The Road Home

DEDICATION
For those who travel the road home to wellness,
filled with longing, excitement, and fear.
Perhaps you are lost in the great world,
adrift among humanity
with nothing to own, but shadowed sinister memories
from which you cannot sleep.
Your nightmares are ours to share.
Your physical pains and sagging spirit are lifted up.
Give them to the Lord. He knows how you suffer.
Be not afraid, for loving hearts and welcoming arms will gather you in
to patch up the missing places in your life and memories.
It is time to begin anew. A new future waits ahead.
Welcome in the Wanderer.
Welcome Home.

PROLOGUE
Care-Charmer Sleep
Care-charmer Sleep, son of the sable Night,
Brother to Death, in silent darkness born,
Believe my languish, and restore the light,
With dark forgetting of my cares return.
And let the day be time enough to mourn
The shipwreck of my ill-adventured youth;
Let waking eyes suffice to wail their scorn,
Without the torment of the night’s untruth,
Cease, dreams, the images if day-desires,
To model forth the passions of the morrow;
Never let rising sun approve you liars,
To add more grief to aggravate my sorrow.
Still let me sleep, embracing clouds in vain;
And never wake to feel the day’s disdain.
Samuel Daniel 1563―1619

PART I
Jeu d’esprit
CHAPTER 1
Guardian Angels Keep Thee

The sound was deafening. Rolling thunder shook the very ground he stood upon and then collapsed, sending him flying. Clouds of smoke and debris shrouded him for a time, and then there he was, as if the clouds parted and the very light of heaven shone upon him.
He was dead.
Screaming demons of war fought with the angels of peace for his soul, clawing and pulling at him.

Formavit igitur Dominus Deus hominem de limo terræ, et inspiravit in faciem ejus spiuraculum vitæ,
et factus est homo in animam viventem.

Suddenly, he breathed in life again.
The ebony-scaled demons cursed the light and Giver of Life and then slithered away to claim other souls.

Blessed be the heroes who die in honorable duty for their country. Blessed be the heroes ... Saint Adrian of Nicomedia, pray for their souls … Saint George, pray for us in the hour of our need ... Give us solace for our tears

“No! No! Barton!”
Elise rose up, screaming. Tears streaked down her cheeks, heartrending sobs filled her throat, and she fell back upon her bed, clutching her pillow. All of a sudden, her bedroom door was thrown open. She screamed again. The light in the hallway revealed her father.
“Elise! What happened?”
“Oh, Daddy!” Elise began to rise from her bed, but Édouard swiftly came and sat on it.
He hugged her close. Édouard petted her head, smoothing back the sweat-damp bangs from her face and then used his hankie, wiping her tears. “What is wrong? Are you ill?’
“Non. J’ai une cauchemar. Je suis stupide,” she said brokenly.
“Is she all right?” The worried voice of Beatrice asked from the door.
“I’ve got her. Just a bad dream is all, Maman. Go back to bed, ma chérie.”
“Where is Chérie?” Elise asked all of a sudden and then pulled away to look about the dark room, afraid again.
They heard a skittering noise, and the little poodle poked her tiny nose out from under the bed ruffle.
Beatrice chuckled. “Well, you frightened everyone it seems.” She scooped up the black teacup poodle, dropping her in Elise’s arms. She tugged the coverlet and linens back in place. “What were you dreaming? Your bed is a mess. Were you fighting off dragons again?”
Elise let out a shattered sigh. “No ... it is probably nothing.”
Édouard kissed her brow and patted her cheek. “Dreams cannot hurt you. It is all silliness of the mind. You rest easy, little love. The angels will sing and kiss you to sleep.” He glanced at her alarm clock. Smiling, he added, “The night is still young. It is not even two yet. Dormir Bébé.” He stood and pressed past Beatrice. “Let her sleep now. Come back to bed, love.”
Beatrice hovered for a moment. “Are you sure you are fine now?”
Elise nodded and curled up with her pet. “Oui Maman.”
Beatrice smiled and began to close the door. “Fait un beau rêve, chacque temps.”
Elise heard the words but felt they were odd and like déjà vu. Yes, she needed to make a beautiful dream this time. She lay for a moment, trying to still her heart and slow her mind to sleep again.
She could still see him ... laying in the mud, the mist curling about his singed body.
She wondered at the Latin verse and scrambled out of bed to retrieve her Bible. Switching on the lamp, she quickly wrote the words on paper. She felt she might never forget them; they were ingrained in her heart and mind. She translated the words and then found them in Genesis 2:7, when God the Creator breathed life into Adam.
“The Lord God formed man of the slime of the earth, and breathed into his face the breath of life, and man became a living soul.” She read aloud then sniffled tearfully. “Oh God, please don’t let him be dead.” She turned off the light and lay again in bed and fearing the darkness, she hugged her Bible close.
This time, she did pray to the patron saints of soldiers until the words ran out and perhaps the angels kissed her to sleep.

Baton Rouge Louisiana
Tuesday, April 17, 1945

That morning Elise wore purple shadows under her eyes and a haunted look as she hunched over her farina. She idly stirred the warm cereal and sighed heavily.
Elaine’s navy-blue eyes rolled as she watched her sister. “Okay Elise, what did you do wrong now?” She added, “Or maybe I should say, why is Miss Perfect in the dumps today? Hm?” She sipped her tea and glanced around at her parents, then hissed at her “So are you giving me the silent treatment? What did I do or say now?” she sighed with impatience.
Elise shrugged her shoulders. “Nothing.”
Frowning, Elaine wiped her mouth on the napkin, took up her breakfast dishes and left the table. She dumped them in the sink and spun around. “Hey! I know what’s got you down! You still don’t have a date for the Rose Ball yet, do you?”
She took her sack lunch and headed for the swinging door, “You better hurry before all the best boys are gone.”
“Hush!” Beatrice shook her head at Elaine. “Leave her be. She had a bad dream last night.” She reached a hand to stroke Elise’s cheek, “Or maybe you have menstrual cramps today?” she queried with concern.
Elaine laughed as she lounged against the wall and simpered, “O Pauvre Elise …”
Elise’s dark eyes flared and she shook back her unruly ebony curls. “Mother! Stop embarrassing me!” She pouted and cast a look at her father as he voraciously ate a pair of poached eggs and brioche in fast bites, his face ruddy with embarrassment too.
“Yes, please. I don’t need to be privy to the feminine ailment every time you swoon, do I?” Édouard glanced at the kitchen clock, “Good Lord! Is it that late already? Come on girls hurry up, no more chatter or you will be late for school.” He dashed back the last of his coffee, slid back from the table, brushed off crumbs from his suit and kissed his wife. “Merci ma coeur … à bien tôt.”
Elaine followed him out already complaining about taking the bus to the university and begging for a ride this morning.
Beatrice began to scrape the plates and run the hot dishwater. She took away Édouard’s tableware and asked, “How much longer are you going to play with your food, Elise?” She made a noise of dismay, “You look terrible this morning. I do hope you were planning on combing your hair before school. And your blouse is wrinkled.” She shook her head, “I do not approve of all the theatrics, especially since you refused to talk about your nightmare or whatever your problem is this morn