one
Reeves
“Private Mathews.” Sarg announced his presence from the combat support hospital room doorway. In pristine uniform as always, he stood with his heels clicked together.
“Sargent Darcy.” I laid flat on my back without a pillow, aware that something was missing when I went to salute. I couldn’t lay here, not showing respect. I fumbled to pull my other hand out from the linen blanket and offered a left-handed salute.
Sarg positioned his hand for salute, holding it in pause. After a long beat, he dropped his hand with his signature, “Very well.” As he crossed the room, flashing an envelope in the air, my stomach dropped.
“Discharge papers.” I stared at the letter without reaching for it. It wasn’t a total shock. Obviously, I couldn’t continue to serve with only one hand, but it was not the instant flood of relief I would have assumed I’d feel. It was simply the last punctuation mark on a sentence conveying frustration.
I had planned for a military career my entire childhood. Playing with green plastic army soldiers in my living room everyday. This was something I was born to do. Of course, I enlisted during peacetime, when it was an easy way to travel, and pick up a few foreign languages. All that changed when the country was invaded. After two years of war, and now an amputation, my military career had come to a screeching halt.
“What are you going to do now?” Sarg asked, still holding the letter. It was a bit of an awkward exchange since he was standing closest to my missing hand. For me to grab it, I’d have to sit up and reach all the way across my own body. I didn’t have the strength to do that.
“I guess I'll start over.” It wasn’t hard for me to say that. Actually, it seemed rather nice to say.New Beginnings.
“I heard King D’Long is auctioning off some of his private farmland. It sounded like it might be a peaceful place to transition to civilian life.”
“Really?” I coaxed my head to the side, visions of rolling prairie flashed through my mind. My grandfather had farmed a bit when I was younger. He was already past retirement age, and mostly just hayed the fields, but I had spent many Saturdays on his lap in the tractor. We’d listen to the only station that came in on the tractor's AM radio, and spit sunflower seeds out the window. I never got tired of it, even when the weather wasn’t that great. I got an awful lot of thinking done, puttering along the fields. It was a much simpler way of life. Well, until something broke down, but with my grandfather, fixing things was usually just as entertaining. I wasn’t an expert by any means, but it did sound like a nice change of pace. “When’s the auction?”
“Tomorrow. If you want, I can put in a good word for you.”
Pursing my lips out, I pictured myself standing alone in a field. Not a soul around. The vision was so clear, I could almost smell the fresh cut hay. I could wake up each morning before the sun was up, make coffee, and sip it slowly as I ran the tractor.
Sounds like heaven . . .
After a long quiet moment, Sarg reached the letter forward, placing it on my bare chest. “Well done, Private Mathews. It was a pleasure to serve with you.” I was ready for him this time, pulling my left hand to my forehead as he saluted me. Then he turned on his heel and marched out.
I picked up the letter, and flipped it over, examining it. I couldn’t even open it with only one hand. This was going to take some getting used to. There were things I would need to relearn. Judging from last night’s nightmare, I had a long road ahead. I dropped the letter, letting my gaze float back up to the ceiling where it was most comfortable.
After everything I’ve been through, it sounds nice to get some land in the middle of nowhere and be alone.
two
Princess Erralee
A month later
“What do you mean we should surrender!” Father’s voice roared through the locked doors of his private study. Pressing my back against the solid wood door, I held my breath, listening.
“I don’t care if I must start sending women with babies on their hips to that battlefield! I will not be defeated!” A drawer, or a door of some sort, slammed loudly. “Never say that to me again!” He hollered so terrifyingly loudly it forced me to cringe through my inhalations.
Next came the shrill sound of shattering glass.More than likely that was his scotch.I shuddered as I moved my eyes side to side, praying his screaming would stop soon. It had been getting progressively worse all week with phone calls, during meetings with private visitors, back to more phone calls. I was beginning to wonder if it was even safe to stay at the palace, withthe war getting so close, but Father refused to evacuate. Cowards leave, as Father put it.
I couldn’t take it anymore. My nervous system was beginning to show signs of long-term stress. Never ending nights of insomnia, constant fatigue, and the knot that took up permanent residence in my throat. I could only handle so much. I longed to leave.
I had heard Father's warning about staying inside . . .
I needed a moment alone. Silence. Some fresh air to clear my head. I eased along the wall, careful not to let my heels click on the floor. I hated these shoes with an utter vengeance, but Mother still upheld the stuffy formal royal etiquette rules.Princesses wear dresses and closed-toed shoes with heels. Don’t get me started on the panty hose!My nostrils flared as Mother’s voice echoed in my brain. I was halfway down the hall and finally safe to pick up the pace to run out the back door.
Slipping off my shoes as if they weren’t worth the cost of a disposable napkin, I tossed them carelessly in the grass and raced down the path to the forest. My stress melted a little more with each barefoot step. This is where I was most alive. I've explored these woods almost every day of my life. Adoring how the trees echoed with the sound of birdsong, it filled my heart with so much joy and always drew me back to harmony and adventure. Though I believed the true treasures of the forest—the ones that were an ode to its timeless beauty—were found on the unbeaten paths.
I had spent an abnormal amount of time in my youth, hunting for mushrooms. Not because I ate them. I pretended gnomes and fairies hid amongst them. I had every fungus mound memorized with names to accompany them. Storytelling for hours, I would tire, and then sneak into the sun for a refreshing nap. This had been my routine for years, and I couldn’tremember it being any other way. Now that I was too old to look for fairies, I still enjoyed an afternoon nap in the sun.
And that is what I positioned myself to do. I made my way to my favorite napping spot, the sunniest place in the field of wild grass. I dropped to the ground, feeling an instant release of anxiety. With each breath I exhaled, my eyelids drifted further down, until finally I was asleep.
“Excuse me, ma’am, but that seat’s taken.” A deep voice cut through my dreams, startling me from my afternoon slumber.
