Dead Man's rain

reckon he’s at rest, knowing his friend is seein’ to his widow, seein’ to his daughters. He won’t walk, boy. He won’t walk because he don’t have to.”

I looked away from her. The Sarge and Petey and a host of others-were they really watching, looking down on us from somewhere? Was another, warmer sun beaming down on them, making all they’d suffered under this one seem long ago and far away?

“I hope so,” I said, again.

Mama didn’t answer. She just nodded and clasped her hands behind her back. We waited together in the bright and warming sun while distant hammers fell and the blue jays sang and flew.