He passed the envelope across the glass counter. “It’s important you include this in the package. It’s more important than the boat.”

“You can depend on me.”

“I appreciate it, thank you.”

“Give my regards to your family. And if we don’t speak before, Merry Christmas.”

They shook hands and Kennet left the shop. Knowing he’d done all he could, but wishing he had something to show for it. Some visible proof of how doing what was best had changed him. Wasn’t there a prize for winning a moral victory?

This kind of war hurts everyone on the inside, he thought.

Both he and Minor were quiet on the drive home, each occupied with their own deep thoughts.

“Feeling any better?” Minor said as they neared the border of New York.

“No. But thank you for asking.”

Minor grinned and flicked on the car’s radio. Ray Noble and his orchestra, with Snooky Lanson singing “By the Light of the Silvery Moon.” The brothers sang Major’s call-and-response version, which was the only version as far as they were concerned.

“By the light,” Minor warbled.

Kennet strummed an imaginary ukulele and sang-spoke the punchline, “Not the dark but the light.”

Of the silvery moon.

(Not the sun but the moon.)

I want to spoon

(Not a fork but a spoon.)

To my honey, I’ll croon love’s tune…

They were crossing the Thousand Islands Bridge, back into the States. Far below, the waters of the St. Lawrence were chilblained and cut with small whitecaps. Where it iced up near the banks, the sun reflected back sharp, bouncing off the bare, fallow farmland. The grand hotels and resorts slept behind their shuttered windows. Leafless, skeleton tree trunks pointed up among the ruffled pines.

Allow us all the alliteration, Kennet thought, smiling over his beloved land and realizing while he didn’t feel terrific, he felt a hell of a lot better than the week before.

Honeymoon

(Not a brown sugar moon)

Keep on shining in June

(Not July but June)

The song abruptly cut out in the middle of a verse. An odd beat of dead air, then the station announcer broke in, his voice pitched high and urgent:

“We interrupt this broadcast to bring you this important bulletin. Flash. Washington. The White House announces Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor…”

November 1944

A Damn to Give

The countryside of Jefferson County shivered under a pale, watery sunshine as the three oldest Fiskare sons bombed along Route 12 in the family Ford. Riding shotgun, Kennet blew on his hands and rubbed them vigorously. Even with wool socks and gloves, his fingers and toes had been complaining all day.