This is War✔

Nine

Back at Milton Hall, Tom was having a fine time training with the pilots he commanded, getting to know his niece, and annoying his uptight brother: He continued to call him Tony and would tell Daisy stories about their childhood. For some unknown reason, Tony seemed to hate this more than anything else.

   One autumn afternoon, after Tom had just finished another story about the Brooks brothers' antics, Tony called him into his study.

   "Yes, brother dear?"

   "Why must you always tell her about the past and its problems?"

   "I wasn't aware that it was full of problems. I'm just remembering the good times when we were children."

   "Listen to me, Thomas, please." At that moment Tom saw behind the rigid, unfamiliar brother of his, a man. A man who was tired and broken and sad. Tom glimpsed that sliver of humanity in his brother and was instantly ready to listen.

   "Yes?"

   "Thomas, I have a complicated relationship with the past. I love the goodness that occurred in it, but I see many of the benefits as being outweighed by the bad events. What I mean to say is, you may think I'm too hard on Daisy, but that is only because I am trying to protect her from the harsh realities of life. You see, my wife, Elizabeth, died in childbirth with Daisy."

   "Does she know that?"

   "Yes, of course, she knows! What do you take me for, man, some kind of charlatan?! I only mean to say that I wish to keep her ignorant of many an injustice in the world that I have experienced! Is that too hard for you to understand?!"

   "I suppose not. I'll leave out the bad parts. Have a jolly good afternoon."

   And with that, Tom left his brother and pretended that Tony's little speech had not affected him. For the most part, it hadn't, but there was a small part of him that wondered what his brother had meant by, 'the trauma he had experienced'.

   Had their childhood really been that bad? They had grown up in the heart of London with all of the privilege that they could have ever wanted, but it seemed that it hadn't satisfied Tony's rich taste. Tom looked at his brother with disgust. Their parents had loved them and cared for them. Was their best not enough?

   These thoughts continued to plague him as he stepped out into the cool October air. He shivered.

   "It's cold out, sir. Do you want me to buy you a pint at the pub? And, just for clarification sir, I mean the kitchen. Everyone knows we're a good distance from civilization here."

   It was Sergeant O'Connor. He had a scarf and cap on and was rubbing his hands together. Tom smiled. "Why not?"

   In the kitchen, a haggard-looking woman with graying flame-colored hair was washing dishes. "Sir, this is my Auntie Mavis. She's a wonder, she is."

   His aunt turned toward them and asked sternly, "Now, you're not wastin' the good Group Captain's time, are you lad?"

   "No, Ma'am he's not. He just wanted to share a pint of something to warm us up."

   Mavis put her hands on her hips. "You know your mother would disapprove of this kind of behavior, Declan! It's what got your father thrown out o' the army during The Great War. It's what brought everlasting shame to your family!"

   Declan dismissed her hysteria with a wave of his hand. "That was Da. I'm my own man, I am. And don't you go writing letters to Ma again, Auntie."

   "I'll write all the letters I want, boy! You'll respect me and you'll respect your mother's wishes!" Then Declan's aunt stormed off, presumably to write an inflammatory letter or two.

   Sergeant O'Connor put his hands in his coat pockets and sighed. "I'm sorry I couldn't get you a drink, sir."

   "That's quite all right, O'Connor. All I want to know is this: what happened the last time she sent letters?"

   O'Connor began to shake with laughter. "Oh, that's a long story."

   "I have time."

   "Alright, sir." So he told his story to Tom. They seemed to have formed an instant connection in a single afternoon. Tom was glad he was friends with the other pilots he commanded. Well, that is, some of them.