29. Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Twenty-Nine
“Ian!” Roger cried, holding his brother’s body in his lap. Despite being in an active battle, time stood still. The battlefield was silent—no bombs, no gunshots. Just stillness.
Ian was gone. No pulse. No breathing. His clear blue eyes looked into the heavens. His mouth was opened slightly, but he appeared to be at rest. There they were, amidst the chaos of war, and Ian had found escape. He was removed from the horror, resting in a place of peace.
But the one without rest or peace was Roger. He was alone—what he had feared since Ian enlisted. Now it was reality. No way existed to bring his brother back, and he no longer had a family. Roger sobbed harder, his teardrops touching Ian’s singed face.
“I trusted you,” a voice said.
Roger looked upward, tears blurring his vision.
He blinked twice, seeing his mother standing in front of them, her eyes cold and her lips pursed.
The muted explosions in the background were like a halo around her, but his mother looked nothing like the angel he had always seen her as.
When she was alive, her touch and voice had been gentle, and her presence brought joy.
But now, she only brought bitter disappointment.
Her eyebrows arched, her face pinched, and her fists clenched tightly at her sides.
No tears welled in her eyes—only a blazing anger that shone through.
“Mother.”
“Stop,” she snapped, holding up her hand. “Don’t address me as such.”
Roger held Ian’s body closer to his chest. “I didn’t mean for this to happen.”
“But you did,” Mama scowled. “You left him without guidance, you selfish boy. Now you must pay the price.”
Mother bent down, touching Ian’s face. She planted a kiss on his forehead, not bothering to look at Roger.
Roger’s body shook as he sobbed harder. Mother was right. It was his fault. Ian was dead because of him.
Mother looked him in the eyes. “Now you shall be alone.”
Roger gasped, sitting up straight in his bed.
His hands quivered and his breath quickened.
His lungs burned as he inhaled slowly, trying to slow his heart that pounded violently against his chest. After exhaling, he removed the covers from his body.
They clung to him, damp with sweat. He sighed, wiping his eyes with his hands.
Ian.
Even though he was gone, he was alive in Roger’s mind, haunting and torturing him. No matter how many times he said sorry, he couldn’t be forgiven for what he had done. He led Ian to his death. He abandoned him to fight in the war. Ian was his priority, and he had exchanged it to enlist.
Roger had not seen his mother since she passed two years before his enlistment, but their happy memories together had deteriorated as guilt and bitterness consumed him.
Some days he longed to hug his mother and beg for forgiveness, but he blocked the idea from his mind.
What mother would forgive her son for abandoning her baby boy?
Ian and Mother had been exceptionally close, even more so than she and Roger, but Ian was the youngest. And Roger was his protector.
He was supposed to look out for his brother, not let him scout yards away to be bombed by an enemy plane.
Now you shall be alone.
No matter how many times he apologized to his mother, he never had peace. That is why his mother haunted him, too. Those eyes, her bitterness, that scowl—it was just as painful as Ian’s death. He couldn’t bear it much longer.
A faint light filtered through the curtains of Roger’s bedroom. He sat up in bed and drew them open further, revealing the half-moon glowing softly in the night sky. He sighed. The moon never deserts the sun when it is its duty to shine at night. When darkness calls, it’s there to bring light.
His jaw tightened as he clenched his teeth. Why did everything have to remind him about his mistake?
He opened his chest of drawers, pulled out a pair of britches, tucked his nightshirt in, and grabbed his coat.
A nightly stroll would help clear his mind.
A nightly stroll might clear his mind. It was likely past three in the morning, though he had lost track of time after midnight.
He had been unable to sleep, unable to relax—that was until he finally dozed off to be haunted by his ghost of the past.
As he walked the path to the meadow, memories from that evening replayed in his mind.
His shoulder still ached from the tension that had built since Margaret’s betrayal.
Roger had trusted her, exposing himself in a way that now felt painfully vulnerable.
He had been like a transparent glass, an open book.
Margaret had taken possession of his greatest thoughts, his deepest regrets.
He had been exposed to her, and she took advantage of him.
The betrayal seeped deeper into Roger’s skin, past his heart, and into his soul.
The pain was almost unbearable; Margaret had been the only person he could confide in, the only one he felt secure enough to let into his life.
And as a result, she had found refuge in his heart, so far in that she couldn’t be let out.
The woman would be his greatest fall, and Roger knew that now.
Margaret had believed in him, but perhaps too much.
He hated to disappoint her, but she had to know how he truly felt.
She had built expectations up in her mind that he was a grand poet.
Perhaps he shouldn’t have given her the notebook. It was a great danger to her.
She believed Roger was deserving of forgiveness, but he knew that was not true. How could he be forgiven? He suffered a great punishment for what he did. But did he want relief? Did he want comfort?
Did he want forgiveness?
From God? Mother? Ian?
Impossible.
He was undeserving of it all. Roger deserved to belong to the darkness and its torments.
But the pain had become hard to bear. He wasn’t sure how much he could take.
If only he had died instead of Ian—or perhaps paid his price by being captured like many other men he fought with. He should have stayed in the asylum.
Dash Margaret for rescuing him from his punishments! He clenched his fists. Why did you have to come into my life, Margaret?
Roger looked into the sky to behold the serene half-moon and the twinkling stars.
He envied them all. They had a great purpose, one that everyone depended on.
Most of all, it never changed and never developed.
However, Roger had changed. He longed for his old self again—to see the beauty, to feel the peace.
But did he want that again? It wasn’t fair for him to move on after all the pain he caused. The life he stole. Ian was young and vibrant. He didn’t deserve to die.
Roger opened his coat pocket, pulling out a blank notebook Graydon had shipped to him.
Roger carried that notebook everywhere with him, hoping he’d find a moment to write, but he never did—except once.
It had since been left in his passenger seat, abandoned—its pages waiting for their writer to return. He opened the first page.
Sweet Margaret so divine, in moonlight’s tender glow,
A whispering breeze, my love starts to grow.
Her gaze, a gentle touch, upon my weary heart,
A dance of stars, a symphony to start.
In every word she speaks, a melody unfolds,
A sonnet of love, as timeless tales are told.
Tears filled Roger’s eyes. Sweet Margaret, what have you done to me? Roger looked up at the sky again. “Why should I crave Your forgiveness? I am undeserving of anything.” Roger traced his fingers over his half-written poem. “Including her.”
Roger flipped to a blank page and retrieved his pen.
He wasn’t focused on what he should write about.
He didn’t look for inspiration. He didn’t even care to rhyme.
He wrote how he felt, just as Margaret had told him to do.
He sighed heavily, touching his pen to paper. Then he let the words flow through him.
I am undeserving
I am broken
I am nothing
I have no purpose
But
He couldn’t finish the last sentence. Was there a “but” to this?
Roger dropped his pen, tears spilling uncontrollably down his face.
He wept with the same raw intensity as he had the day Ian died.
Each emotion and pang of pain from that day surged back.
Roger remembered their last conversation before his brother enlisted, where he had urged him to recognize his potential and to stay in school.
He had warned him against enlisting. He wanted Ian to make something of himself, but Roger hadn’t been there to stop him.
Fear thou not; for I am with thee: be not dismayed; for I am thy God.
Roger paused. It was as though the words were clear, plain as day.
An atmosphere of silence and peace came over him.
Those words. They were the ones his mother said on his first day attending William and Mary University.
It was her favorite verse from Isaiah. That memory, his mother’s kindness, Roger had forgotten it.
But after allowing the memory to enter his mind, he could feel God’s presence as though He were sitting next to him.
“I can’t do this alone. I-I need you, God. If You can hear me, I need You.”
Roger pressed his fist against his chest as he cried aloud with the most desperation. “Forgive me. I beg You. Help me be a better person, Lord . . . for her . . . for me . . . for You. Let me be of service to You alone.”
Roger’s pulse beat steadily, and the nerves that had plagued him ebbed away. He could feel it—an unfamiliar calm settling over him. For the first time in years, he experienced real, genuine peace.