Nancy thought of the poem she had copied from Miss Anna Darien’s book:
“Were he dead, could I weep
For one who gladly bore
A cross that I might sleep
In peace?”
She took the sunburned hand lying on the sheet and stroked it gently. Tommy’s friend brought her brother so much closer to her.
“Did any more of Tommy’s crew come through alive?”
He shook his head. “Not that I know of. Two of us were picked up by a Jap boat and taken to a prison camp. Pete Crawford died of his injuries three days after we got there.”
“I shouldn’t let you talk any more,” she said gently. “You must sleep now.”
“I don’t want to sleep. It’s been so long since I talked to anyone who cared.” He smiled diffidently, then apologized, “That may sound nervy.”