The Helmet - The beginning(Belle Renard) Reims, France
August 30, 1944

Captain Bernard Lawrence crouched in the shadows behind a crumbling wall, aware of the seriousness of his mission. The dirt quietly crunched beneath the soles of his boots as he shifted his weight, waiting for the right moment to dart from his hiding place. The August night in northern France was mild and he was thankful for the army jacket he wore, to ward off the slight chill. Actually, he thought to himself, it was nearly dawn. He had been lurking in the shadows all night, working to obtain details on the German troop locations in and around the city of Reims, France. This location had become vital to the Allied forces in their pursuit of victory against the Nazis, and he had been sent here on a secret mission to gather intelligence data that could help turn the tide of the terrible war that had gripped the world.

He dared once more to peek around the corner of the worn stones of the low wall, to check that the German guard had moved on to continue his rounds somewhere else. The darkened street looked deserted once again, although it was difficult to see in the black pools of darkness that surrounded the bright islands of light, cast by the few remaining street lamps. Captain Lawrence knew he had to move now or risk being found where he hid. He stood and silently moved across to the narrow gap between the two houses across the street. Just as he reached the safety of the sliver of darkness, a series of loud explosions broke the silence of the night.

Suddenly what had been an eerily silent night, disturbed only by the rough sound of German commands and the laugh of soldiers too confident in their positions, was now a cacophony of booms and shouts and gunfire. All of it so loud and constant that it melded into a never ending symphony of noise. The darkness, that he had worked so hard to use as a cover to protect his position, was now eliminated by the light from explosions and muzzle flashes. The Allied forces had apparently successfully liberated nearby Épernay and they were now focusing their full attention on the town of Reims. Bernard knew this was the eventual plan. A few small skirmishes had taken place in recent days but he didn't know things would heat up this fast, however. He felt sure he had gathered vital intel, in fact, he was sure he had obtained very important information that could help bring this bloody battle to an end. Now all he needed to do was get himself safely through this mess and get his message into the proper hands.

Just as Bernard had this thought he came face to face with a young German soldier, who materialized as he ran around the corner of the building that had been providing cover for Captain Lawrence. His eyes shone, wild with panic. Bernard's training kicked in and he moved to raise his weapon but the young soldier's momentum carried him forward as he ran into Bernard before he had a chance to move. In the struggle, a shot split the air between them and the soldier stepped back in amazement. The blast from the gun stunned both men and all time and sound seemed to stop. The young German man stared, mouth agape, at Bernard, then at the offending pistol in his own hand, and back at Bernard. The sweat mingled with the dirt smudged on his face and his crazed eyes left Bernard's face and traveled down to his chest. Bernard followed the young man's gaze and saw a crimson patch spreading across the fabric of his own shirt, under the lapel of his jacket. As he reached up and pulled his jacket aside, his knees seemed to lose strength and he fell slowly to a kneeling position. He raised his eyes back to the shell-shocked German, in what felt like slow motion, only to see a bullet strike the young man nearly in the center of his forehead. The crazed look never left his face as his body fell backwards into the pile of rubble and debris that littered the alleyway.

Just then, time came crashing back and Bernard looked to his left in time to see the welcome site of a fellow American Army soldier running towards him in the darkness. As he approached, Bernard couldn't help but notice the detailed artwork on the man's helmet. In a daze, a part of Bernard's brain wondered if this guy had painted it himself. It was damn fine work. Another part of Bernard's brain was aware enough to realize this was not what was important at the moment. Bernard tried to raise his left arm to reach for the newcomer but he realized suddenly that he felt a searing pain in his chest where the German had shot him and it was becoming increasingly difficult to breathe. He tried to speak to the man but he found he could not, whether from the pain or the dry desert his throat had become.

He looked once again at the design on the man's helmet and saw a beautiful woman...no...an angel, and she was holding the ace of spades. The "death card", as it was known. Lots of guys put the death card on their helmets, but this was something different. As the image before him began to blur and then swim back into focus, he briefly thought of the irony of having an angel holding the death card. She was a bombshell, too, or was that not something you were supposed to say about an angel?

The soldier was tending to his wounds, as Bernard's eyes slid closed. Once again he wanted to speak, but all he could do was reach for the man who was working so hard to save him, a stranger but still a fellow soldier...a brother on the battlefield. He felt immense pressure on his chest and said one last prayer as the darkness overcame him.

* * *

Hushed voices were the first thing that Captain Lawrence remembered hearing after the intense noises of battle. It was odd that one minute everything had been so loud and suddenly, there was gentle whispering. This musing was disturbed by an abrupt bawdy laugh, followed by a quick squeal and a rebuke from a woman. "What was a woman doing in the middle of a battle?" Bernard wondered. "Am I still in the battle?"

He opened his eyes, which was difficult at first. Blinking several times, he found the light blinded him and caused him pain. He winced and tried again, now hearing more whispers and shushing. He raised his right hand to help shield his eyes from the dim light and turned his head in the direction the laugh had come from. He noticed rows of what looked like beds with prone forms on many of them. Women walked among the forms, dressed all in white, and talked quietly. A larger form, probably a man, appeared to be reaching for one of the women in a playful way. Another woman noticed he had moved and came to his side. She bent over him and spoke in a low, soothing voice. If he wasn't in so much pain, he would have wondered if she was an angel. He was clearly not dead, however. The agony in his chest and ribs told him that.

"Captain Lawrence, welcome back. How are you feeling?"

Bernard opened his mouth to speak and his throat felt like sandpaper. He closed his mouth again and squeezed his eyes shut. He opened them again to find her bringing a small paper cup to his lips, as she helped him raise his head and take a small sip of water. When he laid his head back, he asked in a hoarse whisper, "Where am I?"

"You're in a field hospital in Épernay. You were brought in a couple of days ago. You were shot in the chest at close range and suffered a pneumothorax....a collapsed lung," she corrected when she saw the confused look on Bernard's face. "You were very fortunate. Apparently, someone saw you immediately after you were wounded and had the right skills to get you stabilized until you were brought here."

"Who was it?" Bernard asked.

"I don't know. I'll ask around and see if I can find out. It wasn't anyone who brought you here. They said he rejoined the battle when they loaded you up to bring you in."

Bernard closed his eyes and saw the image of the beautiful angel holding the card of death. He huffed a small laugh to himself. He was glad the angel hadn't played that card on his hand.

* * *

Bernard later learned that he had been caught in the opening volley of the battle to liberate Reims from the Germans, after a successful liberation of the nearby town of Épernay on August 28, 1944. The Germans had taken hold of Reims, pillaged their famous wine cellars, and set up command posts there along with pivotal lines of communication. This is why Bernard was sent there. As an Army Intelligence officer, he was tasked with obtaining the information the Allied Forces needed to crush the Nazi's and take back the lands they had stolen, inch by bloody inch.

The Allied soldiers had been fighting to liberate Épernay and Bernard had planned to be out of Reims before the battle started but, in the early morning hours of August 30, he realized he had miscalculated and now time had run out. Still, the information he had obtained did end up being quite important in determining the course of the war. He had knowledge of undocumented troop movements that the Germans had kept very secret, taking a page from the American's playbook at Normandy, by not broadcasting their intentions over the radio. But, they did discuss it among themselves and Bernard was in the right place at the right time, and overheard their plans.

After he regained consciousness in the field hospital, he was able to relay this information in time to stage a counter offensive. His superiors told him he was to be awarded the Distinguished Service Cross for the valuable information that he risked his life to obtain and for getting seriously wounded in the process. Bernard felt he was only one cog in a large machine and he was only doing his duty. Interestingly enough, the Germans signed their surrender, on May 7, 1945, in the very town where Captain Lawrence had discovered their plans. He remained on active duty in France until July, 1945 when he finally returned home to Kansas.

* * *
Conway Springs, Kansas
Summer 1955

The summer of 1955 was hot in Conway Springs, Kansas. Jack Lawrence's daddy, Bernard, said it was hotter this year than it was last year. He said the crazy weather they were having was the reason for the big tornado that had killed all them people in Udall, a few months ago. That was a terrible thing, and that was a scary night full of angry storms. Jack was thankful the tornadoes hadn't hit his little town, but he did feel bad for all the people who lost their lives and their homes in Udall, not all that far from where he lived.

Tornadoes were a fact of life in the Kansas plains but you always hoped one would never really touch down where you lived. Jack pondered these serious thoughts as he rode his bike down the street, bored because none of his friends could come out to play. They either had to visit relatives, or help their mamas with chores. Jack hated having to go sit with his grandma and his old aunts. They all chided him constantly to sit up straight or fix his shirt or get the dirt off of his pants. And they smelled funny. Why did old people always have to smell funny?

Jack laughed a little to himself at this last thought, as he glanced to the right. The old Mason house had sat on this street for years, looking dark and ominous. Each year that went by saw more vines covering the windows and more paint peeling from the sides of the house. The old blue gray paint curled up on many of the boards, revealing dried wood underneath, bleached to a dull gray color from years of neglect and exposure to the elements from which they should have been protected. Jack found himself steering his bike past the bent metal mailbox with "Mason" on the side in faded black letters, and up the driveway of the dilapidated old place, curious about the lives that had been lived here. He knew that the old couple had both died about seven years ago and he had never seen anyone at this house, as long as he could remember. Jack was only nine years old, after all, so they had died when he was still just a baby. Jack's daddy always said that his mama had given him a gift after he came home from the war. Nine months after daddy came home, mama gave him "a bouncing baby boy!" Jack laughed quietly to himself again, as he pictured his daddy telling the story. He always thought that sounded corny but it was still a good story because it always made his mama laugh. His mama and daddy were always very happy and Jack knew that was something to treasure. His friend, Tommy, had parents who fought from sunup to sundown. As a result, Tommy spent most days playing outside with Jack. Today, though, Tommy had to go to a funeral for one of his dad's relatives, so Jack was on his own.

Jack glided his bike around the side of the two story house, staring up at the darkened windows in the side of the old house. Dusty faded curtains hung in the windows, hinting at sunny days long ago, where curtains would be lowered to cut the sunlight that was coming into the house and keep it cool during the day. Jack laid his bike in the knee-high grass behind the house, and looked back at the trail he had left in the sea of green. He stepped his way through the grass to the door of the old storm cellar. It had been left unpainted and now was bleached nearly white by the direct rays of the blazing Kansas sun. He reached for one of the black iron handles and gently tugged to see if it would give way. Give way it did, as it came right off the door in his hand. The wood plank that it had been attached to splintered, and left a hole in the middle of the door. Jack looked around to see if anyone was watching him and briefly thought about leaving, but then without thinking, he reached down and used the hole in the door to help lift the old door open. A smell of mildew and dust hit him like a wave, along with a stream of cool air that came pouring out of the old dark cellar. It was both inviting and revolting, depending on what you focused on. Jack's love of adventure and, what his daddy called a "lack of common sense", drove him forward into the subterranean room, as he pushed aside old webs that clung to the opening.

Once Jack's feet touched down on the floor of the basement he stood still for a moment, waiting for his eyes to adjust. He never snuck into someone else's house before and he was sure this was something he would get the paddle for. Pure curiosity worked to move his feet slowly forward, as he turned his head from side to side, shuffling across the room taking it all in. Eventually, he bumped into something solid on the floor and he lowered his gaze to the object in front of him. A small set of stairs led up to a closed door that must lead into the house. He stood there for a moment, staring at the door. He had heard of people who said they have an angel on one shoulder and a devil on the other, telling them what to do. He imagined right now that his angel was telling him to turn around and get out of here. Jack really wanted to keep going and he knew that his devil was cheering him on.

Once again, the lack of common sense won, as did the devil he so obviously carried with him. He ascended the short flight of stairs and grabbed the handle. He slowly turned it and the door gave a little pop as the warped wood was finally released from its constraints and allowed to swing open. The sunlight that had lit the world outside, now poured in through the dusty old curtains that Jack had seen before. The cheerful kitchen looked as though Mr. and Mrs. Mason would enter the room at any moment and demand that this wild child explain why he was in their kitchen. Jack froze for a moment, just in case, looking toward the entry door. But no one came to chastise him. He turned his gaze toward the sink and the stove, covered in a layer of dust. The white enamel countertops, that ran the whole length of the outer wall, were just like the ones his mama had, only hers were a lot cleaner. These were covered in mouse droppings, and dead bugs, and lord knew what else. A small metal frame table and chairs sat under the window on the far wall. Jack moved to his left, toward the door to the next room, where he had earlier expected to see a displeased elderly couple.

He entered a dark dining room with a large wooden table in the center of the room. There were very few windows in here and the wood on the walls beat back any light that the small window allowed to enter. The yellow curtains over the window, made an attempt at cheerfulness but the sun had long since bleached most of the color from the fabric and they hung like tissue paper in the opening. Beyond the dining room was a worn living room with the usual couch and chair. As Jack moved toward that room, he saw a set of stairs to his left that led up, further into the house. He glanced again at the living room but then seemed to make up his mind to go see what awaited him upstairs.

The staircase was very narrow and seemed to stretch on forever with steep stairs crammed close together. His small feet stepped carefully onto each step, covered in worn red carpet. He looked down at his feet as he slowly climbed, aware that the house was falling apart and briefly wondered if it was going to all come crashing down with him inside. When he reached the top and entered the room to his right, he forgot about his misgivings and stared at the sight before him. It looked like a shrine. The room had clearly belonged to a boy, or maybe a teenager. There were cool things like baseballs and a bat and a couple of model planes. The metal frame twin bed was pushed against the wall, under the only window in the room. At the foot of the bed was a wooden trunk. Jack was amazed at all the photos in the room. They were all photos of the same boy, at different stages of his life. He smiled out from one frame as a young boy, dressed to play ball, with his dark eyes squinted against the sun. In another photo, he was a tall lanky teenager wearing a white shirt with stripes and dark pants, with his arm thrown around a woman. Jack guessed that must have been his mama. He looked happy in that photo as his mama smiled up at him while he looked at the camera with the hint of a smile on his face. Another photo showed him as a young man, wearing an Army uniform, looking stern. Jack heard that the Mason's had a son who died in the war. This must be his room, Jack thought. Suddenly, he felt like he was intruding a bit. He stood in the center of the wood plank floor and stared around the old room. His eyes settled once again on the trunk at the end of the bed. He briefly wrestled with the idea that he should leave this shrine to the Mason's son, but the curiosity that burned inside him, of what could be contained within the walls of the wooden trunk, was just too much. He decided to just take a peek and then leave.

He crossed the room quickly and knelt in front of the large box, placing both hands against the front of the boxy lid to lift it. Despite the obvious age of the trunk, the lid swung up easily and Jack peered inside. "Whoa," he breathed as his eyes landed on the contents. Carefully folded on the left was an army uniform with the name Mason stitched into a patch and sewn onto the breast. On the right, Jack saw the domed shape of the top of a helmet. He reached his hand toward the helmet to touch it.

"Boo!" a voice shouted and Jack fell backward while the lid slammed shut. Tommy fell to the ground in the doorway, shaking and holding his stomach while he laughed at Jack.

"Tommy! Why did you do that?" Jack breathed deeply as he berated his friend and tried to get his heart back under control. It felt like it was going to bang its way out of his chest. "Where did you come from?? I thought you was at a funeral!"

"I was but it was only the viewing. They said I didn't need to stay. I came to see what you was up to an' I saw you go around the back of the house. So I decided to come see where you went. I scared you, din't I?" Tommy asked with a mischievous look on his face, before he started laughing again. "You should'er seen your face!" Jack scowled at his laughing friend and stood up, brushing dust and dirt from his pants. "Yeah, it was funny, I'll bet," he grumbled.

"What're you doing, anyway?" Tommy asked, bringing himself back under control.

"Nothin," Jack said, but Tommy's eyes slid past him toward the trunk where Jack had been when Tommy scared him.

"What's in there?" Tommy asked and started into the room.

"Nothin," Jack repeated and moved to sit on the trunk.

"Come on," Tommy said as he reached the trunk and tried to push Jack lightly so he could open the trunk.

"No, really, Tommy. I don't think it's right. This stuff ain't ours n'we shouldn't mess with it"

Tommy pushed Jack harder, trying to move him from blocking the trunk. Tommy always seemed to look up to Jack and he only pushed him once more and then he looked into Jack's eyes. He could see Jack was serious.

"Let's go," Jack said and he started towards the door of the bedroom. Tommy stood behind him and paused for a moment, looking back at the trunk, but then he followed Jack out of the room and back down the stairs. The two boys retraced their steps out of the cellar and emerged into the world of the living, once again, and the heat of the sunny summer day.

* * *

"What'cha ya wanna do now?" Tommy asked as the boys pedaled their bikes away from the house.

"Dunno," Jack shrugged. His mind was back there in that bedroom but he didn't want Tommy to go back there and ruin it. He liked Tommy, he really did, but he sometimes felt like Tommy didn't respect stuff the way that he did. Tommy was his best friend, but this was something he didn't want to share with him, best friend or no.

The boys ended up at the old rope swing in the woods, where they usually went when they couldn't find much else to do. Tommy noticed Jack's mood had shifted. "What's the matter? Don't you want to play?" he asked his friend. Jack looked at Tommy and saw confusion and concern in his friend's eyes, where he half expected to see annoyance. Jack sighed and looked back to the ground. "Nah, I'm not feeling very good. I think I'm going to head on home. Sorry, Tommy." Jack rose from the swing and started slowly making his way back down the path towards home. Tommy ran and caught up with him at the edge of the woods, where the two boys had left their bikes. "I'll see you tomorrow, Jack." Tommy said with a meaningful tone in his voice. He could tell Jack was faking, but he didn't know why.

Jack didn't want to hurt his friend's feelings but he couldn't get that trunk out of his head. He just had to go back, but he didn't want Tommy there. Jack gave his friend a weak smile and said, "Yeah, sure Tommy. I'm sure I'll feel better by tomorrow," and he hopped on his bike and pedaled in the direction of home.

After riding for a bit, Jack was sure Tommy hadn't followed him and turned up the street that the Mason's house was on. He took his bike around the back again and hid it in the high grass before following his earlier path through the cellar and back up to the room that contained the trunk. The light had changed and the room felt softer now. The sunlight was no longer streaming in, as it had before. Now it cast an ethereal glow over the room while it shone gently on the foot of the bed and the lid of the trunk.

Jack lifted the lid once more and saw the contents of the trunk. Feeling a little paranoid he glanced over his shoulder to be sure Tommy hadn't followed him inside, but there was no one standing there. Jack reached for the helmet once again and lifted it from the cold darkness of the trunk into the warm glow of the room. It was heavier than he expected it to be and it had obviously seen some action. There were dings and scuff marks all over it. The coolest part was the drawing on the side though. The guy who had this helmet was obviously an artist. Jack couldn't draw anything, if he had to, but he ran his fingers over the paint on the design and breathed, "Wow."

He set the helmet on his head and it fit a little loose but not too bad. He felt for the chin straps and worked his fingers to buckle them. They felt like they had never been buckled before. Jack thought of the photos he had seen of the men during the war and he remembered seeing the straps dangling, unbuckled. Jack quickly unbuckled the straps. He stood and walked toward the mirror over the bureau and looked at his dust covered reflection in the glass. He turned his head to see the artwork on the side, which was harder to see now at this angle with so much dust on the mirror, but he dared not disturb it.

Whoever had owned this helmet had expertly painted a beautiful woman, with flowing blond hair, wearing a white robe. Her beautiful face, shown from the side, was bowed toward a card she held in her hand with the ace of spades on it. Her solemn expression made Jack think of the praying statues at church. Behind her there were flames and a sword, which reminded Jack of a cross. The woman, he thought, now reminded him of an angel. She had something pinned into her hair which reminded him of wings and between that and her flowing white gown, he guessed this is what angels could look like if they kept their wings hidden. He removed the helmet once again to get a better look at the design. As he did so, he noticed a dark mark at the edge of the helmet and touched it with his fingers. It was something that had dried on the helmet and he realized suddenly, that it looked like a tiny spot of dried blood. He dropped the helmet with disgust and backed away from it while it bobbled back and forth on its top. He looked at it again and gingerly picked it up and put it back in the trunk, closing the lid over it.

Jack suddenly realized it was getting late and he better get home before mama got mad at him for missing supper. He quickly made his way back through the now familiar route he had found through the old house and retrieved his bike from its hiding place. As he peddled home, his mind was still back in that room.

* * *

The days passed slowly as they often did during the hot summer months. Jack and Tommy once again found themselves swimming, riding their bikes, and playing in the coolness of the forest. Everything had gone back to normal, and Jack had all but forgotten the strange room in the old house that seemed to still hold the soul of the young soldier from long ago.

"We should go back to that old house," Tommy said, as the boys swung their legs lazily over the side of the old log. They were at old Slate Creek again, a little over a mile out of town, past Conway Springs Cemetery. Jack had glanced at the old cemetery as the boys rode their bikes to the river. He thought of old Mr. and Mrs. Mason and their son, who they obviously loved so much. Jack's thoughts had returned to that room, too, but now that Tommy was talking about it, Jack felt protective of it.

"Nah," was all that Jack said. Tommy looked at him and said, "Aw, come on. We can see what kind of neat stuff they have in there. The whole house just looked like someone up an' walked away from it. It was kind of spooky, if you ask me."

"Well, I didn't ask you, did I?" Jack snapped. Tommy looked at his friend suddenly and said, "What's eatin' you??"

"Nuthin', sorry about that," Jack said as he hung his head. He realized he had been rude to his friend, but he just wanted Tommy to forget about the house. He had brought it up again a few times since discovering Jack crouched over the old trunk. Jack always managed to steer the conversation to something else, but he could tell it was firmly lodged in his friend's mind and he wasn't going to let it go.

"I bet you can't swim out to the old stump and back before I do." Jack said suddenly. He hopped off the log at the water's edge and started into the water. He smiled as he looked back over his shoulder at his friend, still sitting on the log.

Tommy was so easily redirected and was always game for whatever Jack wanted to do. He grinned and jumped off of the log and rushed into the water. The two boys raced each other to the stump and back again, with Tommy winning by a mile. He was a much stronger swimmer than Jack, but Jack didn't mind. They laughed as they exited the water and found a sunny patch to lay down and dry off a bit. Both boys lay as mirror images of one another, with their hands behind their heads and one knee bent up.

"School ought to be startin' soon," Jack said.

"Yep," was all Tommy said.

"I'm not ready. I hate having to go sit there all day. I would rather be right here, doin' this," Jack said sternly.

"Me too," said Tommy.

The two boys lay there on the shore with their faces turned up to the sun, enjoying the last hot days of summer and freedom. Jack's thoughts once again turned toward the old house and he realized he was going to have to do something to protect the items he had come to treasure in that trunk. He didn't care a lick about anything else in that house, but for some reason, the stuff in that trunk seemed special...sacred almost. He made up his mind and felt better for it. Tomorrow, he will make one last trip to the house.

* * *

The next morning was gray and overcast, a sharp contrast to the warm sunshine of the day before. Jack ate his breakfast quickly.

"Big plans for today, son?" his father, Bernard, asked as Jack gobbled down his toast.

Jack shrugged and tried to seem uninterested. "Nothin' much. I'll probably go ride my bike and go exploring' or sumthin."

"Just be back by suppertime," his mother, Alice, said. "You were late last night and you came in covered in mud. I expect you to come home in time to wash up and sit down to supper proper. You hear?" She scolded him, but Jack knew she wasn't mad. "Yes, Mama," Jack answered.

"Well, better get on with it then, I guess," his father said and winked at his son. Jack returned, "May I be excused?" and his father nodded with a smile. Jack jumped up from the table and carried his dishes to his mother at the sink. She bent down for a kiss on the cheek and he raced out the door.

Jack had already stashed his duffel bag outside under some bushes and he retrieved it now as he hopped on his bike. His heart raced as he pushed his bike faster and his thoughts arrived at the old house even before he did. He raced through the now familiar rooms and straight up to the boy's room. Just before entering he slowed and crossed the threshold slowly. He began to wonder if he was doing the right thing, but he knew it was important to protect the items in the trunk. Obviously, Mr. and Mrs. Mason had wanted them protected, or they wouldn't have put them so carefully into an old trunk for safekeeping.

Jack stepped to the trunk and opened the lid. The contents were there, as they had been on the first day and every day since. Jack opened his bag and carefully lifted the items and placed them, reverently, into his bag. As he closed the lid and turned to go, his eyes fell upon the photo of the young soldier. The soldier stared back at him and Jack felt he was accusing him of stealing. "I ain't stealing, sir. I'm doin' what I think is right to keep your things safe." Jack stood there for another couple of heartbeats, staring at the old photo as if it were going to respond and either give permission or tell him to drop the things and leave. Finally, Jack grabbed the picture and added it to his bag of items and left the room.

Back outside, Jack slung the heavy bag over his head and across his body. He rode straight home and entered the house, hoping not to run into anyone who would want to know what he was carrying.

"Back so soon?" his mother's voice called from the kitchen.

Jack didn't answer. He raced straight up to his room and stuffed the items, bag and all under his bed. His dad walked in just as he stood up. "I thought you had gone," his father said.

"I had...uh, I came back to find my bat. Tommy and I wanted to play some ball." Jack reached down and picked up his bat from its spot leaning against the wall at the foot of his bed. He darted out of the room, past his father, and back outside.

He had done it. Now if Tommy wanted to visit that house, Jack didn't mind. He had saved the important things, the rest of it was just "stuff". Jack felt lighter as he ran toward Tommy's house to coax his friend into a game of ball on one of the few remaining days of the summer of 1955.

* * *
What will the impact of Jack's actions be? A final lesson will be learned...

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