John pulled away a chunk of broken mortar and reached into his tomb, feeling around until he found the smooth round shape of his skull. It still galled him that his rich black hair was no more than dust. Then followed the curve down to the rough collar of his jacket. He  yanked, shaking it back and forth as the large bones within gave way and tumbled out. Little by little he eased the tattered fabric from the hole. Shaking it carefully to dislodge the dust he watched disinterestedly as a vertebrae fell to the ground.  He studied the well worn grey fabric. The once gold buttons had faded to a rusted copper, the fabric long stained from blood and other things. He briefly fingered the bullet holes in the wool, then carefully draped it over the sleeping girls body. He gave a silent prayer that it didn't smell as horrible as it looked. That done he watched as her face relaxed in sleep and her shivering stopped, at least he could take some solace that he brought her comfort.

He stood at the doorway to the crypt looking out into the storm, a silent sentry watching over his guest. Feeling the pull of sleep calling him, he began to sing one of the long forgotten songs his mother once sang as she tended his grave.

Well I wish I was in the land of cotton
Old times they are not forgotten
Look away, look away, look away
Dixie Land

Hollow musket and cannon
Have torn his grey cloak
Don't he look fine and handsome
Don't he look at his most
For he fought  in the fox holes
And of this I will boast
Don't they look fine and handsome
My poor Johnny-boy's bones

Well, who will bring back
My Johnny-boy's bones
To lay 'neath the trees
Of his Ol Virginia home
A box, a box
Made o' sturdy white oak
With his arms folded up
And his blue eyes all closed

Well he died for his country
And he died for his kin
And he died killin' men
A most honorable sin

But them mean boys in blue
They done turned him in
When they laid him low
With a laugh and a grin.