North Road {HS}

6. Harry

Today is different.

There isn't soggy green khaki. No, there's only the spinning of a soft green skirt. And I think I'm more afraid than I would be had I endured another night of my dream.

I most definitely need a walk this morning.

The dull dreariness of the constant drizzle here is familiar. As I walk I try not to focus on the small corner of my mind that feels relief at not seeing the boy tonight. Instead I try to focus on the guilt. The magnitude of it all weighing me down. A weight for not having the dream. A weight for forgetting. A weight for not going home. A weight for what caused the dream in the first place. I feel as if I might be crushed under all of it.

But that's okay. Because there hasn't been a single day since he set foot in those trenches that I haven't felt like I was fighting a losing battle against a cinder block that was weighing down on my very soul. Because it fuels my anger. Because it keeps me from running home. Because more than anything I am a coward.

But, oh, that green dress. The way it moved in the firelight has begun to haunt me.

When did I become a sap?

Why do I feel disappointed that I have not come across the wearer of said dress on my walk this morning?

It is five in the morning on a Monday, Harry, she has a house to run. Why would she be out?

The way she runs the house is impressive I might say. Her dedication to her family and her mother and her family as a whole.

But her stubbornness, her bullheaded need to be in charge and stick her hands in all the problems of the world. It is delusional as well as irritating and I can hardly stand to be near her sometimes. Even in that pretty green dress.

Yes, she drives me mad and I shall not let her plague my mind as she has this morning. It's decided.

With my hands firmly in my pockets and my mind firmly set against distraction I make my way back to the house.

Pierce wasn't in the barn yet when I entered which didn't surprise me. It seemed like now that we were at the closest thing to a home we'd had in ages he was finally making up for all of those years of no real sleep we had in the trenches. I on the other hand didn't know if I would ever be able to sleep like a normal person again.

I busied myself with my chores and found some comfort in the familiar actions. They weren't all that different from those I had been expected to do growing up at home. A harsh creaking interrupted the quiet mutterings of the animals waking mixed with the sound of the rain dripping from the eves of the barn along with my thoughts. I didn't look up from my seat next to Marzipan the old goat I was milking.

Feet padded by me down the freshly swept corridor between the stalls toward the chicken coop at the far side of the barn. There was no green dress this morning just a grey frock brushing past me as she left without a sound.

That's how it should be.

-----

I slammed the book shut as my new employer approached.

"Good day of work, son. Did you do book work back home in Ireland?"

I rolled my eyes at the old man who's mustache grew in a bushy mess over his mouth, but he didn't seem phased.

"Yes, I worked the books in a factory back in England, but only for a few months before I joined up."

"Ah, yes, the blasted war," muttered the man scratching his mustache, "Well, son, the weeks up and you did well proving yourself. We'll take you on here at the hotel if you want to stay."

Of course I wanted to stay. I had no other way to support myself. I nodded my head and shook the man's hand,

"Sounds great."

"Welcome aboard, Harvey."

"Harry."

He coughed a quick sputtering cough before going back to playing with his mustache, "Ah, yes, of course, sorry, Harry."

I stood and grabbed my coat from the hook on the wall. It was old and starting to get a hole in one of the underarms but it would do. I shoved my cap on my head and let myself out with a nod of toward Mr. Henderson my boss. Outside a lanky figure who had been standing perched against the building fell in stride next to me.

"Beautiful day ain't it?" he remarked

I shrugged and examined the partly clouded sky, "S'alright."

Pierce began going on about his day at the shop and the Winslow's and anything that crossed his mind ask we walked.

"You ever wish you had actually become a doctor?" I asked during a rare breath on his part.

"I suppose," he shrugged, "But you know I couldn't've afforded the school anyways."

"Weren't you on a scholarship?"

"Yes, but it wasn't enough. Hence the decision to go to war. I guess I'm glad I did too. It would have been neat to be a doctor but I would still have been somewhere in Alberta not here. I like it here."

That was Pierce. Ever the optimist.

"Whaddabout you?" he asked.

"I guess the what-ifs are silly. Aren't they?" I mutter realizing now that maybe it wasn't just optimism for Pierce. The war had taken away our choices.

"They really are," he agreed chuckling, "but I wouldn't say the what-ares are so bad now."

No, I didn't feel it. It was optimism he had. And I envied him for it.
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I feel bad because none of these chapters are rivetingly exciting.