A Place of Peace
“Now Melinda rocked in Joan’s old chair, rifle propped up next to the porch railing. Joan had still been asleep when Melinda came outside. She would probably sleep most of the day. The late June morning was already growing hot, burning the last of the early fog away and forecasting another scorching day. She had written another letter, sending it to wherever the army was currently encamped, not holding out any hope she would find any answers, but she felt she had to keep trying. Her father ...was out there somewhere, and whether he was a prisoner or dead, Melinda had to know. The not knowing was destroying her a little more each day. Joan was wasting away and could barely speak more than a few isolated grunts and syllables. Melinda began to understand what she was saying, like a mother could come to understand a small child by their own system of sounds and gestures.
Then Melinda began noticing that Joan was not moving her arms as well as she used to. One side of Joan’s body was rigid, and the corner of her mouth sagged on the left side. This had moved past the category of simply being in shock: Melinda knew something was seriously wrong with Joan, but she had no way of knowing what or how to fix it.MoreLess
Then Melinda began noticing that Joan was not moving her arms as well as she used to. One side of Joan’s body was rigid, and the corner of her mouth sagged on the left side. This had moved past the category of simply being in shock: Melinda knew something was seriously wrong with Joan, but she had no way of knowing what or how to fix it.MoreLess
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