| OCR Text |
Show 25-5 "Yes," Mother said biting off each word. "We do have a long tradition of warriors in our family. Which you, no doubt are eager to continue. Must I lose another brother in another war?" She continued to stare at him until he looked down at the floor. "Katherine, that's hardly fair. What if John . . . ?" "What if he wants to fight, Reverend Bingham?" Mother walked over to John and put an arm around him. "What if the monument so inspires John that the next time we have a war, he rushes to sign up and goes off, like Paul did?" Mother seemed to hug John to her. "Wouldn't the only real monument, the only memorial worthy of my brother's death, be that no more young brothers have to die like Paul did?" No one spoke for a moment. The light from the fire flickered and the shadows of the group around the fire moved in ghostly patterns on the wall and the curtains. The only sound for a moment was the popping of the fire. I hardly dared breathe. Then Reverend Bingham sighed. "Well, since the only solution that would satisfy you is an end to war, I don't see what we can do. So long as people live, we'll have wars and young men like your brother will have to go off and die. And we at home will have only memories. At least your memory is of a hero, who died saving another ..." "My brother died of measles. In a hospital bed." Mother's voice was hard and angry. "He saved no one's life. He did not die as a hero." John drew away from her as her arm fell to her side. Then she covered her mouth with her hand. John turned slowly to look at her. Mother nodded. Father leaned forward, covering his face with his hands. Mother spoke again, so quietly I couldn't hear. She reached out to John but he backed away. |
