Free The Memento by Christy Ann Conlin Page A

Grampie and Loretta remembered when it was used as a convalescent hospital long ago, during the war. They were overcrowded in the hospitals all over. The Colonel offered the Annex, as it hadn’t been in regular use for decades, not since before the other big war, when Lupin Cove was still a bustling place of importance. It found new life as a place for the war-weary to take respite and relief. Some of them were restored, some stayed crazy, and others died and were taken away in a long black hearse.
    Colonel Parker said it was the least he could do for the men. I guess it was from feeling guilty about whatever it was he did in the war. Of course he got some big tax break and they put up a huge statue of him down in the valley at the hospital and that statue is there to this day, although no one aside from me and the historians much remembers him no more. Nothing about him seemed like a warrior, more like a businessman, but he loved his parades and his uniform. When his mind started to go it was all he would wear as he marched about tending to his matters of consequence. The stories we heard about the Colonel and his war only made mention of chemicals, some factories, things made for the war, for the killing.
    Grampie said the soldiers’ souls were in a state of fatigue after what they had seen. He would visit at teatime during the week, and for some he made paintings, grisly paintings with crazy eyes, which he never gave them. I’d always wondered about those paintings, and as Loretta and I celebrated my birthday with a quiet ham dinner, all the stories Grampie told me, the things I had seen in my young life, all was taking on new meaning. I always thought he had listened to their stories and then gone back to the Tea House to draw out what they described to him, the artistic inspiration, if you will. But as I chewed on my fresh-baked roll and drank my strawberry lemonade, it was clear it was another thing entirely.
    It was supposed to be temporary, the Annex being a convalescent home, but after the war they brought them back every summer. It was more a holiday home for soldiers who never got better, the fresh shore air and its healing properties. Marigold made them all participate in a choir and they’d perform at the garden party, standing there on the gazebo singing like dippy old dogs. People referred to it as the Invalid Choir, and they were known for ballads and hymns. She would also take them to the Atelier in the walled garden and teach them still-life drawing. It kept Marigold busy. Charlie said the reason his father had the men there so long was for this exact reason.
    They finally stopped coming near the time Jenny was born. Estelle didn’t seem to worry at all when Pomeline was a child, nor did Marigold. Sometimes you would find young Pomeline, with her golden curls and her pretty dress, holding the hand of a stricken time-worn man as she guided him through Evermore, looking at the fountains and the statues. The small staff still at Petal’s End was the ones who looked out for Pomeline. Charlie was barely around then, off on travels with his friends, avoiding his wife and his mother. Estelle would just lounge around in a lawn chair with a book and a drink and a cigarette, and Pomeline could do as she pleased. When Charlie was at the estate he would usually findPomeline off in the garden or lost in the house crying, and he’d fight with Estelle about it.
    When Jenny was born it was a different story. Estelle had a bad womb is what people said. Jenny was her miracle baby after all the lost ones. They all thought Estelle would prefer Pomeline, with her beauty and her music, but it was like it all got reversed. It seemed in Estelle’s mind Jenny had all of Pomeline’s graces, and Pomeline, she had all of Jenny’s jagged personality and sickly pall. Estelle had complained about the soldiers and finally Charlie had taken her side, telling Marigold it wasn’t safe with young children. He knew the men were