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SOMEONE WAS SHAKING Harry, but he couldn’t see who. He scrambled away.
* * *
A BLINDING FLASH. SO much noise. Men and horses screaming. Something hit him in the face, throwing him into the air. Another flash. Another explosion shook the earth. Pain. His face burned. His cheeks. His eyes. Blood. Flesh rendered open. Smoke thick as night. “Fin!” He felt his way along the ground. Dirt thrown from craters rained down on his head. Desperation. A body. “Fin?” He flipped the man over. Felt death. ID tags. He reached inside the dead man’s shirt. “George?”
“Harry, we gotta go.”
“Fin?”
“Harry? Harry?”
* * *
“WAKE UP, HARRY!”
He grabbed Jack’s shirt collar. “It’s George, Fin! It’s George!”
“Wake up, Harry. You’re having a nightmare.”
Harry groaned and dropped back into the hay. The morning sun sliced through the open barn doors, searing straight into his throbbing brain. The fiery flash of a German missile couldn’t be any brighter, any more painful. He waited a moment, shaded his face with one hand, and turned to see Jack kneeling next to him.
“You were having a nightmare,” he repeated. “Who’s George? You were upset about someone named George.”
“No one.” Harry wiped his hands over his face. It was slick with sweat, reminding him of blood. He traced the scar running from his forehead, over the now empty eye socket, and down his cheek.
“You were calling for Fin and a man named George.”
He pushed Jack aside. He didn’t owe his brother, or anyone else, an explanation of the demons haunting his dreams at night.
“Not feeling so good?” Jack stood with the help of his pitchfork. “Imagine you have a little headache this morning.”
“I’m fine. Leave me alone.”
“Extra pitchfork in the corner.” Jack pointed.
“Seriously? You chose this life, not me.” Harry staggered to his feet. “Like I said, I’m selling this place as soon as Alice says I do and we’re moving to Minneapolis. Far from this backwater town. Far from you.”
“So, you’ve said.” Jack’s smirk made Harry’s blood boil.
“Listen you.” He shoved Jack against a post and held him there. “You stay away from Alice.”
Jack chuckled and pushed him aside. “I’d say that’s up to Alice, wouldn’t you?” He returned to his work.
Harry stared at his brother’s back. Jack never talked this way to him before. Jack never stood up to anyone. “Yeah, well . . .” He was at a loss for words. Another first. “We’ll see,” was all he came up with. He stormed out of the barn, stopped, and looked around. “Where’s my horse?”
“In the paddock with Sugar and Molasses. You didn’t think I was going to leave her standing in the middle of the yard all night, did you?”
“I didn’t know what to think.”
Jack laughed. “I’ll get her saddled for you. In the meantime, why don’t you go in and have some breakfast. Alice has a plate warming in the oven for you.” He leaned his pitchfork against the wall and disappeared out the rear barn door to where the horses grazed. “And while you’re in there, you might apologize for your behavior last night.”
Harry stopped at the well pump to wet his hair back and wash away the shadows of war. He brushed the hay from his clothes before knocking on the kitchen door.
“Come in, Harry.” Alice’s voice was sweet as the pitcher of maple syrup sitting on the table. “You don’t have to wait for me to open the door for you. Soon this will be your house as much as mine.” She took a plate of pancakes from the oven, using her apron to protect her hands. She set it before him. “Coffee?”
“Yes, please.” He took a long swallow, flinching from the scalding pain. “Hot.” He gasped. “But good. You sure are being nice to me after the way I acted last night. I half expected to be greeted with my breakfast thrown in my face. I would have deserved it, too.”
She refilled her own cup and sat down opposite him. Harry poured syrup until his plate was swimming in it and took a big bite. “So, you forgive me?”
“Of course, I forgive you. It was the alcohol talking, not you. I just wish you wouldn’t drink so much. You never used to. Was it the war, Harry? Is that where you learned to drink so much?”
“You know nothing about war.” His anger rose again. “Don’t pretend you do.”
But she was right. The drinking, the fighting, this was the new Harry. Strong Harry. Take charge Harry. Be a man, not a boy, Harry. Was this how things were going to be once they were married? Constant nagging about him doing what men do?
Her hand shook when she lifted her coffee cup to her lips. She knew she was overstepping, yet she did it anyway. Maybe she should be afraid of him. He’d let it go this time. He would make her see his plans were the right ones.
He took another bite and smiled. Alice’s shoulders relaxed and she returned his smile.
But then she took a deep breath and continued. “Must we move to Minneapolis? I do so love it here. Please.”
Alice jumped when he slammed his fork down onto the table. He wiped his napkin across his face, swallowed the last of his coffee in one scalding gulp, and jumped to his feet. Almost knocking his chair over in the process.
“There’s nothing to discuss. I suggest you start deciding what you’re bringing with and what can be sold with the house.”
Tears glistened in the corners of her eyes. Her chin quivered.
“Personally, I think you should sell it all.” He slammed the door behind him, snatched his horse’s reins from Jack, and mounted.
“How was your breakfast?” Again, the taunting smirk. “Your Alice is quite the cook. She is still your Alice, isn’t she?”
“Well, she isn’t yours!” Harry shouted over his shoulder, riding away.
He rode hard until he was out of sight of the Armstrong farm and at the edge of the woods east of town. He picked his way between the trees, stopping only once he was certain no one could see him. He patted down his pockets until he found his last cigarette, lit it, and sunk down against the closest oak.
After their argument at the lake, he’d sworn he wouldn’t let himself get so angry with her, yet here he’d lost his temper again the next morning. Father was right when he warned being a man didn’t include hitting women. There were a few times when Harry feared he might lose control.
Sometimes he wished he’d never joined the army. He wished he could wipe all memories of France from his brain. He wished George was still alive somewhere, kissing his first sweetheart, instead of blown to oblivion.
He took another long pull on his cigarette and blew the smoke into rings over his head. If wishes were pennies, he’d be rich.
“Why can’t she understand?” He picked up a stick, broke it in half out of sheer frustration, and threw the pieces into the brush. He had to get out of Pine Lake, away from all the people who knew him before and now either stared or turned away. There was a time when spending the rest of his life married to Alice, living in the same little town, was all he wanted. Not on the farm. He’d buy a house in town. And an automobile. No more horses. Yes, there was a time he could have happily stayed in Pine Lake for Alice.
But not now. He wanted, needed, the excitement and anonymity of the big city. Alice, more than anyone else, should understand without having to be told. He knew everything about her, but apparently, she knew nothing about what was important to him.
Understanding him would have made the move easier for her. Now she would have a difficult time of it. But that was her fault.
He stubbed out his cigarette in the dirt and flicked it aside. Now that the quarantine was over, he’d go to town and buy more, followed by a stop at Dooley’s. A bit of the hair of the dog should do the trick for his headache. But first, a stop at home to wash up and change his clothes.
* * *
THE LITTLE BELL OVER Erikson’s door jingled. Johnnie looked up from behind the counter. “Welcome home, Harry.” He stepped out and offered his hand. “I would have fought, too, but I wasn’t old enough to enlist on my own, and my parents wouldn’t sign the papers. I wanted more than anything to go over there and shoot some Germans. Was it fun? I bet it was the best time ever.”
“It wasn’t.” Harry made his way to the tobacco counter.
Johnnie followed, eager as a puppy. “Oh, come on, Harry. Tell me. How many did you shoot?”
“I don’t know.” He tried to ignore the boy’s prattling and concentrate on the selection of cigarettes in the showcase. The boy was a fool if he thought it was all fun and games over there.
“I bet it was more than anyone else. You always were the best at everything.”
Harry turned to him. “Imagine your best buddy, the one you shared a smoke with not two minutes ago, except now he’s sprawled on the ground and there’s more than one piece of him—not counting what’s splattered all over the front of you.” He paused to let it soak in.
The woman checking out the yard goods fled the store, her sobs cut short by the cheery little bell and the click of the door closing behind her.
“I wish I hadn’t gone.”
Johnnie shoulders slumped. “That hurt much?” He pointed at Harry’s face, his enthusiasm waning.
“Yeah, it does. Thank your parents for keeping you home.” He turned back to the cigarette case.
“I thought I heard your voice, Harry Barnes. It’s good to see you.” Ole Erikson heartily shook his hand.
Olga followed close behind. “Your mother must be so happy.”
Johnnie threw his arms around his mother and hugged her tight. “Thanks, Mom.”
“What’s this about?” She looked at her son and then Harry. “Get to work, you silly boy.” She laughed and sent Johnnie to sweep the storeroom.
Ole opened the cigarette case. “What can we get you today?”
Harry pointed. “One pack will do for now, and a box of matches.” He reached into his pocket. “How much do I owe you?”
“Not a penny,” Ole shook his head and held up a hand. “Consider it a welcome home gift. Whole town would have thrown you two a hero’s parade if not for the influenza. A simple pack of cigarettes seems the least we could do. Here, how about one for Fin, too.” He held out a second pack and box of matches.
“Thanks, but Fin doesn’t smoke. In fact, I think he was the only one in our entire unit who didn’t pick up the habit.”
“Good for him.” Olga made a face. “Nasty habit you boys brought back with you. But can’t say I blame you, with all you went through.”
“Mmmm.” Harry nodded. His headache returned with all the war talk. He needed that whiskey. “Thanks again, but next time I pay.” He waved and hurried out the door. The image of George’s death haunted him. He was no damned hero. None of them who survived were.
“Well, hello again, Harry.”
In his haste to get to Dooley’s, he’d almost knocked over Betty sweeping the hotel walk.
“Where are you off to in such a hurry?”
Harry looked over her shoulder. He was so close. Dooley’s was only a block away.
She put a hand to her mouth in mock horror. “Drinking so early in the day? What would Alice say?”
“You going to tell her?”
“Of course not. Your secret’s safe with me. A man should be allowed his vices.” She nodded her head toward the package in his hands. “Those, too.”
Why wasn’t Alice as understanding as Betty?
“You still helping your mother in the restaurant?”
“Only until I find myself a husband to set up housekeeping with. Then I’ll cook and clean only for him.”
“Yes, well, don’t let her work you too hard.” He tipped his hat and stepped around her.
“If you ever need someone to talk to, anytime, you know where to find me.” Betty waved and went inside.
Maybe he’d take her up on her offer.
Dooley’s Tavern was dark. Harry checked his watch. It was a little early. He tried the front door. It wasn’t locked.
“We’re closed.” Jim Dooley set the last bar stool down and wiped the seat.
Harry walked in and sat at the other end of the bar.
“I said, we’re closed.” He didn’t look up.
“I heard you the first time.” Harry tore open the pack of cigarettes and lit one.
“Hey, Harry. Didn’t know it was you.” Jim tucked the wet rag in his apron pocket and went behind the bar. “What’ll it be? A bit of the hair of the dog?” He held up a bottle of whiskey.
“Make it a double.” He downed it in one swallow, grimaced, and slammed the glass down on the bar. “Another.”
“Take it easy. It ain’t even noon yet.”
“Who do I look like? Your grandmother?”
“I gotta admit, you kinda do. I think it’s the eye patch.”
Harry laughed. “She was a tough old lady.”
“That she was.” Jim pointed at the cigarette pack. “You mind? I’m out.”
“Help yourself.” Harry tapped the pack against the bar and Jim pulled out a cigarette. He held the end to Harry’s and took a couple puffs.
“I gotta get a few things from the back. Keep an eye on the place, would ya?”
“Which one?” Harry joked.
Dooley stopped short then laughed. “The good one.”
“Sure thing. Need any help?”
“You just rest yourself. You look like shit. I think maybe you drink too much.”
“You sound like my girl.”
A man walked in the front door and headed for the bar.
“We’re closed.”
“What about him?” The man pointed at Harry.
Jim folded his arms across his chest and pulled himself up to full height. “I said, we’re closed.”
Harry had to admit, Jim could be an imposing guy when he wanted. Even he was a little afraid just then. The man definitely was.
“I’ll come back later.” He left.
“You do that,” Jim yelled after him. He looked at Harry. “You got this?”
“Sure do, boss.”