“We’ll need to get one from Miss. Tilly,” Cecilia suggested.
“That won’t be necessary,” Edmund had already gotten up and approached the girls. “Here.”
Miss. Blake watched as he took out the handkerchief from his breast pocket and offered it to her.
“Thank you,” Miss. Blake smiled. “Here we go.”
She took Madeline’s finger gently, wrapping the snowy-white handkerchief around that tiny little finger.
“It doesn’t hurt,” Madeline announced courageously.
Edmund smiled. That was certainly a trait they both shared. No matter in how much pain he was, he never wanted to admit it to anyone. Sometimes, not even himself.
“That is because you are brave,” Miss. Blake explained. “Just like your uncle when he was fighting to keep us all safe from harm.”
The girls both turned their gazes at him, lips parted in awe.
“Is that true, Uncle?” Cecilia asked first.
“Why… yes, yes, it is,” he was a little confused, caught off guard by the question.
“Tell us, Uncle! Tell us, tell us!” Madeline and Cecilia exclaimed at the same time.
Edmund did not think it particularly appropriate for girls to hear war stories, but the sparkle in their eyes assured him that he might be able to tell them parts of it. Perhaps not the parts that kept him awake almost every night, but some of it.
“Well, there is not really much to tell,” he resorted to a little white lie. “People get hurt, as you can see.” He showed his stump, but the girls had already gotten used to the sight of it, even though he had never told them anything about it.
“Is that how you lost your hand?” Madeline asked, still stunned.
Edmund hesitated. But the girls were already thirteen years of age. They had a clever head on their shoulders, both of them. They were bound to figure it out on their own, but he realized that he wanted to be the one to tell this particular story.
“Indeed,” Edmund nodded. “I was helping someone who was fighting right next to me.”
He didn’t need to close his eyes to hear the sound of distant muskets, of people crying for help, unable to move. A long time ago, he was forced to come to terms with the fact that life didn’t favor anyone. It was just a string of events, one leading to the other. And one needed to be fortunate enough to remain alive.
“Did you save him?” Madeline inquired, her little eyes beaming with inquisitiveness. Cecilia stood right by her side, sharing in the sentiment.
Edmund looked at his stump. Strangely, it did not hurt him now.
“Yes,” he nodded, for the first time, feeling pride about that. He saved one life, and at this particular moment in time, that was enough to make him happy. “He was a young man, half my age almost. He started running in the wrong direction. He couldn’t hear me holler. So, I rushed after him. And…”
He showed his stump again, letting it end the story in silence. But the girls understood. Their lips still parted, as warm breath oozed out. They had so many questions. He could see it in the way they gazed at him. However, it was too late for that.
Or, perhaps, too early? He was not ready to answer all those questions yet.
“All right, that is enough now,” he urged them softly. “You two need to retire.”
“Oh, no, Uncle!” Madeline whined first, forgetting all about her wounded finger. Cecilia only pouted.
“Now, now, girls,” Miss. Blake interfered, taking over the situation. “Your uncle is right. It is late and we need to go to bed.”
“But you will finish the story tomorrow, won’t you, Uncle?” Cecilia voiced herself softly, her little eyelashes batting.
“I will, when the time comes,” he nodded. “That is a promise.”
The girls mumbled something to each other, then Miss. Blake spread her arms like a pair of wings around them, gently pushing them towards the door. The girls stopped, then turned to Edmund.
“Good night, Uncle,” they both said at the same time.
