Chapter 5

Colonel Burnett paced back and forth in front of the desk in his study. He wore his freshly laundered and pressed dress blues. Ellen knocked on the open door as she entered. She wore an elegant long black dress.

“The casket’s here,” she said.

The Colonel glanced out of the window and saw the horse-drawn caisson that would carry his son to his final resting place. He looked at his watch. “It’s early.”

“No, it’s not. Your watch is slow. I keep telling you, but you never listen.”

The Colonel grunted. “How does he look? I can’t see properly from here.”

“Spectacular. There’s a small crowd outside—I think they’re going to follow us—and I heard them applaud when the caisson pulled up.”

“So they should. My boy’s a hero. Our boy is a hero. He deserves their gratitude.” He paused. “You look good, Ellen. I’ve always said black suited you.”

“Thank you, dear. I wanted to look my best for Lance. And you look good, too.” She walked up to him and brushed some imaginary dust from his medals. “I remember the first time I ever saw you in this uniform. You looked so handsome—what girl could resist? I know I couldn’t.” He smiled at her as she adjusted his necktie. “There. Perfect.”

“You know, Ellen, I thought the next time I wore this uniform would be to give Lizzie away. I never dreamed I’d be burying my boy first.” He shook his head. “Speaking of Lizzie, is she here yet?”

“No.”

“Always late, that girl, but I thought she’d be on time today of all days.”

“Actually, Bobby, she’s meeting us at the cemetery.”

“What? Why?”

Ellen stepped away from her husband, walked across the room to the window and stared out at the casket beyond the hedge. “I told her not to come. I thought it was for the best.”

“For the best? How can that be for the best? Her brother is making his final journey today, and she should be here with us, making that journey with him.”

She turned to face the Colonel. “Bobby, you know what Beth’s like. And you know how she feels about what’s happening today. She wants to keep her grief private. You might be used to being the centre of attention—”

“Centre of attention?”

“—Please don’t interrupt, Bobby. You know it’s rude and you wouldn’t stand for it yourself. As I was saying, you are used to people looking at you, but Beth isn’t. She’ll grieve for Lance in her own time and in her own way. Besides, I didn’t want a scene.”

Through gritted teeth, the Colonel said, “I wouldn’t have caused a scene. This is Lance’s funeral—just how tactless do you think I am?”

“You’re not tactless—you just have trouble controlling yourself sometimes. As does she. The two of you are more alike than either of you will admit. I didn’t want to take the risk. Not today. Beth’s okay with meeting us there—she arranged for someone to bring her and take her home. She’ll be fine. Now, are we going to say goodbye to our son? He’s waiting.”

“You’re right, as always. It’s just ... I wanted her here. I need her here. There’s so much I have to say to her. Starting with sorry.”

“She’ll be at the wake. You’ll get your chance then.”

“I know.” He nodded towards the door. “Come on. Let’s go.”

He held out his arm for his wife and led her out of the house and up the pathway. The casket, draped with the Stars and Stripes and surrounded by floral tributes, sat on a caisson pulled by two fine black horses. The small crowd of sombrely dressed neighbours clapped as the couple emerged.

The Colonel shook hands with some of them and then laid a hand on the casket. An honour guard of seven soldiers in dress uniform walked with the caisson—one leading the horses and three on either side of the casket. The crowd, led by the grieving parents, followed behind. Ellen started to cry.

Captain Lance Burnett of the US Army 1st Infantry Division was afforded a military funeral at his father’s request. The cortège left his parents’ house and moved slowly east through the town to the cemetery. Townspeople lined the streets and followed behind.

The honour guard carried the casket from the caisson to the grave, where it waited to be lowered into the ground. The Colonel and Ellen stood on one side, the honour guard on the other. Forty yards away, a lone bagpiper played Amazing Grace.

The whole town had turned out to pay their respects to the fallen hero. A line of black limousines sat parked behind the small stage that had been set up for the cast of scheduled speakers. Television crews and photographers were herded into an area behind yellow ropes off to the side. Their whirrs and shutter clicks added an unwanted soundtrack to the sombre atmosphere.

Chris had never seen anything like it. It wasn’t a time of private grief—it was showbiz. He stayed in the background with Beth, who didn’t care for the glare of the cameras. He held her hand as she cried silently and dried her eyes with the handkerchief that he’d given her.

Chris had often heard how grief made women appear sexy. He’d never experienced it and had always doubted it. But it was true. Beth looked stunning, dressed in a small black hat, a short black jacket over a white blouse, a tight black skirt and black stockings. Chris knew they were stockings and not pantyhose because he’d seen her putting them on that morning when he’d accidentally walked in on her in the bathroom. Through her grief, Beth gave off an air of sexuality that Chris fought hard to resist. There was something carnal about the commemoration of death that made him want to celebrate life and all its pleasures. And he wanted to celebrate with Beth.