Free Travelers Rest by Ann Tatlock

defend the blessings.”
    Jane pushed herself away from the doorframe and took one step into the room. “That’s a nice way to put it, Hoboken. I’m going to remember that. So many people think this war is senseless and that our troops are being wounded and killed for no reason. If they’re right, that makes Seth’s injury so much harder to accept.”
    Hoboken looked kindly at Jane as he shook his head. “I’ve never known of any war that made sense, Miss Jane. To me, they all begin for a reason that is senseless. Greed. Power. Just plain hate. You know? All these things are evil.” He paused as he laid a thin woven blanket across the foot of the bed. “I know many Americans thought the war in Vietnam was senseless too, and when the soldiers came home, they were scorned for a war they didn’t start. That is . . . what do you say? That is barking up the wrong tree.”
    “Barking up the wrong tree?” echoed Jane.
    “Yes. Soldiers don’t start the war. They only do what they are told to do by their country, even if it means a great sacrifice for them. That’s why I admire them—the people I work for here. I am proud of all my patients.”
    “You’re a wise man, Hoboken.”
    He shook his head. “Not so wise, I’m afraid. Just a simple man who hopes he has the same kind of courage if I ever need it. Some people might feel sorry for Mr. Seth, but not me.” He shook his head again. “I am proud of him.”
    “Thank you,” Jane said. “I’m proud of him too.”
    Hoboken picked up the remaining linens on the chair and moved around the bed. “And I know you came to see him,” he said, laughing lightly, “not to listen to me. So without further ado”—a flash of white teeth—“I will tell you that Mr. Seth is out on the porch.”
    “Out on the porch?” Jane echoed.
    “Yes, there’s a screened-in porch at the end of the other hall. Go back to the nurses’ station and turn left. You’ll find it.”
    “Okay. Thanks, Hoboken.”
    “You’re welcome, Miss Jane.”
    The porch ran the length of the building and provided an airy alternative to the sterile confines of the ward. Wicker chairs and ceiling fans gave it a homey appearance, making it a popular haven for patients, nurses, and aides. Even now, a number of men in wheelchairs were parked there, chatting among themselves and with the aides who were assigned to accompany them. Jane’s gaze traveled from face to face, a winged hope looking for a place to land. As soon as she saw Seth, the dread she’d felt last night began to lift, replaced by the familiar ache of joy.
    She went to him and kissed his forehead. Seth gave her a passive glance in return. “I see you’ve come back for more.”
    “I wanted to know how you’re doing today.”
    “Ready to run a marathon, as you can see.”
    Jane winced as she glanced at the aide in the wicker chair beside him. She was young and pretty, hardly more than a teenager, fresh and full of life. She seemed a strange contradiction, sitting there among all the broken soldiers.
    “Here, take this chair,” she said to Jane, jumping up and waving a hand.
    “Are you sure?” Jane asked.
    The aide nodded. “So long as someone’s with him, it’s all right. I’ll wait over there till you finish visiting.”
    With that, she moved away, leaving Jane and Seth alone in the middle of the crowded porch. “Nice girl,” Jane said.
    Seth didn’t respond.
    Jane sat down and, sighing, looked off toward the hospital grounds. She was well aware of Seth’s body beside her, heavy and inert, stretched out in the huge padded wheelchair, his head cradled in a headrest, his arms and hands lying flat on the armrests.
    She hated that chair. She hated that he was in it. She hated the sniper’s bullet that had stolen his body and their dreams. She wanted the life they had before, wanted it desperately.
    Jane sighed again, and even as she did, she heard Laney’s voice: “Well, child, as Mamma always said, life’s