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Miranda joins the fight. bikesrepublic.com
Sheila jumped on the back of my bike and we sped off to the house, where they were, the survivors. I couldn’t explain such traumatic details in a corridor. The house was only minutes away and I noticed what a beautiful structure it was as we drove up, brown brick and three stories, with a turret on one side, obviously the home of someone very important.
Another surprise awaited us as we entered. The same woman greeted us at the door. She was in her mid-fifties. But now standing beside her was her husband, I assumed, dressed in a fine, silk kimono, much like the one’s I’d found long ago in my mansion. Both had the broadest smiles on their faces.
“So we finally meet” he said. “Jim told us so much about you. I’m just sorry it had to be in such a time of sadness and war.
“Please come in and sit at our dining table. Myra is preparing dinner for us and the children have been bathed and are getting dressed” the woman broke in. “Miranda is such a lovely girl. And I almost swooned when I heard the name ‘Sophie’, returned to us by a miracle, from the ashes.”
“But how’s this?” I had to say. “Who are you?”
“I didn’t know who you were when you first came in. And John, my husband, was taking his siesta. It was only after you left that Miranda mentioned the children’s names and then we knew, our beautiful granddaughter was safe in our home. We’re Jim’s parents. This is the house he grew up in.”
I remembered now that Jim once mentioned he grew up in Montreal. But in all our long conversations he told me little else of his past. I think it was because I rarely mentioned my own childhood, and out of delicacy he avoided that topic.
Sheila couldn’t contain herself.
“Is Louie upstairs? Can I see him?”
“Yes darling, go to him.”
Sheila flew up the stairs. Then John addressed me:
“I hear you’re quite the classical scholar. I share the same passion. Would you come and talk with me in my library?”
I walked off with him, a little stunned at this revelation. But it was good news, great news, that the children would have a safe place to stay, with Myra, Miranda and Jane when she recuperated.
As I stared at the ceiling-high shelves of old volumes and glanced at their titles, I saw that he had a fine collection, and the thought struck me how strange it was that I lost a mansion and found a similar one just a few days later. I complimented him on his collection.
Although I had a hundred other thoughts and emotions flowing through my head at that hour, on far more important issues, I noticed some familiar editions of authors in Latin. I took a ‘Cicero’ from the shelf and asked if he’d studied.
“Yes I did, at Yale, many years ago. When Jim told me your pursuits I knew we’d hit it off just fine. Besides, I’ve read your books, like all the world, and found the prose quite refined, far above the usual grade. I think you elevated many of your readers to a higher standard, and that’s an admirable accomplishment these days.”
I noticed he had a table of some red hardwood, much like mine, and on it a pipe laying in an ashtray, long unused. I asked if he smoked.
“I did for many years. But pipe tobacco is gone with the wind since the pandemic. Though I heard that some was to be planted north of lake Erie where it used to grow. But then the war came along.”
“I think I may be able to help you out in that department. I used to relish it too in a study much like this, and have a good supply in a bunker, were I lived. If I get back there, I’ll courier you a supply, enough for years, an excellent assortment.”
“Why that’s the best news I’ve heard in years, besides the arrival of our grandchildren. Let’s see what the women are up to.”
As we went back to the dining room it amazed me how the human mind could devolve to such trifles in the midst of such crises and losses. I could imagine planes overhead dropping bombs, while we’d be in his library marveling together at the embossed binding of some rare book and the three-century-old craftsmanship that went into it. But one can’t focus constantly on tragedies. The mind seeks relief in distractions, as La Rochefoucauld said:
“Death and the sun are the two things we cannot look at with a steady eye.”
The table was another fine sight for sore eyes. Our matron, Dora, sat at one end with Sophie in her lap. Next to her Sheila was holding and hugging Louie, smothering him in kisses. Miranda held Myra’s baby, while the elder boy sat next to Jeff, all the children glowing and happy from their first bath in many days. They were dressed in fresh clothes but they were all boy’s outfits. Dora had kept all of Jim’s clothes from his infancy. Sophie didn’t seem to mind, so caressed, and now the dinner was brought out, a roast of beef and potatoes and gravy, their savor filling the air and filling our plates. These parents of Jim, I realized, must have some high status in the new order of things to merit this feast, under a beautiful chandelier. It was impolite to ask, but it made me wonder how they merited this rare privilege.
We were all too busy eating to talk. Dora was lovingly spooning bites into Sophie’s mouth and Sheila doing the same with Louie. John remarked that this table had never seen such a company in ten years and it was high time that happiness had returned in such abundance. Then Jim burst into the room, out of breath.
“Jane will be fine” he announced. “She’s sleeping now and can be brought here tomorrow. Miranda, you did a perfect job with her burns. How did you know?
“Jane told me to read everything about burns on the laptop we kept in the bunker. And I did. We had the ointments too.”
Jim thanked her again and said she’d make a great nurse. He lifted Sophie out of his mother's arms and kissed her, then the same to Louie's outstretched arms. He sat down with us for coffee, wanting the details, Sheila too, just as eager, about what happened.
I didn’t want to ruin the cheer at the table. Dora was in a fine glow. So I gave them a stark outline of events. “The planes came out of nowhere and dropped powerful incendiary bombs. One was enough to flatten a house. They hit Joe’s home first, but Jeff was lucky to walk to Myra’s just minutes earlier, to help milk her two cows. They hit our house right after, and the barn, where Nancy was.
“But Miranda had time to take Sophie and run to our bunker, Jane following with the other two. Poor Helen was clinging to her mother’s back, as she was the strongest child, her arms around Jane’s neck as they ran, and Louie was in Jane’s arms. The bomb hit just as Jane reached the woods. Helen was completely burned, but her body saved her mother’s life, like a shield. Miranda ran back and pulled Louie and Jane to the safety of the bunker where they hid until I arrived with Greg, two days later.”
Dora was now sobbing, while the others were looking down dismally at the tablecloth, even the children hushed. I told them that if the planes had come just minutes earlier, everyone would be dead and it was lucky they didn’t see Myra out in her yard and bomb it, as they circled around.
This brought a modicum of relief and silence to the adults, until Sophie added: “When will I see my sister again? Is she in heaven"?
Dora had to pass her to Myra and leave abruptly. But John graciously said: “All of you are family now and welcome to stay. We have plenty of spare rooms and this house hasn’t heard the sound of a child’s voice in many years. They light it up with pure joy and we’d be delighted, blessed, to help raise them as long as we live".
I thanked John for such generosity and asked if they could look after Louie, as Sheila and I had to meet with the general in the morning and we might be gone a few days.
“Sophie and Louie are sister and brother in my eyes, and to my wife. They’re both our grandchildren and should grow up together and never be apart.”
They were together that night, kicking and squirming between Sheila and me since Jane wasn’t here and we were the closest surrogates. But we didn’t mind. Their antics and bathroom needs and bedtime story eased Sheila’s mind from weightier matters, on which she’d been dwelling too long, as usual. It also relieved her guilt a little of abandoning Louie.
After they finally fell asleep, she whispered to me a promise that no matter what, she was going to spend much more time with these two adorable children from now on, every day and evening she could. She went so far as to say that when the war was won she’d renounce all scientific pursuits and be a full-time mom. I thought this was going a bit far but said nothing, so as not to destroy the moment of an angelic pledge.
But I also sensed that there was something else preying on her soul. Sophie was the child of Nancy and Jim, in our stead. She was a little likeness of Nancy, not just in looks but in expressions, that determined, stubborn pout when denied something, funny on a four-year-old, and her tireless efforts to get what she wanted. Louie was more sedate and (perhaps it was my vain imagination) more intellectual, like me. He listened closely when I read or told them stories and asked questions, while Sophie would wriggle around. But now with Nancy gone I saw that Sheila felt a secret urge, an obligation to raise this child. It was a complicated trust that had fallen to her from one deceased, like an unexpected clause in a final will that has to be fulfilled, however much it alters your life. And it had to be met completely, with pure love.
But while I’m on the subject of ‘promises and vows,’ one other came up at the dinner table that night, which put me in as much awkward confusion as Sheila felt later on. It was a moral conundrum. But I couldn’t renege, whatever the inconveniences, the appearance of bad judgement in front of my soldiers, and even the dangers involved.
Miranda called her card, and when I told the table I was leaving in the morning with Sheila to see the general and might be gone several days, Miranda stood up and spoke out loudly:
“You promised that you would never leave me again, that I would always be with you, forever. This afternoon you already left me for three hours. But I’m holding you to your pledge. You have to take me with you wherever you go. I feel safe with you. And after all I’ve been through, you owe this to me. I don’t care if you’re going back to the bikers in the mountains. I’m going with you. I can fight.”
The rest were surprised at her declaration. I was shocked. I mused in confused silence at this proposition with all sorts of strange possibilities running through my head. But she was right. I did promise. I could only try to dissuade her from taking me up on it. But it was her choice.
“It’s cold up in the mountains and we sleep right on the ground, on bedrolls, near a fire, just a blanket and our jackets for warmth. The food isn’t that good, army packets. And most, or rather all the men you’d be around, the soldiers and bikers, are rough around the edges. You met Stalk. Just ask Myra. Wouldn’t you rather be here in this nice home with the children, sleeping on a bed and well fed?”
She had just turned fifteen and now had a mind of her own, full of hormones. I could see a change in her even over the last few months, probably from this last traumatic ordeal. She looked older and inches taller. Now she had a wilfulness, perhaps a strength, which I never saw before.
Staring me straight in the face she replied:
“I’m going with you and you can teach me to ride. I’m old enough. I’m not a babysitter anymore. I know it will be rough. I’m ready. I want a gun.”
I looked down and shook my head.
“Alright. I’ll take you. But you have to follow orders and dress appropriately. You’re not getting any motorcycle or gun till you know how to use them. I’ll make sure the men in camp treat you right and take care of you. I’m sure, if you can’t ride with me, there will be plenty of volunteers to take you as a second, like today, riding behind. But don’t expect bloody battles either. We’ll find things in camp you can do to help us. When you can fill a soldier’s boots you can become one.”
She stood up and came over to me.
“Thank you Luke. I won’t disappoint you. I’ll be ready first thing. I’m going upstairs now.”
Everyone at the table looked at me like I was crazy, Sheila and Jim most of all. I told them I had to keep my promise, that war makes children grow up fast, that she was an adult now, that she’d be fine.
I was just as convincing with them as I was in persuading her to stay.
Here is a link to the beginning of the book.
Chapter One ...
