“I do,” Edward replied, but his voice sounded so distant.
“Then you get the job of tellin’ ’em what happened. Sorry.” The man turned and motioned to some other men on the side of the street. “Joe. Arnie. Grubber. Come help me get these two over to the undertaker.”
Edward battled the shock of having watched his best friend die. He’d seen men, good friends even, die in the war. He’d been on battlefields where hundreds lay dead, but nothing had prepared him for this moment.
As two of the men lifted Fred and carried him away, Edward fought the desire to run after them and force them to stop. But he found it even harder to move.
“I’m with theLeader,” a man said to him as Edward watched them take Fred and the other man away. He glanced down as if to make sure Fred was really gone. There was a pool of something mixing with the dirt and mud. Most likely ... blood. Edward was glad that the light wasn’t good enough to reveal it well.
He looked back at the reporter, who was even now asking him questions about what had happened.
“I can’t talk to you,” Edward said, pushing the man aside. He started walking back toward the jail, but then he veeredoff, knowing that he couldn’t go back there. Not yet. He had to go tell Marybeth what had happened. He had to see her. To touch her. To know she was all right.
He walked faster and faster until he was running. Running as fast as his legs would travel. He felt the burning in his calves as he pushed himself harder. The situation was impossible—heinous—unreal.
How was he supposed to tell Fred’s wife that he was dead? He could scarcely believe it himself. Fred’s house was just ahead. The lights were off without a sign of anyone being awake. Of course, it was the middle of the night.
Edward slowed his pace and skirted the house. He went straightaway to the shed, knowing he’d find Marybeth there. She would be stunned and saddened by the news, but she would also help him tell Eve. He just couldn’t do that alone.
He unlocked the door and let himself into the dark room. Marybeth stirred and, without saying a word, came to him.
He pulled her into his arms and felt his chest tighten. He buried his face against her hair and moaned in sorrow. The moan grew to a cry, and he forced it to silence so he wouldn’t wake up Carrie.
Marybeth held him tightly. She obviously knew something was wrong, but she said nothing. As Edward began to tremble, she led him to the rocking chair and pushed him down. She lit a single candle and placed it close by before coming back to him. She pulled up the crate beside him and took hold of his hand.
“What has happened?”
Marybeth wasn’t sure why her husband was trembling and crying, but she feared the possibility. Her heart warned herthat the news would be horrendous. Her mind confirmed this, knowing that Edward wasn’t one to break down easily. It terrified her to ask the question, but she posed it again.
“What happened? Tell me.”
He opened his mouth as if to speak, but words didn’t form. Tears continued to pour from his eyes, but he made no sound.
The truth dawned on Marybeth. Fred. Fred must have been hurt. She gently stroked her husband’s hand. “Is it Fred?”
He stared at the stove for a long while but finally nodded.
Marybeth’s heart sank. Edward wouldn’t be acting this way if Fred were merely hurt. “Is he dead?”
Edward met her gaze and nodded. Marybeth felt sick. She couldn’t have heard him right. This couldn’t be happening.
“Are you sure?”
He nodded again and then buried his face in his hands and wept.
Without a word, Marybeth went and dressed. She knew they would have to go and tell Eve the truth. She hated the idea with every fiber of her being. Eve was due to have a baby soon. This would probably send her into labor. Then, of course, there were the boys. How would they explain to them that their father wasn’t ever coming home? Those boys adored Fred. It would break their hearts.
She grabbed her brush and ran it through her long blond hair. With nimble fingers she plaited a single braid down the back and tied it off with a ribbon. She looked in on Carrie. She was sleeping soundly. Carrie routinely slept through the night, and even when Edward returned home, she never woke. Marybeth didn’t like the idea of leaving her alone, however.
She woke Carrie up and helped her into her coat. Therewas no sense in making her get dressed. It wasn’t going to make a difference. Hopefully at some point Marybeth could get Edward to go for Melody. They would need her help with the children.
“Go play?” Carrie asked, yawning.
“No, we need to go talk to Mrs. Henderson and the boys. You must be a good girl. You can go back to sleep when we get there if you like.”
Carrie said nothing but held her arms up to be carried. Marybeth drew her up and held her tightly. This wasn’t going to be an easy time for anyone.
When she came back around the curtain that separated their sleeping area from the rest of the room, Marybeth found Edward calmer. His eyes were still damp, but he was no longer crying.
