An Honorable War by Robert N. Macomber

Author:Robert N. Macomber
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Pineapple Press
Published: 2017-02-16T13:29:04+00:00

37

Well Done, My Good and Faithful Servant

Woodgerd Cottage

Old Fort Hunt Road

Alexandria, Virginia

Monday evening

21 February 1898

From the moment we first held each other, Maria and I pretended the outside world didn’t exist. All bundled up against the cold air and wet ground, and fortified by mugs of hot chocolate, we took a long stroll in the snow-carpeted forest. The trail led over the low ridge to the east, through bare oaks and maples patiently waiting for spring to return them to their splendor. On the nearby Potomac, a lone steamer chugged upriver, not another vessel in sight.

Later, as we lunched on sandwiches in front of the roaring fireplace, we spoke of our children’s accomplishments and our hopes for them. She wanted Francisco and Juanito to be happy and productive, the priest to someday be a bishop and the bureaucrat to someday marry and have her grandchildren. I almost told her then, but she was so blissful I couldn’t spoil the moment.

After dinner, we drank the last of the Spanish wine in the cellar as I lay back on the sofa and she played her guitar. Maria sang the old Spanish laments of loves dreamed and lost. I can still hear them, floating like wisps of smoke in the night in her hauntingly crystal clear voice. It was an exquisitely intimate time, refilling us with a sense of joy and closeness.

I knew Maria sensed I was there when Maine exploded. She could tell I had seen the unimaginable, endured the unrepeatable. But she never asked me and I was grateful. Not only was I incapable of describing what happened, I just didn’t have the strength. Instead, we spoke only of the love in our lives. We reveled in silly giggles and affectionate cuddles, letting them linger, savoring them, appreciating how very precious they are.

I waited until quite late, when we’d retired to bed to do what I dreaded, but knew I must. Turning down the bedside oil lamp to a pale dim glow, I held my wife tightly.

Maria suddenly tensed. I knew she had somehow felt the anguish in my heart, before I could even begin to say the words I’d been rehearsing since Havana.

“I have something terrible to tell you, Maria. It’s about Francisco.”

In an instant, Maria, my feminine tower of strength and accomplishment, became a frightened girl, unable to speak beyond a single word.

“How?”

I respected her too much to prolong the agony with hollow consolations. She needed to know the core truth of what had happened. She would want or tolerate nothing less from me.

“Colonel Marrón had him arrested on the eleventh and interrogated. Rork heard about it afterward from a priest, whose brother is a soldier. He is also a devout Catholic and knew Francisco. The soldier brother saw his remains at Cabaña Fortress and recognized them. He told his brother the priest the next day.”

She gasped in horror. The rage would come later. It was an emotion I was well acquainted with. But right then, Maria had only emptiness, and it echoed from her.

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