AN HOUR LATER, the crew had removed the body from the tunnel, and the boys went looking for Thomas. When they didn’t find him in the dugout, George asked Bagger if they could take Max for walk.
“Find Tommy, Max!” George said when they exited the tunnels. The terrier raced through the communication trench past the reserve trenches toward the fields behind the Allied lines. When the boys caught up to Max, he was curled up in Thomas’s lap beneath the elm tree where they’d buried Feathers. The month of May had ushered in warmer temperatures and sunny skies that coaxed thousands of poppies from the fertile ground. The small red flowers carpeted the field. Thomas petted the dog’s head in distracted, halfhearted strokes. His hand paused between the terrier’s ears when he heard the boys approaching.
“It’s not James,” Charlie said, sitting down next to him.
Thomas picked at the clumps of blue clay clinging to the worn knit of his soiled socks. “I know. But for a moment I thought—”
Frederick sat to his other side. “Bagger notified the Fiftieth that we’d found one of their men. They helped remove the body, and their corporals identified the soldier.”
“It was a bloke from Alnwick,” George added.
Thomas’s shoulders sagged with relief. “But it could have been James. He could be buried under that battlefield, and if he is, I’ll never find him.” Tears slid down his cheeks. Embarrassed that the others were seeing him cry, he tried to wipe them away, but they only came faster, so he gave up and let Max lick them from his face. “James never should have joined this stupid war. He should have stayed home. Our parents and sisters needed him. I needed him. And now I’ll never see him again.”
Charlie reached up and rubbed his brow to shield his own tears from the others. He was no better than Thomas’s brother. No, he was worse. James had left his family to earn enough to build them a better life. Charlie had left for no one but himself.
“We’ll find him, Tommy,” George said.
“But you said the chances of him surviving this war—”
“I know what I said, and I shouldn’t have.” George dug the toe of his boot into the soft soil.
“But you were right,” Thomas said. “That could have been James. Next time, it could be me. What if I don’t make it home? For the rest of their lives, my parents will be wondering where I am and what happened to me. It’s been torture for them not knowing what happened to James. How can I do that to them again?”
“Are you thinking of leaving?” George asked.
“I can’t, can I? Not without admitting I lied. Besides, we have a mission to finish.” He turned to Frederick. “But before I go back in those tunnels, I need you to write a letter for me.”
Frederick stood. “I’ll be right back.” He returned minutes later, notebook and pen in hand, and sat down next to Thomas. “What do you want me to write?”
Thomas picked a poppy. Max woke, sniffed the small flower, and then closed his eyes again. Thomas stared out at the horizon, where the promise of morning warmed the night sky in fiery reds and burnt oranges. He pictured his parents receiving his letter. His chest ached with the pain they would feel because of him, and then he knew what he needed to say: Dear Mum and Dad, I’m sorry.
Twenty minutes and three pages later, Thomas had explained why he’d left home and why he could not leave the war now. He’d told them of his search for James and the importance of their crew’s mission. He spoke of the things he’d seen and the friends he’d made. But mostly, he told them how much he missed and loved them.
When Thomas had said all he had to say, Frederick folded the pages and handed them to him. “You know when they receive that letter, they’ll tell the army your real name and age, and you’ll be sent home.”
“That’s why I’m not sending it.”
“What are you going to do with it?” George asked.
“I want you to take it.” Thomas held out the folded pages to George.
“Me?”
“Yes. I need you to promise that if I don’t make it home, you will deliver this for me.”
George backed away from the letter and request. “Come on, Tommy. You’re going to make it home. And when you do, you can give your family the letter.”
“Please,” Thomas said. “I need to know if something happens my family won’t be left waiting for me to come home. Promise me you’ll take it to them.”
“You do not want to entrust me with that. Remember, I’m a lyin’ thief. Give it to Eton or Mouse.”
“It needs to be you,” Thomas said.
“Why?”
The boom of cannons thundered over no-man’s-land.
“Because chances are, if any of us survives this war, it’ll be you. And like you said, you may be a lyin’ thief, but you’re a lyin’ thief who keeps his promises.”
George snatched the letter from Thomas’s hand. “Pretty low using my own words against me, Tommy.”
“Promise you’ll give it to them.”
George shoved the letter in his coat pocket. “I promise.”
“And my pay book too,” Thomas took out a small, brown-covered book he’d been issued when he’d joined the army to keep a record of all his active-duty earnings. “Make sure they get this, so they can claim what I’ve earned here. It’s always in this pocket.” He tucked the worn ledger back in his trouser pocket.
“What am I, the British Army Postal Service?”
“Promise,” Thomas pressed.
“Fine. You have my word.” George flopped down on the ground and lit a cigarette. “But nothing’s going to happen to you, so can we please stop talking about this?”
“It’s not a bad idea,” Frederick said, turning to a new page.
“See, even Eton agrees.”
“No,” Frederick said. “Thomas is right. I should write a letter for each of our families. We could hold on to them for one another in case something should happen.”
“Well, I don’t have a family, so that’ll save you some ink and paper.” George placed his hand on the wad of bills bulging his pocket. “And I plan to spend every shilling of my wages and winnings.”
“What about you, Charlie?” Frederick asked. “Do you want me to write to your brother?”
Charlie nodded. He had far less to say, so his letter barely filled a page. The boys then lay back in the field and watched the sun creep higher in the morning sky while Frederick wrote a letter to his own parents. When he had finished, he folded his pages, and he and Charlie traded letters, both promising to deliver the other’s should one of them be killed.
“Everyone feeling better now?” George asked, stretching from his rest. “Because we have a brother to find, right, Tommy?”
“Right,” Thomas said. “Thanks, George.”
“Don’t mention it. Seriously. It makes me uncomfortable. Besides, nothing is going to happen to us. And when our mission is over and we get out of here, I’m giving this back.” He patted his jacket pocket. “And you can deliver it to your family yourself. Deal?”
“Deal. And if we do get out of here—”
“When,” George corrected.
“When we get out of here,” Thomas said. “I think you should come to Dover with me.”
George sat up. “Dover? What would I do in Dover?”
“After your experience in the tunnels, you’d easily get a job in the coal mines, or if you want, you could help James and me start our shipping business.”
“It’s going to be your family business. You don’t need me mucking it up.”
“You said you had experience working the London docks. You probably have more knowledge of boats than James and I combined.”
“That’s true.” George reached up and rubbed the back of his neck. “Still. Dover?”
Max rolled over in Thomas’s lap, and Thomas scratched the dog’s belly. “You said it yourself, there’s no one waiting for you in London except that bobby who chased us to the train station.”
“Fair point,” George said. “And his anger won’t have calmed while I was gone.”
Frederick closed his notebook and tucked his pen behind his ear. “All the more reason not to return to London after the war.”
“But where would I stay in Dover?”
“With my family,” Thomas said, “you know, until you’ve saved enough to get your own place.”
“Your parents wouldn’t want me around.”
“Sure they would. My sisters would love you, and Mum’s always happy to have company, especially company that helps around the house and compliments her cooking. And Dad’s happy as long as Mum’s happy.” Thomas moved Max off his lap and stood. “Think about it.”
George smiled. “I will.” But his smile faltered as they walked back to the tunnels. As much as he wanted to believe that Thomas’s family would welcome him into their home, he knew the truth. Every person he’d ever met had made sure he knew it: No family would ever want George.