![]() ![]() ![]() There were a lot of dead bodies strewn about. One of his friends told him after their first unsuccessful attempt to obtain a coffin. He'd had to find a coffin, which was surprisingly difficult in the middle of a war. How could he face his aunt and uncle, delivering to them their dead son?Īs if all that hadn't been enough, it was damned hard to move a body from France to England to Ireland. Not just because his heart had broken anew with every mile, and not even because he'd dreaded his arrival at home. The last time he had been home was to bring back Arthur's body. Jack pinched his lips together, and then he pinched his eyes shut. Even, he supposed, if that land was Ireland. It was just that it all felt so morbid, skimming atop his father's grave. ![]() It was not that he feared for his own safety. It was a gentle voyage this time, although that did little to comfort him. He could not be on the water and not look out. He wondered if the unease would ever leave him, if he would someday be able to look down at the dark, swirling waters below and not think of his father slipping beneath the surface, meeting his death.Įven before he had met the Cavendishes, when his father was just a wispy figment in his mind, he'd disliked this crossing.Īnd yet here he stood. This was not the first time Jack had crossed the Irish Sea. ![]()
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