see, I was about to run into this stake sticking up out of the ground. It was hidden in the weeds and thorns, vines, but if I'd fallen on it..." He shook his head. "He pointed to it, walked me by it, holding both my arms, and once I was on this side of the slope he pointed to our house here and let me go. I ran away." 438 "A few years later I looked for the stake but it was gone. Maybe he was growing tomatoes," he said, and laughed thinly. 439 He had trouble getting his breath, this was exciting for him and hard, he must have been close to a hundred years old. 440 "Where'd he live? How'd he live?" she asked. 441 The old guy looked at her and smiled. He liked being old. Since he got old, every woman he saw was pretty, and this American girl who just wanted to know about her kinsman was more than most. You're a flirt, Moreau, he thought to himself. He started to laugh but it started him coughing. He blamed the Americans for the state of his lungs, too. Marlboros, even though he quit in the 1970s. 442 When he caught his breath, he smiled at Trish, and she thought, he's flirting! He's liking this attention. He feels more important because I want to know what he's kept locked up for decades. 443 "He would sneak down to our house in the dark, usually. Other houses toward Rochambeau. He'd go through garbage, sometimes someone would see him by the road and leave out a coat or used clothes, some apples or leftovers. He became very thin over the years; we'd not see him for weeks on end and then he'd turn up. Some guys saw him fishing a few times in the pond, but there's not much in there but some small stuff. A few times people saw smoke from farther up the hill, well beyond the ridge with the stakes." 444 Trish was quiet, imagining him slowly wearing down, homeless, exposed to the elements, deranged or obsessed or something crazy. 445 "He never hurt anyone?" she asked. 446 "No. There were rumors, but no one ever claimed he hurt them. A few were tackled or knocked down, but just on that one part of the ridge. Otherwise he'd just watch whoever was near. He'd even wave a few times, when people were far away." 447 Trish was afraid to ask her last question. "What happened to him?" 448 Mr. Moreau smiled, sadly. "It was harsh in these parts the one winter, maybe 31-32 or 30-31. I don't remember, but it's on the stone. We didn't see him at all that winter, and come spring some kids found him. Up in the rocks on the hill beyond the ridge he'd put up some pallets and wood and built a shelter of sorts. But he froze to death, they thought, though he may have starved. His hands and feet were frostbitten before death, so he may have died either way." 449 Trish sat back, as if she'd reached an end of sorts. 450 "Where'd they put him?" she asked. 451 The old man seemed to get a glimmer, as if he were suddenly enthusiastic. 452 "They found some papers with him. No diary, not like that, but wrapped in oilcloth and rubber sheet. In a rusty German ammunition box he must have found, not one of the wood ones. He'd gone to trouble to save it. The first paper printed in English block letters, PLEASE BURY ME ON THE LOWER RIDGE. WITH MY BOYS. It was signed, FINCH." 453 Quiet again. Then he went on, without prompting. "I know all this because they gave it all to my father. Our farm, after all, and if someone'd come looking we'd know as much as could be known. Would you like to see the papers? His effects, if you will." 454 Patricia jumped up, her heart racing. "Oh my God, yes! Do you know how much the original documents could help? For verification? Credibility? Yes, oh please." 455 Jacques, sitting beside her on the daybed, patted her hand and said, "In that chest, Grandpa?" 456 "Yes, you know the one. And bring me a lemonade and refresh our guest's." 457 "Yes, Grandpa, of course, Grandpa, anything you say, Grandpa," Jacques said and laughed. Trish heard him yelling then for the kids, checking on them. 458 It was silent in the room. 459 Trish said, "Did he leave other writings, Mr. Moreau?" 460 He nodded. "Yes, a little military stuff no one here could make sense of. Probably because we could translate the English to French but the jargon is not the same, so our veterans couldn't figure it. Probably not important. There was a long list of names, side by side; as if there should be a picture above it and each person identified. Then there's a page, well, here he comes now." 461 Jacques was carrying a small wooden chest. He unlocked it with a key, saying, "I've wanted to know what was in here for all my life. At least you kept the key!" 462 His grandfather harrumphed and smiled. "There should be a small ammunition box. Get that out. And at the bottom, wrapped in cloth and tied with a rope, it'll be heavier." 463 Jacques found it, actually a World War I German metal box for ammunition. He opened it for his grandfather, who looked in. Then he reached in with both hands to the bottom of the chest and pulled out a large package that clinked as metal. 464 "Here, Miss Finch. It rightfully belongs to you, now," said the old man handing her the box. 465 She found yellowed papers, a wallet that had William Finch, USA on an American identity card; some money. There was a St. Christopher medal, army identity tags. Pictures! She found the papers, SKY GREY PLATOON in big letters, listing everyone in the platoon, by squad and team, as best she could figure. Not in column, but in rank side by side. Several pages, as if they should be adjoined sideways head to toe, and to the right a big rock and area he labeled Lafayette Woods. Perhaps Dr. Simms would know what to make of it. She saw the precise instructions for burial, very clear compared to the other things. There was also a note, as if wanting to explain to anyone back home why Billy Finch lived and everyone he was responsible for died. 466 "23 June 1918. At 0515 hours, I was at battalion briefing. Jack Johnsons? obliterated trench. Platoon went west. I know where each man is, as I look to the north. Their gravesite is a garden of knives." Added almost as an afterthought, was this statement: "Took bayonets, danger to children." 467 She read it, did not understand some, understood too well others, and decided she'd like to talk to Dr. Simms or General Marx. 468 Jacques opened the roped package of cloth, and there were dozens of old, rusted bayonets. 469 "I am confused by this also. If I come back tomorrow in the morning, could you take me up on the ridge. To where he's buried? Where he says his men are?" 470 Jacques said yes, looking happy she'd be back. 471 "Then I need to get back to Rochambeau. I have a phone call to make. I'll try to be here about 9 tomorrow, if that's okay?" 472 The old man reached out his hand, and she grasped it. He put his other hand on top. "I am glad you have come. It's time the issue be put to bed." 473 Trish thought, is he flirting again? Did he know how those words translated? She looked in his eyes and decided he knew exactly what he was suggesting, without making it obvious. 474 Jacques said, "Grandpa, you are a dirty old man." He laughed. 475 Grandpa Moreau howled, but then developed a coughing fit that soon passed. His eyes were twinkling. 476 Jacques walked her to the door. 477 "I look forward to tomorrow. I haven't been up on the ridge in a year. We'll see what we find. I know where they buried your relative, though." 478 Trish thanked him, looked at him a moment, and left, hesitating to look at those dark eyes again, but touching his arm. A strong arm. 479 It was mid-afternoon, and she'd missed lunch without a thought. She thought two kids were following her down the lane, but she couldn't see them in the trees nor on the ground. 480 Back at her room, she studied the papers and her gps, her maps, and decided the spur of the hill was the last known location of the platoon. The pond or swamp was likely the one marked on the old war map, with the arrows pointing the direction of attack around it. 481 She had an email message that discouraged her. It was from the granddaughter of Clara Lancaster Jones. 482 "Sorry to inform you that Clara passed away yesterday of natural causes. She was so hoping for your success." 483 She called her parents that evening and told them about her search, that she hoped to learn something soon. She asked them to tell Dr. Simms, should he call. 484 * A sober doctoral candidate trudged to the Moreau farmhouse at 9 a.m. the next morning. It was June 23, coincidentally, a warm day again. Jacques answered the door immediately. He was clean shaven, she noticed. 485 "Hello, Miss Finch. How are you today? It looks like we have a great day for a walk in the woods." 486 "We do. Jacques, are you ready to go or do you need to get the kids or what?" she asked. 487 "The kids are with their father, at my request. He works when he feels like it, which is rarely, so he did not mind having his own children. My father is visiting his best friend, a lady, I have no knowledge what he could be doing, but I suspect. I have plenty of water for us, and some sandwiches if it gets to lunch or you just want to eat. Are you ready?" 488 Trish smiled. He wanted to be alone with her. "Please, I'm ready, I have some water also, some granola bars, and my first name is Patricia. My friends call me Trish. No one calls me anything but Trish." 489 "It's good to know you have no enemies," he said, smiling and closing the door. They went around the house and followed a track through the crops. 490 "Did you learn anything about the papers, last night?" he asked her as they reached the edge of the field twenty minutes later. He helped her up the rocks there, a pile probably removed from the fields over the years. 491 "I think so. I think the platoon's last known location was the ridge or spur here. GPS will confirm that in a few minutes, but it has to be so. My advisor and I went over the maps pretty thoroughly back home." 492 They climbed a gentle slope and then followed a small ravine for a hundred yards when Jacques stopped. They were among trees, but not old growth by any means. 493 "Did you recognize the trench? We've been in it for a hundred meters or so." 494 She was surprised. She'd thought it natural. "No, I didn't. This is not a front line trench, is it?" It was grassy, the bottom was not mud but seemed to drain. 495 "No. It was a trench to get to the big ones. It used to be filled with water much of the year, so I dug an outlet down there," he said and pointed to where they'd entered. "It worked. Cut down on mosquitoes and kids even come here to see a trench from the war once in a bit." 496 "Is it safe to play here? I mean, those old bombs..." she said. 497 He stopped and looked at her. "The Germans were here, took this ridge early in the war. The British tried to take it back and did, finally. In 1918 an American unit was here. The Germans were just the other side of the valley." He pointed north. 498 He didn't go on, just stood there in the trench. 499 He finally said, "My sister found Cheri and Jean digging up a Marten Hales Number 2 hand grenade, right over there at the base of the hill," he said, pointing down the slope near where they'd entered the trench. "She took it from them, made them run to our house, and was putting it down when it went off. Not a huge bomb, but enough if one is not lucky. It had probably been there 96 years, working its way to the surface." He was quiet. Trish felt his anguish. "They used radar then in the area, but who knows if that is thorough? No, it's not safe." 500 They continued walking up the increasingly shallow trench to the top of the ridge, or spur, really. The trench just ended among scrub trees and tangled undergrowth. There was no trench here, nothing but uneven dirt and rock and trees growing haphazardly, as if the ground were churned long ago. They walked further up the ridge, along its northern military crest, as Dr. Simms had explained to her. They picked their way around that mound and this pile, higher, toward a hill in the distance. 501 To the right was a huge depression, many yards across and several deep. Trees and bracken were thick, and water filled the bottom. 502 The ground levelled then but with a slight depression running the length of the ridge. Getting through the bracken was a problem still at times. Stickers and thorns took a toll, and even though in long sleeves and pants, both of them were pricked and scratched and had spots of blood on hands, arms, and legs. Trish stubbed her toe and stepped on some small rocks just below the ground cover, uncomfortable but no problem. It happened again a few yards on. 503 Farther on was another large depression, this one with brackish water in the bottom. There were other small holes along the way. Artillery? Trish wondered and came to assume. 504 As they reached where the ridge/spur joined the hill, Jacques grabbed her hand and led her around a distinctive rock. On it was carved, barely discernible now, FINCH 1931. 505 "He's buried about five feet down right there, I've been told," he said, pointing under the base of the rock. 506 She stopped and looked. Dross, leaves, and detritus covered the spot. It was large enough, if they'd not encountered other rocks. 507 "I was told there was a large depression, a shell hole, so the digging was practically done. They just cleaned it out and then filled it in." 508 She ran her hand over the name on the rock. She took a picture with her phone, hoping the resolution would show the chiselled name. She leaned close to the rock. "Where are your men, Uncle Billy?" she whispered, hoping it was not noticed. 509 Jacques could not hear, but he saw her. He didn't ask, but she answered. 510 "Let's walk down the spur again." 511 They did. After about 50 metres they stopped and pulled the tangled weeds apart and looked at the ground. Standing on one of those protruding rocks, Trish pushed off and it moved, just a bit. Getting down on hands and knees, she cleared around the protrusion she'd stepped on, and Jacques looked on from above, ripping and pulling vines away. She dug around the projection and she realized it wasn't a rock. She recalled she'd stepped on several of these protrusions, stubbed her toe several times. She gave a cry. It was the muzzle of a rifle. 512 "What is it?" Jacques said. 513 "They're here. Below our feet. The Lost Platoon." She spoke in English, not realizing, and then she translated for him. 514 The bayonets had been removed by Billy, perhaps after the incident with Mr. Moreau, but the muzzles remained, some above and some an inch or so below the surface. 515 She cried then, not a lady's sad cry, but the wailing cry of a mother who has lost a child and just found the body.She wailed for a father finding a son or daughter deceased, for all those mothers and fathers and wives and brothers and sisters who died without knowing what happened to their child or brother far away. First she was frantic, scraping with her fingertips at the dirt around the muzzles of the rifles, finding one, two, seven, more and more, and there they were lined up, prepared to attack: concussed and suffocated and dead. 516 She imagined them seated on the firestep, rifle butt on the bottom of the trench, bayonet sticking 16 inches beyond the rifle, perhaps ten or 14 inches above the soldier's helmeted head. She imagined them now as skeletons just below her feet. Their attack never left the trench because it collapsed, inhuming them. 517 Jacques held her, kneeling in the bracken, and she leaned against him. He realized the horror of this place he'd lived near his whole life. How awful, she thought. They've been here all along... 518 Americans, he thought. He stroked her hair until she was calm. 519 * They retraced their steps to his house, slowly, now early afternoon, holding hands, and she sometimes leaned against him. Then he put his arm around her. Trish was exhausted, as much by the emotional wrenching she'd felt as the mile or so they'd walked. They sat together on the couch, resting, not wanting to talk about bombs and wars, or so many dead men, or his sister, or wars long ago and still killing good people. It yanked at her; his sister died for a war quickly being lost to memory, leaving two little ones... 520 They kissed as if kissing would push thought away. His hand worked its way under her shirt; there was a need in her from so much emotion. She felt him through his pants, and he was hard, so hard. "Have you a condom?" she asked. 521 "Oui," he said. 522 They were against each other, kissing hard, painfully. He tore at her clothes and she his. He was hard and naked from the waist down, and she stood and let him pull her pants and panties down. He kissed her bottom and squeezed it with each hand. He had a condom and she saw him putting it on. 523 "Good, hurry, Jacques!" she said, pulling him over from the couch. He thought that she was beautiful and sexy and she faced the wall as his cock sought what it hardened to seek, slid up and along her until it found her opening, and was in her because she was so wet. Soon she was groaning with his fullness. "Yes, please, yes," she said, and things like it, loving the pure concentration on her sex, the filling and emptying and filling. 524 She turned and pulled him by hand to the couch, where she lay back and spread her legs wide. 525 She had never done this, not like this, not with someone she hardly knew, and for a moment she wondered at her willingness. She pushed her wonder aside. 526 He was filling her with his need to get every bit of him into her, her legs spread and his weight on her and his hands on her breasts. "I am going to cum," he said. 527 She said, "Do it. I want to feel it, so much... Jacques, Jacques," and she felt his swelling as the urgency built, his rapid thrusts more arduous, and spurts then, inside her, exhausting her and him, his groan of climax and her sigh of peace. They relaxed, and he held the base of his penis to hold the condom on as he withdrew, and she felt empty. They were together for sometime, half naked, as he softened, and still she loved the moment, the warmth, the touch of a man with her. It was as if she were alive again, no longer surrounded by so much young death. 528 They rested side by side, slumped on the couch. After some time, she spoke. 529 "It was wrong, Jacques. I don't know you. You don't know me. I don't know why..." 530 Jacques smiled. "You are beautiful, we are young, you have lived with this painful event for a long time. I do not have someone in my life. No woman." 531 She thought of Ryan. Always Ryan. 532 "It will not... Please, don't," she started and stopped, unsure what she wanted to say. 533 "I will tell no one. For me, it will be a great and secret joy," he said. He kissed the air. "Perhaps when my grandpa asks me about today, I may wink at him. But I will never admit it. I did not expect it. Perhaps I hoped, though," he smiled. 534 She walked back to Rochambeau later that afternoon. She insisted Jacques let her go alone; she needed to think. She had not understood her emotions, nor the interplay of so many, so much, and so rampant. Perhaps her empathy for the families of the Lost Platoon affected her emotionally. 535 She didn't regret it, she was even glad for it, but she wanted that passion with her next lover or perhaps husband, not a man she hardly knew. Jacques was in the right place when all the sadness and loss of love overwhelmed her judgment. 536 The emptiness of this trip, without Ryan, added to the loss of the platoon so long ago. She wanted it to be her honeymoon; now Ryan was gone, and it was a trip to a graveyard. She was no dispassionate historian. 537 She smiled. Boy, did you get lucky, Jacques. She thought he'd agree. Perhaps I did, too, she thought. 538 * CHAPTER 7: THE LOSS OF THE SKY GREY PLATOON It was a cool day in early March, 1918, that 23-year-old Billy Finch stood before his platoon. It was the end of their final leave before transport to France, and the platoon was drawn up in the square beside the train station. Often the train didn't stop in Sky Grey, but today it had been arranged. 540 The crowd, mostly family of the young soldiers, was impressed:the uniforms were sharply pressed and clean, no Irish pennants flew, every boot gleamed. Billy Finch was a stickler. He was leading 42 men mostly of Sky Grey, Greenville, and Eaton into the Great War, and he was determined they would look, act, and fight like American soldiers should. Like Ohio and Indiana soldiers should. Like Sky Grey soldiers should. 541 The families were standing to the side, in an area marked for them. Billy, in front of the platoon, called it sharply to attention and with a slap, the platoon was stiff. He waited a moment, and announced to the platoon that he would speak to their loved ones. 542 "Parade, REST," Billie said in a tone he reserved for parade commands. His soldiers assumed that stiff but more relaxed position with hands clasped behind them. 543 He walked over to the families and spoke quietly. He went to each in the crowd. Each name he said, a man or woman stepped forward. He shook each hand and said, "I will leave no one behind, as long as I live."It took a long time, longer perhaps than he had intended, but each father or sister or wife or mother had Billy Finch's promise that a beloved boy would not be left behind on the battlefield. It was not so remarkable a promise; many military leaders had made it in wars stretching back to Megiddo, but it was seldom possible to keep it. 544 Many of the parents must have thought, My God, he's just a kid himself! He stood in front of his men then and called them back to attention. 545 "Atten, HUH!" he yelled in that voice that made his mother smile. Billy, acting important. 546 He spoke to all, including his men. "I paraphrase now the words of Colonel Stanton from last summer, July 4, 1917, as he stood before the grave of the Marquis de Lafayette: 547 "'We pledge our hearts and our honor in carrying the war to a successful conclusion.'"Lt. Finch then looked solemnly at his men. "As I told your families, I will not return without all of you." He looked at them seriously. A band played then, and a singer rendered a verse of the Star-Spangled Banner. 548 In little Sky Grey, many moms and dads checked mailboxes every day in the hopes of one last letter finally reaching them from New York, or after some weeks from Portsmouth or Le Havre in France. Finally it happened, and little Timmy Brown's postcard arrived from France and word quickly spread to the other 14 families of Sky Grey doughboys, and from them to the parents of boys from all the little towns in eastern Indiana and western Ohio now that telephone service connected the towns. Other letters arrived from various boys and were shared or mentioned or cherished. Billy Finch's mother received a long letter in May detailing the trip—seasickness and cold waters and seeing Ireland in the distance, smells and tastes he'd never experienced before. 549 His last paragraph informed her they were moving up. She was not familiar with that phrase but she felt its ominous implication. It was 1918 and the war was four years old—Billy was excited to be part of it. The Yanks were there, trained as well as Pershing could and eager. 550 "Billy!" his mother cried out in her husband's arms. Dad cried too, in his way. Billy, please God, he thought. Please. 551 * Billy proved to be a strict leader, careful in every detail, and his platoon sergeant raised his eyebrow the first time he'd been surprised by his confidence. The sergeant had been in the army most of a decade now and was 24, just a little older than his lieutenant and only a bit cynical about the merits of recent civilians in HIS army, and recent civilian lieutenants at that. He'd intended to ignore Billy Finch until such time as he'd trained him, molded him, perhaps broken him in to the real army. 552 But Billy was 23, only a year younger, and for some reason he was not impressed with his own ignorance of army ways, customs, techniques, methods, and life. He'd come gangbusters from officer candidates course, and Harvey Lancaster from God-knows-where Missouri had assumed him to be like the last lieutenant: shy, open-eyed, and willing to learn from Sergeant Lancaster's experience. 553 Lieutenant Finch was willing to learn, but it would be corrections for actions taken, a quiet explanation out of the view of the men, a cocked eyebrow at most. Soon a chary relationship was founded. Harvey had to admit he'd not had a platoon leader like this one. Finch insisted on routine from making a bunk to reloading a rifle or fitting a gas mask. He insisted not as a petulant boss but as a concerned, educated leader. Do it right. He demanded that all common combat equipment be worn according to regulations—and he'd measure that the gas mask was slung over the left shoulder to the right hip as designated, grenades clipped as he directed, ammunition in pouches as ordered, etc. etc. etc. Finch made everything into the tiniest, numbered steps, whether it was extracting and donning a gas mask or throwing a Mills bomb. Helmets were worn straight with chin strap tense. A bayonet was not rusty, and the interior of the scabbard was clean. Rifles were carried at proper and uniform angles, and covered with a light film of oil. The platoon looked good. Lancaster raised an eyebrow approvingly. 554 He feared that Lt. Finch might prove a bursting bubble of competence in the barracks, in field practice, or on the ship, and a sudden failure on the battlefield, so he reserved final judgment. Uniformity, practice, recitation—Finch tested his men constantly. Lancaster watched, carefully schooled his lieutenant in the proper relationship with his platoon sergeant, helped him, and stayed out of his way. 555 Some new lieutenants were too close to their men—some had played ball together, dated the same girls—that sort of thing that preceded army life. It was hard to break those conceptions. He didn't know the lieutenant's background except that he came from the same small town as a lot of the men—though he'd been to college, unlike them. However, there was no inkling of prior relationships. Lancaster observed. He thought the lieutenant too good to be true, as he wrote in a letter to his mother near St. Louis. 556 Placed on a lonely line, bordered by wetland on the west and scrub hill on the right, the Sky Grey platoon was put in an old German trench, eight feet deep along the crest of a small rise. They modified it for its new purpose; the platoon worked. Billy was no slouch. Fields of fire were identified, stakes placed to identify them and ranges. Lanes for attack were identified; Billy assumed they'd be taking it to the enemy who was rumored to be on the next rise. Indeed, some mornings and evenings they'd hear the clinking of pots and metal coming from the other side of the swamp. 557 The trench had a new firing step now, low down and accessing cutouts in the parapet toward the enemy, and prepared exits for the next American attack. The trench wall was shored where it seemed weak. Boards and logs were found and the sucking muck of the trench bottom was somewhat mitigated; prepared for an attack, every man would rest the butt of his bayoneted rifle on those logs or firestep. Behind it a small parapet rose perhaps three feet above the forward trench parapet, unusually so, but Billy thought it might protect them from the occasional shells that landed in that direction. He looked at everything from the enemy's perspective one dangerous day, and the trench was largely unnoticeable. 558 They had no barbwire. "We're taking it to the enemy," the captain said. They weren't expecting the Germans to attack. 559 The swamp to the west curved around the bottom of their rise to their front for 70 meters before drying—perhaps that kept the enemy at bay. But they were as ready as virgin soldiers could be. Every day, the lieutenant checked third squad so second and first got busy because he never checked just one. His men grumbled, but every man was working, every watch was checked, and every rule was obeyed. The men who had not known him decided they didn't like him much. Even some who knew him were tired of his fuss. 560 Orders finally came for the long-awaited, long-expected attack. Preparations were made, supplies moved up for weeks. The enemy had no inkling, the secrecy was intact; the generals were sure. There was no doubt it would surprise them. None. 561 The platoon would leave the trench at the beginning of morning nautical twilight, angle about the swamp to the front, extend left to join with the rest of the company, and hopefully surprise the never-seen enemy unit on the far rise just as the dawn became light enough to see. "Sergeant, at zero four forty-five have them aligned along the step. Quietly, no lights. The order says secrecy is paramount. The enemy should have no idea before we arrive in their faces. I'll get back around zero five fifteen from the final brief, notify of any changes, and we'll take off." 562 "Yes, sir," Lancaster said. "Zero four forty-five hours." 563 The next morning, Billy headed to company headquarters at the farmhouse seven hundred meters to the rear. It was pitch dark at zero three thirty. He counted on Lancaster, because he could. This last minute meeting at company headquarters was a sign the captain was nervous. He wanted to know how Billy planned to get around the swamp to his front left. 564 The captain looked at him after the other platoon leaders were dismissed, and said, "You will cross the Line of Departure at zero five thirty, Lieutenant. Five minutes ahead of the rest of the company, so you can angle around the swamp and then extend left along the base of the rise." 565 "Yes, sir, we've practiced it," Billy replied. "Hook up with the rest of the company and proceed uphill as soon as the artillery lifts." 566 "Good luck," the captain said. 567 A little after zero five hundred, Billy left the company headquarters dugout and knew surprise was compromised. As he negotiated the series of trenches that led to his platoon's; when he was still a quarter mile away, entering the communication trench, out of the silence he heard a tremendous boom such as he had never heard or imagined possible. A flash before him illuminated a wall of dirt rising, rising, and then in darkness it fell when finally its impetus was overcome by gravity. 568 He felt it in the air and earth that he leaned against for support, it went on for some seconds as tons of dirt fell back to earth, pummeling his helmet and shoulders, vibrating the crust, and then a regular staccato of shells exploding along his front and to his rear where the rest of the company was entrenched. A sickening feeling pervaded his gut as he was showered with mud from this shell and pebbles from that—the enemy seemed to have their old trench line measured by every gun, but now shifted fire to a new target. He continued on, as time for the attack was upon them. The communication trench up the ridge petered out then, just where it came to the crest among the broken trees of the old wood. 569 It petered out. Oh my God, he thought. It didn't intersect, it petered out. He explored for a half an hour, tripping over some bayonets sticking out of the ground, when he realized he'd found them all along, and he measured the line in the greying dark, the brightening sky, stumbling, careful not to fall on this bayonet or that. Oh my God!His conscience tore at him. 570 Duty done, Billy Finch's good, strong mind, his good, strong character, fractured in a strange way. He felt it snap, in his head. A searing pain rent his skull. They were his men. He'd made his promise. 571 It was the last anyone of the A.E.F. saw of the Sky Grey platoon. It was the last anyone of the A.E.F. saw of Billy Finch. 572 * "Sky Grey Platoon Lost?" and "Our Boys Gone?" were headlines in the Cincinnati Post and the Cincinnati Times-Star dated July 7, 1918. They recounted the platoon's actions to June 23, when it failed to attack as ordered, and a few days later every man in it was declared missing in action. Every man, from Second Lieutenant Billy Finch to Private Joe Smucker of Ft. Wayne, Indiana, was feared lost. The official army report said that on June 23 at zero six hundred hours the platoon lost contact with the rest of its company and battalion. The battle swept on a mile to the north and east, and that was that. 573 An officer was detailed to investigate a few days later, but he couldn't even find their trench line with any accuracy. He decided the trench was obliterated in the shelling of that last battle, which it was. He had found it, unbeknownst to him. Among all the dead of modern warfare was added the lost platoon of Sky Grey—missing, hopefully captured. As the lists were exchanged, that final hope that the platoon was in enemy hands was extinguished, and they became missing, presumed dead. 574 It was dusk, when the captain and two men arrived. Finch watched that captain from the last of the woods—he called it Lafayette Woods—and decided not to point out the line of bayonets along the edge of the low ridge. He avoided the man, who looked for the trench line to the front of the ridge, then traced behind it to the communication trench, and then along the back side. The captain even walked over the top once, stepping between the bayonets—it would be dangerous here, he must have thought. But the officer didn't notice that it wasn't one bayonet sticking up but many, and in a line—difficult to see among the other detritus of war littering the area, the ground uneven from its recent churning by the German artillery. He didn't realize it was the trench, caved in on itself. 575 His two men, both too old to be privates but nevertheless, he told to follow the edge of the swamp and look for signs. They carefully walked the route assigned to the platoon, to where it should have met up with the rest of the company, but saw no sign of them. They looked into the swamp pond but saw no one, no helmet, no canteen, no rifle, nothing human. After an hour's searching, hearing the big guns now miles north, the captain gave it up. 576 He had enough to write his report. The platoon was not at it's last known location.He failed to mention the trench was obliterated; his mission was to search for the platoon. 577 A few months later, another attempt was made to find the platoon, but it relied on the first search and failed also. A squad was ordered to backtrack the attack route to the pond from their first objective, the German trench on the rise north east of the pond, and found nothing. Three soldiers went into the cold pond, which turned out to be only a few feet deep, but found no evidence. 578 Billy noticed each attempt to find the platoon, shook his head at the short search of the second and the laziness of the first. 579 He thought he could name the soldier seated on a firing step below each bayonet. First squad would be here, he thought, with Corporal Canally there, and next him Smyth, Burgess, then Thomas... So on. Billy was fairly certain he could name each soldier based on squad position, all the way down the hundred plus yards that the platoon delineated. Perhaps one or two out of order, here or there. He could name them. It was routine. He was a stickler. 580 Billy shook his head, squatting among the carnage. 581 He decided to write some things down. 582 * "Buried? All of them?" he asked, incredulous. Was it possible they were interred? He knew of a French unit supposedly lost that way... 583 "I found at least fifteen muzzles before we stopped," Trish said. "I'll of course go back tomorrow." 584 Dr. Simms, after perhaps a half minute wondering if it could be so, asked, "You have a statement about what killed them? But you don't know what it means?" 585 "Yes, sir, it's very brief. Shall I read it to you?" she asked. 586 "Yes, of course. History is rarely so interesting as when a mystery is solved," Simms said from Ohio. 587 "Okay, here it is: '23 June 1918. At 0515 hours, I was at battalion briefing. Jack Johnsons? Platoon went west. I know where each man is, as I look to the north. There is a garden of knives." Added almost as an afterthought, was this statement: "Took bayonets, danger to children." 588 Oh,among the things here are about three dozen old, rusted bayonets." 589 "Repeat that: did you say Jack Johnsons?" he asked. 590 "Yes. Jack Johnson," she said. "Like the boxer." It was not possible to study World War I in America and not come across mention of the famous black American champion. 591 Dr. Simms was silent, but there was something in his breathing that conveyed... excitement? Joy? It was as if he wanted to yell but he was holding it in. 592 "Dr. Simms?" Silence still. He was thinking. Emily, his wife, said that sometimes when he was very excited (as when she'd announced she was pregnant) he'd become quiet because he wanted to control himself, and he was afraid he couldn't if he reacted quickly. "Jonas?" she said, using his first name for the first time and not noticing. 593 "You did it," he said. "I really thought no one would, no one could, do it. You did it." 594 "What? What did I do? I mean, the remains, yeah, but..." 595 "You've found the Sky Grey platoon. You found out how they died, why they were not found. Lt. Finch was not with them at the time and lived. But he saw it or heard it and figured it out. Just wow, Trish," he said, using her first name for the first time. 596 Trish was glad that between the two of them they knew something. 597 "Okay, explain it now, buster, or I'm gonna call Marx and figure it out with him," she said, smiling and knowing Marx would be the first one Simms would call. 598 "I'm just so happy you succeeded," Simms said. "Look at the note. Jack Johnson was the heavyweight boxer, but his name was slang for heavy German artillery shells in World War I. Lt. Finch found the whole trench caved in on itself. He found no trench. His men are still in it, doing whatever they were doing. 'Going west' was slang for dying, back during that war. Like 'buying the farm' or 'kicking the bucket' in other slang. 599 "From the garden of knives thing, and your explanation about Finch tackling Moreau to protect him from a stake... His men had their rifles pointed up and the attack buried them with their bayonets sticking out of the ground. It happened one other time, although I thought it was a hoax." 600 Trish was thinking. "Why didn't the French readers translate it and understand?" 601 Dr. Simms replied, "Perhaps they were not as knowledgeable of artillery. More likely the terms in English are slang and they weren't familiar. Jack Johnson? Going west?" 602 She was thinking, yes, if the local translators didn't know the American or British slang terms, it could just confuse them. Suddenly a wave of exhaustion and weakness swept through Trish. She knew where they were and how they died. 603 "I have to sit," she said, Jonas thought weakly. 604 It was quiet and Jonas wondered if he'd lost the connection, but then he remembered Trish Finch and her nature. He knew why he heard nothing from her. Empathy (real empathy, not imagination) in the face of devastation was not a hindrance, but neither was it the sole object. What mattered was how the historian handled it. 605 "I'm sorry, Jonas. I'm shaking," she said softly after a minute. "They were right under my feet. I stepped on their rifles." 606 Jonas nodded. "You actually touched them." He could feel her mood changing as she realized the magnitude of her success, and the magnitude of their loss. 607 "I may need some time, Jonas. I think of them there under those rifles, waiting for the attack they never made. It must have been one horrific moment. To this day, there, frozen in that horrible moment. Their names. Billy knew where each would be. I... " 608 Dr. Simms was silent. "Remember we talked about empathy, and that guy who transferred to sociology... What was his name? Jeffers? I was worried he'd try to date you. Do you remember what I said? 609 She thought, tore her mind away from the horror of her discovery, and tried to think of a seminar two years earlier. 610 "Yes, you said something like, history saves the meaning of our lives." 611 Their discussion was serious and distant, each hearing the phone buzz in the background. 612 She volunteered the next, "You think we study history because the people matter, even after a hundred years." 613 "Yes. Every one. You see them as people, not names on a list, now. The years don't really matter. You've uncovered the demise of 43 men. You're the first to understand the very incident that ended their lives." 614 "If only their families had known..." 615 He heard her breathing, but she didn't speak more. More time slipped by. "They will now, late but resolved. It was a long time ago, Trish. But you know now that doesn't really matter." 616 "Yeah," he heard her say quietly. "Uh, Jonas?" 617 "Yeah?" 618 "Is Emily there?" 619 "Yes. Would you like to speak with her?" 620 "Please." She heard him calling to Emily, perhaps explaining, and then Emily was on. They spoke for a long time. 621 * "Jonas! How are you? Emily? And how's our girl in Gaul?" said Tom Marx. They spoke by telephone the day after Trish notified Jonas she'd found the platoon. 622 "Everyone's doing well, here, Tom. Emily's expecting, finally." 623 "Really? I'll buy some expensive cider and we'll share a drink next we're together." 624 "Yeah, Tom, reason I called. Trish's found out what happened, and she's pretty sure she's found the remains." He explained what Trish found. 625 Tom whistled when Jonas finished. 626 "My God. My God." Tom was actually speechless, even though a lawyer. Dr. Simms waited, knowing Tom's mind was always working on the next step. 627 "Jonas, what if we... " and they talked for an hour about possibilities. 628 "May I tell Miss Finch what we want to do?" Dr. Simms asked. 629 "By all means. With her, we could have wine." Marx laughed. 630 Immediately upon hanging up, Simms dialed his student in Rochambeau, France. 631 "Bonjour?" she said. 632 "Très bien, merci, a vous? You're really getting into this French culture thing, aren't you, Miss Finch?" Simms asked, with a smile. 633 "I am. Thank you." 634 "I spoke with General Marx. He thinks this is big news. If your French friends are amenable, he has an idea about the last resting place of the Lost Platoon. We'll need the support of the French government, but since it's an undeveloped area anyway, and the agreement of the families... " He spoke to her then for a half an hour, explaining the idea, the practicality, the way it might happen as he understood it. 635 Trish sat down as they talked. She'd controlled herself enough. It was overwhelming. She was working on a history degree, and this came of it. She'd have to talk to Jacques and his father. 636 Late that evening, she sent an email to Evelyn Jones Bradley, west of St. Louis. "I know Clara is passed, but I wanted you to know: we found the Lost Platoon." 637 CHAPTER 8: MOM AND LOVE "For the first time, Ryan, I think my profession is more important than yours." 639 He thought about that a lot, over most of a few years. History more important? It didn't make sense, but he knew she was reasonable in her own mind. He wanted to dismiss it as an academic prejudice, but it was so out of her character to be that. His mother eventually explained it to him. 640 Mrs. Armbruster watched her son. He was in his second year of residency in Salt Lake, but he'd lost something. His first joy at being in the Rockies again didn't seem to make him happy now. He was moody and quiet. He visited Denver over the Christmas holidays, but she wondered why. He loved seeing his sister and her family, but it was her family, not anything he'd built. They were actually two hours closer to Salt Lake City, but Ryan only visited there twice because she had a life with her husband and children. He had friends, and dated some, but nothing seemed serious but his mood. Mrs. Armbruster thought Ryan may have misunderstood something. 641 He'd broken up with Patricia, the Ohio girl she'd never met but for whom he'd had such high hopes. 642 It had been a year and a half of his residency. She thought that was long enough to mope. It was unlike him. She knew he had a capacity to care; it had led him to a career in medicine. But in all that talk about keeping distance from patient and avoiding entanglement, he'd confused something, she was sure. She wondered about Patricia Finch. 643 "Ryan, sit with me," she said. He knew she wanted to talk. He sat beside her on the couch. After a few seconds, she said, "Tell me about Trish." 644 He looked away. "There's nothing to say, Ma. I thought I was in love with her, but I don't think she loved me. She was fun and athletic and smart. I told you she was working on a Phd in history. We were starting to talk about getting married, but then she decided she didn't love me." 645 Mrs. Armbruster didn't think her son was a liar, but for some reason that answer sounded like a canard. She nodded and held his hand. 646 "Why'd you take the job at Salt Lake?" she asked. "I mean, you and she were still together yet you came west for residency." 647 "Yeah, I applied around out here. I wanted to be near the family, in the mountains. You know how it is out here. And with Salt Lake and Denver you have so many shows and sports. Skiing." 648 His mother listened. "Out here? What did she want? Did you break up with her because you wanted to ski?" She didn't believe that, and she wanted him to get angry instead of talking as if it were fate. She didn't believe in fate until people made it. 649 "No, that's silly. You want to know why we broke up? Is that what this is about?" 650 She nodded. "I do, but not just because I'm nosy. I remember how wonderfully you described her on the phone and when you came for visits. What happened?" 651 Ryan looked nowhere. He looked somewhere out there. 652 "She was about to start her dissertation, the last step in her degree," he said, "She was going to have to visit France, she was studying some boys who were sent to World War I from her hometown, Sky Grey. Did I mention that town? (His mother nodded.) She wanted to talk about arranging her trip, so we could be together, maybe get married. I told her I accepted the residency in Salt Lake City and..." He felt his mother look suddenly at him, and stiffen. 653 His mother slapped his leg, probably as hard as she was able. He looked at her. "Hey!" It stung for some seconds. She was mad. 654 "She wanted to talk about arranging her big trip, maybe with you, and you told her you had already accepted the position out here?" she asked. 655 "Yeah," Ryan said. "So?" 656 She got up and said, "Just stay there and think for a minute. I'll be back." 657 She came back a few minutes later with a beer and a newspaper folded up. She handed the beer to him. Before she sat down, he started up again. 658 He defended himself, saying, "She has to accept that my career is important. Lives matter. I'm a surgeon, mine has got to take precedence. Any girl I marry has to realize that. Even Dr. Patricia Finch." 659 His mother nodded. "You think she was saying that if you got a call to come to a bleeding patient, she'd say, but we're having supper?" she asked. 660 He smiled. "No, nothing like that. But Salt Lake was an opportunity, a great one." 661 "Oh honey," his mother said. 662 "She said that I should not have made that decision without talking to her first, and then she broke up with me," he said. He felt like crying, but instead he leaned his head on her shoulder. 663 Moms are great. 664 His mother smiled. "She wasn't saying your career wasn't important. She was saying that her life had to be important to you, too." 665 He was quiet for a moment. She opened the Denver Times to the front page. 666 "Is this she?" his mother said, pointing to a picture on a story below the fold about a new American cemetery being built on an old French battlefield. "Lost Platoon To Rest in France," the headline read. Ryan looked carefully. It showed unseen exhumations being supervised by Dr. Patricia Finch of the American monuments commission. Trish looked beautiful and smart and capable. 667 Ryan nodded and read the article. He finished and put his head against her shoulder again. 668 "I told her my career was more important. That I save lives," he said. 669 His mother resisted the urge to hit his leg again. "And what does she save?" she said. She thought to herself, I sure would like to meet this girl. She was pretty, and her statements in the story were intelligent. 670 He was quiet, thinking. She saves their moment, he realized. 671 Ryan nodded with his cheek against her shoulder. 672 "Ma," he said quietly and slowly, "when did I become arrogant?" 673 She didn't answer directly. "You get it from your father, honey." 674 "I like seeing sis and her kids, and you and dad, but it's not like it was," he said. 675 "The past is always with us, but it never comes back," she said. "You had a great childhood, but it's over. Remembering is as good as it gets. Oh, and creating those memories for others, that's pretty great, too." 676 Ryan spoke. "I was a fool." 677 "Again, your father," she said, and they smiled. 678 It was quiet for a few minutes. They heard his father pulling into the garage. Soon everyone would be coming over for supper. He thought, everyone but one. 679 "Is she involved with anyone?" his mother asked. 680 Ryan shrugged. He avoided asking Jackson, not wanting to seem obsessed almost two years later. "I don't know. She's pretty, she probably has a boyfriend. Maybe a husband." 681 "Can you find out?" his mother asked. 682 "I can email Jackson. A friend of hers and mine in Ohio. I think I'll do that." He kissed his mother on the cheek and said, "Thanks, Ma." 683 "What's for supper?" his father asked, seeing them in the living room sitting side by side. 684 Ryan answered, "Crow." 685 Mrs. Armbruster slapped his thigh again, much more lightly, and laughed. 686 His father smiled. "Must be Tuesday." 687 * Ryan emailed Jackson. 688 "Ah, the idiot finally coming to his senses? Yeah, she has me, and that Simms guy, and now some Marine general who's a confirmed bachelor. Any one of us would go for her. I'll tell her you asked." 689 Ryan smiled at the joke. Dr. Simms's wife was Trish's friend, Ryan knew the general from Trish's talk and she was much too young for him (he hoped), and Jackson played the field for a different team. None of that really mattered. Ryan loved Trish, and just the idea made him feel better. 690 It mattered. Love was actually something. It may not save a life, but it gave it meaning. 691 CHAPTER 9: THE AMERICAN CEMETERY AT LAFAYETTE DU BOIS An American Army Band played marches as people arrived, strolling up the length of the spur. There was pavement, so a few old or infirm were pushed in wheelchairs. There were hundreds, perhaps a thousand, standing about the grass lawn of the lower ridge on the northeast side of the Moreau farm. Many were seated in white, folding chairs in ranks before a portable podium with a lectern. They included at least one representative of every family of a member of the Sky Grey platoon, paid for courtesy of a charity organized for the purpose by the Veterans of Foreign Wars. 693 Many other family members paid their own way, using the opportunity to visit Europe. Some were interested in the history of World War I, some were French or American government officials. There were French people from Rochambeau, who'd wondered at the mystery of the ridge as children. Other Frenchmen were there out of simple interest or decency. An Ohio congressman made the trip, as well an Indiana senator. The mayor of Sky Grey and her family were there. A German government official was present, also, gregarious and introducing his family. An American platoon was drawn up in ranks to the left of the podium, currently at parade rest. A French honor guard faced the audience to the right. An American honor guard was at parade rest to the left. 694 There were flags. 695 It was breezy on Crête Folle. The American flag, flying on a pole at the far end of the ridge, snapped noisily in the wind when the band was quiet. A French flag flew beside it. The larger trees were saved, trimmed, cleaned up. The bracken was cleared, vines and thorns removed or cut back. The uneven ground had been carefully smoothed, replenished, and sodded, but not levelled. Unlike most military cemeteries, the ground undulated from grave to grave, from squad to squad. To the right were two very large craters, fifty yards apart, and numerous smaller. All had drainage. 696 There was a small parking lot behind a copse at the southwest rise of the hill, hardly visible in the summer foliage; perhaps the only problem with the site was that it required a steady uphill walk. There were several American army officers. People straggled up from the parking lot until there were too many to be a straggle; most wore casual clothes, but not their worst. Women were in summer dresses, men in pullover shirts, a few in sport coats. The wind blew the dresses and a few hats had to be pinned on. 697 Finally, the band played the French and American national anthems and people sat in chairs or stood about quietly. A French government official spoke first over a temporary loudspeaker system, of tragedy commitment leading to the close relationship of the American and French people. A retired US Army general and now head of the American Battlefield Monuments Commission spoke. "We are so happy that all the families agreed to leave their loved one in situ," he said at one point. "We think it is appropriate, in this extraordinary circumstance. Each remains was exhumed, ammunition and ordnance removed, and replaced but prone. Resting. When possible, identities were checked, based on the only known document and identity tags when present. Each remains was treated with the utmost respect." He paused. 698 He introduced the next speaker. "Ladies and Gentlemen, the historian who finally and correctly discovered the ultimate resting place of the Lost Platoon of the American Expeditionary Force, Dr. Patricia Finch." 699 Trish left the group she was sitting with—Tom Marx in full dress uniform, Jonas and Emily Simms with an 18 month old child, Jacques Moreau, and his father, now 101 and very frail, her own father, mother, and surviving grandmother, the Moreau children Jean and Cheri with their father—and stepped onto the platform. She stepped up to the microphone and did not refer to her notes. 700 She saw some she knew from her interviews. She nodded to Evelyn Bradley and made eye contact with one or two others. She looked out then on so many people, but one made her hesitate. She stared at the young man just behind the chairs in a suit. He was smiling. She was startled, but when he gave a little wave, she smiled and nodded. 701 Ryan. 702 She spoke in French, and translated each paragraph immediately into English, so her brief words took longer. 703 "Good morning. It was called the Lost Platoon of Sky Grey, the Lost Platoon of Ohio, the Lost American Platoon of the AEF or the Great War. After some time, no one called it by its actual designation," she started, smiling, "which I admit is a mouthful. It was actually the Third Platoon, Company C, First Battalion, 156th Regiment, Second Brigade, Fortieth Division, United States Army, American Expeditionary Force. As you walk up the slope behind me, in just a few minutes, you'll notice that every man but one remains where he deceased." She hesitated a moment and went on. "They rest where they were buried in a stupendous bombardment that boiled the land behind me, even under us, collapsing their trench and interring them as they sat on their firing step prepared to attack. You can see the shell holes of that great barrage. 704 "For them, combat was a few terrible seconds. These sons of western Ohio and eastern Indiana are still here, and always will be now. 705 "Their families were left wanting. They hoped for decades that somehow, someway, their platoon had survived, that someone had survived. Their moms looked up every time a doorbell rang for the next fifty years, hoping, hoping it was Andy or Paul or Charlie finally come home. I read one letter written in the 1950s by the sister of Andy Guardino, saying that she still thought, still hoped, he might walk in the back door some day, like he'd never left. She saw him as that 18-year-old kid brother who marched off to the tune of George M. Cohan. We know where Andy is now. He is under the 12th stone you will pass. They are all here. Together. 706 "My great uncle is the forty-third American soldier. He is buried just beyond the others, out of line, beside a rock now with a plaque identifying him, near the flagpole. He survived the bombardment that morning, but he wouldn't leave his men. I think their loss disturbed him. He lived out the last 13 years of his life on this little ridge, obsessed with a promise he made: to leave no man behind. He called this forest Lafayette Woods, and for those years he watched this ridge, watched the bayonets rust. When he saw kids playing here, he collected those bayonets and saved them; they were found with his body. He lived here begging for scraps, freezing in winter, until he could accompany them in death. He chose it. The people here called him the madman; children called this narrow spur Madman Ridge. Mr. Moreau, to my left, actually met him once, as a young boy, on this ridge." 707 She shook her head, smiling a sad smile. She avoided more maudlin statement. 708 "There is a famous epitaph recorded in Herodotus about the dedication of soldiers lost in battle far from home. It's read in most schools, in one curriculum or another. It translates, 709 'Go tell the Spartans, Passerby, 710 That here, obedient to their word, we lie.'" 711 She stopped and looked around and then back at the crowd. 712 "We are the passers-by for these our dead of the Great War. It's up to us to remember them, and tell." 713 She waited a long pause. Ryan had his hands behind him, looking straight at her. 714 "One last thing. Since the decision to maintain the combat graves of our soldiers, it was decided that next year, from June 23 and for each of the next 42 days, a different flag will be flown at the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier in Arlington National Cemetery, to be presented to a family member of each of our lost soldiers, no longer unknown, by rank from lowest to highest in ceremony. Further information will be sent you, so check your email when you see my name. 715 "Thank you all for coming. The entire area and whole farm have been searched by radar and sonar for unexploded ordnance; but use caution. As you passed up from the lot, you must have noticed the marker for Amie Moreau Durand, who died on that spot just six years ago from a hand grenade thrown in 1914. She saved her children in doing so; she was the granddaughter, wife, mother, and sister of the six Moreaus and Durands you see seated with us. Her brother Jacques called hers the last death of the Great War." She paused and looked at Ryan. 716 "Let us hope so. 717 "We may venture among the graves now, but try to stay on the walkways. The cemetery gates will close at dusk, open at 8, every morning. There will be a caretaker on premises during normal working hours. Oh, and if any of you would like to talk to me, General Tompkins or other members of the monuments commission, or the Moreaus who have lived with our relatives so long, please feel free. I offer translation help if you need it." 718 There was polite applause. Trish pushed her hair away from her eyes, looking out at Ryan. She signalled him not to go away. She left the platform and went to her friends and family. 719 The crowd broke into groups and began moving up the slope, looking at their brochures and finding a relative long passed. 720 "May I have a moment?" she said to Dr. Simms, Emily, and her family. "There's someone here I need to see." They smiled of course and turned up the slope. The band began to play again. 721 She walked to Ryan then, and they were alone among the many. 722 "Nothing else to do, so you thought you'd pop over to France today?" she said, smiling. 723 "Nope. Decided I wasn't a kid anymore and wanted to see if you'd believe it." 724 He looked at her eyes and then around. He waved his hand. "Wow, Trish. Just... stupendous." 725 Trish looked back at his eyes. Every moment seemed to inspire thought. She appreciated the gesture, but did it change anything? Two years later? 726 "It'll be like starting over. It may take a long time," Trish said. "I still have work in Washington, and Ohio." 727 "Well, it turns out I have work there, too. And you're worth the time. I figured something out: just like there's history everywhere, there are people who need surgeons everywhere." 728 "I thought you wanted to be near your family." 729 He smiled and looked at her directly. "Mom told me I was trying to recapture my childhood. I contacted your friend Jackson, and he said you were not married or engaged. Called me an idiot." He shook his head. "Seems to be a lot of that." He shook his head with a smile and wondered how he'd survived without her eyes for two years. 730 He thought for a minute. "My mom wants to meet you. Dad too. I think he already has a crush on you from a story in the paper. He said, 'You left this girl?' He acted astounded." 731 Trish canted her head and looked at him, thinking there were worse things than being called a fool. She said, "Decisions need to be made together." 732 He nodded. "I look forward to the compromises." 733 She reached out her hand, took his. "Walk with us. I'll introduce you around. Mom and Dad'll be surprised to see you again." 734 Beyond the speaker's platform were the renovated resting places of the lost platoon. 42 uniform headstones, as were used in many American national cemeteries, were aligned with the military crest of the spur and each other, but not perfectly spaced. The stone of each man was with each man as First Lieutenant Billy Finch best listed him in 1918; he was a stickler. Only Sergeant Harvey Lancaster had to be sought; he was found with the Second Squad. 735 Beyond the last headstones, to the right as they looked up the slope, Trish and her group headed. The Simms toddler toddled, slowing everyone. No one cared. General Marx walked silently, reading every name and word carved in the stones. The group straggled up the slope. 736 Ryan was moved by the seriousness, the solemnity. Family groups were gathered here and there, talking quietly. A few had old pictures to share. He held onto Trish's hand, knowing acceptance would take time, time he looked forward to spending with her. People stopped to speak with her, to introduce themselves, to give or get email addresses. 737 He discovered he was proud to be with her. 738 Their group finally gathered together at the large rock beyond the other graves. Trish looked around at them all, waiting for everyone to close up. 739 Trish's mother and father were next to her, and her grandmother Finch. Her Aunt Sheila Grey was coming up with her husband and some cousins. The general stood behind, Dr. Simms and Emily with their child to one side. Embedded in the big rock was a plaque, identifying the final resting place of the Madman of LaFayette du Bois. Trish turned and put her hand on the rock, by the old carved name FINCH. 740 Loud enough for everyone to hear, she said, "Uncle Billy, we are here." 741 https://www.literotica.com/s/josiah-emergent CHAPTER 1: A Dance and a Song Josiah Langer looked around the VFW hall. Older people sat at cafeteria tables, talking over the music which was just a bit too loud. There were pitchers of beer or Coke and baskets of potato chips and pretzels about. Lots of younger children were running here and there. One girl looked about his age, and he didn't want to look away from her as long as she wasn't looking at him. He'd be a freshman in high school soon, and he liked girls. 744 She was beautiful in a sleeveless summer dress: big eyes, dark hair, thin, and quite animated talking to her relatives in the dim room. She sat on a metal folding chair among some of her family, at a long cafeteria table covered with a paper linen. Josiah didn't think he'd ever seen her before. After some furtive glances and much courage-building, Josiah made his way across the room and stood before her. She wasn't talking to anyone just then, and she looked at him. He felt insignificant. 745 "Hi. Would you like to dance? With me?" he stammered, and he feared she'd laugh. He felt eyes on him. The woman across the table stifled a smile. The girl was looking at him, not in surprise but consideration. When she didn't answer right away, he said, "I don't know anyone here but the guy playing the music." 746 "Who are you?" the girl asked. 747 He smiled sheepishly. "Josiah. I'm Josiah." 748 She hesitated as if it were a hard decision to make. She looked over at the woman he assumed was her mother, who nodded shortly. The girl said, "My name's Erin. Okay, I'll dance with you." 749 She got up. She was an inch taller than he and probably a year older. They walked over to the dance floor, not touching, and waited for the end of Frank Sinatra's "My Way" and the start of the next song. 750 Roy saw them waiting and started in surprise, then smiled and shook his head. Josiah averted his eyes and felt his face flush; he'd hear about this, sooner or later. Roy was Josiah's friend Patrick's big brother, in his early twenties, and Josiah was along to help him set up his speakers and hook up the wires because Patrick was at a tennis match. Once the music started, Josiah had no work until the reception ended. 751 "My Way" soon concluded, and Roy held up a cassette. He announced into his microphone, "This is not a professional recording, but it's a good song. I play it at every reception, and people always request it again. 'Of Hope and Love' by Ava Fortner." He put the cassette in his machine and a thin voice sang a beautiful song, the first time Josiah heard it. 752 Josiah held Erin close because that was all he knew of dancing. He delighted in the feel of her arm on his, her right hand in his left, her left hand on his shoulder. They shuffled about, bodies occasionally touching, her hair smelling of Prell. After some minutes, Erin let go of his hand and clasped both hers behind his neck. He felt her back under his fingers. Every touch was electric. 753 The recording was amateurish and raspy in spots, but the melody and lyrics were gentle and hopeful about losing someone but never losing love. It was romantic. The girl singing it had a pleasant, clear voice. 754 Josiah and Erin looked at one another's eyes occasionally, but mostly they looked aside. Speaking quietly and nervously, they exchanged ages and schools and small talk, but mostly they were quiet. He was careful not to hold her too close; she might think he was trying something. They turned in languid circles until the song finally ended. Josiah looked at her for another second with his hands on her waist and hers on the back of his neck, and then he held her hand and escorted her back to her family's table. 755 "Thanks for dancing with me," Josiah said. 756 "You're welcome," she said back. 757 He hesitated, but he couldn't think of anything else to say, so he wandered off. He looked back and saw Erin talking to her mother, who was smiling. 758 The rest of the evening he wondered if he should ask her again, or just sit with her and talk, but he couldn't find the courage. Now when his glance went her direction, a few times she was looking back at him, and he blushed. 759 All wedding receptions end, and Roy announced it eventually. As her family left, Erin looked over at Josiah and tilted her head. He waved, and she smiled and waved back. It was simple and adolescent. Two kids danced, perhaps for the first time for each. It was wonderful to have a girl in his arms. 760 He helped Roy pack up his equipment, and he fell asleep on the ride back to Greenville. 761 The next day was a Sunday, and Josiah visited Patrick's house that afternoon, like many afternoons. They listened to music in Patrick's living room. Patrick's dad insisted on good music systems. He worked for a small recording studio in Mt. Healthy, on the Hamilton road from Cincinnati, and often handed them tapes that he'd rejected for some reason. 762 Roy walked through, carrying the big suitcase in which he stored his music. 763 "Hey," Josiah asked, "do you have that song where the guy dreams of his lost love? I liked it." 764 Roy smiled. "Yeah, I remember it. You danced with that girl." Roy couldn't resist teasing. 765 Josiah blushed. "Uh, I was wondering if I could hear it again." 766 "Sure. Let me find it." Roy opened his case and started shuffling things around. He held it up after a few seconds and flipped the cassette to Patrick. Ava Fortner was the handwritten name on this cassette. 767 "It's good but just a kid playing a guitar and singing. Not in good enough shape. I knew it was slow." Roy winked at Josiah, who felt his face flush again. "Listen all you want, but I'd like it back," he said. "Dad said the songwriter passed away before he could arrange anything." 768 Josiah said, "Thanks, Roy." 769 Josiah and Patrick listened to that song over and over that afternoon, as fanciful kids sometimes did on lazy summer afternoons. They lay on the carpet in the sunbeams slanting through the plate glass window of Patrick's living room, dozing or talking or just listening. Occasionally, Josiah sang along with the tune, memorizing the lyrics by repetition, watching dust motes float in the sunbeams. He mused about his one dance, remembered Erin from the night before, and life was good, dreamy, and warm. 770 CHAPTER 2: Singing in a Mall It was a very pleasant reminiscence 12 years later. Josiah felt dreamy and warm again and wondered why it came to him in a shopping mall on a Sunday afternoon. Memories of that wedding reception long ago flooded his mind: images of Erin Somebody, two adolescent kids clinging gently and awkwardly for brief minutes. He imagined Erin's body against his, smelled her hair again (do they still have Prell, he wondered?), heard her soft voice, remembered her hand pressing his. He never forgot that unique elation, so rare in his life since. It was a wonderful, gentle recollection. His eyes were closed for thought of her again, for a moment. 772 Another hallucination, Josiah? He smiled wryly; it was just a memory, not a vision. 773 The mall was noisy. Kids were yelling, hundreds of customers were talking among themselves or to clerks and salespeople, water splashed in fountains, and from the lower level there was a hint of piano music. With the echo, it was a cacophony. Josiah leveraged past a department store and the musical notes organized into a song. 774 It was THAT song, "Of Hope and Love," coming from the piano. It was not just Josiah's imagination. 775 Now, on the upper floor of the mall, he realized he was still that dreamy kid from a dozen years ago, perhaps more experienced and embittered, but a romantic at heart. He smiled to himself; he liked that kid somewhere within him. Perhaps someday he'd reclaim that part of himself. 776 "Positive thoughts? So unlike you," he thought. 777 He swivelled over to the balcony rail, now with celerity. Looking onto the lower level of the mall, he espied the piano at the bottom of the escalator, and saw the pianist. The pianist was tastefully overdressed for a shopping mall. There was a small audience gathered and watching him play. He was quite good. He was not reading music for this song, although he had a stack of it with him. 778 No one was singing. "It needed to be sung," Josiah thought. For a moment, he was back on Patrick's living room floor, watching dust motes and singing dreamily. He felt as if he were in a fog, the mall were unreal, and these things were not happening. 779 Crippling reduced inhibitions, or perhaps it was the cynicism that developed with it. It was a revelation: combat eliminated his stage fright. He was careful to avoid sneering as he made his way to the top of the escalator. That dreamy kid inside him wanted out. 780 The pianist intended another round, bridging to a higher key. Josiah found the escalator and stepped on awkwardly, carefully placing his crutches, and as the pianist approached the beginning and he approached the lower floor, Josiah sang, hoping he remembered all the words. He sang loudly with a conviction that a timorous rendition could ruin a song. No point in gutlessness, Marine, he thought to himself. 781 The pianist's head yanked around and found him leaving the escalator, but he didn't miss a note for the surprise. He changed his playing though; as Josiah sang, he reduced his emphasis on the melody and increased it for the chords. Josiah made his way over, where he could lean and rest against the baby grand. More and more people were stopping now, hearing the moving lyrics as well as the beautiful tune. 782 The pianist nodded and decided to repeat the final chorus, because the gathering crowd seemed to appreciate it. Josiah sang on. Some bystanders had their cell phones up for recording. Josiah wondered if this were the greatest audience this song had known. Too soon, the final chord hung in the air. 783 People clapped. Josiah nodded and smiled; the pianist stood and joined the clapping and pointed at Josiah. It had been a long time since Josiah had felt notable, or had forgotten his handicap. For just a moment, he was happy. 784 He was holding himself up with some effort by this point, and the pianist saw his strain. He helped him to his bench. People were clapping enthusiastically, Josiah thought, and a few were saying more, or again, or one more please, and there were even whistles. Josiah was perspiring after standing so long without much support except the crutches. His doctor had ordered him never to use the braces again. 785 The pianist said, "I'm Sing Minh. I'm shocked you knew the words. It was good." 786 "You mean I sang a Sing song?" Josiah asked, smiling. 787 Sing smiled and shook his head. "I've had to put up with that joke since I played my first chord. No. I found it in some tapes someone sent me, saying I should listen. I did and 'Of Hope and Love' was great. I found nothing on the composer. Ava Fortner. No one heard of her. And you know the lyrics?" 788 "Yeah, I heard it at a wedding a dozen years ago, and my friend's dad had the tape from a studio he worked at. It might be the very one you have. They said the writer died soon after making it." 789 More, sing more, people were saying. Most were drifting away. A few were hopeful to hear them, and Josiah wondered: To hear Sing? He was very good. 790 "You do this for a living?" he asked. 791 "Yes. Love it. I feel lucky to be paid to do it. My greatest fear is losing hearing." 792 Some people were still calling for another. 793 "They want another," Josiah said, shaking his head. 794 Sing said, "Do you know 'Annie's Song?' John Denver?" 795 Josiah said, "Of course not, really. That was enough. Thank you. I'm no singer. I appreciate it." 796 Sing looked disappointed. "I think you're mistaken. Could I have your phone number?" he asked. "Or email?" 797 For a moment, Josiah considered giving him false information, but he put it out of his mind. He gave the information, Sing writing it on a sheet of music. Sing excused himself. "Gotta work." 798 He played "Annie's Song" then as Josiah wandered away. It was lovely, but Josiah was no singer. 799 Josiah was thoughtful as he crutched through the mall. Did Erin ever think of him? Someone probably married her, loved her, had kids with her. She should be loved by now. He shook his head as if to clear away cobwebs of doleful thought. He admitted the single dance with an unknown girl had a curious meaning for him. He doubted he'd ever have such a moment again. 800 He didn't treasure many memories. Mostly, he wished they'd never come back. 801 CHAPTER 3: Virgin Plus One He grew up in Greenville, Ohio, playing tennis, running cross country, and singing in the glee club. He watched his parents sink into alcoholism, losing his dad to a heart attack when Josiah was 10 and his mother to exhaustion and liver cancer over the summer between his high school and college. In her years of foggy drinking, she dragged herself through life for his sake. 803 He had some cousins he hardly knew, an aunt by marriage to his mother's brother. They were not rich, and he knew taking responsibility for him would be a burden. There was no need. He had been practically on his own for some years. An older only child, his mother working nights, father passed, he was used to fending for himself. His mother's life insurance would pay his tuition; he would work summers, weekends, and evenings delivering flowers for a florist to pay for room and board. 804 "We'd be more than happy to have you stay with us, now or anytime, if you need help or just want to be a kid," Aunt Dotty offered. It was sincere, or at least Dotty hid her trepidation. 805 Josiah smiled. He was familiar with their situation: constantly on the brink of divorce, children young and needing attention, and his uncle irresponsible. "No, not right away. I'll be in Cincinnati, working and going to school. Mom and I talked about things a lot the last six months, I think I'm ready. If I mess something up or change my plans, I'd like to keep you as my fall-back plan, though." 806 She brightened at that. "Sounds like a good way to go. I may check on you every now and again. Just a phone call, you know?" 807 "Thanks, Aunt Dotty," he replied, kissing her cheek. He didn't think he'd want to take her up on it with her four kids under 10, but he liked her and she was a great cook. They lived somewhere near Whitley City, Kentucky, which was not near Cincinnati. 808 Things worked out. He saw Dotty's family at Christmas, talked to her on the phone once a month or so, and lived in a little apartment near UC. He got through school, delivered tons of flowers, and actually saved some money. Dotty dropped out of his life his junior year when she divorced Josiah's uncle. She moved with his cousins to California for work and to be away from her ex. She called Josiah once after that, but then lost contact. 809 There was no mom to ask, no mother to tell, no shoulder on which to cry, no one definitely on his side. He was orphaned and barely old enough. College poverty and steady work occupied his attention. The whole world looked different after his mother died. He was on his own. 810 * One girl taught him a lesson. 811 He met her at a party, she a little girl with a cute face and pert body wearing too much black: dark hair, dark nails, dark eyes and shadow, dark clothes. She was perhaps 20. Her black/blue hair hung straight. She was startlingly white-skinned. She seemed to be alone, and she didn't leave when he sat beside her on a couch. 812 "Hello, I'm Josiah." 813 "Ari El," she said, "two words." He shook her hand and she didn't let go, so he scooted closer to her on the sofa. They talked for a while as people moved about them, talking and laughing and drinking beer. Beer was almost thrust into their hands, and Ari El sipped as he drank. She laughed quietly, talked about her major (anthropology of some sort). She said she lived in Cooper Hall, and he found his hand creeping up her shirt as she pushed her tongue into his mouth. 814 "Let's find another room," she said, since people could see them, and he regretfully pulled his hand off her small breast. They found a bedroom unused on the top floor and wedged the door shut, and by the time he was satisfied they were alone she was kneeling on the bed nude with her legs apart. She had a dark bush; he thought that was unusual for a woman their age, but so be it. 815 She said, "I hope you like what you see." 816 "I do," he agreed, pulling clothes off and standing there naked and pointing at her. "You're sexy." 817 She sat on the edge of the bed then and took him in her mouth, and soon she was slurping on his shaft as he squeezed those little breasts. With no ado she pulled off him. She had a condom under the pillow, ripped the foil off, and unrolled it over him. She made it a sensual experience, looking up at him with a smile as she did. She lay back with her legs spread. It was as if she had a series she wanted to follow: 1. Kiss; 2. Undress; 3. Suck; 4. Fuck; 5... 818 "Fuck me," she said. Step four. He put his hands one behind her left and the other her right knee, spread her wider, and slid into her. He had never felt such a thing: acceptance and desire and power. They were both new to it, he was sure, and neither of them would last long. He was thrusting hard and slow, her legs now folded back to her shoulders as he gathered her to him, and they kissed as it went on. He felt the welling of his orgasm. 819 "I'm going to cum," he said. 820 "In my mouth, please!" she responded, so he pulled out and she slid the condom off (in his sensitive state it was almost too much) and as soon as those darkly-painted lips touched his cock, he was spurting, one after the other. She swallowed, smiling up at him, and somehow he knew that was step six. He felt her tongue circle his head, gathering all of it. She took a deep breath. 821 She looked at him and smiled in some sort of satisfaction. She said, "Thanks, that was great!" She threw her clothes on and went out the door. She was gone so quickly he couldn't tell her her shirt was inside out. 822 He was alone. He looked down at himself, shrunken and empty. The condom and its wrapper were beside him. Sex felt different than he expected; it felt hollow. 823 The number she gave him was false. The name she gave him was not registered at the school. He asked at the party apartment and no one knew her by name or description, or no one admitted it. He looked for her at Cooper Hall but never saw anyone who looked like her. He never saw her on campus. 824 "Obviously, there are things about girls I don't understand," he thought. It was meaningless, and he was disappointed in himself. Perhaps she'd punched a ticket in some weird game at a sorority or a bet with a roommate: they fucked and he came and she swallowed, so she won all 10 points! She probably got the super bonus for finishing in less than half an hour. 825 He guessed he just wasn't one of those guys who screw and walk away. He thought of Erin for some reason, and hoped that her experience was better. 826 He avoided college girls after that. It would wait. He was the poorest student in school. Girls wanted prospects. Women wanted achievement. He had neither. He considered possibilities. Graduate school would cost too much, his major was in liberal arts: writing books seemed like a dream but he didn't have much experience to relate. There was no group he'd been part of since glee club and the tennis team. He felt alone, cut off from society. 827 He lacked direction. He had no purpose. Like Barth's Ebenezer Cooke needing the perfect notebook for his epic Marylandiad, he could not make up his mind. He wanted his life to matter. 828 But unlike Cooke, he was not just purchasing a notebook. He wondered if military service made sense. His mother once said, "You play guns enough, you ought to be a soldier." She had meant it in jest. War was unlikely. 829 * Women could wait. 830 He contacted the local Officer Selection Officer, and the month after he graduated, he reported to Quantico. In eleven weeks, he was commissioned Second Lieutenant Josiah Langer, USMCR. No old friend, no family attended the ceremony. Aunt Dotty didn't know he joined. He listed a charity for his next of kin. 831 He had friends then in the Corps. It's hard to get through Officer Candidates School without building friendships. But when he told them he was an orphan with no ties, they were surprised. "Hell," his friend Brian said, "you made a mistake. You musta thought this was the French Foreign Legion. Is Langer really your name?" 832 Josiah laughed but thought that made some sense. He was using the Corps to get a start in the world—there was nothing unusual in that. It was a home, of sorts, once he found some success. He was assigned to schools. He felt competent, and the war made every Marine lesson significant. He chose the infantry. 833 He even went out with a few girls. He dated Brian's sister once when his family visited for one long weekend. Melanie was pretty and funny and didn't want to start a relationship with a guy she'd only see for a few days. Home for them was in New Mexico. Another time, he met Captain Wilson's wife's sister while watching a ballgame. They sat together, and he found someone he liked. She went back to Michigan to finish college, promising to write. They exchanged a few letters, her last one about a classmate whom she thought would be the love of her life. 834 He now regretted his restraint. He should have done more, should have been more determined or aggressive. He should at least have dated more determinedly. The girls his age had lives still, they went on, but he had so few memories, and those unsatisfactory. His sex life was an anguish, a strikeout. 835 He was a virgin plus one. Since the war, he assumed there would be no more for him. 836 CHAPTER 4: A Misanthrope A 7.62 round pulverized both his knees and ended his career. Now he lived a few miles away from his old home, in a refuge called Sky Grey. 838 He had an orthopedist and physical therapy at Merciful Lord Hospital (paid by the VA), he had a pension from the disability, church was close if he ever chose to attend, and shopping was limited but not far. He had a car with modified controls (bought with a grant from a charity) and so could get to the mall some. That was his present and future, and good enough. 839 His hair was longer, so no one quickly associated him with the service. If people showed interest in him, he demurred. He sought no attention, and he felt he was succeeding until he sang in the mall. No one could find him. He doubted anyone would search. Perhaps one person would consider it. 840 Sky Grey was off the beaten path, and Josiah took solace in the idea that he was just a wreck by the side of it. 841 He liked being anonymous in the midst of crowds, as if he could hold others at arm's length but still be part of the group. People noticed his legs, and kids occasionally stared, but usually he could look around at the shoppers or worshipers without notice. He visited Merciful God church for 11 o'clock Mass some Sundays. He was sure civilians could not understand a wounded serviceman. He liked to be with them, but not one of them. 842 An incident after Mass one Sunday made him pause for thought. A little girl started it by looking at his legs. 843 "What's the matter with your legs?" she asked very matter-of-factly. 844 The question from such an innocent shouldn't have jarred him, but it put him into a stupor for an uncomfortable few seconds. He stared at her, not wanting to answer, not wanting to say, I'm shot and the world sucks. He was panicked and his mind was blank. The child looked frightened. Her mother whisked her into her arms, as if he was a threat. The child hid her eyes against her mother's neck. There were lots of people around watching, some within an arm's length. Josiah felt his face burning. 845 The young mother looked at him and said with asperity, "I expect you've had it rough, but she just wanted to understand." 846 Her words struck Josiah like a fist. She was right. 847 Josiah said, "I'm sorry, ma'am, I couldn't think how to answer." He looked at the child in her mother's arms. "I was hurt a few years ago and my knees don't work. So I have to use crutches." 848 "Was that so tough?" the mother said, sarcastically. 849 Josiah recognized something accusatory in her tone. "I didn't want to give her the details, ma'am." 850 "You had no cause to threaten her," the woman said, obviously exaggerating the incident. "You're a menace." 851 "Hey!" he heard some guy say, thinking the woman had now exaggerated the incident. 852 Josiah regarded the woman with new eyes. The panic he'd felt a moment before evaporated. He nodded and said, "A mother should protect her child. But I'm not going to apologize twice for the same indiscretion. I meant and did no harm." 853 At that, the woman turned away with an audible huff, unmollified, and turned her attention to filing out of church. The little girl kept her eyes against her mother's neck for a few seconds, and then Josiah saw her look up. He nodded, and she looked back, without animosity, he thought. The crowd moved on, one or two shaking a head. Josiah released some tension with a sigh and swung himself forward. There came a tug on his arm. 854 An older woman stood beside him, heavyset and grey-haired, smiling. 855 "Hi. I'm Mary Sackston, the parish secretary. I noticed you in the last pew a few times and wondered if you'd like to register in the parish office?" 856 Josiah shook his head. "I think I just alienated one of your parishioners, and now you want me to join?" 857 "She's my niece, and you get along with her better than anyone in our family does," she said, shaking her head. 858 "She was right about my staring, but I... I have trouble talking about my injury. It was uncomfortable." 859 "My niece has the clarity of self-righteousness," she said. He saw something in her eyes: Approval? Pity? "I hope you like it here at Merciful God," she said. 860 He joined the parish, disclosing information to Mary that he'd hoped to keep private. Father Phil made a point of speaking to him after Mass thereafter, and he found Josiah didn't want to talk about his time in the military. If Josiah missed Mass, Phil or Mary would call Sunday afternoon. It was annoying, but it reminded Josiah of his Aunt Dotty's calls during his college years. 861 * "That was rash. What were you doing?" he said aloud as he drove home. Joining Merciful God and singing in a mall: he was a poor recluse. He wondered why he'd been unable to answer Lacy. "Sometimes I'm not sure what I'm doing," he thought. "My decisions don't match my purposes." 862 He decided he preferred loneliness. He called it independence, despite physical therapy and government disability checks and charity car controls. He made peace with his situation by ignoring the contradictions. 863 Insomnia plagued him more than the pain of his knees. It left him tired everyday, and it always reminded him of Iraq. "Just another part of depression," he thought. His nut doctor had told him about depression. 864 Dreaming was mostly repeating the same dream, with variations. "How many times will I have that dream?" he wondered, only to have it that night again. 865 He was in a Humvee on a bridge. He checked his watch, having a deadline to meet. They were supposed to enter the village at 1015 hours, just six minutes from then. Refugees were streaming past their slowly moving vehicles on the bridge, escaping the burning town on the other side. He noticed two, a woman and small boy, walking together. She was noticeably uncomfortable, walking oddly. Langer realized why. 866 "Stop the vehicle! Halt halt halt!" he yelled, grabbing for the door handle before Ramsey could skid it to a halt. "Save the kid! It's the mom!" 867 "Who? Which one?" his guys were yelling. There were dozens of women in grey and black burkas, and maybe a hundred people walking toward them over the bridge. Many women were with children. 868 "The one with the kid!" and he was out the door, knocking someone down, leaping over the old guy, dodging people, slinging his weapon onto his back. He ran to a woman and boy near the bridge railing. They didn't see him, he was close and then he watched as... A surge of anguish passed through him as he slept. 869 No. That wouldn't do. He willed the memory to change, willed the dream to be different. He changed it. Josiah saw a shark falling toward the river, and then it blew up. He felt better. He even smiled in his sleep. 870 Something hit his knees hard; he thought it might be a bowling ball. Damn that was weird. He slumped immediately as his knees no longer supported him. He held himself up with his arms over the bridge rail. He heard his guys yelling, "Lieutenant's hit! Lieutenant down!" 871 He thought, "Me? I'm hit?" 872 He lowered himself to the pavement as rounds were zinging and pinging every which way, people were screaming and running or dropped to the pavement. Some crawled. He knew his guys were setting a perimeter, looking for the shooters, and engaging by fire. He heard the big fifty cal open up from the top of the Humvee. He sat with his back against the concrete rail and awkwardly swivelled his M4 around. He glimpsed his knees, which were a mix of bone and muscle and tendons in blood. "Those will never work again," he said aloud. A sloppy fog filled his mind. He prepared to return fire, but he was so low that he couldn't see much and might hit some civilians. 873 Hospital corpsman Wilfred Jones was suddenly yelling in his face, Josiah felt his spittle; he was so concerned, so demanding, so sure Josiah needed him. He jabbed something in his leg and pulled out a bandage. Josiah smiled. 874 "I'm out," Josiah said. "Don't worry about me." It was a good war, warm and dreamy. He thought of Erin in his arms, of dancing with her against him. "I'm shot, Erin," he thought within his dream. "This is a good dream," he thought. 875 He was thinking clearly now, and he knew he was awake. Lacy's mom did not seem so bad. A mother should protect her child. 876 He awoke soaked in perspiration, pushing himself up by an elbow, and looked at the clock. It was uncanny. He woke at the same time every night: 3:09 in Ohio. I'm living a psychic Groundhog Day, he thought, and smirked. He closed his eyes and tried to sleep. 877 3:09 in Ohio. 10:09 in Iraq. 878 * He read a lot, some of it about people like him: sick, hurt, wounded, or alone. 879 He found Fortunate Son at a used bookstore. "It's very good," the clerk said as he purchased it, "but he killed himself a few years later." Josiah wished he'd not picked it up, but he read it anyway. 880 Lewis Puller Jr. wanted to see a good side to life. He wrote of the support of his wife and children, overcoming his handicaps, finding a new career. He gruesomely described the moment he lost his legs, an image that stayed with Josiah. The book was a plea for people to see through it. It was an unintended lesson in undependable narration for life. A few years after winning the Pulitzer Prize, Puller ended his suffering with a gunshot. A friend said, "I thought he was winning." 881 Josiah knew something was wrong and wallowed in it. Vogel was right: depression became a lifestyle. He defended his depression. 882 "Oh God, love me," he said once, when he convinced himself someone was listening. More quietly, he said, "Forgive me, too." He wondered why he said that. 883 CHAPTER 5: A Musical Trio Sing called. "Josiah, this is Sing. From the mall? I have a performance lined up in a few days and I wondered if you'd like to sing. You'll be paid for it." 885 Sing was prepared for a refusal. It was obvious to him that Josiah was dealing with issues beyond his knees. He'd seen panic in his eyes when he suggested another song, contrasting with the confident performance of the unknown "Of Hope and Love." It was as if Josiah was moving quickly between extremes of confidence and diffidence. 886 Josiah's voice was easy and substantial, unlike so many amateur voices, and he carried at least one tune well. From that one impromptu performance, Sing was hoping he'd found a performer, and wondered at Josiah's hesitation. It was not stage fright; Sing had felt that himself. It was some other fear, and Sing hoped Josiah could get past it. The performance in the mall had much impressed him. 887 Josiah liked singing, and he liked the idea of being paid for it, but he wondered if his voice was worthy. He sang for fun. Singing for money was a bit of a challenge, a demand that he be entertaining. Sing and the audience would expect him to be good. It would require effort and an acceptance of responsibility. 888 Josiah started to decline but stopped. Vogel had said, "You have things to do, Lieutenant. You just don't realize it yet. Get out in the world again. Get a job. Join things. Get to therapy." 889 "Are you going to do nothing, Josiah?" he wordlessly asked himself. His resolve to become a recluse crumbled quickly when confronted by unsought opportunity. It was only Vogel he avoided. Singing had been fun, and he'd had little fun for years. 890 "Maybe someone will enjoy it," Josiah said, as if from a distance. 891 "They will. We can practice at my apartment," Sing said. "It's small, but I have a piano." 892 Josiah was surprised at Sing's friendly but almost Puritan work ethic. "People deserve the best we can do," he said. "I graduated from the Cincinnati Conservatory. I picked you. I want a good reputation. And you can be very good." He was on Josiah for diction and swooping into notes and lots of little things, even presentation. Josiah wondered if he'd made a mistake agreeing to the job. 893 "You'd have been a great DI in the Marines," he muttered to Sing once, before he smiled. 894 Sing laughed at that one. "They're paying us, Josiah," Sing said. "Singing is like any other skill. You can improve it with understanding and effort." 895 Sing talked to him about audiences and how to interact. "I'll be in charge this time, but eventually you'll have to be since you're singing..." 896 "Eventually?" Josiah thought. 897 It proved to be an extravagant bar mitzvah reception in a sumptuous hall at an expensive hotel in Cincinnati. Sing picked Josiah up for the hour trip, and they went over the song list, instructions from the employer, and other things. They arrived well ahead of the guest of honor and most of their audience. People wandered in as the ceremony at the synagogue finished, and they moved to their song list. The first songs were meant to warm them up. Sing would not be unprepared. If the occasion ran long, Sing would add instrumentals that he had practiced for years. 898 There were young boys and girls all about, wandering in from the ceremony at the Wise Temple that had taken some hours. The young Jew who was confirmed looked relieved and almost giddy, Josiah thought; if the ceremony had not gone well, it was at least gone by. His father was a little guy with wine in his hand and mother a woman a half foot taller than her husband. She was statuesque, and Josiah had to force his eyes away. Her love for her son was tangible. 899 Occasionally, children noticed Josiah's crutches and knees; he made a point of smiling at them and nodding. 900 As the event went on, Josiah became more comfortable speaking. A few times he sat for a song, and no explanation was necessary. The crowd seemed sympathetic. Perhaps his situation was not so unusual. The singer needed crutches; every family had someone wounded or physically handicapped. The disabled needed to make a living, too. 901 Perhaps most surprisingly, the audience seemed to enjoy his singing. They clapped after most songs. 902 "How'd you hurt your legs?" a kid asked from the side, and Josiah looked over. She was in a pink dress, staring at him as he stood with the crutches. She was perhaps eight, Josiah thought. 903 "I was in a war," he said, and she nodded. Josiah smiled at her. 904 "I know about war," she said, eyes big. He believed her. 905 When the celebration broke up, the boy's father thanked and complimented them. His tip was generous. He said, "I'll talk to my friends about you. You were great." 906 Josiah and Sing felt exhilarated by their reception. 907 "It was as good as it can be," Sing said. "I've done a lot of parties like that, usually alone, and they are polite and appreciative. But this was different. It's you, Josiah. People like your voice. And you, too." 908 "I think you're exaggerating," Josiah said, "but they did seem to like it." 909 "Hey, there's a bar I know. Let's celebrate." Sing pulled into a place just off the circle freeway. 910 They drank and talked about girls and generally about their lives. Sing said there was not a lot of action for a straight mixed-Asian musician out in the boondocks. Not much, though Sing had hope; he thought one girl was interested. Josiah commiserated and mentioned his own difficulties, and encouraged Sing to pursue his one lead. They flirted mildly with the women who walked by, making eye contact and nodding. Josiah wondered what the other patrons thought of the little Asian and the handicapped guy flirting with women who happened past their table. 911 Josiah didn't talk about Iraq. No one would believe him, anyway. Sing and he left after some time, and Josiah realized that despite everything, he had a friend. 912 * It was only a few days before Sing called to say they'd been engaged for another performance and that he'd asked a flautist to join them. Cora could play several instruments, including clarinet, English horn, and oboe. Sing thought it would make their performances more interesting and varied. Josiah could tell by the tone of his voice that Sing was very encouraged that Cora had joined them. 913 "Are you dating her?" Josiah asked directly. 914 "Yeah. She doesn't care that I'm Asian." 915 Josiah shook his head. "I don't think many people do, frankly." 916 Sing admitted, "I haven't noticed much open prejudice either, come to think of it. But I want to maintain my place in the victimology hierarchy." 917 Josiah laughed. "I wonder where white guys with mushy knees rank." 918 "I should think the handicapped would rate highly," he said. "I mean, you're actually a victim." 919 Josiah shook his head. "No, not really. It was payback." Josiah wasn't sure what he meant by that. Sometimes he confused himself. 920 Cora was a fallen-away Catholic who had been dumped by two boyfriends over the years, so she had sworn off boys until Sing came along. A graduate of Carnegie music, she was in her late 20s. She had dark hair, a thin build, was an inch or two taller than Sing, and had dark eyes. She liked to smile and wear sweaters in winter, and she drove a little, dinky car. She and Sing were soon dating frequently, but they kept rehearsals professional. Josiah liked them both; Cora was pretty and nice, but romantically she was only interested in Sing. That was fine with Josiah. 921 He thought they made a good couple. 922 * "I'm looking for Ava Fortner's family," Sing said at a rehearsal. "I know Ava is buried in Springfield, Ohio, and it looks like her dad is buried there, too, a few years later. But after that I lose track of her mom. She doesn't live in Springfield anymore." 923 "I'd really like to find her," Sing added. 924 Cora particularly loved "Of Hope and Love." 925 "It's the lyrics," Cora raved, "so moving! And the tune is a hundred years of emotion in one song. I don't know if Ava was brilliant, but her song is. We could play it softly or quickly, sadly or happily, and it would still be good." 926 It became a common request that they play "Of Hope and Love" more than once at receptions or parties; people wanted to hear it again, and remarked they'd never heard it before. Josiah would briefly explain the song's story and that they were looking for the writer's family. The trio would perform the song once with lyrics and then either Sing or Cora would play it as an instrumental. 927 Sing was developing plans for that song. 928 CHAPTER 6: Meeting Mattie "Josiah, this is Father Phil," the voice on the phone said. 930 "Yes, Father. What's up? I was at Mass Sunday," Josiah said. "No harm, no foul." 931 Phil laughed. "No, no, I just discovered that you sing with a pianist sometimes. I was wondering if you'd like to sing at a Mass in two weeks? Our organist is about to retire and he's inviting people to perform. He has arthritis and it's affecting him more now. Oh, we can't afford to pay you, you know." 932 Josiah considered. "I'll do it. I'll have to confirm with my partner. Sometimes we perform with a floutist. Should I ask her, too?" 933 "Oh, I didn't know. Yeah, please do. Do you think they'll agree?" Phil asked. 934 "I don't know. They're professionals, but I'll try to get them to do it." 935 "Thanks, Josiah." Father hung up. 936 "Now why did I agree to that?" Josiah wondered. "And without hesitation?" 937 Cora and Sing were very pleased. They saw Mass at a big church as an opportunity, exposing the group to a wide variety of possible clients. Sing contacted the church music director, who sent him a list of hymns and other music that could be used that Sunday. All three of them met with the church music director on Tuesday, and Sing played the old pipe organ at Merciful God for the first time.. 938 He looked over at the music director. "The delay is longer than I expected." 939 The director smiled. "Yeah, you have to ignore it. And allow at the end for the final echo to resound. Not like the new ones." 940 Josiah had never seen someone so happy to play an instrument as Sing was playing those old pipes. He played louder and louder as the session went on. 941 Josiah said after a particularly booming song, "I thought you were worried you'd go deaf?" 942 "Yeah," Cora added with a nod and a smile. 943 Sing smiled sheepishly, "It's like I'm addicted. I have to hear it more and louder. I'll tone it down." 944 Sing and Cora saw rehearsal as work, but to Josiah it was fun. Between pipe organ and flute and clarinet, the sound was wonderful and everyone finished happy. The church organist was obviously excited. They were ready for Sunday. 945 Josiah loved that Mass. 946 Cora and Sing picked him up at his apartment, so they arrived together an hour early and had to wait for the preceding Mass to finish. Josiah watched the two pros set up then, which was only a moment. Sing played a few chords on the pipe organ, Cora played the scale on her flute and then oboe. Josiah sang softly a few bars of a few songs. 947 Sing and Cora were playing twenty minutes beforehand with songs from Beethoven and Purcell and Ravel, and Sing was doubly impressive on that huge pipe organ. Cora's flute was particularly lovely on "Pie Jesu," a song from Andrew Lloyd Webber with high flute notes countered by low organ. The church was full well before Mass time; there was no talk as people listened to the performance. Some wanted to clap when it finished before the priest processed. 948 Josiah didn't sing until Mass began. Here people had occasionally noticed him over the last year, although he hardly participated in church activities. He doubted any knew his name. He was that poor handicapped guy in the back the last seven months: wasn't he in the war? Now he was in front of them. He thought they were surprised to see him singing. 949 The processional began. It was a powerful song. He thought they were moved; someone clapped in the back. Father went on with the opening prayers immediately. 950 Sing had little experience playing for a congregation to sing, nor did he know the order of the Mass, and with the pipe organ he was not at ease with the delay between playing and sound, so he avoided it. Phil would signal when it was time for another song, and Josiah would point to the next song title. It was practically a concert, with him singing processional, offertory and communion hymns. 951 It went well. Before the recessional, Fr. Phil said, "I believe we should thank our musicians for some of the finest music I've ever heard at Mass anywhere." He looked down at a paper in his hand. "Josiah Langer, Cora Taschenbaum, and Sing Minh," he read. 952 it was quite wholehearted. Sing stood and bowed, Cora smiled and curtsied with her oboe in hand, and Josiah smiled and nodded. 953 The closing was magnificent. Cora and Sing played with enthusiasm, and many congregants remained in the pews till the end. Then Cora and Sing played three other prepared songs, and about a third of the people just stayed in their seats, and as many hung around listening and talking in the back of the nave. The music finished about ten minutes later. Everyone remaining applauded, including Josiah. Fr. Phil came back in and thanked them. Cora hugged Josiah. She and Sing hugged, too. 954 It was as if he felt part of a team again, and a winner. Josiah felt appreciated. "Maybe I'm getting better," he thought. 955 * It was only a few days later that Fr. Phil called and asked if the group would like to play for a funeral. Sing and Cora were willing especially when he said the performance would pay for the whole group as one. "Some families don't have a lot to offer," Phil said. The father of the deceased had asked for them, having heard them at that Mass. So they did it for what was offered, cramming in a rehearsal and meeting with the arthritic music director to guide them in song selection. 956 Josiah showed the director the lyrics to "Of Hope and Love" and he approved them for before the ceremony began; loss of love and life were so similar. It was a long, wonderful, easy preparation evening in the nave, playing songs to consider and rehearsing. 957 They expected a sad ceremony. The deceased was a 20-year-old young man named Eugene Tierney who had passed after a year of increasing agony and decreasing hopes. Glioblastoma, a brain cancer, killed him young. 958 Josiah put his crutches behind the chair he'd be using, determined to stand on his own at least for the singing. He said a prayer for more endurance. 959 The church music director came to be sure they didn't become confused at the differences in a Mass with a funeral and just a Mass. They played some classical music, and Josiah sang "Of Hope and Love" with just the piano. Cora played a solo, and Sing played a famous hymn for the congregation to sing, but really only for Josiah because so few sang. It went well. Josiah steadied himself without his crutches, using the back of a chair, and sitting behind the piano so people didn't see him awkwardly rising. 960 There were some parishioners whom Josiah recognized from his attendance at Mass, but one woman he did not. She was his age, thin and pretty, and she looked at him occasionally as he sang or stood before the mourners. He hid his difficulty standing up, but he didn't think he was completely successful. 961 The deceased boy's father actually paid much more than the agreed price, but he was in so much grief that he didn't want to discuss it. 962 The nave emptied quickly after the casket was removed. Josiah used his crutches to the back vestibule, where Cora and Sing caught up with him. With lots of people still around, Josiah held his crutches in his left hand and walked awkwardly a few steps toward some chairs by the wall. Cora and Sing headed to the restrooms. 963 "That song was lovely. The one you sang first," a woman to his right said. He turned stiffly, because he could only turn stiffly, and there was that girl about his age, a little shorter than he, with blonde hair and he didn't know the eye color because he's color deficient, but he knew a pretty girl when he saw one. 964 He smiled at her, saying, "'Of Hope and Love' is the name. Hi, I'm Josiah Langer." He held out his hand. 965 "Mattie Morrison," she said. She noticed him fidgeting and misunderstood the reason. "I'm sorry, I'm keeping you, you seem to need to go." She backed away. 966 "No, no, I have trouble standing for a long time, that's all. Old war wound," he said, laughing. He showed her the crutches in his left hand. 967 "Oh, did you hurt it playing football or something?" she said, smiling and turning toward the chairs by the wall. 968 "No," he said, "it's really a war injury." 969 Her eyes were dismayed as she quickly turned back to him. "Oh, I'm so sorry, I thought you were being metaphorical. Can I help or...?" 970 "Let's just sit a minute in the chairs there," he said, pointing and heading that way. He used his crutches, it was just too awkward for him to walk. Cora and Sing came by and saw him going to sit. He introduced them to Mattie, and they excused themselves with a wave and a wink. 971 "Meet you outside," Sing said, and Josiah nodded. 972 "So, Mattie Morrison, how did you know the deceased?" 973 "My cousin," she said. "On Mom's side. I knew him but we were not particularly close. My parents were going to come but they were stuck on the highway behind a wreck, so they're home now." 974 She acted like she wanted to say more. She smiled, and he thought she was lovely. "My dad and his had some sort of inside joke. He's named for an actress, and I'm named for an actor. Gene was five years younger. My first name's Marion." She looked as if she were testing him. 975 It rang a bell in Josiah's mind. Eugene Tierney. "Gene Tierney!" he said. Marion Morrison. "You're named for John Wayne?" he asked, smiling. 976 "Dad liked The Shootist, he told me once. He didn't think Mom would know so he casually suggested Marion. When Mom found out later that I was named for John Wayne, she insisted I be called Mattie. She still feels like he snookered her." 977 Josiah laughed, thinking he might like her parents. "At least they don't call you Duke." 978 "That's true. It could have been worse, I guess. Your singing was beautiful. That one song was so touching. I noticed the lyrics speak of loss but they could mean life or love, couldn't they?" 979 "Yeah." he nodded. "Written by a singer who died soon after. Perhaps that's why she wrote it that way." 980 "Apropos, then, huh?" she said. She looked directly in his eyes. 981 He held her steady gaze. "Yes," he said, otherwise at a loss for words before her. Some seconds passed. "Well, it has been nice meeting you, I'm sorry at a funeral. Do you attend Merciful God?" 982 "I do. I'm at nine o'clock every Sunday." 983 "I may make a point of going earlier now," he said. He started to get up. 984 She stood, saw his difficulty and lifted under his elbow. "Thanks," he said. He liked being touched by her. She could help him anytime. 985 "I hope you will," she said. "Make it a point." 986 That was something to think about. Sing saw him come out and signalled they were ready to leave. 987 CHAPTER 7: An Upsetting Story Practically having a date to see Mattie (not Marion) Morrison increased the pressure to get him to Mass. He fulcrumed himself into nine o'clock Mass a few days after the funeral and discovered that a lot of people go that early, also. He sat near the rear of the nave and looked around for Mattie. She arrived a few minutes later, behind him and left, and suddenly she was beside him in the pew. 989 "Hello, Josiah," she whispered, preparing to kneel beside him. 990 "Mattie," he said, smiling. 991 She lowered the kneeler and began to pray. 992 It wasn't a religious experience for him. He was happy sitting beside her, and even the struggle to rise was pleasurable because she helped him, lifting his arm or putting hers around him. He sang with the congregation and listened to Mattie's pretty voice, and Father nodded and gave a little smile after their eyes locked momentarily across the room. 993 "Would you like to come home and have brunch?" she asked him. "I live about a quarter mile down the road. We could drive if it's too far, I have my car." 994 "Let's walk, but slowly," Josiah said. "I'm supposed to move as much as possible on my own." 995 She smiled and said, "As slowly as you need." He crutched and she walked along, talking of life and her work and the town, books and sports. She didn't mention the war and he didn't bring it up. They rested every hundred yards or so. 996 "Are your folks there?" Josiah asked when they came in sight of her home. 997 "Yes. Are you nervous to meet them?" 998 "Yes," he admitted. "I haven't... I don't have much experience having a friend." 999 So they walked on, sometimes Josiah using the crutches, sometimes not. 1000 "Oh, sometimes my right knee locks up, so if I fall don't be shocked." 1001 "Why's it do that?" she asked. 1002 He shook his head. "No one knows. But they don't want to operate unless it happens a lot. They're hoping it just goes away," he said. "It's only happened three times. After a few seconds, it unlocks." 1003 So he swung along or walked slowly, and she stayed with him. 1004 She had been a cross-country runner at Merciful Saviour High School and still ran three miles two or three times per week. Miami in Oxford, Ohio was where she'd lived for undergraduate school. She was now the head librarian at the Sky Grey Public Library; it was a gentle calling, although occasionally she'd bill somebody for a lost book. 1005 He told her about his college experience at the University of Cincinnati, getting into the Marines thereafter, and then how he'd handled being home with surgeries and therapy. He saw sympathy in her eyes. Somehow her sympathy gave him pause. He usually preferred sympathy, but for some reason not from her. 1006 Her house had five or six steps up to a big porch, which he mounted tremblingly using his crutches. Mattie positioned herself to the side to catch him if he fell back, but said nothing. He was perspiring at the top, and Mattie saw it. 1007 "Tough, huh?" 1008 "Yeah. But I'm a pro with the crutches." 1009 They entered the front door into a dark wood house with plaster walls and overstuffed chairs. The place smelled of sausage and coffee, and he hoped they weren't barging in on a late breakfast with people in pajamas. But she called out, saying she'd brought along a friend. They passed into a large kitchen with table and chairs. Her father was reading the paper. He found out later that Mrs. Morrison went to Mass on Saturday evenings, and Mr. Morrison had a different view of the church. Mrs. Morrison was standing with a cup of coffee in her hands, leaning against the sink. 1010 Mattie spoke. "Mom, Dad, this is Josiah Langer. I met him at the funeral the other day and saw him at Mass today." 1011 Josiah swivelled forward, a bit awkwardly, crutches in his left hand, and shook hands with Mrs. Morrison and then Mister, who said, "Larry," meaning he should call him that. He nodded. They saw he had the crutches and probably noticed his handicap to some extent. 1012 "Please, sit wherever," Mrs. Morrison said. "Would you like sausage and eggs, or cereal and milk, or pancakes?" 1013 He thought he'd found heaven. He plopped a bit hard into a chair beside Larry, and relaxed a little more than other people would, almost as if he'd just run a few miles, if he'd had normal legs. "Pancakes sound great," he said, smiling. Mattie sat on the other side of him . 1014 "Okay?" Mattie asked. He nodded. 1015 They talked then as families do with a new boyfriend brought home. Where are you from, how'd you get to Sky Grey, what did you do for a living, that sort of thing. It was the first time he'd had to confront what happened to him since he'd left the hospital. It was the first time with nonmilitary people, really. 1016 He'd been conditioned to distrust civilians when it came to understanding his experience. 1017 He thought the conditioning was in error, at least if the Morrison family was any indication. They were interested and accepting and sympathetic. They listened and commented without judging anything. 1018 "So you are how old?" Larry asked. 1019 "26. I lived in Greenville growing up, went to public schools there, got a degree from UC. The Marines looked good to me then." 1020 Mrs. Morrison asked, "Have you any family?" 1021 "No, I was an only child. My dad was much older. Dad died of a heart attack and Mom took care of me. She became... alcoholic, over time, and died right after I graduated high school. So I went in the Marines with no family to speak of. No family history of religion much. But we went to St. Mary when we went." 1022 Mrs. Morrison looked dismayed as she flipped a pancake. 1023 "Marines, huh," Larry said, thinking about that. 1024 "I wasn't sure what I wanted to do with my degree," he said. 1025 "Your legs... How'd you get hurt?" he asked. 1026 Mattie said forcefully, "Daddy!" She was actually mad, and Josiah smiled at that. He'd never been defended by a girl in front of her father. 1027 "I don't talk about the wounding much." Just then three medium pancakes appeared on a plate in front of him, with silverware and coffee and orange juice. Mattie had a plate then, too. "Thanks, very much," he said. 1028 "I'm sorry, maybe I shouldn't have asked," Mr. Morrison said, actually looking chagrined. Josiah found that touching, and smiled. 1029 "Well, I guess I shouldn't treat it like a mysterious event," he said. He paused to eat some pancake, which had blueberries and that he'd drizzled with real maple syrup. He'd noticed Mrs. Morrison getting out the real maple and putting away the Mrs. Butterworth's. 1030 Mattie said, "You don't have to..." 1031 He shook his head. "I know but might as well." He took another breath, one that quavered unusually, and he determined to give no details. "I was an infantry platoon commander. We had some firefights. Several IEDs wounded some of my men over the months, but none were killed. In my last firefight, I took a round right through the knees before my guys killed the shooter. Nothing much, just bad luck." He let out his breath, as if he'd been holding it because the moment was stressful. That was that, he thought. Not so bad. Good story, not many details, all of it was true. Not complete, but true. They were looking at him as if something was wrong. 1032 It was the volume that surprised them. He realized he'd gotten louder as he talked. 1033 Mrs. Morrison had stopped cooking pancakes and the smell of burning food began to waft."That was all?" Mattie said quietly, and he felt her hand on his arm. 1034 He was perspiring, heavily. "What was wrong?" he asked himself. He looked around at each of them. They were looking back, concerned for some reason. There was that noise in his head that he got sometimes, but it wasn't terrible. Tinnitus or something. 1035 "Yep. More or less," he said aloud. "They took me to a fob, a forward operating base, then to a ship, where they operated. I've had several operations. I expect no more, but operations seem to be the thing where my knees are concerned." He smiled. He'd gotten through it, without demons or crying or sharks, anything. Just some sweat. Good. The tinnitus diminished. 1036 Mr. Morrison was looking at him as if he'd done something. "He's begging us to believe him," Larry thought. He wondered what happened to the poor boy. 1037 "Sorry," Josiah said quietly, meeting no one's eyes. "I have trouble talking about Iraq. 1038 "These pancakes are great, ma'am," he said, talking at a more normal volume, finishing more than he should eat. Mrs. Morrison joined them at the table. She smiled and welcomed his compliment. 1039 "Are you in constant pain?" Mattie asked. 1040 "No, no longer. I can use my legs, but I shouldn't kneel and the doctors said I might always need crutches or a cane for any kind of distance. They don't want to see their work messed up by too much weight on a bone they've rebuilt, and it might hurt. I have pins in some bones, and both knees were engineered in New Jersey," he smiled. 1041 Mrs. Morrison reached over and covered his hand. "I am so... sorry this has happened in your life." He looked at her eyes: grey, sincere, and he wished he'd had a mom like that. Very much. He remembered Mom's eyes: yellow, bloodshot, dark. Why had her life been so different? He answered it himself, and looked to Larry with a little more regard. 1042 "Well," he said softly, "I think I know what it's like to have a mom again. Just a little bit." He looked at her, turned his hand, and squeezed hers. Then he pulled it away. They had not asked about what he was doing in that firefight. They seemed to accept his explanation. He looked about to see if he was suspected and realized he might have a furtive expression on his face. 1043 It was an interesting morning, as Mattie and he tried to learn about one another and her folks danced around them, probably wondering if he was okay for her, or if his lack of family was a debility, or if he was an evil. Perhaps they wondered if he were mentally stable from the war. 1044 He wondered that himself. 1045 Her dad said, "You sing? Mattie said you sang at Gene's funeral." 1046 "Yes. I met up with a pianist and his girlfriend and started singing, and now people are paying me for it. I sang in the choir in high school. I'm shocked people are willing to pay to hear me." Josiah shook his head, smiling as if it were almost risible. 1047 They were quiet, sipping coffee, and Mrs. Morrison was moving about completing mundane tasks like putting knives in the dishwasher. Josiah felt welcome. Talk was gentle and normal, about movies and work and weather. 1048 After an hour he knew he should leave. 1049 "I should go. Thank you, Mrs. Morrison, for breakfast. Mr. Morrison, pleased to meet you. Bye." They called out farewells and Mattie went along. 1050 She walked him part way home when he left. Near his apartment she said, "I hope you'll come to nine o'clock next Sunday." 1051 "Will I get breakfast afterwards?" he asked. 1052 "Yes. Sometimes they work at the Homeless Shelter on Sunday. So I might have to make it." 1053 "So Mass is like a date," he said. 1054 She nodded. "See you then," she said. 1055 He had a strange feeling in his chest as they parted. He made his way to his apartment. Vogel had warned him about life: "You're not done, Lieutenant. Your knees just suck." 1056 He called Mattie a few days later, "Just to talk," he said. They discussed her work and his singing. He didn't run out of things to say. Two days later, she called him. They saw each other at Mass again. 1057 * A few weeks later, he surprised Mattie at her job. It was nine o'clock in the morning, and there was no one in the library but Mattie and a college-aged guy who worked mornings. 1058 Josiah crutched in, having driven and parked in the lot. He remembered public libraries as peaceful and almost serene places. It had been many years since he'd been in one. 1059 Mattie saw him. "Josiah! What a surprise!" She left the cart she was pushing and walked over to him. 1060 "I need a library card," he said. "Do you still use library cards?" 1061 "Yes, we do. Have a seat and you can fill out a request." 1062 So he sat a few minutes filling out the form while she busied herself putting books on shelves. When he finished, she came over and sat with him. 1063 "Josiah, when you came for that first breakfast, what was it you didn't say? When you told Mom and Dad about what happened in Iraq, you kept something to yourself, I could tell." 1064 It was a simple request, made without judgment or insinuation, and possibly out of genuine concern for him. Josiah looked straight into her eyes. It was loud in his head suddenly, and it interfered with his thinking. Her eyes didn't waver looking back. He looked away because he knew somehow that he would be disingenuous, but not how. 1065 He looked down at the table and finally spoke. "It was when I got shot. I can't remember all of it." He paused and took a breath. "Hundreds of civilians were walking toward us on a bridge. The fighting was still going on in their city, smoke was going up, bombs going off. There was a woman, holding the hand of her boy, walking funny. She was not far away, and she lifted her son to the concrete railing on the side of the bridge. I wondered, now why is she doing that? Is she going to drop him in the river? I stopped our Humvee and ran to them, but then she stumbled and fell with him into the river. That was when I was shot, was shot as I watched them fall. The mom looked up at me for a second." He shook his head. It was plausible, it might even be true. 1066 Something screamed at him in his mind, not words, just anguish, an emotion sonifying in his head. He knew he'd gotten louder again. 1067 Her eyes were different, looking into his. 1068 "I failed. I could have saved them," he said. He felt perspiration breaking out on his forehead. Why did he perspire so much when he told the story? In the back of his mind a voice said, which story? You've told so many you can't keep them straight. 1069 He couldn't meet her eyes. 1070 He said nothing more. He shook his head, looked into his lap. He had to move, to go. He pushed himself up, his knees stiff. 1071 "I should go. I must go," and he smiled at her and headed for the door. He abandoned her at a table in the library at nine in the morning. He was frantic, using his crutches, then banging the door into his one crutch and almost falling, but then getting out. He turned left to go home, forgetting his car parked in the lot to the right. 1072 He interrogated himself as he crutched away. "Do you have issues, Lieutenant? Have you not come to grips with your actions? Their results? Guilt is more complex than it should be, isn't it?" 1073 No, not just guilt. Responsibility. That's what his nut doctor had said. You feel responsible for something. 1074 For a few minutes, he closed his mind and had no thoughts. He was better than that, Josiah thought. He left someone he was thinking of loving alone and unanswered, wondering what was so hard to tell. He saw her eyes, clear and accepting and interested, and her eyes, accusing and hateful and dark as she loosed her grip on her son. What did it mean that he remembered Mattie's eyes and some anonymous woman's, of all the women in the world? He was forcing memories around something, as if there was a sphere of shielding in his consciousness that could not be broached. 1075 What kind of man was he really? He stopped outside his apartment, closed his eyes and stood in the shade of a tree. How can you remember the same thing a different way each time you think of it, and you're sure they're all true? 1076 His shrink said, "Your mind associates to protect you. You don't want to believe what you saw. Or what you did." Josiah didn't tell Mattie the truth. He told her what he remembered this time, this morning, in Ohio. 1077 Three girls besides his mother and Aunt Dotty. Not girlfriends, any of them. Erin, who danced, who felt so electric under his hands, he would not forget despite innocence and youth. Ari El, who promised nothing and delivered his first sex, a woman he could never see as anything but a part of a senseless night. And now Mattie, who looked and acted like he was a man, who acted like she might like him, even love him, and who scared him somehow. 1078 He was afraid to call her. What did he want from Mattie? He was crippled and would receive a government disability check the rest of his life. He could sing a little, or run for office. He was a lousy prospect for a pretty girl. No, she was better off without him. The best thing he could do for her was to leave her alone. 1079 She was probably thinking, good riddance! 1080 CHAPTER 8: Is He Crazy? "Mom," Mattie said to her mother, "Josiah walked out on me. At the library." 1082 "Why? Did you fight?" her mother said. 1083 Mattie shook her head. "No, I don't think so. I asked him about what happened in Iraq. Remember Dad said he thought Josiah had some issues about it, the way he looked as he told us? Anyway, he looked that way again and he gave me a story about a mother and her boy caught in a firefight, and it just didn't make much sense. Then he stood up and left." 1084 "Oh?" her mother asked. 1085 "Another thing. He drove to the library, but his car was still there all day. I think he forgot his car. He had to use his crutches all the way home, almost a mile for him. I saw him coming back for his car just after closing time. His lips were moving like he was talking. I don't think he even noticed when I drove by him." Mattie shook her head. 1086 Her mother was silent. She retrieved some cold tea from the refrigerator and sat down at the kitchen table. Mattie was her younger of two, somehow unmarried after a coterie of failed prospects, and seemed to be most interested in that poor soldier. She'd heard about mentally disturbed servicemen returning, beating their wives, becoming drug addicts, or unable to hold a job. She liked Josiah, but there was that strange story and the way he looked dark around his eyes. Getting louder had worried all three Morrisons. 1087 She looked at her daughter and decided she wouldn't bring up Peter, the doctor who asked her to marry him, whom she'd turned down. 1088 Was she trying to save this guy from himself? 1089 "Are you in love with him, Mat?" 1090 Mattie looked away, but then brought her eyes straight back to her mom. "No, not yet, but there's something there I can't describe. It's like he really wants to tell me something, something he just can't force out. No, I'm not in love. But he's the kind I could love." 1091 "You know, you shouldn't love someone in order to change him. It doesn't work like that. Lots of women... " 1092 Mattie smiled and shook her head. "No, Mom, I know. That's why I can honestly say I don't love him yet. It's only been a month... No, less. But he's a good guy at heart. There's a... strength in him. He's not ready to get involved. He's nowhere near that. If I ever hear from him again." 1093 Her mother nodded. "You going to see him?" 1094 "I was thinking at church. Maybe I'll go to a different Mass this week, over at St. Charles or St. Mary, and next week see if he's still sitting in the back. Give him a week to think about things. But I wish he'd call or something. Somehow I doubt it. I think something really bad happened to him over there. I wonder if he did something bad, or cowardly or something." 1095 Her mother nodded. "Would that change things for you? If he'd done something awful or bad?" 1096 Mattie responded quietly, "I wonder the same thing." 1097 Her mother sat quietly and her father entered. "I heard you talking about your boyfriend." 1098 Mattie protested, slightly humorously, "You know he's not that. Not yet, anyway." 1099 "Holding hands is a commitment, I think," her dad said, smiling. "But really, you left out an option." 1100 Mattie and her mother looked at him. "What do you mean, Dad?" 1101 "What if he feels bad because he did something really brave?" 1102 "Is that possible?" his wife asked. 1103 "Well, think of this. What if he shot a terrorist but then is second guessing whether or not it was a terrorist? Second thoughts about something bad. Something like that." 1104 "So," Mattie said, "you're saying he might be a hero, but it was morally unclear to him whether it was right?" 1105 "Yeah," her dad said. "I know lots of guys followed orders and were still haunted by it. Justified orders. Vietnam had lots of that." 1106 They sat at the table for a while in quiet. Mattie's fingers drummed on it, her nails clacking. She was thinking that she left Peter, because he was obsessed with sex, for Josiah, who was obsessed with something in Iraq. He'd shown no interest in sex with her, but it was early for that. She had deflected Peter's desires almost as soon as they started dating. 1107 "He's a pretty good singer," she said. 1108 Her mother responded, nodding, "Rose was saying the performance he gave at Mass with the organist and clarinetist was tremendous. She says he used to sit behind her at eleven o'clock and she had no idea he had such a good voice. She said Grant thought he was a vagrant, passing through, but then he kept coming." She was smiling. "Says he sounds like Bing Crosby." 1109 "So you've been checking out my boyfriend, huh?" Mattie joked. 1110 "Ah, so you admit he's a boyfriend," her dad said. 1111 Mattie smiled in surrender. "I give up. Yeah, he's a boyfriend. But he's on thin ice. I think he's a liar." 1112 Her mother said, "Lying either gets you an advantage or it protects you from harm." 1113 "They all have baggage," Mattie thought. "Even good men are flawed. Am I wrong about Josiah?" 1114 Her father said, "I think he's hurt." 1115 Mattie asked, "Hurt enough to not say the truth, or not know it? Do you think he's crazy?" 1116 No one spoke. 1117 CHAPTER 9: Ava Once More Playing at Merciful God proved to be a turning point for Sing, Cora, and Josiah. Gigs began to find them. They had performances at first every month, then every other week, then occasionally two in a week or on a weekend. They became busy. They rehearsed when they were free. Sing worked with Josiah, careful not to overwork his voice. 1119 "Of Hope and Love" became their most-requested song after they performed it once. People wanted to hear it again. They prepared to play it with lyrics once and as an instrumental another time at most functions. It fit some religious ceremonies or as a romantic dance song. 1120 Sing called Josiah one afternoon. 1121 "I found her," he said, a hint of the jubilant in his voice. 1122 "Who?" Josiah eloquently replied. 1123 "Ava Fortner's mom. I found her. She lives near Columbus," he said. "Her last name's Crimmins, now." 1124 "Wow," Josiah said. "How'd..." 1125 "Contacted her through a lawyer who was involved in Ava's father's estate. Her mother remarried after her husband died, all since Ava passed." 1126 "Have you contacted her?" Josiah asked. 1127 "Just quickly, by phone, a minute ago. I said I'd like to talk to her about Ava. Said I'd heard a song she'd written. She invited me over. I said I'd come with a friend." 1128 "When?" 1129 He smiled. "She was very eager. She asked, 'Tomorrow? Nine?'" Sing laughed. "Cora can't make it; she has a rehearsal with Cincinnati since they need another flautist this weekend. Get you at 7:15?" 1130 Josiah said, "I'll be ready." 1131 Sing said, "I have some things to do now. See ya tomorrow." 1132 Sing used his friend Bobby's equipment to clean up the recording of "Of Hope and Love." He removed most of the raspiness and some unfortunate echo as much as he could, and transferred the recording to several CDs. He brought along a CD player and the cleaned-up recordings, hoping the effort would be appreciated. 1133 So they drove to the Grove City suburb of Columbus, finding Mrs. Crimmins's sister's house to be a two story brick with a full front porch on a street shaded by old trees. They parked beneath a huge tree on the street, hoping the shade would keep the car cool. Mrs. Crimmins met them at the door. She wore light pants and a loose, comfortable, nice shirt. 1134 . "Mr. Sing?" she asked as they walked up the steps. Josiah was slow, and Sing knew he wanted to make it on his own. He was using his crutches. Mrs. Crimmins was patient, too. 1135 "Yes," Sing said as Josiah reached the top step, "this is my friend, Josiah." Sing watched for any wobble or stumble as Josiah surmounted the obstacle. Sing put his hand out to be sure he didn't relax too much and fall back. Mrs. Crimmins was solicitous. 1136 "Hello. Hurt my knees a few years ago," Josiah said, smiling and nodding that he'd made it. 1137 "I'm so sorry," she said once he steadied. "How were you hurt?" 1138 "I got shot," Josiah said, "in Iraq." He surprised himself with the abrupt detail. 1139 Her hand went to his left arm then, an expression of dismay on her face. She just shook her head, but she squeezed his arm. 1140 "Thank you both for coming. Come in, please." She held the door and they went inside. They found seats on the sofa and a chair; she had cookies and coffee ready on the coffee table beside a picture album. 1141 She served the coffee and cookies as they talked; the house was air conditioned and cool. 1142 "Now, what brought my daughter to your attention?" she asked. She picked up her own coffee to sip. 1143 "A song, 'Of Hope and Love,'" Sing started. "We were told it was written by an Ava Fortner." 1144 "Wow," she said, smiling and musing then. "She worked on that song for months, trying this version and that. She sent off a cassette to a recording studio, but she never heard back. I think she recorded it sitting on her bed up in her room, in our old house, using an old recorder of my husband's." She shook her head at the pleasantness of the memory of her daughter. 1145 She went on after a short moment. "About then is when she was diagnosed. Glioblastoma," she said. "So we had other things to worry about. But it was a disappointment for her." 1146 Sing looked at Josiah, who looked back. It was the same disease that killed Mattie's cousin, whose funeral they played. Glioblastoma was a quick killer sometimes, and apparently didn't always wait for old age. 1147 She hesitated, with a dreamy expression on her face. "Would you like to see pictures?" 1148 Sing and Josiah both nodded. "Very much," Josiah said. 1149 Mrs. Crimmins opened the album, and they all three sat on the couch looking at it. There was Ava as a high school kid, playing in the school band, kicking a soccer ball, smiling at the camera. Unremarkably beautiful as most adolescent girls are, there was Ava hiding braces for a year or two, brown hair long. She was a winsome child with a ready smile, and shy; "I don't think she was much over five feet tall," her mother mentioned. She was just a regular kid, modest and nice. There were some pictures of her in decline then, two with her head swathed in bandages and with sunken, gaunt eyes, and finally her mother closed the book. 1150 "She was all those things you want in a kid," her mother said, not crying but sadness tinging her words. "Gentle and happy and friendly." 1151 "We are so sorry for you, and her," Josiah said. "Our loss not to know her." 1152 Mrs. Crimmins shook her head. It was quiet for a moment. 1153 Josiah said, "I heard the tape when I was maybe 13. Patrick and I listened to it over and over. I memorized the words. I thought it was so beautiful." 1154 Mrs. Crimmins looked thoughtful. "Ava died 12 years ago, now, and the tape was maybe a year before that. I heard her sing that song so many times, changing this and that." It was quiet for a moment as she remembered. 1155 Sing said, "Uh, we have the tape." 1156 Mrs. Crimmins was obviously startled. "The actual tape? With her singing?" she asked, surprised. 1157 Sing held up the disk. "I enhanced it, transferred it to disk. Would you like to hear it?" 1158 "Yes! Oh my..." she said, eyes big. "Oh, I assumed... Shelly isn't here, I wish she'd been able... Or Jack. He never met her." Josiah wondered at the emotions a man might have hearing his wife's deceased child for the first time. 1159 Sing said, "I can leave the disk, several actually, I have others. If you have a player?" 1160 "Oh, yes," she said. Her hands, holding her coffee cup, trembled. Josiah realized she was trying to control herself. She managed to put the cup down without spilling. 1161 Sing slipped the disk into his player and turned it on. Some guitar chords were played and then Ava sang. Mrs. Crimmins inhaled sharply as she heard her daughter's voice for the first time in 12 years. Her eyes were tightly shut, she didn't even seem to be breathing. 1162 Josiah and Sing watched her. She sat back, relaxed, legs crossed at the ankle. At the second verse, a single tear escaped her right eye. She didn't seem to notice. The beautiful voice and melody filled the living room for several minutes. The recording ended and hung about them. 1163 They were silent for perhaps two minutes more. Mrs. Crimmins was like a statue, eyes still tightly shut, hands folded in her lap like a Catholic school child. Sing looked at Josiah, who shook his head slightly, encouraging Sing to preserve the moment for her. 1164 Finally, Mrs. Crimmins started to talk but no sound emerged; she shook her head, eyes remaining closed. She pursed her lips. Eventually, calmly, she whispered, eyes still shut, "What a wonderful gift you've given me." A long moment more of silence ensued. Finally she opened shining eyes. She turned to Josiah and kissed him on the cheek, holding the kiss for more than the usual. She did the same with Sing. 1165 She said, her voice louder than a whisper now, "A few years ago, I found an old beach ball she blew up, half full, still carrying her breath. I squeezed it out to smell it." She shook her head. "I thought that was the last..." 1166 She looked from Sing to Josiah. 1167 "How can I thank you?" she asked, her voice normal as before. 1168 Sing looked at her forthrightly. 1169 "Ma'am, I'm a professional pianist," Sing said. "Josiah sings. We would like to know if you'd grant us permission to play the song, maybe even record it," he said, looking over at Josiah's surprised expression with a hint of a smile. "I don't think her recording is of a quality that we could make it commercial, at least as it is. The acoustics were just not strong enough for a modern recording, and the tape was old when she used it, the recorder was not very good. But we'd like to offer a contract. Permission to record and sell the song, if we can. If it made any money, you'd get standard percentages as inheritor of the copyright." 1170 Was he saying Josiah would sing for a commercial recording? With his commonplace voice? 1171 Mrs. Crimmins was one better than Sing. She had purposes and virtues, too. She sat back and smiled, thinking before she answered. 1172 "Young MEN," she said with emphasis, "you have made an old woman very happy. To hear her voice again!" She shook her head. "And now forever I can play it for anyone who asks. It's like God won't let us forget her." She shook her head once more. "No, I won't accept any money should a recording of Ava's song sell even a million copies. Instead, give that percentage to defeat GBM. Just attribute it to her. Make sure, if anyone asks, that you tell her story and that she only had enough time to give this one song. Sound fair?" 1173 They nodded. Sing said, "We may write up a contract to that effect, then. You can see we're keeping our side. The lawyer, he might want a signature." 1174 She waved it off. "My husband deals with contracts. He'll appreciate this. I can't wait to play this for him and my sister." She stood up. 1175 "Now I'd be even happier if you'd play and sing it for me, yourselves," she said. "We have a piano in the back." 1176 Josiah and Sing looked at each other. It turned out she had an old upright in the sun room off the back of the house, and Sing sat down at it and played some chords. "It's in tune," Sing said. 1177 "Shelly plays," Mrs. Crimmins said. "My sister." 1178 Josiah sang then, and Mrs. Crimmins sat in the sunroom on a cloudy day and seemed very happy. She was nodding, lounging on a white wicker chair with her hands clasped about a knee. She looked comfortable and normal. She was about the age of Josiah's mother when she passed. 1179 They went through the song twice because she seemed so happy with it; she joined in the chorus at the end. 1180 "I think," she said after they finished, "Ava would have loved to sing with you." 1181 They talked about Ava then, deceased at 19. A promising life never lived. Or perhaps fully lived in its brief time. 1182 When they told her, Cora said she regretted missing that meeting, very much. She gave Sing a kiss on the lips, and kissed Josiah on the cheek, her right arm around his neck. 1183 She said, "You guys have no idea what you did." 1184 CHAPTER 10: Torment He called Mattie once on the phone, but the conversation seemed strained and awkward. He went to Mass at nine, two Sundays after the library incident and the week after visiting Mrs. Crimmins, and Mattie sat beside him. He said, "I'm so sorry I left you like that. I can't believe I did that." 1186 She looked at him and smiled. She admitted, "I was pretty mad, but I could see you were upset." 1187 "Later, maybe?" 1188 She nodded, and sometimes she held his hand during Mass. He was pleasantly surprised. He wondered if it meant anything to her. 1189 He walked her home then, telling her of the visit to Mrs. Crimmins. When he told her of playing the recording, Mattie stopped and looked at him. She looked from one of his eyes to the other, and held his right hand. When he finished telling of singing for Ava's mom, Mattie stood on her tiptoes and kissed his cheek. She shook her head as they started to walk again. 1190 "There's a lot of good in you, Josiah." She was quiet, but she shook her head when he went to talk. She put her fingers on his lips. 1191 "You should see someone. You're not seeing a therapist about your anxiety, about your experiences." 1192 For the first time since he came to Sky Grey, he wished he had followed Vogel's advice. 1193 "It's only the one thing," he said to Mattie. "I just stress over one thing. I wake every morning at 3:09 and it takes me forever to fall back asleep. Sometimes when I think of that bridge, I just sweat and there's a noise in my mind." They walked slowly, and she held his hand as he swivelled with crutches under his left arm. 1194 His voice was controlled, soft, but again the buzz in his head grew louder. After some minutes she squeezed his hand. They came to a bench and sat. Josiah straightened his legs in front of them, blocking the sidewalk, but there were no walkers nearby. 1195 "Do you remember it now?" she asked. He looked around, then into the distance as if searching the horizon for a ship. 1196 He told her again of that day, checking his watch at 10:09, that bridge, those people, but there came a point Mattie was sure something was wrong or just not likely. He grew louder again. 1197 "I dismounted the vehicle, yelling at my guys. Alternatives and ramifications flooded my mind, so much could be going on. She picked her boy up, put him over the railing to protect him but just then an IED went off and they were blown into the water. I was shot then in a firefight. That's all there is in my memory, anyway. That's all there WAS!" 1198 He spoke over the sudden noise in his head. It wasn't tinnitus, but what else could it be? The whole thing was awkward. 1199 Mattie was looking at him. He'd added some things like the exact time, little things except for the IED, and left out others. He didn't meet her eyes. She'd heard a tinge of desperation as he spoke, heard the volume increase and diminish as he struggled to control it and the noise in his head had to be overcome. She saw the perspiration on his forehead and darkening his shirt; he was soaked. 1200 He wanted to say, I'm okay, it's all okay, it was long ago and far away and I'm not, you know, crazy. 1201 He calmed himself. "I remember it, and that's all true. A child and a mother gone just like that." 1202 Mattie said nothing for some time. She realized she'd now heard three versions. Josiah thought she could believe this one because it was true, although she missed the shark. He remembered seeing the shark, but now he didn't remember it as happening; he remembered it as what he told Vogel. In yet another version. 1203 "How many versions were there?" she wondered. 1204 "How many versions were there?" he wondered. He suddenly knew how many versions there were: as many as were needed. 1205 It weighed him down as he realized it was not truth. "Wait," he said, stopping and looking at her. He was better, but he wasn't well. "It's not true. What I just said. I thought it was a minute ago, and now I know it's not." She looked in his eyes. 1206 "A lie followed by an apology," she thought. "He's tortured." 1207 As they came to her house, she said, "You blame yourself for something. A woman and child died right before your eyes. Then you were horribly shot. Don't you think your standards are a little demanding? I mean, would you have expected someone else to save her? Or the kid?" 1208 Josiah nodded. "I know you're being reasonable. Somehow I think I should have saved them." He was perspiring again, and he heard the words weave themselves together so as to convince her, to persuade her. It worked, he thought, she believed him, and he felt satisfaction. 1209 He wondered why he was satisfied. He was losing track of his lies. 1210 Vogel knew he was making things up, just as Mattie now did. She also knew he couldn't find the truth. What woman would love an admitted liar? 1211 She raised her head and kissed his lips then, as he stood drenched in too much perspiration, too much anguish, too much emotion for what he'd said. He knew it, and he knew she knew it. 1212 He said, quietly, looking directly into her eyes for once, "I'm not crazy forever." 1213 She shook her head. She thought, "What am I doing? This is it? I'm finally in love, and this is it? He's crazy." 1214 An answer came to her, and she smiled. She thought it was from God, although it just came to her mind. Perhaps her mother would understand. It was her moment: the moment, she thought, that made her life good or bad. She knew the choice she should make. She looked at Josiah, who had not kissed her, not touched her breasts, not tried to get in her pants. Josiah, who suffered; but she was sure he was good, smart, loving. 1215 He was brave, she became sure. He always left that Humvee, in every version. He didn't shoot into the crowd or order others to kill innocents. Somehow, she knew he went into more danger when he left that vehicle. 1216 He was gentle. She'd seen his eyes as he told her about Mrs. Crimmins. She had to let him know. 1217 "I think you're a good and decent man, Josiah. I don't know how you live with those moments in your memory," she said, her hands holding his shoulders, eyes glistening. 1218 He saw Mattie's eyes, wet with emotion. "I wonder if I ever remember them, will I be better or fully crazy?" 1219 Mattie shook her head. She didn't know. 1220 CHAPTER 11: Favors and Songs Wedding receptions were their primary work, but they also played parties and dances. Occasionally, if the contractor wanted a larger group, they added a bass player, violinists, guitars, and a drummer. All the musicians were colleagues of Sing and Cora, all young and eager for the work. All were talented and classy, Josiah thought. 1222 They were making some money at it now, and Josiah was actually considering himself a professional singer, guffaw to follow. "Mom," he thought, "I'm a singer!" He imagined her smiling and shaking her head at the way life was working out for him. But he'd heard no ridicule, no criticism of the effort. They had to refuse some offers because they became so busy. 1223 Father Phil asked if they'd play a Mass on the anniversary of the founding of Merciful God in a few months. He admitted he could not afford to pay them, but he emphasized it was a major celebration for the parish. Josiah spoke with Sing and Cora, and they spoke with a guitarist, drummer, and two violinists, and for the publicity and gratitude they decided to do it. 1224 A month after the visit to Mrs. Crimmins, a copyright lawyer sought and received a release from her, with a brain tumor charity to receive a percentage of any profits over $2000. The lawyer was certain they did not need the contract, that actually they could record the song without consideration, but Sing wouldn't hear of it. "I know guys who've played fast and loose with a songwriter's work, and everyone of them has a bad rep forever." 1225 Sing called Mrs. Crimmins and they talked for some time. She said it was a wonderful moment playing Ava's recording for her sister and husband. 1226 "I want a copy of your new recording, when you finish it," she said. 1227 Sing smiled. "It won't be long now. I'm getting everyone together." 1228 They rehearsed and eventually recorded at Sing's friend Bobby's house, whose basement was a sound studio. Bobby was older, an occasional conductor of some of the local orchestras, had his own band over the years, and seemed to know the industry. His large basement was crammed with electronics and a soundproof room big enough for a small orchestra. Bobby was ever on the fringes, watching Sing and the other performers, sometimes whispering things in Sing's ear that Sing judiciously conveyed to a performer. 1229 Sing wanted to make the recording of "Of Hope and Love" using the three of them, several other instruments, and some backup singers. He rehearsed the singers separately for several days and worked alone for several days with Josiah. Josiah worked on diction and all the things a singer can improve. 1230 A few days before the recording, Sing gathered all the singers and rehearsed them together. At first, Josiah felt foolish to be the lead in front of three professionals. 1231 "So you're the lead," the little brunette backup said. "We wondered if you were a real guy or just a figment. Sing was very mysterious." 1232 Josiah smiled. "I'm it. I hope you cut me some slack. I'm just an amateur." 1233 The blonde singer shook her head and smiled. "If Sing says your voice is the one, who am I to argue?" Apparently, Sing's reputation was solid. 1234 During one break, the singers sat and drank some soft drinks. 1235 "Well, I hope my voice is good enough. This is all new to me. I wonder that I'm singing with accomplished people, I don't want to let anyone down," Josiah said to them. They smiled at him. 1236 "I graduated from the Cincinnati Conservatory," the one black woman said, "and believe me, I'd rather sing with you and Sing than some of those so-called pros." 1237 Josiah smiled at her generosity. He asked, "Why'd you agree to work with us? We have no money up front." 1238 One of the backup singers said, "He only cares that the music sound as good as it can. He's sincere, and half of the music pros in this area owe him favors. And we heard the writer's percentage is going to charity." 1239 The other two singers were nodding. One said, "Sing's always worked with us when we needed him. He's calling in favors. But once you agree to do it, he works you like a gym trainer!" 1240 They all nodded at that. Sing had Bobby work with them for another half hour. Then Sing played a recording from one of the instrument rehearsals. Josiah was shocked at the wonderful sound. Bobby practiced with them for an hour to two recordings, nitpicking every voice. He heard imprecise timing when there was none to the amateur ear. 1241 Sing didn't want to record it in pieces, he wanted everyone in the same room, everyone together for final rehearsals and recording. Sing was on the phone a lot, coordinating. "They'll all be here!" he said. 1242 "How many favors did you have to call in?" Josiah asked him during a break. 1243 "All of them," he said and smiled. "There are all kinds of investments in life." 1244 Final rehearsals were resounding, literally. By that time, many in the room hated "Of Hope and Love." No one blamed Sing, possibly because everyone could see that he was prepared and working harder than anyone. Finally, after listening to the musicians play through for the thousandth time, Bobby looked at Sing, and everyone waited a few seconds. 1245 "We're ready," Sing said. "Tomorrow, here, ten in the morning. We want to make several recordings, so it'll be a day." There was a weak cheer and groans. Sing had ruled their lives for the last mornings and evenings of intense practice. 1246 It was important to Josiah. His sudden fear of failure perhaps showed a side of him Sing had only suspected. Josiah had suffered no stage fright when he was bitter and angry, but those qualities seemed to diminish with success and dreams, performances, a girlfriend and a song. People were counting on him. It was their livelihood, their hope, and he didn't want to let them down. 1247 They recorded "Of Hope and Love" several times with variations over several hours. Sing and Cora were flawless, Cora's clarinet very subtle in its loveliness. Lovely tune, lovely and different each time. There were a few mistakes that were corrected; Bobby smiled (which was unusual, Sing said; Cora said she'd never known he could). 1248 When the final variation wrapped, this one with more prominent guitars, Bobby nodded and Sing said, "That's it! Great job, everyone. I'll let you know what we do with it, it'll be soon. Thanks, all of you." 1249 "What are you going to do with it?" Josiah asked Sing when the others had left. 1250 Sing looked at Bobby. "Don't know." Bobby smiled. Sometimes Sing kept his cards close to his vest. 1251 CHAPTER 12: Haunted Josiah avoided Mattie's family at Thanksgiving and Christmas, making excuses that she did not believe. "It's only been a few months," he said. 1253 "You just can't face people who might be interested in you. Like my brother or sister-in-law." 1254 "She was right," he admitted later. 1255 By spring they were dating occasionally in the evenings, and always together for Sunday Mass. They visited Krohn Conservatory for the flowers, saw the Dayton Dragons play, visited parks. But they were not sexually active. They kissed, but it was usually goodnight and never led to passion. 1256 Mattie spoke with her mother. 1257 "Mom, I'm just not sure about him. Josiah, I mean. He's normal and fun and smart, gentle, and then there will be something about the war or Iraq, and he'll shut down, or his eyes get that dark look. Like he's haunted." 1258 "Do you ask him about it? What's bothering him?" her mother asked. 1259 "Yes, he'll say he doesn't know why his mood changed," she replied. She hesitated and said, "I think that's true. He doesn't understand himself." 1260 Her mother clasped her hands. "Hon, is he okay? Are you safe with him? I mean, is he... mentally okay?" her mother asked very, very seriously. Josiah had been over quite a few times, but he had been quiet, moody, and polite. She wondered how and why her active, beautiful daughter was involved with such a man. 1261 "I think so. But there's something wrong. It's not normal. He doesn't act like other guys act. Like you remember Peter?" Mattie asked. 1262 Her mother nodded. Peter, the doctor, probably about to be rich, had dated her for over a year before it ended. They'd talked of marriage. 1263 "Yeah, well, frankly, he was all over me all the time, Mom. He couldn't control himself. I broke up with him finally because I decided any guy who wanted to have sex that badly and openly showing it... He would touch me at parties, people would see... I thought he might not be faithful, in the long run. And I was right. When I gave back his ring, he said he'd be with his old girlfriend that same night," she said, shaking her head. "He couldn't stop himself from the threat, even though he knew it was mean." 1264 She was shocked at Peter's ignobility when he was interested in sex. She'd thought she was in love with him. They'd had sex, but it became obvious it was the main thing he wanted of her, and he couldn't see anything else. 1265 "I didn't know," her mother said. "We liked Peter." 1266 Mattie smiled and tapped her mother's hand. "I thought I loved him. But I don't think he knew how to love because he was so obsessed with..." she hesitated at the term she almost used, "... with sex." 1267 "Josiah is different?" her mother asked. 1268 "Worlds! He's kissed me a few times, but I've been the one initiating. He has NOT tried to touch me anywhere private," she laughed and her mother joined in. "He holds my hand. I've tried to get him to hold me close and he shies away or acts like he's afraid. I hint and he seems interested but he doesn't do anything. He talks about serious things, or his singing, which actually brightens his face. He talks about his pianist friend and the girl who plays in their group, and he's animated, but..." She shook her head. 1269 "He holds me at arm's length, somehow," Mattie finished. She was dismayed, and she began to weep, silently, softly, so sadly. "Everyone. He holds everyone at arm's length." 1270 "Is he in constant pain in his knees?" her mother asked. 1271 Mattie shook her head. "I went to see one of his doctors with him the other day at Merciful Lord. Dr. Melrose met with us and examined his knees this time. 1272 "I saw his knees clearly for the first time. Mom, you wouldn't believe," she said, "his knees are just a mass of scars and you can hardly see... just lumpy flesh all different colors. I was... it was hard not to cry." 1273 Mattie looked seriously at her mother. "He may need crutches all his life, and now he seems fine with that. He thanked the doctor for helping, said he was grateful they saved his legs." 1274 She paused. "His knees must have been pulverized. I understand some of what he's going through." 1275 Mattie stopped, knowing her mother would bring up the startling missing element. 1276 "He doesn't see a mental therapist? No one to deal with his stress?" she asked. 1277 Mattie shook her head. "He said he went through the whole exam and didn't think of the bridge once. Like that was an accomplishment." 1278 She looked at her mom. It was all good news, all improvement. Josiah was pleased he didn't remember something he couldn't describe. Would there always be a memory he had to avoid? Would it always color his view of the world? 1279 She hesitated, put her head down on her arms, and cried. She felt her mother's hand on her back. 1280 * He drove. They went to an Italian restaurant near the interstate highway, away from the usual Sky Grey and Greenville patrons. Mattie wore a tank top-like mini skirted dress, and sandals. She wore no bra. She looked very sexy, and several of the men in the restaurant noticed her. Some kept looking over at her, almost rudely ignoring their own dates or wives. 1281 He had a new set of crutches and had actually been eager to try them. These were lighter, titanium and something much like his knees, and fit his forearms better. He liked wearing new clothes or trying out anything new, so he used them. 1282 But he couldn't take his eyes off Mattie. She jiggled a little as they walked, her breasts obvious through the cotton top, and her skin was a darker tan now in early June. He followed her to a booth, and he noticed her bottom and legs. 1283 They'd not had sex. He'd never touched her, never anythinged her. He wondered if there was something wrong with him. 1284 "You know how I feel," he said to her. Sometimes their conversations started at the second or third paragraph, she noticed. 1285 "A woman likes to hear it," she said. She was looking at him as if this were a serious conversation. 1286 "I think I have trouble saying emotional things," he said. He looked around, then back at her, at her breasts and then her eyes. 1287 "I'm making a play for you," she said. 1288 "Not yet," he said. "I need more time." 1289 She was disappointed, very disappointed. She'd known him almost a year. 1290 "Josiah, I'm ready, but you have to want me, too," she explained. 1291 He looked at her, looked around the room. Could others hear her? Her talk was getting a physical reaction from him, but mostly it made him uncomfortable. He didn't want to think of sex and marriage and children and making a woman a mother. 1292 "I don't understand you, Josiah," she said shaking her head. "I try to get closer to you and you act like you like me but... I've never had a boyfriend who avoided touching me." She was upset, holding in some emotion. 1293 "I'm not them," he thought, as if that should be a qualifier. He didn't say it because she would think it an insult. It dawned on him that he was explaining to himself why this relationship must fail. He needed it to fail or he'd face all those things: sex and marriage and children and creating motherhood. 1294 Something welled up inside him. His nut doctor had told him, but it wasn't real then. He'd had no girl interested in him, he was crippled, he expected a life of forced celibacy, it wasn't real. He'd only thought of how it would affect him. He'd not thought it might cause a woman pain on her side. Mattie was almost in tears. 1295 "You sing that song and it's as if it were meant for me. Just me. I thought that at the funeral when I first heard it," she said. "I still feel like it's special for me. Does it mean anything to you, other than just a nice sound?" 1296 He didn't answer for his thinking, which was a jumble. Vogel was right, and now it mattered. Vogel said once, "It will bite you in the butt, and it might be too late then." Now he was hurting someone who wanted to love him. The doctor said he'd have trouble bonding normally if he didn't get help. 1297 She and he didn't talk through the meal. They ate, he paid their bill and tipped the little girl who waited on them. As he drove Mattie home, "Of Hope and Love" by the Josiah Langer Trio played on the FM channel of the radio. It was the first time he'd heard it. He was about to point it out to Mattie, but suddenly he realized she wouldn't feel his joy this time. 1298 Mattie heard the song. She was looking out the side window. For most of the drive, she was silent beside him. He turned into her driveway and stopped. A few seconds passed in silence. She said then, "We don't have much longer. I can't go on forever like this." She stopped. He was looking straight ahead, his countenance stony. "It's a good song, Josie." She had tear streaks on her cheeks. She opened the door and ran to her house. He watched her. 1299 His mother called him Josie. 1300 "I'm out of kilter," he thought. 1301 He was losing her. 1302 CHAPTER 13: Josiah Uncovered "You named us after me?" he asked Sing. "Maybe you could have talked to me." Josiah looked somber, too somber for something like a disagreement about their group name. 1304 Sing looked sheepish, and Cora smiled. Sing said, "Yeah, I should have told you. If we use Sing they'll think it's a pun, only Benny Goodman could name a band after a clarinetist and no one after a flautist, and you're the one they see singing." He wouldn't hear any of Josiah's protests about effort and training and professionalism. He said, "We have professional reputations. You deserve some return for so much standing and suffering. It's harder for you. And you've had a crash course in singing that would take a year or two with a voice coach." Josiah didn't see it like that. 1305 Sing looked at him seriously. "Someday you'll realize you're as proficient at your part as we are at ours." Cora was nodding and had that same sincerity on her countenance. 1306 It was an overstatement, but more than a gesture. There were all sorts of help in the world. Good people helped good people succeed. Josiah shook his head and surrendered. "Well, we should have talked. I guess it doesn't matter." 1307 Cora noticed his despondence. She said, "What's bothering you so, Josiah? You're so gloomy." 1308 "Mattie and I... I'm not sure how it will go," he said. 1309 Sing looked concerned. "We know how important she is to you." 1310 Cora nodded. "She's been very understanding. I think she loves you." 1311 Josiah looked away for some seconds. "There's something wrong with me," he said. Cora and Sing said nothing. "I don't feel like other people." 1312 Mattie called him after two days. She was quiet, and he listened, feeling his heart pounding. "Josiah, you and I must talk." 1313 "I don't know how to fix things," he said. 1314 She didn't say anything for a few seconds. "That's the problem. We need help." 1315 He thought, "At least, she said 'we.'" 1316 They talked on a bit, but Josiah couldn't promise what she wanted to hear. She did not hear that he loved her, nor that he'd find a therapist. She did not close the door, but she wondered if she should back out of the relationship. 1317 "Next Sunday, we'll be at your anniversary Mass. My whole family will be there. Mom and Dad, my brother and his family will be in town, we're all coming." 1318 "You know, that's not..." he started, but was interrupted. 1319 "Yes it is," she said with finality. "They all want to meet you.` Mom and Dad are looking forward to it. And Cindy's excited. That's Randy's wife." Randy was her brother. 1320 "I guess I have to meet them all." 1321 "Yes, you do. Like we're a couple. And after that you and I are going to talk," she said. "We're going to talk about things, very serious things, because you're... we're too good not to make things better. We can't live in limbo any longer." It sounded ominous. Was there an ultimatum? She thought to herself, "I'm going to hold his hand and drag him into a shrink's office." 1322 But things didn't work out the way she expected. 1323 Their performance was advertised, and the parish reunion promised a large crowd. They met with the new music director, an organist Sing knew from somewhere, and they planned out the whole thing. It was going to be more than the usual. There'd be pre-Mass songs on the organ, a solo by Cora, and the drummer and guitarist would join in for Mass itself. The music director recommended a joyous, relatively new tune that he and Sing spent some time arranging. Mass promised to be fun. 1324 The parish was holding a festival after Mass, with booths and rides and food. 1325 His mood lifted some that Sunday. He realized that Mattie was determined to give them a chance as a couple. But he was like an alcoholic: he knew how he should act, but he couldn't make it happen. "Mom," he thought, "I understand better now." He felt no response. Maybe somehow he'd do the right thing. Would it take an ultimatum from her? 1326 Attendance was overwhelming. By thirty minutes before Mass, there was no standing room available. Josiah heard people talking as he made his way down the aisle to the chancel. "I heard their song on the radio last night. Really good," a man was saying to his wife. "They started here so they're doing this for old time sake," a woman was saying to her grown son. 1327 He smiled at people who pointed him out as he crutched to the music area. He looked about at the audience. Mrs. Sackston smiled at him and nodded, with her niece and Lacy beside her. Near the front he was surprised to see Mrs. Crimmins, sitting with (probably) her sister and a man, probably her husband. He stopped and looked over at them. 1328 "Thanks for coming, ma'am." 1329 She smiled. "I wouldn't miss it." 1330 "Would you like to hear Ava's song?" he asked. 1331 "Is that okay?" she asked. 1332 "I'll see if we can do it." 1333 Mattie and her family were down front almost an hour before Mass to get good seats, not far from the performers. He smiled as he passed; Mattie pointed him out to her brother, a big guy with lighter hair and a very small wife beside him. They had two sons squirming beside her, out of dad's reach. Josiah had his crutches, but he lifted one and smiled at Randy who nodded and smiled back. 1334 Steps were all around Merciful God. Josiah would be standing a lot; he kept the crutches handy. He put them on the floor behind his chair once he was in position. Getting up was so awkward for him that he planned it out, sitting near the piano so he might use it to steady himself. 1335 He spoke to Sing, who looked around and found Mrs. Crimmins in the crowd. He waved, spoke to Cora. "Sure, Josiah, let's play it." 1336 Josiah spoke into the microphone. "Our first song was written 13 years ago by a child dying of brain cancer. She passed at 19, shortly after writing it. Her mother and relatives are with us today. We've performed it at funerals, at receptions, at celebrations. 'Of Hope and Love,' by Ava Fortner, then of Springfield, Ohio. Now, well, we miss her." 1337 They performed it joyously this day, Sing using the piano and Cora the flute. Josiah looked at Mrs. Crimmins as they finished and noticed that her sister was dabbing at her eyes. Mrs. Crimmins smiled at him and nodded. 1338 The pre-Mass instrumentals commenced. Sing loved that pipe organ, and his love communicated to the audience. His selections were surprising; Father had questioned them but finally acquiesced. He didn't play traditional religious songs before the Mass. 1339 The group played selections from "The Trees" from the movie Medicine Man, then a selection from John Barry's Out of Africa, and "Hymn to the Fallen" from Saving Private Ryan. A few parishioners recognized the sources and obviously whispered them to their company. Finally, Cora played "Gabriel's Oboe" from The Mission, as achingly beautiful a song as has ever been written, no question. Josiah noticed that Cora finished with streaks on her face, silently weeping the emotion she felt in the song. 1340 "I wonder if I know Cora well enough," Josiah thought, looking at her. She saw his look and returned it honestly with a smile. 1341 The music director, sitting on the side that Mattie's family was but facing the congregation, started clapping, and everyone joined in. 1342 It was a memorable Mass for many reasons: the crowd, the music, the anniversary, and of course, the inadvertent act of klutziness. Josiah's first song was joined by the congregation and the loud sound of so many singing was astounding. The drums were lightly played on this one; the guitarist liked the song and Sing smiled at his enthusiasm. The Mass proceeded, Phil showing signs of his age occasionally in a stuffy church, but he was hanging in there. 1343 Merciful God had a series of steps creating a large podium or stage with the altar, and the musicians were situated on Joseph's side of the church on the second lowest step, which was six feet wide and wrapped around the podium's height. By communion time, Josiah was using crutches because of all the standing, and as he was moving to the microphone he had that moment he knew would come eventually: his right knee locked, he had a drop of eight inches to his left and his crutch was not that long. So as Sing played the introduction and Father and the other distributors moved to their places to give communion, he fell flat on his face just inside the old communion rail. He saved his mouth and nose by turning his head, but he got a good conk on the side of the head. He never lost consciousness, nor did he bleed. 1344 Sing immediately stopped. Cora, unable to see the incident, played on a few bars, the drummer stood behind his drums, and the guitarist, who almost caught Josiah, took off his instrument and was first to his side. Mattie was up and moving too, he saw as he rolled over. 1345 Josiah smiled. He waved Mattie away. Mattie, seeing he was not seriously injured, smiled and went back to her seat. The congregation laughed, trying not to sound insensitive. The guitarist helped him up and handed him a crutch. Father asked into his microphone, "Are you okay, Josiah?" 1346 Josiah said, nodding, "Fine, thank you, Father." Phil smiled back. Josiah eventually stood behind the microphone which somehow was not involved in the whole incident. 1347 "Sorry, folks," he said. He looked at Sing, who started the song over, and he sang with the congregation Graham Kendrick's "The Trumpets Sound." It was very fun as the drums cut in at certain points and the crowd joined in. They moved on to another song, and then another, as there were so many communicants. 1348 Josiah, for a few minutes, thought he was healthy. 1349 * The crowd was slow to leave, hoping for more, but Sing was packing up after the last prepared song. He released the violinists, the drummer, and the guitarist. Josiah thanked them all, especially for their concern when he fell. They congratulated him on his performance and the success of the recording, and left. 1350 Josiah looked at Cora and Sing, now packed and ready to leave. "Thanks, Sing. Cora. Sure you don't want to come along?" They shook their heads, not wanting to intrude on the family and intending to visit Cora's later, he knew. 1351 Josiah looked up and then quickly down, feeling dread like a wave pass through him. He forced himself to look up again, and he was suddenly nauseous. A man he knew was sitting in the middle of the nave, watching him as all the rest of the congregation left. Legs crossed, he appeared relaxed, one arm along the top of the pew back. If he'd had a cigar in his hand, it would have looked natural. He was always relaxed. Shrinks are just like that, Josiah thought. The major, in a sport coat but with the obvious Army haircut, sat in the sunlight streaming through the stained glass. He was behind Mattie's family many rows, just waiting. 1352 Josiah was in the kill zone, trapped. 1353 Josiah walked over in front of Mattie's family but stayed on the altar side of the unused communion rail, and was introduced to everyone in her family. He looked up but the major was still there. He wouldn't go away, Josiah knew. His nut doctor was here with a purpose. 1354 Josiah forced himself to address him, but from this distance. 1355 "Major Vogel, I didn't expect you," Josiah said, looking past Mattie's family. 1356 "You've done a good job hiding, Lieutenant," he said. "Still maintaining symbolic barriers, too." 1357 "I'm not hiding. I'm from here." Vogel meant the communion rail for the barrier, and Mattie's family; Josiah was aware, once he mentioned it. 1358 "Near here, but you haven't been going to therapy. You agreed. I released you, and you've been getting PT but nothing more." Vogel stopped talking, sounding disappointed. He was disappointed. Josiah realized he'd probably bought a plane ticket at his own expense to come find him . 1359 "Mass? You found me at Mass?" he asked. 1360 "Online. Your performance is advertised online," he said. "You're very good, by the way." 1361 Josiah looked at Mattie. She was listening to a strange conversation, Josiah in the front and the guy with short hair halfway down the nave. Everyone could hear, including her parents and family. Josiah couldn't make himself go around to the major. 1362 "I have people here," he said. 1363 "I don't care," Vogel said. It was his act, Josiah knew. He actually did care. He wanted them to pressure him to talk to him. "You're actually one of my favorite patients, you know." 1364 Father Phil wandered in from the back of the church and heard the long range talk. 1365 Mattie was looking at Josiah as she realized who Vogel was. Her parents were looking and hearing. Everyone heard. Josiah thought it was unprofessional of the major. 1366 "It's unprofessional," he said. He knew that was an ineffective argument with Vogel. 1367 "Yeah," he said. "Sue me. Turn me in to the Board." He was Army; the board would accept more unusual means. Vogel wouldn't care anyway; he had a reputation for helping hard cases, even to the point a Navy psychiatrist had sent Josiah to him. 1368 "Tomorrow?" Josiah asked. 1369 Vogel nodded. "Nine. Father, have you a room we could talk in tomorrow?" the major asked. He had no shame. 1370 "Yes, may I ask who you are?" Phil asked. 1371 "Major Kenton Vogel, United States Army, Dr. Kenton Vogel. Look me up online. We just need to talk." 1372 Father was nodding. "I may poke my head in?" 1373 "No problem. But we need privacy." 1374 Father replied, "If you'd rather use a confessional?" Vogel shook his head and actually laughed. 1375 "No, although he might prefer the barrier." Confessionals often had a perforated screen that prevented direct view of the penitent by the priest. Vogel stood and looked at Josiah. 1376 "Tomorrow, Lieutenant. And you may bring your lovely friend, too." 1377 Josiah started. He did NOT want Mattie to know... something. He just didn't want her to be there. She shouldn't be involved. Bring his girlfriend? 1378 "Isn't that inappropriate, sir?" he asked. He was perspiring, but the major was serious. 1379 Vogel cocked his head to the side, saw how panicked Josiah felt, and knew he'd guessed correctly. "I don't think so in this case. You can't hide forever." At this point, if he'd had a cigar, he'd have waved it. The cad, Josiah thought. 1380 "I know you, Lieutenant. Bring her along, If she's willing. I insist." He was looking at Mattie, and she looked angry. She saw this discussion as an attempt to humiliate Josiah. 1381 She had no idea the lengths this man would go, Josiah thought. 1382 Vogel probably saw the flight prospect in Josiah's eyes; it was in his thoughts. Of course, he'd done it before. 1383 "Don't make me chase you," Vogel said to him. He could have arrested him, probably. Or committed him. "Are you really sure you want to leave all these people behind? Now?" 1384 Josiah looked at Mattie and considered. Some seconds passed, and he shook his head. He had reason to stay here. Josiah loved and felt loved. 1385 "Seriously, Lieutenant," Vogel said, standing and moving into the aisle. He looked at Mattie and said, "Sorry about this. ma'am." 1386 Josiah had never seen Mattie so angry. Her hands by her sides were clenched, her arms straight and stiff beside her. 1387 The major left after talking quietly to Father Phil for a moment. Josiah felt a weight drop from his shoulders. He turned to face the Morrisons. 1388 It was a long day for Josiah. He had Vogel to think about, Cindy and Randy to impress. He felt that everyone thought he was crazy, like they were looking over at him all the time. Mattie was mad all day, whether at Vogel for the imposition or Josiah for not being as angry as she. 1389 It wasn't that. She was mad because she didn't want to make excuses for Josiah. For her boyfriend. She thought of him as part of her future, her future with children, her future with family and friends and life, if things worked out. Josiah acted as if he didn't know he was being shamed. 1390 He wouldn't blame Vogel; he knew Vogel had his interest at heart. But he thought he was finally out of his depression, and wasn't that the point? But no, it wasn't enough for Vogel. Vogel wanted more. It wasn't just depression. Vogel offered a red pill. Vogel demanded he accept reality, whatever it was. 1391 Ultimately, Vogel thought Josiah was strong enough to handle the truth. 1392 * No one trusted him the way Vogel had. His release made him voluntary, but he'd sworn up and down that he'd seek therapy. Vogel even set it up with a therapist in Dayton, so when he disappeared to Greenville and then Sky Grey, Vogel waited and finally tracked him down. Vogel's problem was that he liked Josiah, and he thought it had led him to trust Josiah too much. He knew now that Josiah couldn't help fleeing. 1393 Vogel knew Josiah's memory was not his memory, his recall was not just recall. His imagination was also a defense mechanism working hand in glove with his memory to produce original, technicolor, reality-not. Josiah knew he didn't remember things the way they happened, he remembered them a way that protected him. He remembered differently every time he needed differently. 1394 Vogel worked to understand why the patient needed differently so much. 1395 Vogel didn't just diagnose and treat patients; he studied them as if they were a manuscript on some specific condition. Josiah assumed he'd never married, or that he divorced a lot. His patients and his job were his life. 1396 But Vogel said Josiah was sane. He let him out of the hospital. From his perspective, at that point the patient went walkabout. It wasn't hard to find him, but it would take time and he had lots of patients. He could have kept him in Walter Reed or Bethesda. Or any VA hospital with a mental facility. There are a lot of those. 1397 "Am I a danger?" Josiah asked him before his release. 1398 "No. You're not suicidal, either," he said, "but you are delusional." 1399 "Do you know what happened on that bridge?" Josiah asked him, thinking it would give him pause. It had not. 1400 "Better than anyone on earth," Vogel said. "I talked to your whole platoon. Hell, Lieutenant, you were there. No one saw more than you: do you know? Do you know?" Josiah remembered he could not answer. 1401 Maybe he knew. When he tried to remember, he remembered it was tragic, a shark blew up in the water, and he was shot in the knees: a shark, in the river, hundreds of miles from the sea. The remembering panicked him. 1402 CHAPTER 14: The Bridge Mattie drove them to the appointment Monday morning. Mattie, mad, said nothing, and when Josiah started to speak she raised a hand at him as if she would attack. Josiah realized Mattie was not exactly like him. Love was different with her. It was different with him, for her. She felt betrayed and loved and treated as ignorant. No one wanted ignorance in love. Perhaps love can't be ignorant. 1404 Josiah took a chair between Mattie and Vogel, introducing them. Mattie shook Vogel's hand, but she left no doubt how she felt about him. She didn't smile. They were seated in a meeting room, with a large, cheap cafeteria table and some rickety chairs. Josiah was at the long end. 1405 Vogel addressed Josiah first. "May I talk about you with her? Everything?" 1406 Josiah was squirming and he didn't understand it. "Now you cover the bases? After embarrassing me in front of her family. Must you?" 1407 "No, but I think it would help you. A lot. I could see how you felt about her, yesterday. You've made strides, probably because you discovered a woman might love you. You assumed that was gone with your knees. Certainly not because you've skipped therapy. So yes or no?" 1408 Josiah looked at Mattie. What could he tell her? Until he met her he thought celibacy was his future. Something in him cried out. Josiah wanted to be a real person. Welcome to you, Mattie, he thought. 1409 "Okay." 1410 Vogel smiled and nodded, then turned to Mattie. "Josiah has trouble connecting with his feelings. It doesn't prevent him constructing the feeling, just communicating it. He loves you, if you have any doubt. I don't." Dr. Vogel was smiling. 1411 Josiah exclaimed, "Hey!" 1412 Vogel went on. "He can't say it, he can't act on it, but he's in love. He's probably had trouble kissing you, telling you how he feels. I doubt you've had sex. But it's real. Real love. And with him, it's probably forever. Whatever happens, he'll always love you. Always. I hope you love him back." 1413 She looked at Vogel as if he were crazy. He was so sure and clear and arrogant. 1414 "How do you...?" she said. 1415 He smiled and leaned back. "He's one of the most honest men I've ever met. He's so forthright. He's almost... pure. In a sense. He's in anguish over something he can't remember. It doesn't prevent him from loving, but he can't admit it. It's too much. To him, it's everything." 1416 "Uh, I'm right here, you know," Josiah said. 1417 "Childishness now, ever a new reaction," Vogel said, smiling and shaking his head. Josiah was protecting himself. 1418 "Why should I listen to you?" Mattie asked Vogel. "Do you humiliate all your patients? Is that some Army doctor technique for forcing someone to therapy?" 1419 Vogel looked down at first, and looked then at Josiah, who had an unusual look on his face. Josiah realized Mattie was defending him. He also realized what she couldn't: Vogel was defending him, too. 1420 "I see why you love her," Vogel said to Josiah. Josiah smiled at him; Mattie thought the smile on Josiah was strange, childlike, as Vogel had said before. 1421 Vogel looked at Mattie and waited until she looked at him. "He's smart. He knows why I do things my way." He was quiet and smiling a moment. "It was the bridge. The incident on the bridge. He must have told you something, it's his whole life, his whole understanding of the world, and he believed what he said at the time. He told me several times, several versions, a few weeks apart. None was true. Sort of true, true in an alternate universe sort of way, but not this one true. He can't tell you the truth, and he knows it, and he's so honest it's eating him up. You, most of all, he wants to trust him." 1422 Vogel shook his head looking at Josiah, who was looking down at his hands on the table. It made Josiah very uncomfortable having them talk about him. It made him feel academic, or silly. He felt like someone else was inside his body, acting strangely, not as he wanted to act. 1423 "It interferes with his emotional defences. Ask him if he loves you. He'll avoid making the commitment. He's so damn honest the lying kills him, but it's the only way he can protect his personality from his experience. He'll never get past it without help. It reduces him to childish reactions, like now. Other times it manifested in other ways." 1424 "He told me two different stories about the bridge," she said. "No, three. Not greatly different. You think they were lies?" 1425 "Not regular lies. He can't prevent what he says. I think he's hedging still. He needed the barriers yesterday, and you see the reaction now. He's honest about this like a five year old; he'll believe his lies when he tells them because he can't face the reality of what happened to him, and BECAUSE of him." 1426 "If you two would like to talk, I'll go get a sandwich or something," Josiah said. 1427 Mattie looked at Josiah differently and asked, "Did he do something bad?" 1428 Vogel smiled and shook his head. "No, that's the irony, not bad. Heroic, even. But he did something he'd like to forget." 1429 Mattie thought for a moment, remembering something her father said. 1430 Vogel thought to himself, "Wow. I haven't met one like her before. I wish... But no." He was professional, and Josiah was his patient, and Josiah needed Mattie. Vogel thought, "I think Mattie needs Josiah, too. What an interesting pair they made! Why does Mattie need Josiah?" He shook his head. She was not his case. 1431 Love was not for Vogel. He'd had three wives, none like this woman, and Vogel didn't want another. But this one... He shook his head. Outstanding. 1432 "Okay," Mattie said, turning to her boyfriend. "Josiah, do you love me?" 1433 Josiah looked panicked. He squirmed and hemmed and hawed, but he said, "You ask me in front of him? I want you to love me. I can't stop thinking of you. I want you to love me." 1434 She smiled, put her hand on Josiah's, and looked at Vogel. Arrogant or not, he seemed to understand Josiah. "I see what you mean," she said. 1435 "Dissembling. He should be a politician. If you persist he may tell you that he loves you," he said. 1436 "Why's it so hard for him?" she asked. 1437 "He can't afford to love. Love has meaning and responsibility and repercussions. Loving a woman could mean a family, and he has to avoid creating a family." Vogel stopped and looked thoughtful. "A mother. He doesn't want to make you a mother." 1438 "He loves mothers, but he knew one he could never understand." 1439 Mattie was listening. 1440 "He can't remember what happened. Every time he tries, he imagines things a different way and he can't cut through to the truth. It took me a lot of thinking and studying him to realize how it was inhibiting his emotions." 1441 "He's mentally ill?" she asked, looking very concerned. She'd feared that was the crux of it when Vogel had embarrassed him yesterday. 1442 Vogel smiled. Josiah smiled, like a five-year-old, Mattie thought. She didn't smile. 1443 "Depends how you define it. If you saw something, DID something, so awful, so upsetting that you NEVER wanted to admit seeing it or doing it... would it be normal to remember it? Like your sister's wedding or high school graduation? No. He's sane. That's why I let him out of the hospital. But it's getting in the way of his ability to feel emotions the way he normally would. It runs his life. He didn't move home, he moved five miles away from home, changed his cell phone number, changed his email, joined very few online sites that I might be able to locate him. It's been over a year, but I finally found him." He smiled at her, and then became almost somber. 1444 He said, quietly, "It was awful, what he did and experienced. I even have nightmares about what he saw, and I just heard the story from others who were there. Are you willing? To hear how awful it was? Realizing he SAW it, DID it? Feels so bad about it that he's... probably always going to remember it, every day. I think he's strong, he might be able to live with it." 1445 Mattie thought about it. "Do I love him? He did something he has trouble living with. The major says it was great, awful, life-long. Do I love him?" 1446 "I love him," Mattie said. She thought, "I'd rather live with the worst horror of his life than not have him. I just hope we can be happy." 1447 Josiah looked up at her, startled and adult-like. Vogel looked at her and thought, "Wow! I wish things were different." 1448 Vogel turned to Josiah. "What's the worst thing you've ever seen, Lieutenant?" he asked. "Tell me truly, now. No avoiding." 1449 "I saw a shark explode," Josiah said, smiling. It wasn't funny though. He saw it in his mind, a grey shark falling into the river and exploding. He was perspiring now, fighting to get it out, and it was a shark. 1450 "A shark," Josiah said again, forcefully. Next to a little boy, he didn't add. 1451 "No you didn't," Vogel said, soothingly. "Misleading us, again. But I know what it means now. You can't fool me as easily. It was a fake shark. A fake. Heck, it was probably a toy shark. And there was a little boy near, too. Too near." 1452 Vogel realized Josiah had to react to this contradiction, and Josiah reacted. He stood, suddenly beyond squirming. He had to move, to act, to do something. He stood and walked to the wall, using a crutch in his left hand, and he pounded with his right fist into the plaster and a crack appeared. It was not sheetrock, it was old thick plaster. He looked at his right knuckles for a few seconds, and they were swelling. "Idiot," he thought, "probably broke a knuckle." Josiah wasn't smiling anymore. 1453 He looked at Mattie, and she had a fearful expression. He imagined her thoughts: "Why am I with him? Why do I pick a guy with such issues? Am I heading for a lifetime of heartache? Is he violent?" 1454 "Father may not let me use this room again, if you keep it up," Vogel said. He didn't seem unhappy. Josiah realized he was reacting as Vogel expected. It was the child, Vogel thought. He had been right. In the end, it was the mother's willingness to sacrifice her boy. Josiah associated mother with child as the greatest bond; it was the child that was the coup de grace, Vogel thought. He could handle the mom, but not what she did to the boy. He remembered what Josiah had said of his own mother. 1455 "WHAT is going on?" Mattie asked. She put her hand on Josiah's left as he sat back down, so he didn't feel completely alone, and he then looked at her. 1456 He was lost in thought. "Would I ever be able? Do our minds heal?" He realized Mattie was a reachable star: but he had to reach for her. "Why hadn't they made out? Why no sex? Am I ever going to get past it? Am I ever going to love and let someone love me? My legs are broken, but it's my mind that's holding me back." Josiah relaxed and stared at his new love, seeing her in that daydreamer's reality that transfixed him. 1457 Suddenly he was mature again. He looked at Vogel. "A lot of mental therapy depends on the patient deciding to improve, doesn't it?" 1458 Vogel said nothing, but his eyes widened, and he nodded. Josiah's words were prognostic. Some patients never can face it. "He loves that girl," Vogel thought. Vogel looked at Mattie. "Does she realize how much this guy loves her?" 1459 Josiah closed his eyes. Mattie later told him he kept them closed for ten minutes, sitting there as if looking at her through his eyelids, and Dr. Vogel signalled her to be quiet. She held Josiah's hand in both hers. After about ten minutes, eyes still shut, he lowered his forehead to the edge of the table, as if looking at his lap. 1460 For him, maybe a few seconds passed. 1461 "Not near. In my hands. The little boy was in my hands," he said to his lap, finishing some thought aloud. 1462 "We were crossing the bridge in Humvees," he said clearly, making the words distinctly heard, "and people were walking toward us. A hundred, maybe two, from the village just bombed. I saw a woman with her son, and they were on our right, out in front of us maybe fifty meters. She looked... heavy, walked as if weighed down, burdened and awkward in a burqa. It was... gray. I watched her and finally realized what it was. I yelled into the comm halting us. 'The woman has a vest!' I tried to explain as calmly as I could into the comm, but there were dozens of women, many in gray, some with children. She could kill scores, maybe some of us in the vehicles, too. There were many people in my line of fire if I shot. She was coming closer as I thought how to describe her in time, but there wouldn't be time. 1463 "'Cover me!' I yelled. There were people everywhere, a hundred maybe near us. She stopped thirty feet in front of our Humvee as I got the door open (I remember knocking someone down with the door) and jumped out, and she lifted the little boy over the concrete wall, behind an abutment, not realizing I'd figured her out. Her hands were full of her kid, we were safe for a second, she'd have to reach for the trigger. Her back was to us, to me, and I was running, I hit her in the legs with my shoulder, low, under her butt, wrapped my arms like a tackle, and lifted her up as she let go the kid, and I flipped her over the wall. She saw me at the last second; I remember her surprise in her eyes. She was cartwheeling from the bridge to the water. I grabbed the kid, he was barely on the little ledge, I lifted him but then she reached into her burqa and exploded. Right as she reached the water." 1464 His forehead was on the table. He felt Mattie's right hand on his back, rubbing, and then he felt her head on the table too, next to his. He felt tears leaving his eyes. "I got cut on my right hand, and something sliced under my right eye for watching her, I have a scar, but the concrete wall and the little boy's body protected me. Her kid, the little kid was... there wasn't much of him that wasn't blood. He was in pieces, some in the water next to her, I was only holding part of him. She wasn't far away when she blew up. She was... halved." 1465 The recollection was gruesome. It overwhelmed Mattie, thinking, "Oh, my God. How does he live with it?" 1466 He went on, eyes closed but as if looking down at his lap, forehead on the edge of the table. "When she exploded he must have been hit by her shrapnel and the concussion, it... blew him apart, too, and just then I was shot in the knees and I concentrated on holding that poor boy. Not realizing he was not there. I held onto the concrete rail, slumped, arms across it with the boy dead dangling. I looked down into the water at what was left of a mother and I only held part of her son... Finally I let go of him. Soon my guys got to me." He shook his head at the horrible memory, repeating himself because he was telling the truth and it was so. 1467 Moms should love their children. 1468 "His mom blew him apart," Josiah said, quietly. Mattie was crying, too, Josiah noticed. He felt Vogel's hand on his back, too. It was quiet for a long moment. A long one. 1469 "That was hard for you, Josiah," Vogel said, almost in a whisper, calling him by his first name for the first time. "Why don't you go get some water and let me talk to Mattie a minute?" 1470 Josiah looked at him, as if a weight were off him. He could see that woman and her son. He could see them, whole and then not as if instant replay were running automatically. He could. 1471 "Yeah, I'll be right back." He hesitated as if he wanted to say something to Mattie, but then he just left. Mattie later told him what they talked about while he was gone a minute. Mattie noticed that Josiah was drained, tired, soaked. Something was emptying him. 1472 "He needed to love. I think he was looking to find a way to get over the horror. He couldn't get past it... Who could? He's a decent guy. He had no family, he always wanted one like other kids had. When I saw him with you yesterday, during and after Mass, I saw why he was different. He's trying very hard to get better now. For you." 1473 Mattie said, "I've seen some effort. But he's not like other guys." 1474 Vogel nodded and considered her. "You're his motivation, like it or not. I hope you're sincere. He found someone he wanted to love, and you were open to him with all his problems and devils. You must have seen them?" 1475 "Yeah. Mom's worried he's crazy. So am I." 1476 "It's PTSD, and it's not crazy. PTSD is not unreasonable. It's even normal in lots of circumstances, but his is extreme. Because it was the mother." 1477 "I'm sorry? I don't understand," Mattie said. 1478 "I assume Josiah's mentioned his mother. She died in her early fifties. Alcoholic. Everything she did the last five years of her life was to give Josiah a future. A chance. The drink had her, and she didn't think she had long, so she got to work and prepared for after she died. Life insurance. Work in a factory." He shook his head. 1479 "Josiah realized?" Mattie said. 1480 "Yeah. He knew she got up in the morning because of him. She just couldn't beat the drink. They lived in a hovel, falling apart around them. Have him show you the place in Greeneville, if it's still there. He described it to me." 1481 Vogel was a lot nicer one on one, Mattie thought. Smart, too. 1482 Vogel added, "Oh, his Aunt Dotty, too, was another mother-figure and good in his life. If you ever meet her. And she was not a blood relation. He hasn't had contact with her for many years. Oh, he had a slight acquaintance who seems to have mattered a lot. A girl he danced with." 1483 "A girl he danced with? That Erin girl? They were just kids, it was one time..." but she remembered Mark somebody who walked her home once. He was the first boy to hold her hand. "Of Hope and Love" was the most important song of Josiah's life, probably renewing the memory of that sweet dance every time he heard or sang it. For him, it wasn't just one dance with another kid. It reminded him of when he could walk, when he had hopes of love and a future with family. His mother. 1484 "Our minds can find meaning in little things. Especially when our emotions are involved," Vogel said. 1485 "What was the shark?" Mattie asked, hearing Josiah returing in the hall. 1486 "Yeah, that threw me for much of a year," Dr. Vogel said. "He said there was a shark that blew up in the water. He couldn't remember the mom at all falling and exploding. She was wearing a grey burqa, though. He was remembering the first Batman movie, back in the sixties. Batman is attacked by a silly-looking grey shark, a plastic prop, that drops off his leg into the ocean and explodes. He was telling me, said a shark exploded in the water, but I didn't understand for a long time," he said. He shook his head at his own imperfection. "I thought he was thinking of Jaws, but there were inconsistencies. His mind associates whenever seriously stressed emotionally. That's not all that unusual." He sighed and smiled. "Every case is a challenge." 1487 Josiah came back to the room having gotten some water at the fountain in the hall. Moving helped, although his knees had stiffened in the sitting and without the crutches he'd left behind he'd leaned against the wall a lot. He found his seat again. 1488 Josiah felt Mattie's hand on his. It soothed him, as the cool plastic tabletop had before. 1489 "She could have killed scores," Vogel said. "You had to stop her, but... why didn't you just shoot her? You ran right up to a vested suicide bomber. My God!" 1490 "I don't know," Josiah replied, "I thought the vest might go off if a bullet hit the wrong spot, there were a lot of people between us just walking by our vehicles, I'd have to shoot through them, but it was all so fast I didn't really think it all out." 1491 Mattie and Vogel were quiet, and Josiah looked thoughtful. He was not panicked, not desperate. He remembered the actual incident now, his men doing their jobs and ultimately saving him. 1492 "I didn't want so many people to die," he said. He was humbled by the magnitude of evil. The horror, as Kurz would say. 1493 He looked at Vogel, and then Mattie. "She only killed herself and the one she should have loved most." 1494 Mattie was silent, her hand on his back. "Wow," she thought. "Josiah was wounded because he thought a mother should love her son." 1495 Her dad would understand. 1496 CHAPTER 15: Farrows Josiah had therapy every Monday for a while, then every other Monday. Sometimes Mattie was invited, usually she was not. He saw Dr. Carl Morgan, a local psychologist with experience with veterans and PTSD, who was recommended by Vogel. "I haven't met him, but he has good references and I know some of his teachers. They like him." Morgan was funny; Josiah actually looked forward to his sessions. 1498 It was October when Mattie arranged a date. "I want to see you in the dress blues." Josiah smiled; the blues were the reason a lot of Marines had chosen that service. He had his hair cut to regulation Marine length; he wouldn't be shaggy in uniform. He wore his ribbons, some for the first time. 1499 She made reservations at a select restaurant called Farrow's Supper House. Very expensive, very small, requiring reservations, permitting no cell phones and admitting no one after eight, it was exclusive. The cook chose the menu for the evening, and only twenty-two people were accommodated; eleven couples (occasionally an exception could be made, usually for clergy or handicapped). It was only a dinner restaurant; the meal was served when the chef was ready after eight, and the reservations and meal were charged 24 hours prior. It was $200 per couple. The chef cooked the food as she saw fit, spoke to every customer, and her husband ate with them. It was intended to be a once in a great while place, and it was. 1500 Mattie hemmed and hawed, making them late, and then she decided to drive and she couldn't find the place even though Josiah knew they'd passed it many times in the past. 1501 A high school-age girl opened the door for them as they approached. Josiah thanked her as he went by. Within, everyone was standing at their seats. He suspected a rat immediately. Mattie's parents were there, with Cindy and Randy, and next to them, Dr. Vogel with a woman and both in Army uniforms (she outranked him, Josiah noted immediately). Father Phil was with Mattie's family... and Aunt Dotty! Sing and Cora were there. There were others he didn't recognize. 1502 "You set me up. I must see Aunt Dotty," he said to Mattie. 1503 "You must introduce us," she said, "I've only talked to her on the phone." 1504 "Hello, Josiah," Dotty said as he came near. She hugged him then, and not quickly. "Why didn't you tell me you were hurt? And a Marine?" 1505 He shook his head. "I don't know. I... guess I let family go. This is Mattie," he said. They hugged. 1506 "Thank you for inviting me," Dotty said. 1507 "I'm glad you're here," Mattie replied. 1508 "Are you staying in town?" Josiah asked. 1509 "With Mattie's parents, until Monday. We must talk," she said. 1510 "We will. Sunday afternoon, maybe? Dotty... I'm so glad you're here," Josiah said, with a quiver. 1511 The chef came out as Josiah and Mattie sat. She was a middle-aged woman with reddish-brown hair and a smile that wouldn't leave her features. She went from table to table, asking names and exchanging pleasantries. She clinked a glass for people's attention. 1512 "Hello. Welcome to Farrow's. I'm the chef and owner, Millie Farrow. Your experience here is important to me. Now, if you would all bow your heads. Father, if you'd say grace." 1513 Phil stood and said the prayer. Everyone said, "Amen," as he finished. 1514 Millie looked at Josiah and came to their table. "It's an honor, Lieutenant, and you must be Mattie." Mattie shook hands with her. 1515 Millie spoke to the customers then. "Ladies, gentlemen, this is Lieutenant Josiah Langer." She put her hand on Josiah's shoulder. "I ask that you NOT stand, Lieutenant. Some of you know him and are here to celebrate him. Four years ago, he was awarded the Navy Cross, second only to the Congressional Medal of Honor, for what he did one morning in Iraq," she said. She looked at a paper in her hand and went on, reading some of the medal decree. She finally finished, and everyone stood and clapped, even Mattie. He found out later that Mrs. Farrow often did such things, having lost her older brother in Vietnam. 1516 Millie said to the guests, "I hope you like the meal. I prepare everything with the help of my daughter and two others, and if it is not as I wanted, I will refund you. That hasn't happened yet." She winked at the room and disappeared into the kitchen. 1517 Josiah didn't usually like it when people winked at him. Mattie knew it and put her finger to her lips, shushing him before he could joke. 1518 A salad appeared almost immediately after the chef disappeared. Josiah looked up into familiar eyes. He'd seen them before, once. 1519 "Hello, Josiah. Do you remember me?" the server asked. She placed a salad before him. She was beautiful still, but no longer a kid. 1520 "Erin?" he asked. 1521 "You remembered! I often wondered what became of you. Then when I heard "Of Hope and Love" on the radio and saw the name I wondered if it was you." 1522 Josiah started to get up, but Erin put her hand on his shoulder. Even a dozen years passed, her touch was electric. "No, stay seated." She looked at Mattie. "Hi. Josiah and I met once at a wedding reception. I'm Erin Farrow Jeppeson." 1523 "Mattie Morrison," Mattie said, and the women shook hands. Mattie wondered if Erin realized what that simple moment had meant to Josiah. 1524 "It gave me hope. That dance, I mean," Josiah said. "When I was in the hospitals, I thought of it. A good memory." 1525 Erin looked at him. "It was the first time I danced with a boy. I never forgot you. I wished I'd given you my last name." 1526 Josiah nodded. Mattie did, too. 1527 "You're married now?" Josiah asked, smiling. 1528 "Yes. And a son, almost three!" she said brightly. 1529 Josiah smiled and shook his head. There was a pause, not awkward, just quiet. "You're a mom. Wow." 1530 Erin said, "Millie's my mom, if you haven't figured that out. I'm glad you're okay, and I'm glad you're here. With someone who loves you." She looked at Mattie, hoping to convey some understanding. "I saw your name listed here, the medal citation, and I told Mom right off, 'That's that boy you saw dance with me.'" 1531 Josiah said, "She was laughing, if I remember." 1532 Erin nodded and put her hand on his shoulder again. She paused before she said more. "I must get to work. I wanted to say, I'm proud of you, Josiah. I'm proud I know you. Glad you're okay." She squeezed his shoulder and left. 1533 Josiah looked at Mattie, who looked at him. Her eyes seemed brighter. "We were just kids," he said. 1534 "So? Kids count, too," Mattie said. "She remembers your name and details. She heard of a hero and thought it must be you." 1535 Josiah nodded with a little smile. It was as if they were alone among so many who loved them. They didn't care what others heard. 1536 "I wonder if it's okay to wear the uniform. I'm not on active duty," he said, almost as an apology for all the attention. "I don't even know if I'm in the reserves. Probably medically discharged. I should look at the papers I have." 1537 Mattie looked at him. "You have trouble accepting good wishes and caring, don't you? That woman knew you were special, Josiah. She saw something in you in one dance when you were a teenager. She assumed you were that guy, that hero, when she saw your first name. You saved dozens of lives, you're permanently handicapped. You are not a charity case. You're a man, a courageous one, one people look up to, you dolt! You're a guy women want to remember." 1538 She shook her head and smiled before going on. "You earned the damn uniform. Wear it anytime you like, out of season, in. You don't need to ask the commandant. You don't have the RIGHT to wear it?" It was as if she felt the nation owed him something. The uniform, the medals, the expense, the training, the medical care were not eleemosynary. She really thought he was somebody. She thought he deserved everything. 1539 No. He was wrong, and he realized it then. It stunned him. 1540 She thought he deserved HER. 1541 "You're not done, Josiah," she said. "You have a lot more to do. Kids to raise, balls to toss, songs to sing. People to help, maybe save. Me to love." Her eyes were direct and focused on his. 1542 It was quiet for a moment. Her parents were eating and listening. 1543 "You'd have made a great Marine wife," he said. 1544 "If that's a proposal, it's a sad one and you're going to have to do better," she said. 1545 He looked directly into her eyes, seriously. "It wasn't, and I will." He saw her mother smiling. 1546 Erin seemed to be their server. She was about them, quietly serving each course, refilling drinks, asking quietly what each would like. She said nothing more to Josiah, but she made sure she was their server. 1547 They were pleased to find filet mignon with bacon and a light white sauce, green beans, some strange mediterranean vegetable concoction, and potatoes romanoff which had cheese and were worth thousands of calories. Dessert was strawberry-rhubarb pie, the crust tender and flaky and the filling tart and sweet. 1548 The evening was sublime. Vogel was his patented, arrogantly-comical self. His date was a Lieutenant Colonel in supply, of all things, and thought Vogel was a hoot and a holler. Mattie's father was laughing at Vogel's description of a case, a guy who claimed to be president, and who turned out to be President Lincoln in a reenactors group. He refused to come out of character during a week before a big performance, and someone sent him to be evaluated for schizophrenia. Phil and Mattie's parents proved to be good conversationalists, and Dotty was laughing about Josiah or Mattie growing up. Sing and Cora much enjoyed talking with Randy and Cindy, and Josiah wondered at their interest in marriage and children. He appreciated the gathering. What an unusual collection of people, he thought. Good people. 1549 Misanthropy was forgotten. 1550 He realized he was happy. Mattie was smiling, too, knowing her big evening had gone off without a hitch. 1551 After coffee, the guests drifted away for home or wherever they needed to go. Mattie's mom kissed Josiah on the cheek, holding tightly to both his shoulders, as her husband shook his hand. Her father kissed Mattie's cheek then and said something to her. She blushed and said, "Thanks, Dad." 1552 "What did he say?" Josiah asked when he found himself alone with her. 1553 "He said, 'You're a good judge of character. We won't wait up for you.'" 1554 Mattie was tan and slender, her skin fresh and freckled and wantable, and he wondered how he could keep his lips from her neck—which seemed longer and beckoning. How could any man? How did a man not want such a woman? She had a necklace of thin gold and a small diamond solitaire almost between her breasts. She was such a wonderful slimness. 1555 They approached her car door in the dark night, stars spangling a moonless sky. She turned and looked at him, put her hands on his shoulders. She said nothing, so he spoke. 1556 "You are everything I ever could have... " his voice failed, but finally he finished, "hoped." Unable to speak, he could only whisper: "I thought this life was lost to me." 1557 She nodded, her curled hair quivering. He looked at her mouth, smiling slightly, as she said, "I love you, Josiah." She kissed him softly on the lips, and he put his hands on her hips. 1558 "I love you," he said. 1559 It was the first moment since his wounding that he felt whole. He held the door for her, closed it gently, and thought about his mom as he went around to the passenger side. 1560 "Mom," he thought, "she loves me." 1561 "Son, she wants it all. Family, you, kids, life. You can give it. You always could. A good husband. A good dad." 1562 He thought, "Thanks, Mom." 1563 He opened the door and got in the car. He looked at the sexy dress Mattie wore, the trouble she'd gone to get hair done, to notify the chef, invite guests, the whole evening. His knee stiffened at strange moments, his legs straightened awkwardly, but now, suddenly, wonderfully, something else did. He wanted to exclaim. 1564 They had time. The night was theirs. What more should a man want? Was there more to want? He held her hand gently as she drove. 1565 "Will you make love to me, Josiah?" she asked quietly. 1566 He looked at his shoes for a moment. "You know," he said, "I may need more time than others, or help." 1567 She smiled. "We'll make do. I've looked forward to it." She squeezed his hand. She hoped that, finally, they were they. 1568 They made love that night. Other nights, they would have sex, but that night was only love. He discovered it was quite possible to enjoy sex when crippled and awkward. Sometimes it was funny. Sometimes it was frantic. She was careful, solicitous, soft, fun, and energetic. Oh, nimble, also. He tried to be, too. 1569 Her body joined with his as he looked up at her, lit by moonlight sneaking between the drapes. He gasped at her thin silvery outline as she raised her hands above for a few seconds, as if reaching for the ceiling or stars or heaven, her breasts so graceful and the wonderful edges of her in the bluish light: a memory he would cherish and never share with anyone. He would dream of her that way. It was the way it's supposed to be, loving and loved, and his first loving sex. 1570 "What should I do?" he asked her, looking up, thrusting gently. "I want you to love this." 1571 She thought, "I found him. With all of his life, his hardship, his pain, his... goodness, he wants to be wanted by me. He was in there all along. 1572 "Now he's in me," she thought. 1573 They enjoyed that wonderful feeling of skin to skin, of fullness and acceptance, of touch, of being them. For a few minutes, it was all there was. Her hands were on his arms, his hands roamed whatever he could reach. She lowered her mouth to his ear. "You're wonderful, so deep inside," she whispered, full of him, feeling him. She raised herself then to look down into his eyes. She felt a tear escape her eye, course down her cheek, and fall to his chest. He saw it and felt it also. 1574 He felt the rising up, the gathering of imminent orgasm. It was upon him suddenly, and she felt it within her and sighed at the warmth spreading there with his harder thrusts. She wished that feeling would never end. She shook then, for some seconds, holding herself tight against him. His arms were about her. She relaxed and lay upon him. 1575 "Love you," she said. 1576 "Love you," he said. 1577 Love with sex made imperfect people perfect for one brief moment. "Love with sex is the best of being a man and a woman," he thought, "and a whole life follows. We come from the best of us, the most we can be, when there's love." 1578 It was a new understanding for him, and he wanted to tell the world, so he did. 1579 He told Mattie. 1580 END