whispered Anne softly.” I close the book and then

I close my eyes. It’s been two days since I’ve slept,

apart from a few hours on the train.

Get some sleep now, Muriel, says Mama.

Thank you, God, she breathes. Thank you, Muriel,

says Papa as I pass him in the doorway.

I Had My Rifle, Loaded / Ollie

I Had My Rifle, Loaded

Ollie

Crown him Lord of all, Emma sings through a

haze of tears, a triumphant song of quiet strength.

We’re standing together by the water. I have come to tell her

Grace got up and ate an egg; after Emma weeps and sings, we stay

to talk. Grace is like a sister to me, Emma says. Then she listens as I

tell her about the war; like Muriel, she doesn’t ask too many questions.

My memory of it clears in patches, thick fog rising off a field. But Emma,

why couldn’t I shoot him? That bothers me. I had my rifle, loaded with a

shell—after all my training, I couldn’t kill a man. She thinks about it.

You have been tenderhearted as long as I’ve known you. It’s not my

place to try to read your mind—but I don’t think it was only

fear. She dips her fingers in the creek, then lets them

graze my cheeks, trying to smooth away my

frown. Let love wash the war away.

A Small, Cold Stone / Muriel

A Small, Cold Stone

Muriel

You’ve been asleep for thirteen hours, Mama tells me.

I’ve been dreaming I was on a train, holding

a baby, singing “It’s a Long Way to Tipperary.”

(What a funny song to sing to a baby.) I dreamed

a soldier came and took the baby from me;

I’ll bring her right back, he said, but he

got off the train and it went on without them,

moving too fast for me to follow and get the baby back.

I blink, trying to remember both the dream

and what has happened since I got home.

Was the train in the dream going to Washington?

Who was sitting with me—Ruby? Was the baby

hers? No … someone’s little sister … Oh!

Grace … How is she? I ask. Mama looks tired,

but she smiles. Grace will be fine, Muriel.

Dr. Brower is as surprised as we are.

Three of his patients have died this week—they’ve canceled

the dance on Saturday, and won’t have school

for at least another week, to keep the flu from spreading.

Who is that, whistling at the door? Ollie

comes in, so happy I hardly recognize him.

I thought you’d never wake up, Muriel!

Grace is going to be okay! She is okay! And

Emma says you brought presents from Chicago.

I turn to find my suitcase—it’s true, I do have gifts

for everyone—but something catches at the edge