Chapter 1

The announcement was brief.

“It is with great sorrow that the family of Pete Rogers announces his passing. Our patriarch was a multifaceted person. Son, Soldier, Savior. He will be sorely missed. And all of our lives are enriched by having known him.”

The Chapel was standing room only. When the preacher nodded at me, I stood and walked to the podium. I did not notice the tears clouding my eyes. Suzy described it to me later.

Standing at the podium, I paused as I looked down at Pete’s casket. I cleared my throat, and then I began.

“I met Pete later in life. At the time, I was a directionless drifter seeking meaning to my life. He gave me an anchor to grab onto and plant roots. Those were the roots of our friendship. I sometimes look at where I was at and where I was going. And I sink to my knees in gratitude for having met and befriended Pete. My life was at a cusp, and Pete provided me a map.”

“I once heard that the measure of a man wasn’t the medals, ribbons, and awards that grateful people bestow. The yardstick the Almighty uses are the scars and wounds on his soul. That the creator, whatever their name, looks at the depth and length of those scars. And most importantly, how have those wounds have healed. Has hate and anger festered the damage? Or has time, compassion, and forgiveness cleanly healed the wound? Making its bearer stronger and more compassionate.”

“Pete carried wounds and scars, but he lived his life without anger or hate. His scars are proud symbols of a life honorably lived and a dignified passing.”

“While his passing is painful for us who are waiting our turn, for Pete, this is a reunion with the lives and loves that have preceded him. His parents, wife, and a child tragically taken much too early. They have all joyously welcomed Pete home. For Pete, it will be a mere moment before we, the rest of his family, will cross over and join our friend.”

I looked out over the assembly hall. Philip and Jackie Taggart, the owners of the Bar T, sat towards the rear of the hall. Ms. Taggart was gently dabbing at the moisture in her eyes. Her husband sat ramrod straight, his face a frozen mask. But his emotions were betrayed by a drop easing down his cheek. His son Bruce and family sat in the front row, With Pete’s Daughter and her family. The tears flowed freely among this group.

Agnes and her new protege, Chuck, were seated directly behind Bruce and Marsha. After our adventure looking for mountain boogiemen, Chuck took our advice and started a blue-collar life. Agnes, after bitching and whining about it, accepted the young man. I was shocked and worried about Agnes. She looked frail and worn. Pete’s passing may have taken more out of her.

Also seated was an assemblage of the hands that have worked at the Bar T. Also included was a contingent from the local VFW. Pete had served his country in the hellhole of Vietnam. Surviving when so many others did not. His burial was with full military honors. On his casket was the pillow with his awards and medals. I was shocked to see that the Distinguished Service Cross, Silver Star, and Bronze Star with V device were among them. Pete had never spoken of his service.

For so many of our brothers from Vietnam, society had painted them with evil brushes. Calling them baby killers, spitting on them when they returned. And then they continued with the image of the drug-addled, trigger-happy, anti-social misfits. Most veterans from that era did what was easiest, they shut up and denied their service, their sacrifice. Then, they went on with their life, trying to forget but not always successfully.

Seated next to Agnes and Chuck was my own, my sweet Suzy. As the services closed, the various groups started heading either to the graveside or the wake.

After the rifle salute and as the last trumpet notes echoed, Suzy asked what I wanted. My voice breaking, I replied. “Our mountain, please. Life is weighing just a bit heavy on me right now.”

The drive back from Boise was quiet. Suzy seemed to know that my thoughts were a million miles away, and she gave me the space I needed.