A Reason to Fight | Schofield

Epilogue

April 16th, 1927

It's late morning. The sun, hiding behind a cloud, casts a pale glow over the yard where three young girls play—two with golden blonde hair, one with hair dark as the night sky, like mine. Laughing, they chase each other through the grass and down the hill into the field.

My husband comes out of the house with a tray of food and sets it on the wooden table where I am sitting. Sandwiches, buttered rolls, and fresh fruit for the five of us. Picnics in the backyard had become a tradition on Sundays. With the sunny sky and the crisp breeze, it is the perfect afternoon.

"Think they're hungry?" he asks, looking towards the girls, who have spread out among the meadow.

"They're never hungry as soon as the food's ready," I say, smiling lightly. "Give them another half hour." William nods and sits down on the bench next to me, leaning in to place a gentle kiss on my left cheek. His hand finds mine under the table, and we sit there quietly watching the girls run through the field.

I know him as Will now. For one, I have taken his name, so it is strange to call him Schofield when that is also a name I could call myself. But in reality, the true reason is that if it weren't for the war, I never would have known him as Schofield. He would have been Will from the start, and to continue calling him Sco makes it feel too much as if we are still living on that battlefield. Sometimes, through pure instinct, it will slip out, and the girls will laugh and ask why I've called daddy by our last name. I laugh, too, but deep down, I am pushing those memories away as they threaten to flood back.

Will and I didn't get to stay together after the mission was over, but we kept in touch for the rest of the war, writing letters as often as we could. We made a promise that, if we both made it out alive, we would find each other after the war and make a life together. We did just that, and a few years later we got married and settled down.

Will's girls took to me well, and when their half-sister came, they were so excited that they fought over who would get to hold her first. While they know, of course, that I am not their real mother, they treat me as if I am, and I am grateful for it. I know that I cannot be who she was, not to the girls and not to Will, but I try as best as I can to honor her in my own life. All in all, you could say that Will and I had found our happy ending.

Though several years have passed, we've never truly escaped the horrors we've seen. The human mind simply cannot forget such horrific events, and so the memories always find a way to creep back into our lives. There are still nights when one of us will wake with a start, screaming and clawing at the bedsheets until the other's arms are there to bring comfort. Nights when I awake to Will muttering an all-too-familiar name in his sleep, telling him to get up because they need to get to his brother. Nights when I can't fall asleep at all, too scared of living another nightmare, so I make my way into the kitchen and make myself a pot of coffee that will keep me awake until the sun rises.

Will has panic attacks every now and then. The doctors call it "shell shock", say that a lot of soldiers deal with this kind of thing after returning home. There are times when one of the girls or I will be talking to him and his eyes will glaze over just before he drops to the floor in a heaving mess, unable to breath and clutching at his chest until the flashbacks go away. It's hard to watch, even harder when the girls have to see it, but the doctors don't yet know how to treat it, so we have to live with it.

It's impossible for our daughters to see these things and not ask questions, but Will and I have promised each other not to tell them stories from the war until we're both ready. Our eldest is old enough to know a great deal by now. She learns things in school and comes home asking questions. She is old enough to remember a time when her father didn't come home for months and she had to live with her grandmother. We know that we cannot keep them blissfully ignorant forever, but for now, it's all we can do.

Even so, we know we have a duty to tell them the things we saw. We are the generation that must teach their children the evils of war. When you live to see and do horrible things but neglect to teach future generations to learn from your mistakes, then you are at fault when the horrors repeat themselves.

I am pulled from my thoughts when Will shouts down the hill, "Girls, not near the cherry blossoms!"

When we settled down, we bought a plot of land in the countryside, where we could plant an orchard of cherry blossoms in Blake's honor. They are a sad reminder of that fateful morning outside the farmhouse, but Will insisted on it. Sometimes as I'm looking out the kitchen window, if I squint hard enough, it's almost as if I can see Blake standing out in the field, reaching up to harvest cherries from their stems. 

Tears well in my eyes, prompted by Blake's memory and my somber mood. Will glances over at me, sees this, and gently squeezes my hand.

"Everything okay, hun?"

I smile and nod before wiping my eyes. "Yes, I'm fine," I tell him, squeezing his hand back. "Just reminiscing."

"Good or bad memories?"

"Good memories."

The girls are running up the hill now, calling up to us that they're hungry. Will and I prepare their plates as they sit down at the table and pass one to each of them.

"Thank you, mummy," my youngest says as I hand her a plate with a sandwich and a side of fruit. She looks up to meet my gaze. Her eyes are the same as Will's. My heart warms with happiness.

As I look around the table at my daughters and my husband, I know I'm where I'm meant to be. No matter how much pain lies behind us, Will and I will keep moving forward knowing that the future holds endless joy.

This life we've built is more than just a life; it's healing, and I hold to the belief that the happiness that grows from this family will one day be enough to drive out the darkness that chases us, for good.

Beside me, Will is telling the girls a joke. The sound of their laughter seems to fill the meadow. Behind them, cherry blossoms sway in the wind. Everything that I love. This is what I always yearned for.

I smile, because I know I have found my reason.

THE END