by Ava Miles
Her blue gaze fixed on him, and in those eyes, he saw a wild fire. Suddenly the air was electric, and he knew what was coming next.
“My prayers clearly weren’t enough or my boy would be sitting at this table with us,” she said.
Anna lowered her head, and he wanted to nudge her foot to rally her. This wasn’t the time to stand down. Plus, this had been her idea. He was almost angry with her for abandoning the conversation.
“Some things are out of our hands,” he simply said. “Even though I wish it were otherwise.”
Mrs. Sims pushed her plate aside, skewering him with her gaze. “Tell me how my son died, Mr. Weatherby.”
His chest tightened. Not now. Not this. He wasn’t ready. “I’d rather not spoil our dinner,” he said. “Let’s do it another time.”
“No one is eating much as it is,” she said, leaning her elbows on the table like she was about to get down to business. “I want to know. The Army doesn’t tell you anything. I asked Anna to write you—”
“Mother, I told you I wasn’t going to ask about that in a letter,” she said, her head jerking up.
Her voice had risen at the end. If Noah hadn’t been sitting across from her, he would have reached for her hand.
“You’re getting worked up, Anna,” Mrs. Sims said. “Noah, I want to know about my boy’s final moments.”
It was the first time she’d used his given name, and it didn’t escape anyone. Anna looked at him, her gaze beseeching. She wanted to know too. She’d already told him so, though she hadn’t pressed the issue.
He gripped his knees. Mrs. Sims would never want to see him again. And what about Anna? He studied her. She looked so pretty in her baby blue dress with her hair pulled back in that V-roll. Would this change how she felt?
“Noah, I’m waiting,” Mrs. Sims said.
Her tone reminded him of one of the strict disciplinarians at the orphanage. She’d used a ruler on him repeatedly, saying she needed to correct the wickedness in his blood. His palms grew sweaty. He could feel the impending punishment in the air.
“We were on patrol,” he said, the vision of the steep stretch of land coming to mind. “There wasn’t a lot of cover, so we were hauling…”
He stopped himself before he could say ass.
“We were moving fast, the four of us,” he said. “Martin and I were paired together like usual. He was in the lead and I was pulling up the rear.”
He watched, perplexed, as the plates on the table moved, only to realize Anna must have grabbed onto the tablecloth. Her hands were in her lap, but there was tension in her arms.
He waited a moment to see if she’d stop him, but she didn’t. She wanted to hear this as much as Mrs. Sims. He made himself keep going.
“It was rocky terrain, but we’d gotten used to it,” he said. “I was right on his tail, ducking down as best as I could, when we started climbing the hill. Henry and David were flanking the other side, and they made it to the top first.” He could still see them stretched out on their bellies, crab-crawling along the ground. “They signaled to us, and we both acknowledged it. I thought we might be in the clear, but then Martin swung around and shoved me. I fell, and then I…heard the shot.”
That first one seemed to have sliced through the air. It wasn’t a sound Noah would ever forget.
“Martin must have seen something. A flash. A movement.” He would never know. “I didn’t, and I’ll regret that my whole life.”
He’d watched, helplessly, as the sniper’s bullet struck his friend square in the chest. And then another one plugged him in the shoulder as he went down.
“Finish the story, boy,” Mrs. Sims said, her mouth a hard line, her eyes filled with pain.
He looked over at Anna. Tears were streaming down her face. He gripped his knees harder, wanting to tear the kneecaps off. Tear something. Anything.
“He was hit. More than once. When he fell, I rolled us a few yards away, hoping to move us out of range.” A couple shots had landed near his feet, spraying dirt into the air. “Then I heard answering gunfire from Henry and David. They took out the sniper.”
Sweat dripped into his eyes. His mouth was dry, and he reached for his soda only to realize his hands were shaking so hard he couldn’t pick up the glass. He shoved them under the table and clutched his knees again.
“And Martin,” Mrs. Sims said. “Tell me what he said.”
He’d already written to Anna that Martin’s last words had been for her and Mrs. Sims. Since then, he’d forced the memory from his mind, but he discovered it had been sitting beneath the surface all along.
“The wound in his chest was bleeding profusely.” Gushing. But he couldn’t say that. He’d shucked off his shirt and pressed on it, causing Martin to cry out. Panic had gripped him, and he’d met his friend’s eyes.
“Guess my time’s up.”
“No! You hang on. Dammit, Martin! You hang on.”
“Take care of my mom and sister. Like we discussed.”
“Stop talking like this. You’re gonna make it if I have to carry you out of here on my back.”
His friend coughed up blood, and Noah’s muscles froze.
“Give me my handkerchief,” Martin said.
Noah rummaged in his friend’s shirt pocket for it. The cloth was soaked with blood, but he stuffed it into Martin’s limp hand. Noah had seen men’s energy leave them in the final moments before death, and he added more pressure to the wound, desperate to stop the bleeding.
“Send home my medal,” Martin rasped. “Not lucky. You ask for Anna’s. Hers will be.”
“Save your strength.”
“No…have to tell you. Thank you. For being my brother.”
He coughed again, and Noah sat on the hard terrain next to him and took his hand.
“You’re the best brother any guy could have,” he said.
“You make it home for me, Weatherby. Or I’ll haunt your ass.”
His body shook with the coughing, and Noah lifted his torso until he was cradled in his lap, wishing he could pour strength into him.
“Tell my mom and Anna I love them. Dammit!”
Then his whole body had gone lax, and Noah had curled over him. It wasn’t fair! It wasn’t right!
“Mr. Weatherby,” someone called. “Noah!”
He blinked, and Mrs. Sims came into focus. Anna was crying softly, her hand over her mouth.
“Then what?” she asked, grabbing his forearm and squeezing.
He wanted to throw off her hand and storm out. He wanted to never, ever think about that day again.
“Noah,” Anna whispered, her hand falling to the table. “Please.”
Inhaling deeply, he blew his breath out slowly. “I couldn’t stop the bleeding. Fighting and such…you get pretty good at knowing when a wound is fatal. I would have carried him back right away! I told him so!”
He realized he was getting carried away and clenched his eyes shut.
“I know you would have,” Anna said softly.
Her voice made him bite his lip. He didn’t want to cry. It wouldn’t do any good, and it would only embarrass him.
“He wanted your handkerchief, Mrs. Sims,” he said, making himself look at her. “He told me to look after you and Anna like we’ve discussed. I told him I would.”
He turned his head and met Anna’s gaze. Love and understanding shone there, and it boosted his courage.
“What else?” Mrs. Sims asked. “Finish it, boy.”
Her harsh tone bespoke of her pain, and it was like a lash against his skin. “He said he loved you both. And then he…”
He couldn’t make himself tell them the rest. How he’d been crying over Martin’s body when Henry and David finally made it to their position. How he’d refused to let them carry Martin back, insisting that was his brother lying there and he’d do it himself.
He didn’t remember getting back to camp. Only remembered the other guys taking Martin away, saying they’d take care of him. Later, he’d foun
d the body and found the handkerchief still clutched in his friend’s hand.
Anna reached for her mom’s hand and they clasped each other tightly for a moment. Her mother’s whole body seemed to lean forward, as if her bones and sinew couldn’t support her any longer. Then she used her other hand to push herself up. Her chair scraped on the hardwood floor as she rose.
“So my son saved your life,” she said, her eyes red-rimmed and almost frightening in their intensity. “You’re alive because of him.”
“Yes,” Noah said. “He was one of the bravest men I’ve ever known.”
“Thank you for telling me,” Mrs. Sims said. “If you’ll excuse me.”
Anna’s hand remained palm-up on the table as her mother extricated herself and left the room stiffly. Her half-full plate looked like an accusation.
Silence hung in the room for a moment.
“Do you hate me?” he finally asked Anna.
Her face crumbled. “Because Martin gave his life for you? Of course not! It makes me realize even more how much he loved you.”
A sob escaped his mouth, and he stood quickly. “Excuse me.”
He walked to the front door and took off swiftly down the street.
Chapter 10
Anna watched in disbelief as Noah left the room.
Tears coursed down her face, and she realized maybe it was best they all found their separate corners to let their grief out. Surely it couldn’t have been easy for Noah to tell that story.
“Oh, Marty,” she whispered, pushing her plate aside and laying her head on the table. “You wonderful man.”
As she cried, images of her brother flashed through her mind. Martin at eight, challenging one of the older O’Hara boys who’d pulled her hair at school. The boys had ended up fighting, rolling around in the alley, but Martin had won in the end, straddling the boy and powing him in the kisser until he cried uncle. Martin at sixteen, challenging the boy who’d forced a kiss on Katherine Kenna behind the bleachers at a school football match. He’d stepped between them and taken a hit in the jaw before squaring off with the bully and winning the fight.
It struck her that he’d always fought for those he loved. It must have been second nature for him to push Noah aside.
Poor Noah. As he spoke, his frame had gone stiff and his gaze had lost focus. Part of her had wanted to wrap her arms around him and tell him he didn’t have to go on. But she’d needed to hear it.
Did Noah feel extra guilt for Martin saving his life? His abrupt departure certainly pointed to it. It occurred to her that he might also still be grieving Martin. She couldn’t imagine he’d had much time to…
What was a good word for it?
Take inventory of his soul, she decided. He’d done so on and off in his letters to her, but never about Martin. Never about the other boys from his unit who had died.
She hadn’t missed the mention of Henry. If she remembered the timeline of their correspondence right, he’d died shortly after Martin. And Noah hadn’t mentioned David before. Had he died as well?
Rising from her chair, she swiped at her face. Her make-up would be ruined by her tears, she imagined. There was a keening sound then, almost like it was from a wounded animal. But Anna knew it was no animal. Her mother’s grief had finally opened up in the face of Noah’s story.
She walked to the foot of the stairs, wondering if she should go to her. Her mother hadn’t cried in front of Anna since they received the news of Martin’s death. Not even at his funeral.
Another keening sound echoed through the house, and Anna could stand it no longer. She took the stairs quickly and walked to her mother’s door. It was locked.
“Mom,” she said, hearing the sobbing more clearly now. “Oh, Mom. Please let me in.”
The crying ceased. “No! Leave me be.”
She stood there for a moment, her hand touching the door. She’d hoped this dinner would produce a miracle. Right now, she didn’t know what it had done other than dredge up her mother’s grief.
Though maybe that was a good thing. Father was always saying a good cry wasn’t anything to be ashamed of.
Maybe he’d tell Noah the same thing the next time she saw him. Should she go to him now? It wasn’t much past eight o’clock, and dusk had not yet given way to darkness.
Of course she should, she realized. They were both hurting.
She popped into her room and fixed her face as best as she could before heading out. The night was on the warm side, and she tried to find some joy in the fireflies she saw dancing in the yards of her neighbors as she walked to the rectory.
When she arrived, Father Shaughnessy opened the door. “Anna! It’s good to see you. Please come in.”
She knew he had long days, what with doing the morning Mass. “I don’t want to intrude. I was looking for Noah.”
His brows winged up. “As far as I know, he’s not here. I can see the stairs from the library, so I can’t imagine he got past me. But let me check. Come inside, lass. The mosquitoes will make a feast of you.”
She gave in and stepped inside the entryway. “Thank you, Father.”
This was the only problem with Noah staying at the rectory, she realized. She hated to intrude on the priest’s personal time. Father returned quickly.
“He’s not here,” he said, his eyes studying her face. “Anything happen?”
“No,” she said. “Yes. He told us the details…about how Martin died.”
Father Shaughnessy’s hand fell onto her shoulder. “I see. I can’t imagine how hard that must have been. For all of you.”
“He died a hero, Father,” she whispered. “He pushed Noah aside and…”
“Here now,” Father said, taking her into his arms. “You just cry it out.”
She buried her face against his shoulder and gave in. At one point, he pressed a handkerchief into her hands, and that only made her cry harder. Now she realized why Noah had kept the handkerchief for so long rather than leaving it to be sent home with Martin’s things. She imagined it had been bloody, and he wouldn’t have wanted them to see it that way. That dear man…
When the storm had subsided, she blew her nose. “I’m so sorry, Father.”
He shook her a little, his arm still around her. “Please. You’ve cried on this broad shoulder of mine a time or two. Most everyone in the neighborhood has. It’s one of my duties.”
She couldn’t see anyone crying on Father Wilson’s shoulder, but refrained from saying so. “Thank you. I feel much better. My mom was crying when I left. I hope it will help her feel better too.”
“So she heard the story,” Father said, shaking his head. “Couldn’t have been easy for Mary.”
“No,” Anna said. “It wouldn’t be easy for anyone. I should try and find Noah.”
Father’s mouth twisted like it did when he was thinking. “We’ll look for him together. If I were new to the neighborhood and looking for a private place to grieve, I’d go to the church. We’ll check there first.”
Could he be right? Noah wasn’t religious, so she hadn’t considered it. “I hadn’t thought of it.”
“It’s worth a shot,” Father said. “Now, I doubt he went to the area where we keep the bees, even though it is sheltered. Any grieving would risk stirring them up. Of course, I do sing to them.”
“Father, you are so Irish,” she said, surprised to find herself smiling.
“Don’t make fun,” he chided as they walked out of the rectory. “My grandmother from County Clare used to sing to her roses, and they did quite well, so why not bees? Of course, she believed in the fairies too, but we American Irish don’t talk about that as much.”
In the lamplight she could see his wink, and her heart lifted in response. When they walked into the church, she dabbed her fingers in the holy water receptacle and made the sign of the cross. Father did the same next to her. He nudged her.
“Noah is in the back,” Father whispered. “Right side.”
She spotted him easily. “I see
him. Thank you for your help, Father.”
“Don’t worry,” he said. “You talk to him now, and if he comes down to the library again, I’ll be the second line. We need good men in the world like him, Anna. You go to him now.”
Kissing his cheek, she gave him a smile. “You’re one of the good ones too.”
“Oh, stop, lass,” he said, “or you’ll have me blushing in my own church.”
He patted her on the back and then left. Anna noted there were other people praying, some in the front pews and others scattered in the middle and back. Some were even on kneelers in front of the altar or the holy statues flanking it. The statue of Mary holding the baby Jesus was always a popular area for mothers, no surprise.
Anna treaded softly as she crossed to where Noah was sitting. From the way he was hunched over, he looked like he felt the weight of the world. She’d never seen him like that.
She genuflected at his pew and squeezed into the small space beside him. His head immediately swung in her direction.
“Anna!” he said in a harsh whisper.
His green eyes were red, and she knew he’d been crying. “I’m glad I found you.”
“I needed…a place to sit with my thoughts. I couldn’t find anywhere else to go, so I stopped in here. When I saw the others, I thought it would be okay for me to stay awhile. Even though I’m not Catholic.”
“Of course it is,” she whispered back, knowing that Father Shaughnessy, at least, agreed with her. “Will you come outside with me, though? I don’t want to interrupt people’s praying. Unless you want to sit more. I can pray awhile.”
He shook his head. “No, let’s go. I’m…better now.”
They walked to the front of the church, and he waited while she blessed herself with holy water again. On the front steps, she took his hand. He grasped it and then lifted it to his mouth, kissing it.
“I’m sorry I ran out that way,” he said. “I—”
“You don’t have to apologize,” she told him. “It couldn’t have been easy to tell us what you did.”
