The English Descendants

23

Daisy's childhood ends, however, when the war in Veitnam demands more soldiers and the draft chooses Richard. It is a situation he cannot logic his way free from and, no matter how hard he tries, at only eighteen, to tell the draft board that he is the only young many caring for a household of women, including his great grandmother, he cannot wriggle his way out of the Army. Anne knows long before it comes that she will lose him as she lost her husband and her uncle. This is what war does in their family. And when Thomas appears to her as she sits by the fireside, she knows what news he brings. She stares at the flames, her face blank as tears stream down her cheeks.

"I am so sorry, Anne."

"I knew. I knew when his papers came from the draft board that this is how it would end. Grandma and I sat and talked about it for hours that night."

"That does not make this easy on either of us."

"My heart is in pieces, Thomas. Does it ever come back together? And how will I tell Mother? Grandmother? Daisy?"

"You will either say the words or wait for the men in uniform. They will come. And then you will not need to say anything at all."

She gestures for him to follow her and retreats to the attic, "It is quiet here. And I feel like I can think better."

"Anne, you are avoiding grief."

"I know. You are absolutely sure he is gone?"

"Yes. I promised myself I would never lie to Edith or to her descendents." He does not volunteer that he saw this death as well, a scared young man in the jungle faced by another scared young man with far more to fear from his own commanders than Richard had from his. While Richard hesitated, the other boy did not. It was fast. There was no time spent in lasting agony. His body was retrieved in haste and Thomas did not have time to mourn beside him. He also did not meet his ghost. Richard, he knew, went to rest quickly.

She sits down beside Enola's trunk, "Who were you, other than her first husband?

"You will have to ask Edith that question."

"There are beautiful things in this trunk. Gears that tick along with their own heartbeat; one that syncs with mine. A model of a digging machine that actually works. A music box. Moving things. Things you left behind."

"I did."

"My son leaves so little behind. He barely began to live." Anne stares at the floor.

Thomas sits beside her, "I hate being a portent of death. I wish that I had been able to meet every one of you in the land of the living. I would be century and one this year. I miss the beauty of life. This will sound terrible, given the circumsances, but I envy those who die at peace, no matter how short their ages. They go to their rest. I am still here."

"Is he at peace?"

"Yes. They all are. Eliot. Matthew. Richard."

Anne breaks down. For the second time, Thomas holds her while she grieves in private. She tells the family at breakfast what news Thomas brought, and it is not long before there are two men in uniform on their doorstep. This time, Anne does not faint. She is still and silent. May sits with Daisy, Maria Edith, and her own six year old granddaughter, Nellie. They collapse against her in a pile. Edith stays with Anne. There will be calls to make later to the rest of the family, but at this moment, she knows that Anne's heart is shattered in the same way hers was in 1944. She thanks the officers for coming, for making the journey through neighbourhoods that are rioting. While they grapple with the question of how to move forward, Detroit is burning.