The loss goes through Wendy again, like a bolt shot from a crossbow. Will she ever get her baby brother back? If she’d never shouted at him, if she’d found a way to be kind, would they be able to speak and laugh now as they did in the old days? Or would the war always be an un-healing wound inside him, regardless of her actions?

Wendy steels herself and turns her attention to Ned even as Michael remains an ache like a bruise at the back of her mind. “I hope you aren’t holding back on my account.” Wendy indicates Michael’s cigarette. She tries to make her tone light, breezy, agreeable. Isn’t that what women should be? Now that they are as alone as they are going to be, a rill of nerves courses through her. Sooner or later, despite her best intentions, she’s bound to say the wrong thing.

“I haven’t touched a cigarette since the war.”

She shouldn’t be surprised, given Ned’s age, but somehow she is. He appears the complete opposite of her brother. Shy, yes. Frightened, but not by his past, rather by what stands right in front of him. She can’t imagine him holding a gun, or crawling through mud. Perhaps he was an officer, commanding from well behind the lines? Resentment bubbles up, thinking of Michael in danger and Ned safe in some bunker or camp.

“I thought all soldiers smoked.” The words tumble out of her mouth before she can stop them, desperate to fill the silence.

Surprise shows in Ned’s expression, but to Wendy’s relief, he doesn’t seem to take offense at her words. It was unfair of her to judge him, even in her mind, without knowing anything about him.

“I take a pipe very occasionally, but never cigarettes. It reminds me of too much.”

Now it is Wendy’s turn for surprise. She looks to her brother again. Michael remains lost in his own thoughts, showing no interest in them. A cloud of smoke hangs around him, so she sees him through a haze, both older and younger than his actual age.

“Then why would…” she lets the words trail.

Ned’s reply is soft, compassion in his voice that startles her all over again.

“Perhaps that is precisely why your brother favors cigarettes. Many men don’t want to forget.”

Wendy turns to stare at him, this man who will be her husband. Her mouth opens slightly, but she’s at a loss for words. Under her attention, Ned’s cheeks color. He looks down, coughing slightly. Has she overstepped her bounds, or has he? Or are they both equally foolish and awkward? Silence stretches until it’s almost painful. Wendy reaches for something to say, anything to put them back on safe footing, but Ned saves her, falling back on bland formality.