| OCR Text |
Show CHAPTER TWO On the ride home, I sat in the back seat and let the wind riffle my hair and brush my hot cheeks. Mother drove and Father sat beside her. I held his uniform jacket and his heavy bag lay under my feet. I clutched the bright daffodils Father had bought for Mother, their fragrance mixing with the odors of tobacco and rubbing alcohol from my father's coat. My parents talked mostly about Paul who had died after Father left for the East. Mother told him about the letter from his CO., how it spoke of my uncle's noble death and great sacrifice. She told him of the long days when grandmother would not leave her room until Grandfather spoke to her sternly, telling her to remember her other children. She told him of the church service which had to be combined with one for James Freidrickson, another boy from our church who had died in the same battle. Father spoke little, only nodding, asking questions now and then. Mother seemed nervous, her hand trembling a bit on the steering wheel. Father had never seen her drive and I knew she wanted to impress him. He did not seem to notice. Occasionally he turned in his seat and smiled at me. I smiled back but could not yet speak to him. He was my father but remained linked in my mind with those other men at the train station. When we arrived home, all the relatives were there. My grandparents waited on the porch, Grandmother clinging to Grandfather's arm, he shading his eyes against the strong sun. Uncle John ran out to the car and then stood shyly as my father climbed out. Father shook his hand and then grabbed him. He |
