Chapter 9 - The Virginia Tide
Four months later, the summer heat had settled over the Chesapeake Bay, turning the tidal marshes into a rippling sea of emerald saltgrass beneath a sky of washed turquoise.
At the end of a long gravel lane shaded by weeping willows and loblolly pines, an old two-story clapboard house sat overlooking the water. A wide porch wrapped around three sides, furnished with white Adirondack chairs and a hanging cedar swing that creaked gently in the afternoon breeze.
Colt Mercer was standing by the outdoor smoker, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, basting a pork shoulder with vinegar and cracked black pepper.
The scar on the right side of his head had faded to a neat, thin silver line hidden beneath his cropped dark hair. His cane was gone, leaning forgotten against the porch railing; his step was firm, balanced, and confident once again.
From down by the wooden dock, the sharp, joyful bark of a chocolate Labrador retriever echoed across the water.
Colt turned, wiping his hands on a clean kitchen towel.
Down on the pier, Eli was running in circles, his bare feet slapping against the sun-warmed cedar planks. He was wearing bright orange swim trunks and a life jacket, laughing with that wild, silent delight that vibrated through his entire body.
Kneeling on the edge of the dock, holding the dog's canvas training dummy, was Lena.
She was dressed in a faded navy t-shirt and cutoff shorts, her hair tied loosely behind her neck with a piece of blue cotton yarn. Her skin had tanned under the coastal sun, bringing out a spray of freckles across the bridge of her nose that hadn't been seen since she was twenty years old.
The trembling in her hands was gone.
Completely.
She held the dummy back, her fingers moving in a quick, playful sequence to Eli: Wait. Watch the water. Three... two... one... go!
Eli jumped off the end of the dock with a massive splash, hitting the green water like a cannonball, followed immediately by the dog, who launched itself through the air with ears flying.
Lena sat back on her heels, laughing as the spray cooled her face.
On the porch, General William Hartley sat in the cedar swing, an unread history book resting on his knee, a tall glass of iced tea sweating on the side table. He watched his daughter through the screen door, a quiet, peaceful smile resting on his weathered face.
Colt walked over, handing the General a plate of warm cornbread fresh from the cast-iron skillet.
"She hasn't had a nightmare in three weeks, General," Colt said quietly, leaning against the porch post.
William Hartley took a piece of the bread, looking out toward the dock where Lena was helping Eli climb the wooden ladder back onto the boards.
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"She was twenty-four when she went into the valley, Colt," the General murmured, his voice soft with an old soldier's sorrow. "A person isn't meant to see that much torn cloth and broken bone before they've even had a chance to choose a china pattern. I thought I lost her for good on that bridge."
"You didn't lose her, sir," Colt said, turning to look at his son, who was shaking water from his hair like a puppy. "She just had to remember what she was fighting for."
