Letters From Home (29 page)

Just then, Morgan’s chair crackled and a wooden leg gave out. He plunged to the floor. His bandaged calf struck like a full-swung hammer, sending a wallop of pain through his body. He grabbed his leg, stifled expletives by grinding his teeth.

“Hey, you all right?”

Morgan glanced up at Frank’s concerned face. He was about to reply when his throat unleashed a peal of laughter. He tried to muscle it down, but like being tickled as a kid, the sound belted out against his will.

Frank’s brow creased. “They give you morphine today?”

Morgan attempted to speak, but all that came out was pent-up tension through a stream of chuckles that soon proved contagious. In no time, Frank joined his state of delirium with quiet laughter that steadily grew. They were like innocent kids who had gotten the slap-happy giggles. Yet they weren’t kids—not anymore. And their innocence had been stripped away, one layer after another. So how could they both laugh at a time like this?

The question was a sobering one. But no sooner did Morgan’s smile begin to fade than the answer surfaced loud and clear: Charlie wouldn’t have had it any other way.

“All right, boys.” Evelyn appeared at the foot of the bed. “Keep it down or we’re going to have to separate the both of ya.” A large box hoisted on her hip, she offered Morgan her free hand and helped him up. Once standing, he leaned on his crutch.

“Doesn’t look like you need much spirit lifting,” Evelyn said, “but I believe I have a delivery for one PFC Frank Dugan.” She reached in the box and handed over a medium-sized package. Frank eagerly ripped into the tan wrapping.

“Got one for you too, Private.” Evelyn displayed a similar parcel for Morgan. But still out of sorts, he didn’t want to get his hopes up for nothing.

“You sure it’s for me?”

“Sure as a juggler’s box. Unless there’s another Morgan McClain around here who’d like a package from Illinois.”

He answered quickly, “No, no, I’ll take it.”

“Thought so.” She smiled. “How about I leave it on your bed so you don’t hurt yourself on the way back?”

Morgan studied the prop under his arm and ruled her suggestion a wise one. When he agreed, she nodded in reply.

“Just try not to destroy anything else today, all right?” Evelyn winked before continuing her zigzag mail drops.

Morgan turned to Frank. “So whatcha got?”

“Let’s see here.” Frank emptied the box onto his lap and adjusted the contents to lie label side up. “We got peach slices, animal crackers, fruit cocktail. Gum, M&M’s, and a good ol’ box of Cracker Jack.” He cast Morgan a serious glance. “See now why I have to marry this girl the minute I get home?”

“They do say the way to a soldier’s heart is through his stomach, right?”

“Certainly doesn’t hurt.” Frank patted his lean belly. Then he shook his head and said, “Man, I can’t wait for you to meet her. The second you’re mustered out, you gotta come see us in New York.”

“You have my word.”

“Good. ‘Cause we’ll be expecting you.”

Morgan glimpsed the inked heart on Frank’s right arm edging out from his sleeve. “Only question—do I call her June, or
Joan?”

“Ah, shaddup.” Frank yanked his sleeve down to cover his tattoo. “I’m getting the damn thing fixed soon as I get outta here.”

Morgan shrugged. “Worst case, you could name your first kid Joan. Assuming it’s a girl.”

“A daughter?”
he said. “You trying to give me an early heart attack? I’m working on recovering, here.”

Morgan grinned, then remembered his awaiting delivery. “Listen, I’d better get back before I do fall down and break something else.”

Frank shook the Cracker Jack box, loosening the caramel kernels. “Want a handful ‘fore you go?”

“That’s okay. You enjoy.” Morgan adjusted his crutch. He tried to formulate a way to say thanks—for the details about Charlie, for the laughs, for his friendship. He settled on simply saying, “Happy new year, buddy.”

Frank paused, and responded with a nod. “Yeah, Mac. You too.”

Though Morgan’s return journey to his bed seemed farther than his initial trek, the idea of opening anything from Betty motivated him to charge on.

Dog tired, he collapsed on his mattress, his unmarred leg dangling off the side. He took only a moment to rest before seizing the package from the bottom edge of the bed. Confident his mother would forgive him, he indulged in a ruthless shredding of the wrapping.

He set the dark gray shoe box he’d unveiled onto his lap and lifted the lid. A soft bronze scarf filled the top half of the container. He wound the accessory around his hand like a boxer taping his fist. Then he buried his nose in the knitted wool and drank in its lavender fragrance.

With his free hand, he pulled a red-and-white checkered bundle from the box. Untying the knot released an avalanche of golden brown chocolate chip cookies. He snatched up two morsels. Just like he’d done as a kid, he gobbled them up by alternating bites between the chocolaty pair.

Blanketed in contentment, he reached into the shoe box and retrieved Betty’s envelope, the most precious part of the package. Already he knew he’d treasure this letter more than any other before it.

Dearest Morgan,

I cannot begin to express how terribly sorry I am to learn of your brother’s passing. Though I had the pleasure of meeting Charlie only briefly, the goodness of his character shone brightly through. His ability to make people smile, as well as his infectious zest for life, I will hold in my memory forever. Certainly even now, while in heaven, he is bringing immense happiness to those about him, your father and mother most of all.

I would not dare to pretend I fully understand the deep sorrow you must feel. I do, however, recall the sadness that lingered inside me after the passing of my beloved grandparents many years ago. Missing their company dearly, I once composed a poem intended to celebrate their lives rather than mourn their deaths. While I have never shared the verses before, I humbly offer them now, hoping they will provide you with even the smallest bit of ease.

Mountain peaks and valley lows,
O’er sandy shores and streams,
I scoured the earth in search of you,
Yet only in my dreams
Did you come forth, a soul at dawn
Stolen by a Thief,
Torrential tears, an endless storm,
My heart awashed in grief.

I cursed the Heav’ns for taking thee,
For plaguing me with pain,

Denied a bid for one more day

To dance amidst the rain.

Lo, from the dark your glow appeared,

A star blazed in the sky

Shining down your love to show,

I carried you inside.

I believe with all my heart that your bond remains as strong as ever. Through his memory and love, Charlie lives on within you. And you can rest knowing, dear Morgan, that in his final moment of life, you were there for him. You were the courageous brother he needed to lean on while his frightful scene transformed into one of peace. Perhaps more purposeful than your protecting him against the uncontrollable elements of war was your presence as he took his last breath, eased by the assurance that he was not alone. For this reason, I hope you release any thoughts of self-blame, instead finding solace from knowing how deeply you touched your brother’s life, just as you have mine.

Because of you, a door to new possibilities has opened. Heeding your advice, I at last reconciled with my father. Our emotional distance would have otherwise worsened, preventing revelations that have bettered our lives tenfold. Again, I am so grateful for your candidness, and for urging me to confront a situation that had weighed heavily on me for as long as I can remember. Thus, learning that I have provided you with comfort, support, and a place to call “home” brings me immeasurable joy, since I feel the same about you.

It seems incredible to me, how acquainted we have become almost entirely through a handful of pages. And already I cannot imagine my life without you in it. Although we are oceans apart, please know that you, too, Morgan, are not alone.

Well, I had better drop this in the mail, or the war might be over before it arrives. (Wouldn’t that be wondrous!) Please enjoy the holiday gifts I have enclosed. The scarf, knitted by a cherished elderly friend, I pass along to you now, hoping it will provide protection from the harsh winter and, perhaps, a gentle embrace while you heal from your tragic loss. The cookies, though surely not as good as your dear mother’s, are meant to remind you of the familiar comforts, and people like myself, awaiting your safe return in the new year.

I wish you love, peace, and a speedy recovery. Carrying you always in my thoughts.
Affectionately yours,
Betty

Morgan rested the letter on his lap. Taking in Betty’s words, his feelings of loss and self-doubt all shriveled into nonexistence. In their place came her reciprocated affection, her understanding, and more than anything, his longing to be with her.

He smiled, reviewing her message. He felt proud that he had affected her life in such a meaningful way. That she and her father had been reunited due in part to his intervention. That he, in fact, had done something right.

Hand beneath his head, he lay back on his pillow. In his mind, he saw his brother. Polished in dress uniform, saluting during reveille. Private Charles Patrick McClain: a man, and a hero.

Morgan felt a loosening in his chest.

As he continued to sort his thoughts, his thumb grazed the inch-long scar on his neck, a reminder of the day he’d rescued his brother as a child. It was the mark of a debt he never imagined settling, but painfully, he realized: He and Charlie at last were even.