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HARRY WAS MORE THAN ready when they finally stopped for the night. They’d started out when the sun was barely cresting the eastern horizon and didn’t call it quits until it was threatening to disappear in the west. He wasn’t sure just how many more days were ahead of them, but they’d already been four days on the road. At least, they were back in Wisconsin.
They chose a clearing in the woods near a creek. Fin started a fire while Harry went for water for coffee. They set a couple snares and soon two rabbits were roasting over the flames.
Harry took the jar of green beans Fin offered him and broke the seal with his pocketknife. Dipping his fingers into the liquid, he pulled out a couple and popped them in his mouth. They were still crisp, not mushy like his mother’s. There was no one better than Margaret Johnson Barnes when it came to organizing a fundraiser, but the kitchen was not a place any of the family cared to see her. It was only thanks to her spinster sister that the Barnes men did not starve to death or die of food poisoning. Asking Aunt Caroline to come live with them was the best decision his parents ever made.
Fin tipped his head back and drank the liquid from his jar of tomatoes. “Mrs. Whoever-She-Was certainly knew her way around a kitchen.” He licked his lips, punctuating his satisfaction with a smack and a contented sigh.
Harry nodded, sucking each finger clean before wiping them on his pant leg. He poured himself a second cup of coffee and offered the pot to Fin. “Another?”
Fin held out his cup. “Thanks. I think the rabbits are done.”
Harry’s stomach rumbled in agreement. He handed Fin one of the spits and kept the other for himself. Pulling a leg from his dinner, he took a bite. “Mmmm.” Grease dripped down his chin. When the meat was gone, he sucked the bone clean.
How could he be so hungry at the end of a day spent riding on a wagon? No walking, marching, or running. No combat. Just sitting from dawn to dusk until his backside progressed from painful to numb. He opened a jar of applesauce, handed it to Fin, and opened one for himself. “Dessert.”
Fin raised his. “Here’s to finally getting home to our girls.”
“Here’s to sleeping in our own beds.”
They clinked their jars together and threw their heads back to drink, shaking the jars and slapping them on the bottom until every possible thick, sweet drop came loose, using their fingers as scoops when needed. They could have used their mess kits, but then they’d have to wash them.
Fin wiped his hands on his pant legs. “So much better than army slop.” He stretched out on his bedroll and stared up at the sky.
“To Mrs. Whoever-She-Was!” Harry flung his empty applesauce jar against a tree.
Fin propped himself up on one arm and used the other to throw his. “Mrs. Whoever-She-Was!” The jars exploded like a couple of hand grenades, and they laughed. “Damn.” Fin grimaced and grabbed his side.
“Still hurts?”
“Sometimes.” Fin rubbed where the surgeons had removed the shrapnel.
“Tough luck. Still better than this.” Harry turned his face to show off his bad side. The doctors told him the scar would fade some over time, but he didn’t see where it mattered. There would always be a puckered line from his forehead to jawline. The smile that once charmed every girl he met would always be crooked. And, unless he got himself a glass eye, there would always be an empty socket where his right eye should be.
Fin brushed him off. “Girls like the rugged type. The eye patch, especially. No more Pretty Boy Harry. They’ll all be swooning at the sight of the new Hero Harry.”
Harry huffed a breath. “More likely they’ll faint from fear. A few might even lose their lunch.” He gave the coffee pot a shake. “Enough for one more.”
“Go ahead. I’m done.” Fin stretched out slow and careful. He winced and rubbed his side.
“You should see Doc Peterson when we get home. Maybe he can do something for you.”
“Army surgeon said time might loosen things up a bit, but I’ll probably always feel it.”
Harry downed the last of the coffee in one big mouthful and spit. “God! I should have known better than to drink the bottom of the pot. Just hate to waste it when it’s been so long since we drank the real stuff.” He rubbed his tongue on his sleeve, trying to rid himself of the grit. Better sweaty trail dust than bitter coffee grounds.
Fin continued to massage his scar. “Lucky to be alive, the doctors said. Lucky to be alive. Red Cross ladies said so, too.”
Harry shot him a doubtful look and shook his head. “Told me the same thing, and they’d know, seeing as those uniforms made them women almost like doctors.”
“You can’t complain about their donuts, though. Best medicine I ever had.”
Harry had to agree with Fin there. He took their coffee cups and pot down to the river to rinse. By then the long shadows were gone, and the fire was the only light. He poked at the fading embers. When the end of his stick flared, he used it to light a cigarette. He studied the glowing red end as the sounds of the forest changed from the bird songs of evening to the skittering stealth of night critters. He jabbed the hot end of the stick into the ground.
“What day is it?” Fin asked after a long silence.
“Thursday. Why?” Harry kicked dirt over the smoldering remains of their campfire. It was time to get some sleep before it was morning and they had to do it all over again. They weren’t quite halfway by his best estimates.
“I wrote Lizzie we’d be home three days ago. She must be going out of her mind. Mom and Dad, too.”
“I’m sure Father’s turning the town upside-down looking for answers. Not that he’ll find any.”
“At least Alice will keep Lizzie calm. She’s one level-headed girl, your Alice.”
“Yeah. I suppose my parents would have told Alice I was coming home.”
“Wait.” Fin sat up too fast and grabbed his side. “Didn’t you tell her?”
He didn’t answer. His friend could never understand. Fin’s scars were all hidden, covered by his clothing.
“Harry, didn’t you tell Alice you were coming home? Does she even know you were injured?”
“Did I tell her about this?” He shouted, pressing his face close to Fin’s. “Is that what you’re asking? How does a man tell his girl he’s a monster? How does he tell his girl he has one eye and one gaping hole in his face—what’s left of his face?” Truthfully, the army surgeon sewed his eyelid shut, but it was all the same to him. And he was certain it would be all the same to Alice.
Fin placed what he probably thought was a comforting hand on Harry’s shoulder. “Alice loves you. She isn’t going to care about any of this.”
He shrugged him off. “She’ll say she doesn’t care, but she will. She won’t be able to help it, turning away whenever I’m around.”
“You’re wrong,” Fin murmured. “Not Alice.”
Harry ignored him and it wasn’t long before Fin’s snores drowned out the night sounds.
It would be hours before Harry slept. He kept playing his expected homecoming over and over in his head. His father would stop making eye contact, looking off somewhere in the distance when they spoke. His mother would cry every time he came into the room. But Jack—now, Jack would gloat in the knowledge he was no longer the one to be pitied. And Alice would call off the wedding.
When he finally slept, Harry’s dreams were of France and bombs and George, the lucky one, dead face down in the mud.