The sun makes shifting patterns through the branches onto an empty bench. White roses glow in the shadows behind and light glints on wet paving stones. He commits it to film, thinking as he does so of the alchemy of chemistry and light and its capacity to capture an instant, a chemical reaction making the scene in front of him forevermore. The face of Daniel East is still in his pocket. What reaction will that caught instant set off? Will it trigger happiness or sadness? He means to develop the film when he gets the chance. Then, when he sees the wreath weaver’s face again, when he has had the chance to test it against his memory of David West’s photo, he will make a decision whether to write to Rachel. His shutter clicks on the shadows of the beech trees, on the bark of the silver birch, and on the two men at the bottom of the garden playing cards across a table. He means to give Mr. and Mrs. Reeth a peaceful forevermore image that might perhaps echo something in their son’s last letter, that might perhaps bring them some peace. Harry is struck by both the permanence and the fragility of the scene in front of him.

Standing next to Francis on the station platform, he had been very conscious of the red ribbon around his neck. Did he really have cause to feel guilty? It was hardly a betrayal of his brother. He can still remember the texture of it, the feel of her placing it in his hand. He can still see Edie pulling it over her own head, smiling through her hair. “For luck,” she said. Would it have changed Francis’s luck if he had passed it to his brother that day? Harry isn’t sure that he believes in luck either. He wonders where the ribbon is now. Has it too survived somewhere?

A man is raking the gravel paths. He touches his hat to Harry as he passes. A gramophone is playing inside the white house. The windows are open and a curtain billows out. The carillon bells are ringing. He wishes that he could send it all to Mr. and Mrs. Reeth.

Chapter Thirty-Seven: Harry

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Harry

Poperinghe station, September 1917

FRANNIE!”

Harry saw his brother from across the station. He had clambered up on top of a wagon and was angling his lens down at the men on the platform. There was a great crowd of them, all flourishing their leave papers at Francis’s camera. He put his thumb up and the crowd erupted into a cheer.

“He wants to be careful with that. He’s going to find himself in a bother.” Pembridge was leaning against a railing. His grin spread as Harry turned toward him.

“Jack! Bloody hell, it’s good to see you.” He took Pembridge’s extended arm and grabbed him into a hug.