Small groups of black soldiers wearing white rags around their mouths and noses were collecting bodies and digging graves. The front door of the old c...urch hung by a single hinge. Scraps of torn clothing, broken pottery and empty picture frames littered the roadside ditches.When they passed the place where Seth had scratched a map in the dirt, the boy looked for the hidden carbine, but he did not want to ask Mr. French to stop. Just down the hill was home. It was still there.He relaxed and. Once I was finished she would often breeze right past me reeking of cigarettes and cheap cologne as she headed into the house. The few times I tried to search her face to see what she was thinking it looked harder than I ever remembered seeing it before, but I tried not to concentrate on her as I struggled with our small children.At some point I remember putting my foot down and said "Look do you live here or not. I can't take not knowing what is going on with you. I deserve to know what you. More

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