Linda turned the letter over in her hands, as she made her way down the dark hallway. Her bare feet padded over a maroon carpet that ran the length of the hall. It was fringed with gold tassels at the edges. One had flipped over and was splayed out in front of her right foot. Linda gave a swift kick, flipping it back into place as she passed by.

At the end of the hall, Linda pressed on a heavy mahogany door. It gave a staggering creak as it slowly swung forward.

As she peeked into the dimly lit room, Linda could see Frank sitting in the corner at his desk.

Her husband was wearing a frown so deep that it creased his entire face. Frank looked up and took a swig of scotch from a cocktail glass. On the desk, a large bottle of the golden liquor was nearly empty.

"Frank?" Linda said. She entered the den, her feet touching down on the cool planks of the cherry wood flooring. She shut the door behind her, listening for the sharp click as the door met the jamb.

Frank sighed and set down the glass, and it was almost half empty.

Linda put one hand on her hip and came over to Frank's desk.

"You're still drinking, Frank? You had two glasses with supper. And from the looks of it, a few more since then."

Frank nodded slowly, his nose as red as a drunk's on Liberty Avenue.

"Yep," he muttered. "I suppose I did."

"Honey, what's wrong?" Linda asked.

Bending her knees slightly, Linda took Frank's chin with her fingertips and tilted his face up until he had no choice but to look her in the eyes. They were swollen and bloodshot.

Was that from the scotch or from the burden he was holding onto inside?

Frank pulled away, averting his eyes and releasing another heavy sigh.

"Frank, you need to tell me what's going on," Linda insisted. "I'm your wife. If you can't talk through your worries with me, then who can you talk to? You hardly ate anything at supper, and you haven't spoken more than a few words since you got home. You didn't even notice this?"

Linda held out the letter she'd been fiddling with. "I left it right on the counter for you. It's from Peter."

Frank reached out and took the piece of paper. "Have you read it yet?" he asked dully.

Linda shook her head. "No, I wanted to read it together with you. I was going to tell you that it came during supper, but then you seemed so withdrawn. I was waiting for you to open up and tell me what was bothering you." She paused and gave a shrug. "But here we are, and you still haven't told me what's wrong. Why don't we read Peter's letter and then maybe we can talk about what's bothering you?"

Frank gave another sigh. "Sure," he said. "That's probably a good idea."

Linda took the mahogany guest chair and set it down next to where Frank sat.

Frank unfolded the letter, the writing looking pained and cramped, and began to read.

Dear Mother and Father,

Before I tell you anything else about what has happened in the past week, I first want to start by saying that I am fine. I am in a military hospital right now, but I am in no imminent danger of dying. I felt that I had to say that before I started to tell the rest ...

Linda gasped, clapping a hand over her mouth. Even though Peter had said that he was fine, her heart had already sped up so quickly that she was feeling hot and vaguely dizzy. For Peter to preface his letter in such a way, something truly terrible must have happened. Linda prayed that Peter wasn't minimizing his wounds. She gritted her teeth and begged God to help him recover completely and soon. Linda could see that Frank was also shaken by those words. His face had turned a shade lighter. When he started to read again, there was an audible tremor in his voice.

I've been leading a platoon of black soldiers. I felt very out of place when I was first given this assignment.

I'm the only white man working with a group of blacks. I've never worked closely with colored men before. It sounds strange to admit this in writing, but I think I didn't know what to expect, because I didn't really know what colored men were like. I thought maybe I wouldn't be able to relate to them.

All of the men made me feel very welcome right away. They went out of their way to talk to me and include me in the mealtime conversations.

I started to realize what I knew all along - that all of the separation between blacks and whites in Hester is just plum silly. There's no reason for it.

We are all the same. Color shouldn't matter.

We were scouting what we thought was an abandoned village, when enemy troops started firing down on us from the vacated buildings. We weren't prepared for it ...

Frank stopped reading and tossed the letter onto the desk. His eyes were moist with tears ready to spill onto his cheeks, and he hastily wiped them away with the back of his hand. He was trying to be discreet but failing miserably.

Linda picked up the letter and continued reading.

One of the Kaiser's soldiers had his rifle aimed at me from the second floor of a stone building. He had me dead to rights. He fired, and one my men jumped into action and shoved me out of the way. The bullet that was meant for me hit my friend, Harold Ramsey. He gave up his life to save mine! It didn't matter that I was white, or that he was colored. It just didn't matter. And you know what his last words were? He said to tell his wife and his three daughters how much he loved them and how proud he was of them. That will be my mission when I return.

For now, I will remain in the hospital for the next few days. I have a few minor injuries, mainly to my leg. I am walking with a bit of a gimp. But it is better than the grim alternative.

I will write again soon.

Take care mom and dad, and do not worry about me. I am in good care here.

Love,

Peter

Linda set the letter down on the desk, her heart heavy with grief for that black soldier. But she also felt relieved. She knew that it was terribly selfish of her, but she was glad that Peter had survived the attack. Linda didn't know how she would ever cope if Peter were killed in combat.

What would the mother of that selfless black soldier do? How would she deal with her loss?

It seemed unfathomable to Linda. She truly felt that if she lost her only son, she would fly apart into countless pieces. No one would ever be able to stitch her back up, and anyone who tried would never be able to make all of the pieces fit together again. She knew that she would be forever fractured. A reality without her son just wasn't one that she would be able to function in.

Frank cleared his throat. "Lin, are you okay?"

Linda looked over and pushed a smile onto her face.

"Yes, I'm okay," she said. "I can't believe that our son came so close to dying. It's such a shocking thought. If that man hadn't saved him ... well, we would be reading a completely different letter right now ... a death notice. That poor man's family ..."

Frank nodded. "Did you see what Peter wrote? That soldier had three daughters."

"Yes, I know," Linda said, weeping as she talked. "It's a real shame. A tragedy. Those poor children. And what about his wife? His parents?"

Frank snorted. "And here I am kicking black men off my baseball team, while on the other side of the ocean, a black man lays down his life for my son. He's a hero, while I can't even be a decent human being."

Linda had thought this might be the reason for Frank's low mood. When he'd first told her about the meeting with Henry and Willy, they'd gotten into an argument over it. Linda had grown so mad, that she wouldn't listen to anything else Frank had to say. That led to Frank sleeping on the living room sofa. Eventually, Linda came to realize that Frank must have been under some kind of duress to keep them from playing.

"Is that what's bothering you? Henry and Willy? You know, you never really told me what prompted that meeting with them."

"I keep seeing that darn meeting over and over again in my mind. It's just that I don't see how I could have done anything else. Mr. Heiler said if we didn't pull them from the roster, he'd levy heavy fines against Union Steel. And of course, my father backed him up. He wasn't happy with my decision to hire those boys in the first place. I didn't mentioned this, but he threatened to fire me if I continued to let them play."

"What?!" Linda exclaimed.

"Yeah. After all of my years of serving Union Steel, he said he'd fire me for the good of the company ... his son ... his only son. What choice did I have?"

Linda quirked an eyebrow. "Well, I think that you might know the answer to that better than me. But are you really sure you didn't have a choice?"

Frank blinked and looked away.

Linda continued. "Think about that soldier who died to save our son? He could have acted out of fear. He could have told himself that he didn't have a choice, or that he had to protect his own life, so he could get home to his family. But he didn't do that. He had choices, and he made his choice despite the risk of what he might lose."

Frank took a deep breath and looked back into his wife's eyes. Then he nodded resolutely. "You're making a lot of sense, Linda."

"As always." Linda smirked. After a brief pause, she turned serious again. "Frank, doing the right thing isn't always easy, and it isn't always without cost. I have to say, I don't see how the Pioneers can go on without Henry and Willy. They really got the team to where they are today."

Frank groaned. "I know." He placed his forehead in his hands. "What have I done? What does skin color mean anyway? It's nothing but a pigment! What could something so miniscule really say about a person? All this time, I've been ignoring the truth. I signed Henry for all the wrong reasons. Sure, he eased the tensions between the blacks and whites at the mill. But he did so much more than that. He showed a town how to live ... by turning the other cheek. And I let him go."

Linda reached out and placed a reassuring hand on her husband's shoulder. "Frank, that doesn't mean that you can't fix things. You can make this right."

"Linda, I just don't know how I'm going to do that."

"I think you'll figure something out," Linda said, confidence blooming in her expression. "You know, a wise man once told me that experience is the name everyone gives to their mistakes."

Frank shot her a curious look. "And who exactly was this wise man?"

Linda smiled.

"I married him."