We go 'over the top' at dawn, and I am sure that this time the Piper will not fail me. This time I know he is ready to take me.
I know because I saw him last night. For the first time since I came to this place I didn't merely hear the sound of his persistent refrain taunting me, I saw the Piper marching across No Man's Land. This time, I know that he's come for me at long last. Since then, I've heard his melody humming faintly in my ears, beckoning me, the music tantalising me with its promise of sweet relief.
My certainty that it will soon be over has consumed my despair, leaving me only with an overwhelming feeling of gratitude for the happy life I enjoyed with my family at Ingleside. After the horrors I've witnessed in this place, how could I be anything but grateful for such a wonderful life?
I think of how fortunate I am to have been gifted with such a family. I feel awash in my love for them tonight, so I want to remember them, honour them and hold them all as close to my heart as I can. Tonight, I am taking out the treasured memories I have of them and holding them up to the light, like prisms of love. This ugly place has shown me that there can be only appreciation for the opportunity to experience such love and to know such an existence, however briefly.
I wrote my letters of farewell to my family last night, determined to express my gratitude, and eager for them to know how much I love them. But now, greedily, selfishly, I crave to spend the remainder of my time being with them, by remembering them for just a little longer, and devote what little time I have now in tribute to them.
When I think of my comfortable life at Ingleside now, I laugh to myself at how I used to complain that I couldn't sleep because of Jem's snoring, or being woken up by Susan's pantry door squeaking as Dad stole a midnight snack when he got home late.
Now, I am kept awake by the constant sounds of war all around me, the fetid stench of the mud at the back of my throat. The whistling explosions of artillery bombardment overhead, the deafening roar of the tanks, the agonised screams of the wounded and dying, along with the scuttling of the rats, these are the sounds that keep me awake now, as I perpetually scratch at the lice which seem to multiply within my uniform every day.
These are experiences that no man should ever know, events that no man should ever have to witness or hear. I am content to have played my part in ensuring that my beloved family will never have to know them. But I'm equally glad that it's nearly over. I am bone tired now and it is my exhaustion that has finally conquered me.
I think of Mother's words in her last letter to me, and I can feel my heart overflowing with love for her. How grateful I am for everything she's done for me.
We all loved 'The Piper', so much. It's wonderful, darling, and I feel sure it's your best work yet. We are all so proud of you, especially your father. It makes me smile to see him every time someone in the Glen mentions your poem to him. He is so puffed up with pride, although he tries to hide it. You know how he hates to crow, but he is so thrilled about it. And when anyone remarks about your medal! Well…
The letter I received from Dad was more pragmatic, but no less full of love and comfort. I could see his eyes twinkling as he wrote it.
The poem was very good Walter, but I can't really see where anything I said has influenced it. I think it's all your own unique thoughts, as usual. Your mother is beside herself with delight. I must confess to teasing Susan mercilessly about its success. Remember how she used to be so disapproving of your poetry when you were younger? I'm also glad to hear my fatherly lectures to you over the years have stayed with you, and that you are putting them to good use with your chums over there! You know me, always happy to help…
The sweet, newsy letters I'd received from Nan and Di were full of their love and reminders of home.
Di and I are completely thrilled about your beautiful poem. We showed it to the other girls at the Red Cross and they all agreed it's perfectly magnificent. It's inspired us all to…
We're so proud, Walter. I know you'll be embarrassed, but Nan and I have given copies of 'The Piper' to the girls here at the Red Cross. All the girls cried and said it was the loveliest poem, especially when we told them about your D. C. medal. We made sure all your Redmond professors got copies, too…
I had even received a rare letter from Jem last week. He's here at the Somme somewhere, too, but his letter was just like a trip home to Ingleside.
Well done, Walt. I heard you won the D.C. Medal, although Jerry says you deserved the V.C. for what you did. I'm not sure that running out into No Man's Land isn't plain foolhardy, to be perfectly honest. I counted 63 cooties on my chest yesterday, a new record…
Shirley's letter was matter of fact:
I've been studying up on every aviation pamphlet I can find for a while now, Walter, and I'm going to join the Air Force just as soon as I'm old enough. I must do my bit, just like you and Jem are already. Mother tries to pretend that she doesn't see it, but I know she and Susan are both secretly watching me. Susan is being an absolute brick about it…
And darling Rilla. She is the one I miss the most, even though Di and I have always been so close. Perhaps it is because Rilla reminds me of Marguerite so much. Rilla is so brave and beautiful and sweet.
Oh, Walter, thank you for sending me the newspaper clipping. We all simply adore your new poem and I'm so glad you have a chance to write over there. Miss Oliver says it's the finest poem she has ever read. Even Ethel Reese conceded that she quite likes it! I hope you don't mind, I sent a copy of it to Kenneth Ford…
I want to hold all the precious memories I have of them with me for as long as I can.
"I love you and I won't forget you," I whisper to my family. "Thank you."
Now I am waiting patiently for the commanding officer to shout our orders, and it is not for myself, but for them that I pray: my cherished family, my beloved Island … and my beautiful Marguerite.
I save my thoughts of Marguerite for last. So I can savour my memories of her, enjoy my thoughts of her love until it is time for me to go.
Surprisingly, it doesn't hurt anymore to think of her. I only feel the same peace she always brought me whenever I was in her presence.
In the weeks since her death, I have grown practiced at pushing down any thoughts of her before they encroached too far into my consciousness. So many times a wraith-like image of her beautiful face would appear unbidden, floating like smoke before my eyes, causing me to catch my breath. My hand would involuntarily reach out to try and touch her before I remembered. Each time her face appeared before me, I would close my eyes, shaking my head to clear my vision and I would force myself to focus instead on the inexorable mud and slime and filth all around me, grateful that she would not see me this way.
Whenever I do sleep for a few minutes, it is my memories of Marguerite haunting my dreams. The soft images of her beautiful face and warm kisses giving way to my memories of that final devastating moment when I held her in my arms and realised the Piper had taken her from me. In my dreams, I am always running to her in slow motion, unable to reach her, my soundless screams unable to be heard. I am always woken from those dreams with a jolt by the excruciating pain swelling from the ever-present crack in my chest.
But last night, the dream was different.
"Please come, Walter, mon chéri," I had heard Marguerite's sweet voice whispering for me in the dream, like a siren's song, her enticing lips smiling at me, her eyes beckoning to me. "I'm waiting. I love you."
"Marguerite…" I had tried to touch her, but she remained elusive.
I had felt her soft breath at my ear, sighing that she was waiting for me, urging me to join her. "Walter, mon ange…"
I reached out for her in the dream, but she was gone.
Now it is blissful to remember every moment of that summer's day when she told me she loved me. I remember every kiss, every soft caress of her hands, each delectable sigh; every detail of her that I had hidden away so carefully until now. It was the happiest day of my life, and when I think of that day in the glade now, my memories are no longer marred by thoughts of how it ended. I think only of the joy I had felt and my love for her. The moment she agreed to marry me and I saw nothing but love and tenderness in her eyes, I had thought it impossible to feel so much joy and love at once and feared there wasn't enough room in my body to hold it all.
I gently unfold the scrap of paper with the poem I'd scribbled out for her that day, smoothing out the edges carefully on my thigh. The paper is crumpled now, even though I keep it so meticulously folded in my pocket, close to my heart always. I read again the words I wrote for her, running my fingertips gently, lovingly, over the verses as if they were caressing her; as if this action could somehow cast a spell and bring her back to me.
I lift the scrap of paper and touch it tenderly to my lips, remembering how her lips had touched it, too, just before the Piper took her from me. Carefully, I fold her poem again and gently tuck it back into my breast pocket.
I know I will find her when I go over the top. I know she will be there. For I know she is waiting for me with the Piper.
Now I am ready.
I am finally, completely content to go with the Piper, because I know that I am going to her.
I feel strangely elated by this knowledge.
I feel the peace she always brings wash over me. Peace from this relentless, ghastly, hideous place and the Piper's gruesome song.
Finally, I can go, for he is letting me go.
"Company! Atten-shun!"
As I prepare to climb over the lip of the trench and run, I put my rifle down, because I know I won't use it. Then, with my eyes closed, I remember Marguerite's beloved face one last time.
"Marguerite," I murmur her name once more, seeing her beautiful face smiling at me. "I love you."
I can hear the Piper shouting triumphantly now, for he has always known that I am his.
A/N: My thanks go to every single one of you who has read, reviewed, favourited or followed my sad little story.
Most especial thanks go to Lasting Violet, who has been with me from the very beginning, Kim Blythe for such encouraging and uplifting reviews, Alinyaalethia for her unflagging support and generosity, and katherine-with-a-k, without whom I would likely never have started this story, much less finished it!
I thank you all from the bottom of my heart, much love from FKAJ.
