Chapter One The Returning Cavalryman

Still, at this grave, his fingers tightened until the knuckles paled. "I'm home," he said. The wind crossed the grave and gave no answer. He brushed dust from the marker. His fingers paused on the carved letters. "I'm sorry, Ma." The three words left his chest hollowed out. But Jack did not cry. The first thing war had taught him was that tears did not raise the dead, and they did not make enemies bow their heads. He stood and entered the burned house. Inside, only half a chimney and a few black beams remained. The kitchen had fallen in. His mother's iron pot was split in two. His father's desk had burned down to one leg, yet somehow it had not fully collapsed. It looked like a corpse refusing to close its eyes. Jack searched the ash.