He'd muddled through, mostly with help from Arthur, who, seeing his struggles, had come quietly to his aid.īut university - good God, he still could not believe he'd been encouraged to go. School had been a misery, failure after failure. But it had meant that he'd had to leave a position for which he was - finally - a perfect fit. It was a small price to pay, to be able to do this one last service for his family. The army refused his request to be allowed to move the body, and he was forced to sell off his commission. The journey had disrupted his own life, too. He'd had to buy his own wagon to get his cousin home. Even then the smell eventually seeped through, and by the time he reached Ireland, no driver would take the cargo. Coffins were the ultimate luxury on a battlefield.īut he had persisted, and he'd followed to the letter the directions he'd been given by the undertaker, filling the wooden coffin with sawdust and sealing it with tar. There were a lot of dead bodies strewn about. One of his friends told him after their first unsuccessful attempt to obtain a coffin. He'd had to find a coffin, which was surprisingly difficult in the middle of a war. How could he face his aunt and uncle, delivering to them their dead son?Īs if all that hadn't been enough, it was damned hard to move a body from France to England to Ireland. Not just because his heart had broken anew with every mile, and not even because he'd dreaded his arrival at home. The last time he had been home was to bring back Arthur's body. Jack pinched his lips together, and then he pinched his eyes shut. Even, he supposed, if that land was Ireland.
It was just that it all felt so morbid, skimming atop his father's grave. It was not that he feared for his own safety. It was a gentle voyage this time, although that did little to comfort him. He could not be on the water and not look out. He wondered if the unease would ever leave him, if he would someday be able to look down at the dark, swirling waters below and not think of his father slipping beneath the surface, meeting his death.Įven before he had met the Cavendishes, when his father was just a wispy figment in his mind, he'd disliked this crossing.Īnd yet here he stood. This was not the first time Jack had crossed the Irish Sea.
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