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them formed their own little cluster, just as they’d done as kids.
    Joel studied Tom’s eyes. They were lit as if he was laughing at some private joke, which he probably was. He and Tom couldn’t have been more different. He liked to plan, to analyze; Tom liked to dive into a situation with no forethought, to sniff out adventure in the unlikeliest places. But he was loyal, too, and kind to a fault. Being a soldier hadn’t been so bad when Joel remembered his younger brother was doing the same thing.
    A lump of emotion lodged itself in his throat. He’d never expected his brother to precede him in death, not even in war. The dark-haired kid with the cockeyed grin had always been around, at least in Joel’s memory. He’d imagined the two of them growing into old men together, still arguing over stupid things but loving each other just the same.
    He coughed to dislodge the strangling ache and pinned his focus on Livy’s face next. His little sis was twenty years old, five years his junior, and married now. She’d written a while back to tell him she had fallen in love with a farmer—a German-American one—after she’d taken a teaching job away from home. The wedding had been planned for the beginning of the month.
    Her news had taken him by complete surprise, especially given the rumors he’d heard about anti-German tension escalating back home. Any concern he felt at her marrying a German-American, though, faded completely by the time he’d finished reading Livy’s letter. His sister’s happiness was evident in every word. As her oldest brother, and occasional confidant through the years, he’d hoped Livy would find a man she could trust, a man who would treat her with the utmost respect. And clearly, she had.
    He had written back as soon as he could, giving the approval he sensed she wanted about her decision. If his parents—and more important, God—believed she would be safe and happy with this man Joel had never met, he could trust that. His only regret was not being able to toast the happy couple at the wedding or to see his sister’s radiant face.
    Ready to move on from thoughts of home, Joel placed the photo back inside his bag and dragged out his Army-issued Bible. A mud stain, which he hadn’t been able to wipe off completely, covered one corner, and a piece of shrapnel had nicked the top of the spine, but the pages were still readable.
    He flipped the Bible open to one of his favorite stories—Moses leading the children of Israel out of Egypt and through the Red Sea. The danger racing toward them, the trust in God to move ahead, reminded him a lot of his life as a soldier here in France. Would he have had the courage and the faith to walk onto the sea bed, while walls of water towered overhead? Joel hoped so.
    He was well beyond the Red Sea crossing by the time Nurse Thornton brought him the promised broth. It was every bit as bland and unfulfilling as Joel had imagined, but he slurped it all. Anything to get better.
    When he’d finished, he carefully set aside his empty bowl and eyed his Bible. Exhaustion—and pain—warred within him. Should he sleep or read more? Which would distract him from the ache of his injuries? Before he could decide, a tall man with a black mustache and glasses approached his bed. Joel recognized his face—he’d seen it right before the nurse had administered the ether to him in the surgery ward.
    “Corporal, it’s good to see you awake.” The man spoke with a heavy French accent. “I am Dr. Dupont. We met last night.”
    “Yes. Over the operating table. Not the most ideal meeting place.”
    The doctor shot him a grim smile. “How are your arm and leg today?’
    The hurt might be intense, but Joel wouldn’t complain. “All right. At least they’ll heal.”
    A flicker of sorrow passed over the doctor’s face as he removed his glasses and wiped them with a corner of his lab coat. “I believe we extracted most, if not all, of the shrapnel within your leg