Contents (45)
- DULCE ET DECORUM EST
- ONE
- TWO
- THREE
- FOUR
- FIVE
- SIX
- SEVEN
- EIGHT
- NINE
- TEN
- ELEVEN
- TWELVE
- THIRTEEN
- FOURTEEN
- FIFTEEN
- SIXTEEN
- SEVENTEEN
- EIGHTEEN
- NINETEEN
- TWENTY
- TWENTY-ONE
- TWENTY-TWO
- TWENTY-THREE
- TWENTY-FOUR
- TWENTY-FIVE
- TWENTY-SIX
- TWENTY-SEVEN
- TWENTY-EIGHT
- TWENTY-NINE
- THIRTY
- THIRTY-ONE
- THIRTY-TWO
- THIRTY-THREE
- THIRTY-FOUR
- THIRTY-FIVE
- THIRTY-SIX
- THIRTY-SEVEN
- THIRTY-EIGHT
- THIRTY-NINE
- FORTY
- EPILOGUE
- AUTHOR’S NOTE
- ABOUT THE AUTHOR
- CONTENTS
George held up his hands in surrender. “Sorry, Mouse.”
Clutching the paper, Charlie slumped down in a chair at the table and stared at the ruined sketch. “No, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap at you like that. It’s not your fault.”
George and Thomas pulled up chairs next to him. “What’s going on, Mouse?” George asked. “Who’s the boy in the sketch?”
Charlie placed the drawing on the table. “It’s supposed to be my brother, Henry, but I can’t get it right.”
“What’s wrong with it?” George asked.
“It doesn’t look like him.”
Thomas grabbed two more tin cups and poured tea. “You’ll get it right, Mouse. You’re an amazing artist. You did a great job with the sketches of my brother.”
“But I had your photograph of James to look at.”
“Do you have a photograph of Henry you can use?” George asked.
Charlie shook his head. “My father never had any taken.”
Thomas placed a cup in front of Charlie. “That’ll make it harder, but you’ll get it right. It’s just going to take some time.”
Charlie pushed the cup away. “You don’t understand. I don’t have any more time. I should have drawn him as soon as I got here, but thinking about him was too hard.” Charlie grabbed the sketch and tore it in half. “I waited too long.”
“Nonsense,” George said. He fetched Charlie’s notebook and pencil from his bunk and placed them on the table. “You can still draw him.”
Charlie slammed his fist on the table, snapping the pencil. “I’ve tried, but it’s too late!” He dropped his head into his folded arms on top of the notebook. “I’ve already forgotten what he looks like.”
Listening to Charlie, Thomas stared into his cup of pale tea. He knew how painful it was when the memory of someone you lost started to fade. It had happened to him shortly after his grandad died. One day he could remember the sound of his grandad’s voice, and the next it was gone. It was the same with James. A week after James enlisted, Thomas could no longer recall how his brother’s laugh sounded when Thomas told him a corny joke. It was like losing them twice. “I’m sorry.”
“Me too, Mouse,” George said, patting Charlie on the back.
Charlie looked up. A tear slid down his cheek. “I knew when I left it would happen someday. I just never thought it would happen so soon.”
Thomas pushed back from the table and walked over to his bunk. A few seconds later he returned with the unused pencil from his kit bag. “Talking to you and George about my brother helped me remember things about him I thought I’d forgotten.” He placed the pencil on Charlie’s notebook. “Tell us about Henry.”
TWENTY-TWO
AFTER THEIR LATEST argument in the dugout, George and Frederick ignored each other’s existence, except to pass filled sandbags and timber beams back and forth. When Thomas, George, and Charlie snuck out to search for James, Frederick watched them leave and was always awake when they returned hours later from another fruitless search, but he kept his lectures to himself.