Honey Suckle

Part 21

I knew that Christopher wasn't okay. I knew that deep down inside him was a sadness that he was trying to hide from the world. I wasn't very good at comforting people, but Elizabeth was. Elizabeth was always the one to cheer someone up when they are down, and I had never been very good at that. 

I knew that when Elizabeth left she would be gone for months at time, and she wouldn't be around most of the time so I knew that I would have to make sure Christopher was okay. I knew I'd have calm him down when he was having episodes, that I would comfort him when the truth came out about Vincent DeRose's death, and I would have to make sure he was eating when he needed to be.

For the last few days that Elizabeth was still at home the three of us sat in the backyard, Elizabeth was sitting in grass in front of me, Christopher was beside me, and I was behind a canvas painting her. Elizabeth was wearing a white skirt, a frilly blouse, and she was wearing the pin I'd given to her. 

Christopher was seated next to me, and he was passing me paints when I asked him to. That morning Christopher had made us all a breakfast of bacon, eggs, and French toast.

The war was getting bad and they were recruiting more and more soldiers day by day, and they needed help more then ever. I was starting to understand why Elizabeth was doing what she was doing. I knew that she was doing what she needed to do. She wanted to make a contribution to our country, and every little bit was helping. I was wishing that her contribution didn't have to be made from the inside. I wished that she could help from home, but at home there was nothing for her to do.

As I sat there painting Elizabeth tears began to flow down my face because I knew there was no other way, but I wanted her to stay. Elizabeth got up from the grass and came over, and pulled me into her arms. I could tell Elizabeth was trying not to cry, and I could tell she was scared of what was to come. "Helen, I know. I know. I'm scared too." She said trying to comfort me.

Christopher began to cry too, and wiped his tears on his sleeve. "No. Not you too." She said. He voice was calm and soft. It was if she was talking to wounded baby deer.

"Please don't die." He said.

She assured us that she would do her best to stay healthy at war, and in mistral training. I prayed  silently to myself that whatever happened to make Christopher lose his arm wouldn't happen to her. We went inside for a bit and just talked about random things, and we avoided the sensitive subjects. When we went out side later in the afternoon my painting was dry and on the painted grass was imprints of my tears that was almost unnoticeable.

Please share your thoughts from this chapter. I want to know what you think xxx