Young Writers Society

I had known it was going to happen from the beginning. It was a thought that hovered at the back of my mind, always haunting. It was born the day dad called us all into the living room. All of us. Even Johnny, though he had already gone down to the field. Though time has stretched on and on, memory of that day hasn’t faded. I can’t remember where I put my spectacles anymore, though I was holding them less than a minute ago. But that day never changes. How could it?

Dad’s face was grey, careworn like I had never seen it. Standing next to the door, my hands clasp behind my back, I remember running through everything I had done within the last few days. Did I have anything to do with it? Nothing came to mind, but I wouldn’t let myself relax. Instead, I had started to eye the boys. Maybe it wasn’t me, but could it be them? They always seemed to be in trouble.

The three of them stood in a row. Johnny’s hat sat crooked on his head, brown hair peeking out from underneath. Tom’s hands were in his pocket again, shoved in as deep as they would go. Of the three of them, only Edward had on a clean shirt. But then, he probably had been down already to visit his girl. As the only one with a sweetheart, he usually was the only one that dressed in anything less than rags. Not that the others didn’t have the choice or anything. They had good clothes if they wanted them. They never really seemed to care.

Mom sat on the sofa, her mouth tight. A strange trembling seemed to have taken over her hands, though she clutched the edge of the cushion to steady herself. Her head was down, turned away so we couldn’t see her face.

Dad never spoke a word, never even looked at me. His full attention was riveted on the three of them, on the boys. The pain that was obvious in mom was hidden in him. He was quiet, grey, completely worn out. But he wasn’t on the verge of breaking down.

Looking back, I can read his thoughts. What must have ran through his head at that moment. My boys. Raised by hand. Swatted when they needed it. Fed off my table. My children. The little ones I rolled on the flour with. The ones I taught.

And mom. The children I gave birth too. The ones I suffered for… cared for. She suffered as only a mother can. The iron grip that seizes the heart when the ones you love is in danger and you can’t protect them. The helplessness. The shock, the wish that you could hide them in your arms like you used to. But her babies had grown up… and she couldn’t protect them anymore.

Slowly, dad raised his hand and held it out towards the boys. In that gesture there was sacrifice. The offering of the ones he loved for a higher cause. Edward, always the leader in everything, he stepped forward and took the newspaper from his hand. As it passed between them I caught a glimpse of the front page. The word flashes at me from across the room, slapping me in the face. War.

Life carried on as normal after that. At least on the outside. But it wasn’t quite normal all the same. Little things were different. Just little things, but enough to be noticed.

Edward started dropping by the post office every morning. Johnny didn’t go down to the field, and Tom wouldn’t leave for work, not until he was back. Then they’d listen to whatever he had to say. I’d stand by the door, not listening to the news, but to the people hearing it. They always got quiet after he was done talking. Only once did I catch anything. It was quiet, murmured into thoughtful silence. Just talking to himself. “We should be there.”

It was Tom that said it, the second youngest of the batch. Edward was twenty-two, the oldest. If he wanted to go, we had no way to stop him. The same went for Tom, he was already twenty. Maybe Johnny, only eighteen by three months. But even then… if he wanted to go, should we stop him?

Nothing happened for another week. Nothing but Edward bringing back more reports of who in town was missing in action, which were dead, and the names of the few that were still living. The Sunday meeting slowly changed color, black sweeping over the aisles.

I was making the bread for dinner, kneading away at the dough, up to my elbows in flour. I heard the door open behind me, but didn’t bother turning. Why should I? Probably only mom, coming in from weeding the garden.

A hand sneaked round me, snaring a shred of dough. Slapping the hand away, I spun on my heel. Edward grinned down on me, peering down from what seemed miles away.

A bit startled, I immediately went on the offensive. “What are you doing home so early?”

He leaned against the table, crossing his arms. “I was in town, Ivy. I finish running my errands, did what I went there to do. Now I’m home. Is that alright with you?”

I shook my head, clearing the clouds away. That’s right. He went into town this morning. To talk with his girl a bit, and to pick up some stuff for home. “It’s alright with me if you stay out of the bread.”

His grin flickered a little wider. Then it petered out. “Hey, Ivy…” he started to pick at the table, eye focused on the ground. “I saw Ken Holdings in town today. Stopped to talk.”

I turned back to the bread, hands twisting and tugging. “Oh? And…” I was careful to keep my tone level, choosing words that can be interrupted as interest without anything else thrown in.

“Ken’s a nice fellow, isn’t he?” Edward’s eased around the table, trying to get a good view of my face. I bent lower, hiding from his view. “Brought you flowers, if I remember correctly. And didn’t he walk you home from the last church meeting?”

“A lot of people have walked me home,” I replied, looking up from my work. “What’s your point?” Perching one flowered hand on my hip, I looked up at him. “Ken’s a nice fellow. Yes, he brought me some flowers, lilies I think they were. He has walked me home several times.”

“I thought so…” he murmured, biting his lip. “But that wasn’t what I’m trying to ask.” He bent his head down, clearing his throat. “What I mean is, if Ken asks will you say yes?”

My head went up, the dough forgotten. “Why? Did he ask you if I would?”

He shrugged. “No.” My head went back down, and I bit my lip. “Just something he said gave me the idea that he might ask someday.”

Spinning on his heel, he started to make his way out of the kitchen. I watched him go, but couldn’t resist throwing out one more question. “What did he say that would make you think that?”

He paused at the door, hand on the knob. “Just a comment about how Ivy was starting to grow on him.” He hesitated, wondering if he should go on. “Ivy… he said he was coming down tomorrow to visit. Oh and he was at the enlistment office.” With that parting shot, he rushed out the door.

I didn’t have time to be shocked, no time to feel pain. Something else pushed itself forward, strained until it was first in my mind. What was Edward doing at the enlistment office?

I knew it was coming when we all sat down again. So I was the only one that didn’t freeze. No… not the only one. Tom and Johnny’s heads both swiveled round to stare at mom. I realized then that they both had known before. And were testing the result.

Mom’s hand shook, and she slowly put down her fork. She seemed to devote her entire attention to folding her napkin and placing it beside her plate. But her face remained still. No tears, not even a sniffle. She had resigned herself to it on day one. Now it can’t break her.

Edward, my older brother, the annoying, stupid brother that always followed me around. Followed me so he could tease me. Leaving. Going to a war far away. And I can’t follow. The first empty spot at the table. I always assumed it would be marriage that broke up the family… not war.

Ken does come, like Edward said he would. Already in uniform. He asked for his five minutes. Didn’t pop the question. Hardly said a thing, really. Asked if I would write him. I said yes. There wasn’t really any other thing I could say. Saying no would be too cruel.

Edward went the next week. So did Ken. And at the last minute, so did Tom. Two empty places at dinner. Three at church or three added onto the others already gone. Young men disappeared from all gatherings. You never saw them. And I wrote three letters every night.

Two month go by. Edward writes that he received “a minor injury” but insisted that it wasn’t serious. They sent him back out in two weeks. He was telling the truth. I had prayed that he wasn’t. I didn’t want him to lose an arm or be hurt in a way that he couldn’t recover from. But I would have preferred that to him losing his life. Anything would have been better than him going back out.

Time kept moving. The house remained empty. Johnny walked around on tiptoe, moping around. He hadn’t been the same since his brother left. He couldn’t get past the idea that he should be out there.

Johnny started heading to town every morning. Taking over Edward’s job. But he wasn’t just checking for news. He was dropping by the Clips house. Talking with their daughter, with Margaret. I expected an announcement every day. But I didn’t expect the announcement that came.

He sprung it at dinner, when I was in mid bite. “I asked Margaret Clips to marry me. And I dropped by the enlistment office on the way home.”

I choked on the bite, the meat sticking halfway down my throat. The next few minutes were spent with me coughing like I’m about to die. When it started to calm down only dad managed to say anything. “I’m proud of you, son.”

Later, I went up to his room. The stairs never seemed hard to climb before, but right then every step was agony. But Johnny, my little brother. I had to go on. I need to talk with him.

I knocked on the door, fighting to keep calm. He’s my last brother left, the last sibling. Every bit of me wanted to break down and cry. But I couldn’t. I knew I owed him at least that much.

“Johnny,” I said, fighting to keep my voice casual. “If you are planning on getting married soon, are you going to need help? I would love to help plan the ceremony if you two want to get hitched before you go.”

The wedding was rather damp. The only dry face was Johnny’s. Even Margaret was caught crying an hour before the wedding. I help her dry her eyes, holding back tears of my own. But we had managed to find a wedding dress. Mom gave Margaret hers. I gave her Grandma’s veil. She had saved it for me, told me that I was to wear it when I was married. But I gave it to Margaret. Losing it was better than John’s bride not having a veil.

Their honeymoon lasted two days, and two days only. Then the train left full of soldiers. Johnny went, we stayed behind. Margaret stayed dry eyed until he was gone. She wept all the way home.

After that home was like a tomb. Nothing was real, nothing but the emptiness. I went on, and went on. We all pushed on. There wasn’t anything else to do.

Dad wanted to go, wanted more than anything. But he couldn’t, not until he was sure we were secure financially. I changed my prayer at night to include financial ruin. I had lost everyone else. He wasn’t going too.

The war ended, and TEdward came home. One armed, and half blind. But he was home. Johnny came also, came and stayed. He was unharmed, completely whole in body. But his mind was hurt. The boy had gone out of him. Staring death in the face had taken its toll on him. But he was happy to see Margaret, and she was overjoyed to see him.

Tom never came home. We received a letter that proclaimed him killed in action. But he wasn’t dead, not to me. The knowledge of his death was in my head, the image of the telegraph. But when I thought of Tom I only saw him as he always had been before. Hands in his pockets, hair sticking out in every direction, shirt untucked and filthy… he never died for me.

Ken never came back either. The only part I had left of him was his last letter. And the ending. “Love, Ken.” Maybe it might have been love someday. Maybe. Now I’ll never know. He’s gone. “Missing in action,” never to be found again.

They didn’t die, but they aren’t alive. When I think of them, they are still on the battlefield. Bullets whiz around them, the screams of the wounded in the background. Maybe the next bullet will find them, maybe it won’t. But they stay there, diving from hole to hole, shooting back when they can.

The air is very dusty where they are, I can feel it grating at my throat. Ken’s eyes flash sideways, taking in the man next to him being shot in the leg. Another, three men down, falls to his knees. But Ken keeps on moving, Tom right next to him.

Trapped in the war that ended long ago. Because I never say their bodies, didn’t actually touch the cold skin. My two undead ghosts that follow me. The dead ones… that never died.