War; or, What happens when one loves one's enemy/Chapter 38

War; or, What happens when one loves one's enemy (1913)
by John Luther Long
Chapter XXXVIII: Peace
1913331War; or, What happens when one loves one's enemy — Chapter XXXVIII: Peace1913John Luther Long

XXXVIII

PEACE

ONE day, after the war was over, I was sitting alone here, in the afternoon sun, when a woman, dressed like a nun, came, slow and solemn, up the yard. She hung her head until she got close to me, then she put it down on my old knees and cried. It was Evelyn.

For a long time we said nothing. We couldn't. Then I asked her:

"Where have you been, Evelyn?"

"In hospitals—Union hospitals—rebel hospitals. Helping to heal the wounds I made—and such as I. Searching for Dave."

"Have you come to stay with me, once more?" I asks.

"As long as we live," says she, "if you will have me."

"Have you!" says I, putting my one arm around her.

"I wasn't sure," she says. "If you had done to me and mine what I have done to you and yours, I wonder whether I would forgive you?"

"Yes, you would," says I.

"And, maybe," she says, after a while, "he will come back to you. Then I shall be here. I know now that he will never come to me."

"No," I says, "he will never come to you," and I hands her the letter to read.

She's coming up the yard now. See! She has red and white roses in her hands—from Jon's hotbed behind the barn where her wedding flowers were to grow! She wears the red roses—just as she did that last night, for Dave. The white ones are for Jon. She's just put some on his grave. She does it early every morning. I call her my angel of the blue and the gray. She calls me her two lovers of the gray and the blue. She says I must love her as much as they both did. But I say that she's my two boys, and that she must love me as much as they both did.

Just in fun—all just in fun!

It's a long time we have waited together. And all the sorrows of the war seem healed except ours. He ought to come. He ought to hurry. He is a brave and generous boy. So he must give Evelyn a chance to say she's sorry. That's all she lives for. Then—I don't know what!

But he mustn't kill her, like he said, when he comes, only put his arms around her and kiss her—kiss her till she's tired of kissing—if there is such a thing. And sing a funny little song—and laugh, and dance a hoe-down—like when they came back from the riding. And he must take her fishing and let her ketch some of the fish. He must forget and forgive. We mustn't be the only ones the war leaves desolate.

Yes, see, she's coming up the yard. She's been to Jonthy's grave. Coming with the sun in her face, and happy!