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The
Homecoming by Pamela Patrick White
War is a young man’s game, it always has been. When the recruiting
sergeants arrived the young men marched away, fought, and died.
Some came home. It is easier to go when you are young. You have
no wife, no children, no real responsibility and the idea of war
is a great adventure. Life was slower then, and you married a young
girl with stars in her eyes.
When the enemy came this time there was no recruiting sergeant,
no drums or fifes. There was only the announcement in the church
that there was no left to defend the district; the young men were
all gone. You were not the teenage boy with visions of glory in
your eyes. You looked in the questioning eyes of your bride of several
years, pregnant now with your first child and wondered, if not you,
then who?
You ride off with the few men you can trust and head into dark
forest. The days become weeks, and through it all you are both the
hunter and the hunted. Weeks become months and you do not know if
your wife and child are even alive anymore. There are rumors of
farms being burned, women being killed, children being carried away.
There are fewer men than you started with a year before. Each missing
man is etched in your memory. You will not forget.
You wonder what your wife will see when she looks into your eyes.
Will she see the things you had to do and the lives you took? How
will your child see you? Will they see the fear, the blood, the
death? All of these thoughts race through your mind as you ride
the dark path to your home. Your wife greets you aiming a shotgun
at your chest, thinking you to be some renegade bent on plunder.
She looks in your eyes, drops the barrel of the gun and rushes into
the cabin. You swing your leg over the saddle, and are startled
to see her standing there behind you, holding your child. Both of
them look at you not as the soldier, but as husband and father.
You pick up your child, holding it high. The look tells you that
you are finally home.
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