“On behalf of King George the Fifth and the British Army, I am honored to present to you the Victoria Cross, for acts of gallantry and extreme bravery performed under enemy fire by your son, James M. Sullivan.”

Mr. Sullivan took the medal. “Thank you, General Chamberlain.” He then handed the medal to his wife, who showed it to the twins.

After everyone had seen the medal, Charlie placed a small hand-carved wooden frame holding a painting he’d made of James against the base of the marble cross and recited two verses from the poem “For the Fallen” that Father Clark had helped him memorize for the occasion.

They went with songs to the battle, they were young,

Straight of limb, true of eye, steady and aglow.

They were staunch to the end against odds uncounted,

They fell with their faces to the foe.

They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old:

Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn.

At the going down of the sun and in the morning

We will remember them.

Following the recitation of the poem, Mr. Sullivan took out his tin whistle to play his eldest son’s favorite song. His breath, weakened by decades in the mines and tight with emotion, drew out shaky notes. When he could no longer play, George put a hand on his shoulder and sang. His voice wasn’t as deep or rich as James’s had been, and he missed the key on many notes, but the lyrics had never meant more to Thomas.

Oh, Danny Boy, the pipes, the pipes are calling.

From glen to glen and down the mountain side.

The summer’s gone and all the roses falling.

’Tis you, ’tis you must go, and I must bide.

Thomas and the others joined George for the remaining verses, and as the last mournful note echoed over the cliff, the four secret soldiers stepped up to the memorial and saluted their fallen brother before joining the Sullivans, Henry, and General Chamberlain as they made their way back down the path.

“Are you coming?” George asked when he noticed Thomas lingering by the cross.

“In a minute. There’s something I have to do.”

George nodded. “Take your time. We’ll wait for you at home.” He patted his leg for Max to follow. The terrier trotted after George, stopping several times to glance back at Thomas before disappearing below the hill’s slope.

After several minutes of standing before his brother’s memorial, uncertain what to say, Thomas removed his necklace and looped it over the top of the cross. The saints medals hung below the carved letters of James’s name. Tears blurred Thomas’s vision as he placed his hand on the marble. “I miss you, James. So much.” He ran his fingers over the inscription, pausing over the word brother. “I promise I’ll always remember you, and I know you’ll always watch over me.”

Giving the memorial a final salute, he had just turned to join his family and friends when a brisk wind swirled across the cliff top, nipping at his clothes and tousling his hair. With a smile, Thomas patted down his cowlicks and wiped away his tears.