With the pleasantries over, she asked, “Okay, Mr. Embers? Is that correct?”
“Yes, it is. Let me start at the beginning. This is what I’ve pieced together. My nephew was a corpsman in the war and was treating your husband. Before he passed, he asked my nephew to write to you for him in case something happened during surgery. Before my nephew could mail the letter, he was killed. All of his belongings were shipped home. Like all well-meaning bureaucracies, the Marine Corps misplaced his effects. It was only a few weeks ago they were delivered to my sister. Going through his things, my sister found this letter. She didn’t have the heart to bring it here herself. So, she asked me to find you and deliver it to you,” I handed her the letter.
As she took the letter, she said, “I don’t understand. The Marines who came to give me the news said he was killed instantly. They said he didn’t suffer. You’re telling me they lied?”
“It might be they were trying to spare your feelings. To give you some comfort in your moment of pain.” She accepted the explanation. Can I be a better liar than I thought?
The letter is in her hands, but she refused to look at it. Tearing up, she sat there. She shook her head as if to snap herself out of the emotion and looked at the envelope. Her eyes widened in shock. She gasped. “I thought you said this was dictated to your nephew, but this is in my husband’s hand.”
“Oh crap!” Her husband and I must have similar handwriting. I can’t tell her I was the one who took the dictation. Think fast. There was an awkward silence. Boom, I was struck by mental lightning. “Like I said, the story was pieced together from many sources. What I couldn’t find out, I embellished. I am sorry. He must have written it himself.” “Am I sweating?” I hope not. “He must love you very much to make sure this letter is placed in your hands.”
“Mr. Embers, I want to thank you for bringing me this,” she stood up and looked at me with eyes inviting me to leave. So as not to wear out my welcome, I stood up. She escorted me to the front door. Exiting the house, I stepped onto the porch then turned around.
Facing her, I extended my hand. As we shook, I said, “I am sorry for the sacrifice you and your family had to give to this country. It is my wish the words in the letter gives you comfort in the reading,” pausing a moment, “The letter doesn’t seem like it’s enough. If I can be of service to you, please don’t hesitate to call me day or night.” I gave her my phone number, turned around, and walked to my car.
Sitting there behind the wheel for a long moment, I tried to recover from my shaky nerves. “It went well, sir.” I nearly jumped out of my skin, which would have been messy with the blood and all. The Marine is sitting next to me in the car.
“You were there watching? I didn’t see you.”
“I didn’t want you to see me.” The Marine turned and looked out the window to his home. “I want to thank you for your kindness. You don’t see a great deal of kindness once you’re dead.”
“It was nothing. Since you are here, do you plan to stay and watch over your family?”
The Marine took a deep breath and let it out hard. Strange. I didn’t think the dead needed to breathe. Maybe it is only a habit. “No. They need to go on with their lives. If I am there, somehow I think they won’t.”
“For what it’s worth, I think you’re right. Well, can I give you a lift back to the cemetery?” He turned toward me with a slightly irritated look then faded away.
I drove home, feeling all warm and gooey about what I had done. Nathan Embers, postman to the dead. Yep, that’s me. I don’t think I should put it on my resume, though.
Acknowledgments
There have been many people who have helped me in this endeavor. Thank you, Linda Nagy. Your help in this project has been invaluable. I have learned a great deal. Tracy Johnston, thank you for the insight you gave me on this project. I give my thanks to Christian Bentulan who did the cover artwork. He can be reached at coversbychristian.com. I also extend my thanks to all my clients at The Men’s Room Barber Shop. You gentlemen have heard all these tales and gave me encouragement.
I would also like to extend my thanks to you, the reader. If you are so inclined, I would ask you to leave a review on whichever site you purchased this copy of The Forging from. It encourages me to keep writing when I see other people enjoying Nathan’s adventures. To paraphrase, “You ain’t read nothing yet.”
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