I whistled as I worked. It had been a long day, and it was going to be a long night. I had the doctor waiting at the end of it, my Max. But first, a night of music, his fiddle and the rest of us playing our instruments, stomping our feet, or dancing hard and singing at the top of our lungs.
Back in the war, I never thought I'd live to see the day we wanted to sing from being happy, the day when we had harvests and celebrations again, good times and good foods, even if we didn't quite survive the same as we were.
I don't have the old family I had. I have a new one. They're here, at Skeffield Manor, or the Skeff, as the lads have started calling it.
Things are good here. There's food, and work, friends, acceptance. Mr. and Mrs. Jenkins have become like parents to a lot of the lads. We miss our folks. You don't end up here if you've got family willing to take you in.
The lads here, well, it really means a lot to us when Mrs. Jenkins tells us to eat up, or worries about our scrapes and bruises, or tells us to mind our manners and wash our hands. Things like that, you don't find just anywhere. And Mr. Jenkins, he shows us all sorts of things, teaching and bossing without losing his temper or acting like we're nothing. He calls us his boys, and we hear it like a gift every time he does.
They ain't got no kids of their own, but we're their boys now, all of us.
Some of the lads have found girls in the village who ain't ashamed to be courted by a hardworking man, a soldier who survived because of magicians and luck. Some of 'em are getting married and everything, moving into the village, becoming part of life there, knit into families and finding jobs, but still remembering their friends at Skeff.
Some, the queerer among us, we've found folks we like, in that way. I'm luckiest, of course. I've found Max.
He's a good fellow, Max, a clever doctor, and the best-looking man I've ever met. Not everybody sees it, but I guess I'm glad about that. If everybody saw it, I probably wouldn't have a chance.
He could do so much better than me.
His face lights up when he sees me, though, and he's changing his life for me. And he doesn't care that I have a machine inside me, keeping me alive.
That makes me want to sing and dance, burst right out with it at the oddest moments. Mostly, I don't.
Today we'll be spending the night in his room. His landlady is starting to think she should charge extra rent because I stay at his so often, so he's figuring on moving soon. He's got a place all lined up. A small place, just outside of town, where we'll be private and not have to keep quiet. I'm gonna live with him, right out in the open, and dare anyone who says I shouldn't to say it to my face.
I'll grow a garden, and walk to work at the Skeff, or anywhere else I end up finding employment. It'll be a great life. I'll still be close enough to see all my old friends and family — because we are like a family now, all of us here, even when we don't all get along, though we usually do.
But I won't stay there. I don't need that bed now, and somebody else can use it. I'll stay with my Max. He's taking on more of the doctoring work, deserved a part in the practice, an actual chunk of it. So one day he took his heart in his hands and walked into the office and just said it: I want a part of this, because I'm more than earning it.
And the doc in charge took one look at him and said, Yep. Well, he said, "I'll discuss it with Dr. Peters first," but what he meant was, Yep, because that's what happened.
Max has his name on the plaque now and everything, a bona fide partner in the practice. With the extra money he earns — and he works damned hard for it, too, don't doubt that — he can have a little place of his own in the village and still send money to take care of his folks.
They're not quite as thrilled about me as Max would like, seeing as he thinks the sun comes out from behind clouds whenever I show up. They don't, but they haven't actually disowned him or said anything rude about me to my face, or even to his. The fact that they're not super happy is still better than my family, so they're all right in my book, and my guess is they'll come around to actually liking me in a few years time.
I'm a pretty likeable guy, once you get to know me. Or anyway, Max thinks so, and I do have a way with a vegetable garden, so there's that to recommend me. I'm pretty good on a harmonica, too. The biggest thing is that Max is happy these days, partly because of me, partly because he's being himself now. I think they'll understand that eventually.
The magicians and powerful folks up at the Skeff have always got something going on. It's more interesting than gossip newspapers, keeping up with it all.
One of the trees they got up there now is protected, magical and important, and it's growing real fast. Magicians come and go to check on it, and it's a real seven days' wonder round here. Some of us soldier boys have started going there to make wishes on the tree when the moon's out.
A couple guys have said they got their wishes. Me, I'm pretty happy the way things are right now. But I think I'll make a wish, too: a wish that my parents will want to see me again someday.
"Cliff," says my Max, coming up behind me, sounding surprised and pleased. "There you are! Come and dance with me, my dear."
He moves toward me, arms open to welcome me, his smile sweet and his eyes warm with all the feelings he has for me.
I hope that never changes. It ain't changing on my part.
He holds his hands out for me to take. "Come and dance."
I go to him. I dance.
The important folks round here, they've always got something going on. But the rest of us? We're doing pretty damned good, too.
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Thank you for reading! : - )
-Hollis