Overseas there came a pleading,
"Help a nation in distress."
And we gave our glorious laddies
Honour bade us do no less,
For no gallant son of freedom
To a tyrant's yoke should bend,
And a noble heart must answer
To the sacred call of "Friend."
* * * * *
Lubbock, Texas - July 1916...
The preacher muttered a quiet, "Amen," and closed the cover of his Bible, turning to glance at the young man beside him whose face was shrouded in grief.
"She's in a better place now, William," the preacher said. "She's at peace and in the Lord's care."
Will knew the man was trying to comfort and console him. That's what preachers did, but he derived no comfort from his words. There was nothing but an empty hole in his heart where his mother had once been, like an oozing wound that would never heal. She'd been sick for months, and he'd prayed feverishly for her recovery until he was out of words, but to no avail. She was gone now, and he had no idea how he was going to live without her.
The summer sun was shining brightly, even in the morning hours, and somehow, it didn't seem right. The sunshine only seemed to be mocking his grief. He thought it should be raining, tears falling from the sky, like the tears that were falling in his heart.
Left behind with little more than a mortgaged house, a broken down Model-T Ford, and a small closet full of worn clothing, there was no tombstone yet to mark her grave, just a hole in the ground and a wooden casket, the most expensive one he could afford on his meager pay.
Will listened numbly as people filed past him, some offering a kind word, some a gentle embrace, all of them in their own way trying to comfort him, but he would not be comforted. There was a storm brewing in his heart, and he could only think of one way to dispel it.
Before long, the small crowd dispersed, leaving him alone with his grief, and he wondered what he should do now that he was no longer needed.
He heard a sound in the distance, like that of rolling thunder, and lifted his head, a speck of movement on the horizon. Not a bird, too big to be a bird. He lifted a hand to shield his face from the sun, as the sound got louder. A whirr of engine, a flash of wings, a cloudy trail of letters that followed each dip and turn, starting with the letter J. He watched entranced while each letter appeared like magic in the clear, blue sky. "Jesus Saves," the message finally read, and he frowned. Maybe Jesus had saved his mother's soul, but he wasn't so sure about his own.
"Will!" he heard a voice call behind him suddenly, drawing him out of his thoughts, and he turned to find a boy darting toward him, cheeks ruddy, looking excited. "Did you see it, Will" Holy cow! Can you imagine what it would be like to fly like that?"
"Yeah, I saw it, Eddie," Will replied with a heavy heart, eyes tracking the plane as it disappeared into the distance, the letters written in the sky slowly evaporating like smoke.
"Will..." Eddie frowned, coming to a halt beside his friend. "I'm sorry 'bout your Ma. I know she was real sick." He paused a moment, staring down at the wooden casket that lay at their feet. "What are you gonna do now?"
"I dunno," Will replied, tugging his tie loose and glancing back up at the faded letters, which looked like some kind of eerie cloud floating there in the middle of the clear, blue sky. "Go to Europe maybe. Learn to fly. Fight the Germans." Now that he'd said it, he knew he'd decided. Nothing else would quench the fire that burned inside his heart, nothing short of war.
(Lyrics from "Keep the Home Fires Burning" by John McCormack, circa 1915.)
* * * * *
Lubbock, Texas - July 1916...
The preacher muttered a quiet, "Amen," and closed the cover of his Bible, turning to glance at the young man beside him whose face was shrouded in grief.
"She's in a better place now, William," the preacher said. "She's at peace and in the Lord's care."
Will knew the man was trying to comfort and console him. That's what preachers did, but he derived no comfort from his words. There was nothing but an empty hole in his heart where his mother had once been, like an oozing wound that would never heal. She'd been sick for months, and he'd prayed feverishly for her recovery until he was out of words, but to no avail. She was gone now, and he had no idea how he was going to live without her.
The summer sun was shining brightly, even in the morning hours, and somehow, it didn't seem right. The sunshine only seemed to be mocking his grief. He thought it should be raining, tears falling from the sky, like the tears that were falling in his heart.
Left behind with little more than a mortgaged house, a broken down Model-T Ford, and a small closet full of worn clothing, there was no tombstone yet to mark her grave, just a hole in the ground and a wooden casket, the most expensive one he could afford on his meager pay.
Will listened numbly as people filed past him, some offering a kind word, some a gentle embrace, all of them in their own way trying to comfort him, but he would not be comforted. There was a storm brewing in his heart, and he could only think of one way to dispel it.
Before long, the small crowd dispersed, leaving him alone with his grief, and he wondered what he should do now that he was no longer needed.
He heard a sound in the distance, like that of rolling thunder, and lifted his head, a speck of movement on the horizon. Not a bird, too big to be a bird. He lifted a hand to shield his face from the sun, as the sound got louder. A whirr of engine, a flash of wings, a cloudy trail of letters that followed each dip and turn, starting with the letter J. He watched entranced while each letter appeared like magic in the clear, blue sky. "Jesus Saves," the message finally read, and he frowned. Maybe Jesus had saved his mother's soul, but he wasn't so sure about his own.
"Will!" he heard a voice call behind him suddenly, drawing him out of his thoughts, and he turned to find a boy darting toward him, cheeks ruddy, looking excited. "Did you see it, Will" Holy cow! Can you imagine what it would be like to fly like that?"
"Yeah, I saw it, Eddie," Will replied with a heavy heart, eyes tracking the plane as it disappeared into the distance, the letters written in the sky slowly evaporating like smoke.
"Will..." Eddie frowned, coming to a halt beside his friend. "I'm sorry 'bout your Ma. I know she was real sick." He paused a moment, staring down at the wooden casket that lay at their feet. "What are you gonna do now?"
"I dunno," Will replied, tugging his tie loose and glancing back up at the faded letters, which looked like some kind of eerie cloud floating there in the middle of the clear, blue sky. "Go to Europe maybe. Learn to fly. Fight the Germans." Now that he'd said it, he knew he'd decided. Nothing else would quench the fire that burned inside his heart, nothing short of war.
(Lyrics from "Keep the Home Fires Burning" by John McCormack, circa 1915.)