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her.
    In the end he asked Hannah for pen and paper and wrote a brief letter. After she had posted it, he wondered if he had been too terse, and rather silly to think Isobel would be concerned anyway.
    He thought of the dugout where he had slept and where most of his belongings were, the books he loved best, and the portrait of Dante. That was where he wrote the almost daily letters he had to, to tell of a death, or a serious injury… presumably someone had done that for him, to tell Hannah? He had not thought of it until now. It would have been one of the easy ones to write, because he was still alive.
    Who was doing it now that he was not there? Would they have got another chaplain? But he would not know the men, or their families! He would not know the rivalries, the debts of kindness, the weaknesses, and the strengths. He himself should be there! But not yet. He still had time to watch the slow spring at least begin.
    The next day he got up for a little while. He knew if he didn’t, he would begin to lose the use of his muscles. The fever was gone; it was just a matter of his wounds healing and his gaining strength again.
    It also meant he was well enough to receive visitors outside the family. The squire was already dealt with; however, the local minister was not, and he arrived in the middle of the afternoon. Hannah showed him in to the sitting room where Joseph was sitting quietly, the dog at his feet, tail thumping on the floor now and then as Joseph spoke to him. Hannah shot them both a quick glance of apology.
    Hallam Kerr, a man in his forties, was of medium height and build with straight hair parted in the middle. His manner was full of enthusiasm, rather like a school sports master at the beginning of a match, but there were lines of anxiety in his face and something faintly dated in his dress.
    “Ah! Captain Reavley! Congratulations!” He thrust out his hand, then as if feeling that Joseph might attempt to get up, he snatched it back again. “Please, please don’t stand, my dear fellow. I simply came to see if there is anything I can do for you. And of course to say how immensely proud we all are. It’s superb to have a holder of the Military Cross in the village—and for the church as a whole! Shows that we men of God are fighters, too, what?”
    Joseph’s heart sank. There was an eagerness in the man’s eyes as if the war were all somehow magnificent. That was the moment Joseph realized how alien he felt here at home. What could he say to this man without betraying all that was true? “Well… I suppose you could put it like that…” he began.
    “Very modest,” Kerr said. “I’m proud to meet you, Captain.” He sat in the chair opposite Joseph’s, leaning forward earnestly. “I envy you. It must be superb to be part of such a fine, brave body of men—helping, encouraging, keeping the word of God alive among them.”
    Joseph remembered the young men with lost limbs, lost sight, terrified, bleeding to death. Their conduct was heroic, certainly; it took the ultimate courage, going into the darkness alone. But there was nothing glorious in the circumstances. He was choked with the desire to weep just at the overwhelming return of memory. He looked at Kerr’s idiotic face and wanted to run away. He had no desire to be cruel. The man could not help his blinding ignorance. He might in his own way be doing his best, but his every eager word was an insult to the reality of pain.
    “I wish I could have gone,” Kerr continued. “Too old,” he said ruefully. “And health not up to it. Damn shame.”
    “There’ll be plenty of people in hospital you can help,” Joseph pointed out, then instantly wished he had not. The last thing on earth crippled men wanted was platitudes about God or the nobility of sacrifice.
    The light went out of Kerr’s face. “Yes, I realize that, of course,” he said awkwardly. “But that’s not the same as being with our boys in action, braving the gunfire and