Fare Thee Well (Folk Stories #4: Sweet William's Ghost)

Give Back To Me That Plighted Troth

William

Mark sits alone in his room.

He hasn't changed, except for the new expression of wistfulness on his face as he looks out of the window at the sky. Perhaps he thinks if he stares long enough at the stars, he'll see me. Maybe he's right. Somewhere up there is my body.

"Mark," I say, quietly enough that he almost doesn't hear. He's got a book in front of him; he's not reading it as such, but it distracts him enough that he doesn't recognise my voice.

"Dad?" he says, looking around. "John?"

"Neither," I say, stepping out of the shadows. "It's me."

I've waited such a long time to see that expression on his face: joy, unrestrained despite his evident confusion. At last he remembers how to speak. "William. You were – you're back from the war?"

"It's me," I say. "I've come to ask you a favour."

"Anything."

"Break off our engagement."

Mark is silent. "This is because of the war, isn't it," he says, in a way that isn't really a question. "Where are they sending you this time? Off-planet again? Do they think you're going to come back?"

"Mark," I begin.

"No. That's not good enough. You've been gone for months, and you appear here out of nowhere – I've heard no reports of ships landing, nothing to suggest that any of the soldiers were coming back. Last I heard, the closest detachment was on the ISS, and even that was only a temporary stop to collect weapons. Now all you want is for me to break my promise, and that's not going to happen."

It's hard not to be glad that he objects so vehemently. When I left for the war, our engagement was my only consolation, the knowledge that there was somebody who loved me enough to wait keeping me going through those long nights after take-off. If he'd agreed too readily, I'd be heartbroken.

And yet I need him to break my heart. For his own sake. "I wouldn't ask this of you if it wasn't important. Please."

"Have you met someone? Some pilot, up there with the army? Or maybe a nice off-worlder?"

"Don't be absurd," I tell him. "There's never been anyone else, and there never will be. Besides, if that were the case, do you think I'd come here to tell you?"

He scowls and looks back down at his book, but I can tell he isn't taking in a word. He turns a page absently and then turns it back, clearly having lost his place. "You could have sent word ahead."

"I could. But I didn't."

"John left, you know, a week or two ago. But I don't think they'll take him. His eyesight's too bad. Almost like mine."

"We're not desperate enough to need your brother yet. He'll be home soon enough."

Mark nods. "I thought you were him," he says. "When you spoke. I don't know why he hasn't come back yet."

My lover's one of the few not conscripted, his health weak and his politics opposed to the war. Some folk still try to shame him, but when all their sons are blasted away from Earth – most of them never to come back, alive or dead – they wish a few more of them had been cowards. There's no glory in a letter that says your son's body was floated because it was a dead weight to bring back and the shuttle couldn't hold it. There's no glory in any of this, and people never realise until afterwards.

"He'll be back soon, I promise." I want to reach out to him, to comfort him, and I can't. "Mark. Please. Give me back the medallion I gave you when we got engaged, and I'll not say more about it."

His hand went to his chest. He still wore it, then – though I doubted his hands ran across its surface as much as mine had as I sought solace in prayers. I'd long given up that practice. "No," he says.

"Why not?"

"Why should I? Why are you trying to break off the engagement?"

"Because I have to." I can't explain. It'll make things worse. Mark, please."

He sighs. His shoulders sag, and he looks a decade older, his book falling unnoticed to the floor. He doesn't remove the medallion from around his neck, but he says, "I'll give it to you on one condition."

"What's that?"

"Take me back to your father's house, where we used to meet. One last time. I know you wouldn't be asking this if you were planning to come back, so give me this one last visit. The gardens and the library – I just want to see them again. With you."

Do I have the power to get there, or will my strength fade as soon as we leave Mark's room? I hesitate, and then think again of the medallion. "We'll go to my father's house," I say. "And then you'll give me the medallion."