John agreed. He threw himself into his work with a renewed zeal, arriving early in the morning and staying late into the evening, buoyant atop his ledgers, correspondence, meetings, like a ship on a stormy sea. Not until he stepped out of the bank each evening into the suppertime-quiet street and started trudging west toward the sinking sun and the house on the hill would he realize how heavy his feet were, how his eyes burned.

When the letter from Chase’s commanding officer arrived, it was almost a relief. It said that Chase had done his duty bravely and had brought honor to himself and the Marine Corps. It said he had died when his company had led the attack on Belleau Wood. It said he was interred near the battle site along with the thousands of others who had died, and even now were dying as the battle for the woods continued. It conferred the heartfelt sympathy of the officer and the United States government.

“Well, there you have it,” John told Wilma, and tried to take her in his arms. She broke away, glaring at him, and ran upstairs. He heard a door slam. Jinny and Harry stood before him like limp dolls, Harry watching his foot kicking at the floor, Jinny gazing up at John with eyes like a rolling blue storm, her lower lip trembling. Under her gaze, his knees wobbled. He reached out tentatively and cupped his daughter’s little face in his big hand, watching her as a tear broke free of first one eye and then the other. None of them said a word. Finally, Jinny broke his gaze, and stepped into the parlor. John could hear her winding up the phonograph. He listened as the needle dropped and the popular martial style of tune filled the air.

Though you’re leaving me today never fear
In my thoughts you’ll always be ever near
There’s a tear in every eye as the boys go marching by

John crossed the room quickly, went out the front door, and stood on the porch, his arms folded across his chest. He tried to catch his breath. The song wafted out through the screens.

So your mother old and gray waits to hear
I will comfort her each day never fear
We all love you and you know
That we’re proud to see you go
But we’re going to miss you so over here…
When you’ve won your victory
God will bring you back to me
Au revoir but not good-bye, soldier boy.

A final flourish, and then, for a moment, the empty sound of the silent record rotating steadily round and round. Then nothing at all, just the sound of leaves rustling in the summer breeze, the Bear Trap babbling in the distance.