“Yeah,” he said, holding her gaze. “I gotta say, I’m feeling pretty lucky.”
As she drove down the long driveway, she glanced in her rearview mirror, watching Matthew turn and re-enter the house. Then her eyes flitted up to the windows, which seemed once again to be watching her leave. So many years had passed since she’d last been here, and she’d thought the nightmare was gone. Now it was back, and her hands clamped onto thesteering wheel, seeing it all again. The memory of that little girl, curled into a ball by the front door, weeping as she stared into her mother’s dead, open eyes. The screaming sirens, the stretcher carrying her mother’s body to the ambulance. Then the older, bald police officer with a kind face who had taken her hand and led her to the back of the police car so she wouldn’t witness the end of her family. But she had, anyway.
It was only when a tear touched her upper lip that she realized she was crying. Wiping her face with the back of her hand, she accelerated, eager to put more distance between her and her past, along with all its grief, loneliness, and guilt.
sevenJERRY
— December 1918 —
Windsor, Canada
Jerry hopped off the train’s bottom step and joined John on the platform, where his brother breathed into his cupped hands, lighting a cigarette. Tugging his scarf a little higher to shut out the cutting wind, Jerry peered down the platform at the small crowd. There weren’t a lot of people here, just a few tired soldiers disembarking into their family’s arms, a couple of brisk-looking gentlemen in black bowlers with briefcases swinging in step, and a hunched caretaker standing against the wall with a broom.
“You see them?” Jerry asked.
He’d written home in plenty of time, telling their parents when to expect them, so it was odd that no one had come to greet them.
“Maybe Ma got the dates mixed up,” John said, blowing out smoke.
Hoisting their bags over their shoulders, the two began walking in the direction of home. It was a cold, still afternoon. The only sound in the air was the crunch of frosted leaves beneath their feet, and that was all right. They were used to the quiet between them.
When the war had ended, everyone had celebrated with cheers and toasts, but no one had discussed much of any substance, and he understood why. They were all still in shock. Because how was a man supposed to return to “How do you do?” when he’d just spent the past four years blowing others up? Jerry had asked John about that when they were on the ship heading home, their bunks side by side, but the conversation hadn’t gone much further. They’d gotten in the habit of keeping their mouths shut when they’d been underground together, living like moles, nibbling on rations. Talking in the tunnels was the easiest way to get killed.
They’d experienced each other’s terror. No need to talk about that, either. What was there beyond that? A world of pain.
Now outside in the crisp December air, walking beneath a cloud-filled sky that suggested snow, it was John who broke the silence.
“Think Miller’s acorns made it all the way back?” he asked.
Lieutenant Leslie Miller, a signaller they’d met on the train ride home, had told the Baileys that this past fall, as he’d walked in the shadows of ancient oaks in Vimy, France, he’d come upon a carpet of acorns, which he scooped up and packed into his bag. When Jerry asked what he planned to do with them, Miller declared he was going to plant them back at his farm in Ontario.
“They’ll be my Vimy oaks. I’ll name my farm after them.”
The trees would be beautiful. Of that, Jerry had no doubt. But every rustle of leaves or fallen acorn would be a reminder of where they’d come from. Jerry didn’t want to remember anything about Europe. He’d have left those acorns right where they were.
“He’s probably planting them right now,” Jerry said.
Miller’s bright plans for the future had gotten Jerry thinking abouttheir own prospects. Now that they were back in Windsor, they’d have to adjust to an entirely different world, and they’d need jobs. Four years ago, Jerry had worked with his father in an accounting office, and there’d be available positions, he was sure. Back then, John had worked across the river with Ford for five dollars a day, but could he settle back into that old life? John was the funny, handsome, popular brother who lived in the moment, a heavy lifter, a man at the railway, on the docks, or in the warehouses, putting his muscles to good use. But he wasn’t the same man that he used to be, and Jerry didn’t think his brother could fit into assembly line work anymore. He might look as if he had it all together, but Jerry had seen the echoes of the war flare behind his brother’s eyes. Jerry carried the brand of war on his face for everyone to see. John wore his scars on the inside, out of sight.
It felt strange, turning down the long, familiar driveway after so much time. The saplings their father had planted in 1912 were all grown up, and the military boots the brothers had so proudly worn two years after that were now shabby and broken.
“Guess they’ll be surprised to see us,” John said as they passed the barn, nearing the house.
Jerry imagined their mother’s fluster. “Ma’ll be all over herself, apologizing.”
“I hope there’s enough supper for us. I could eat a horse.”
Jerry rubbed his cold hands together and sniffed the air, seeking the comforting scent of burning woodsmoke. He found none, which was strange. As soon as they settled, he’d bring in some firewood.
The house was looking good on the outside. Pa had covered it with a fresh coat of white, though the big bay window needed a wash. The wooden step to the porch creaked under Jerry’s weight, and a thousand memories rushed through him. As he reached for the front door, John clapped Jerry on the back.
“We made it,” he said, grinning. “We came back, just like we promised. I can’t wait to just… sit.”
The door swung open the moment John’s knuckles struck the wood. The brothers exchanged a glance; it wasn’t like their parents to leave the door wide open.
“Could be they went for a walk,” Jerry reasoned.
“Ma?” John called inside. “Pa? Anybody home?”
