The Chaplain’s Son

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Supplement Story V:
The Chaplain’s Son
Well, here’s the story of Warren and Lindsey’s son, Royal. Wow… This was interesting to write. Warren was a writer, if anything other than a Chaplain, and was influenced by poetry a lot. Royal was very… lost… after his father died, but I figure that if he is like his father in anything other than looks, it would be words.

The three poems used (and modified) in here are The Soldier, Bingen on the Rhine (my fav.) and The Dug-Out, in that order.
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If I should die, think only this of me…

Royal was at ease, despite the events that had taken place earlier. Pride had been pouring out of every bit of his being, for he had marched home in a new set of khaki. The lad had thought for sure his mother would be happy and proud. Wasn’t his father a soldier, too? He remembered listening fondly to the stories his father would tell, or the memories his mother would recall. However, when he opened the door to his home, he thought for sure his mother was going to have a heart attack.

The argument that followed had slipped from his mind. There was only one piece that he could remember clearly. After much yelling, crying, and fighting, his mother’s voice failed her, and the only thing she could say to him was: “Royal, my dear son, all your father has fought for was for naught. When you were born, he told me our children would never have to see war. Oh, my son, when will men learn?” After she asked him that, she retired to her room, leaving a very confused young man standing in the kitchen. Without much thought, he turned and left also, heading to the one place that meant everything to him.

When he was just a boy, his father had brought him here and told him, “This is a very special place to me. I come here whenever I have troubles.” Of course, Royal was very young and thought there was no way his father could have troubles. However, as he grew, Royal learned that no man goes without a set of worries and troubles. And as he rested there, the day passed him by, and so did any thoughts of war or his mother. The only thing on his mind was the moon as it took the place of the sun in the sky, illuminating Carson’s Path and the river near his feet. If only he could be as powerful as the moon, pushing and pulling the oceans of the Earth…

“I thought I’d find you here!” a girl cried from just beyond the trees. Instead of sitting up, he craned his neck backwards and from his position saw an upside down girl. He had to roll over onto his belly to make her appear right-side up, his eyes never leaving the lass before him. His lips formed a smile when he saw her proud face. “Look at you! So handsome in that uniform.”

“They say beauty shines its best in the moonlight,” Royal muttered from where he was laying. “You, my darling Evelyn, are proof of this.” His smile went from a twisting of the lips to a toothy grin when he saw the red blush appear on her cheeks. If there was anything other than handsome looks he received from his father, it was his over-the-top speech. Royal, in any other sense, was not a Chaplain’s son. He had forsaken the Lord and any teachings the church preached after his father was killed. If God had willing took such a faithful man, and left such a faithful wife to weep, He was not a God he wanted to believe in.

Although he didn’t want to get up from his comfortable spot in the grass, he did anyhow. Once standing he walked over to his charming girlfriend and extended an arm for her to take. She accepted, and he escorted her down Carson’s Path in the moonlight. They were silent, enjoying the cool breeze of that summer night.

As the poppy fields came into view, Evelyn broke from Royal’s arm and rushed out into the fields. The lad smiled as he watched her twirl under the moonlight in their favorite field in all of the nation – if not the world. It wasn’t thirty seconds later when she rushed back to him, grabbed his arm and pulled him out into the field with her. While she led him in a waltz, the dazed lad tried to gather his thoughts. There was a reason why he had wanted to see her, but in that moment he was lost completely. Something about the way the moon shone in her eyes, her small hand in his, the bashful smile on her beautiful face…

“Evelyn, we need to talk,” he suddenly said, his tone very serious. She stopped mid step, realizing how important it must have been. He grasped her hands softly. The tips of his ears turned red as he noticed her unwavering gaze. The khaki must have made him extremely attractive, because he had never seen that look before. He took a deep breath, “Evelyn, now that I’m enlisted, it’s time we had a conversation about… about the future.”

“What do you mean?”

“Do you… want to stay together?’

“Of course, Royal! There’s something irresistibly romantic about having a dashing suitor, fighting a war.”

“Every now and then, I’m reminded why I love you,” Royal said with a smile. Evelyn could only smile back. He knew very well that she was afraid in her heart, but would not let it show. So he, as her protector, would not let her know how frightened he was. If she could be brave for him, he would have to be brave for her. But then, he thought of something, and his smile faltered for a brief moment, only to return when he said: “Wouldn’t it be much more ‘romantic’ to be the wife of a soldier?”

Royal was expecting a tearful acceptance of his indirect proposal. Needless to say, when Evelyn broke herself away from him and turned her back, Royal was very confused. It seemed as though the young man couldn’t figure out what women were thinking, whether it was his own mother or his most beloved. He waited patiently in the silence for her response – even just an explanation would suffice. She didn’t turn to face him when she whispered: “I don’t know how you could ask that of me.”

“Ask that of you!” Royal shouted. It was an accident to raise his voice, but damn he was upset. It seemed as though the moment he put on his uniform, he lost the love and respect of those he cared the most about. “What do you mean, Evelyn? I love you!” When she still hadn’t faced him, he carefully placed his hands on her shoulders.

“Knowing what your mother had to go through, how could you ask me to go through that, Roy?” she asked. It was only during serious situations in which she used his nickname, Roy, and so the young man’s grip on her shoulders tightened.

“What difference does it make?” Royal responded. “If you love me, it will hurt either way if I die. Is it because I may not be home for years? Evelyn, I would wait for a hundred years for you, please tell me that four or five isn’t too long for you.”

“It’s not that,” she murmured. Finally, she turned to face him, if only to remove his hands from her shoulders. In the light of the moon, he could see the streaks of tears rolling down her cheeks. As much as he wanted to wipe the tears from her face, he knew now wasn’t the time. Evelyn was peculiar about when Royal was allowed to make such gestures, and this was clearly not one of those times. “Roy, listen to me,” she whispered, using her hands to cup his sturdy face. He took this as an opportunity to grasp her wrists and carefully caress them. She did not tell him to let go, and instead spoke: “It’s not about me really, but our child.”

“Child? Well, Evelyn, we won’t have any until after I return. I don’t care about children now, I’m more worried about you.”

She had her hands slip from his face, out of his grip, and fall to her sides. Royal sighed – he knew there was no convincing her. This conclusion was confirmed when she hung her head and said, “We can’t.” When she turned to leave, he didn’t stop her, but instead watched her as she treaded through the poppy field and out of sight. He went to shout, “I will write!” but couldn’t get his voice to rise above a simple whisper.

Be sure, however, that he did write, the moment he was sent overseas. Each letter was covered with blessings and poetry. Never once did he fail to mention how much he wished to be home, and how much he longed to see her again. All were signed, “With Loyalty and Love, Forever; Roy T.” Yet he failed to tell her how scared he was – how each moment was full of anxiousness and fright. There was never a word about the death of his comrades – how he had seen and felt hell, how the horrors of war had surely changed him for eternity.

It was near Christmas time, a little over three years later, when a letter addressed to his home arrived. There was no decoration and no splendid telling of glory. Instead, when the letter was opened, they found that Royal had turned to simple snippets of poetry to convey his feelings.

If I should die, think only this of me: That there’s some corner of a foreign field that is forever for my Evelyn. Tell my mother that her other sons shall comfort her old age… For my father was a soldier, and even as a child my heart leapt forth to hear him tell of struggles fierce and wild; Tell my sister not to weep for me, and sob with drooping head, for her brother was a soldier and not afraid to die, and if a comrade seek her love, I ask her in my name to listen to him kindly without regret or shame; There’s another, not a sister, in the happy days by, tell her — the last night of my life — I dreamed I stood with her, and saw the yellow sunlight shine, and her little hand lay lightly, confidently in mine – But we’ll meet no more off Carson’s Path, oh Evelyn of mine…

The man who delivered the letter, with a straight face the best he could muster, had no comforting words for those who read the notice. He could only say, “Royal Thorpe was a brave man, you should be proud of the sacrifice he made for his country…” Truth be told, Royal was not the bravest of them all. But the messenger could not tell the sorrowful family that their beloved was shaking in fear at every gunshot – that he had cried, wept in the rain from fear and confusion. Nor could he tell them that their soldier boy had bled, slowly, for days because of an injury. Instead, the messenger said, “It was a quick, painless, and honorable death.”

The mother nodded her head, having heard that line once before, but still couldn’t stop the tears from falling. The sister was comforted by the youngest lad of the family, who promised one day he would get revenge against the tyrants of the foreign land for what they had done to their once happy home.

And poor Evelyn – with a heavy heart and sorrowful sigh – held on tightly to the son Royal had unknowingly left behind and quoted, if only in a hushed tone, “You are too young to fall asleep forever…”