A Trail of Fire by Diana Gabaldon Read Free Book Online

expression, though it didn’t touch the stone in her heart.
    ‘It’s his new word,’ she said. ‘Fish. He can’t say “sardine”.’
    ‘Thar . . . DEEM!’ Roger said, glaring at her. ‘Fitttthhhhh!’
    The captain laughed out loud, and pulling out a handkerchief, carefully wiped the spittle off Roger’s face, casually going on to wipe the grubby little paws as well.
    ‘Of course it’s a fish,’ he assured Roger. ‘You’re a clever lad. And a big help to your mummy, I’m sure. Here, I’ve brought you something for your tea.’ He groped in the pocket of his coat and pulled out a small pot of jam. Strawberry jam. Marjorie’s salivary glands contracted painfully. With the sugar rationing, she hadn’t tasted jam in . . .
    ‘He’s a great help,’ her mother put in stoutly, determined to keep the conversation on a proper plane despite her daughter’s peculiar behaviour. She avoided Marjorie’s eye. ‘A lovely boy. His name’s Roger.’
    ‘Yes, I know.’ He glanced at Marjorie, who’d made a brief movement. ‘Your husband told me. He was—’
    ‘Brave. You told me.’ Suddenly something snapped. It was her half-hooked garter, but the pop of it made her sit up straight, fists clenched in the thin fabric of her skirt. ‘Brave,’ she repeated. ‘They’re all brave, aren’t they? Every single one. Even you – or are you?’
    She heard her mother’s gasp, but went on anyway, reckless.
    ‘You all have to be brave and noble and— and— perfect, don’t you? Because if you were weak, if there were any cracks, if anyone looked like being not quite the thing, you know – well, it might all fall apart, mightn’t it? So none of you will, will you? Or if somebody did, the rest of you would cover it up. You won’t ever not do something, no matter what it is, because you can’t not do it; all the other chaps would think the worse of you, wouldn’t they, and we can’t have that, oh, no, we can’t have that!’
    Captain Randall was looking at her intently, his eyes dark with concern. Probably thought she was a nutter – probably she was, but what did it matter?
    ‘Marjie, Marjie, love,’ her mother was murmuring, horribly embarrassed. ‘You oughn’t to say such things to—’
    ‘You made him do it, didn’t you?’ She was on her feet now, looming over the captain, making him look up at her. ‘He told me. He told me about you. You came and asked him to do— whatever it was that got him killed. Oh, don’t trouble yourself, he didn’t tell me your bloody precious secrets – not him, he wouldn’t do that. He was a flier.’ She was panting with rage and had to stop to draw breath. Roger, she saw dimly, had shrunk into himself and was clinging to the captain’s leg; Randall put an arm about the boy automatically, as though to shelter him from his mother’s wrath. With an effort she made herself stop shouting, and to her horror, felt tears begin to course down her face.
    ‘And now you come and bring me— and bring me . . .’
    ‘Marjie.’ Her mother came up close beside her, her body warm and soft and comforting in her worn old pinny. She thrust a tea-towel into Marjorie’s hands, then moved between her daughter and the enemy, solid as a battleship.
    ‘It’s kind of you to’ve brought us this, captain,’ Marjorie heard her saying, and felt her move away, bending to pick up the little box. Marjorie sat down blindly, pressing the tea-towel to her face, hiding.
    ‘Here, Roger, look. See how it opens? See how pretty? It’s called— what did you say it was again, captain? Oh, oakleaf cluster. Yes, that’s right. Can you say “medal”, Roger? Meh-dul. This is your dad’s medal.’
    Roger didn’t say anything. Probably scared stiff, poor little chap. She had to pull herself together. But she’d gone too far. She couldn’t stop.
    ‘He cried when he left me,’ she muttered the secret into the folds of the tea-towel. ‘He didn’t want to go.’ Her shoulders heaved with a