The Road Taken by Rona Jaffe Page B

because Rose hadn’t thought of it, and talked about the war.
    “We were so stupidly happy,” he said. “Men together in a man’s world. We were knights on a crusade. Our company went off to the battlefield all marching together, singing, with flowers we had picked by the road tucked into our helmets. The fields were so beautiful. The wheat was yellow, there were so many flowers, different kinds of flowers and trees than we’d ever seen at home; France was like an enchanted garden. The cathedrals were so ancient and historical. Even the people were old; perhaps that’s because the people we saw were all that were left to do the farming. Believe it or not, they still used scythes. We were just gaping at everything. For some of us it was the only chance we would ever have to see the big world, to get away from our dull little lives. It’s hard to believe, but we were delighted to be there.
    “And then the other part of it came. The real war, the shooting and killing. It was raining; there was mud in the trenches, sucking us in; so much mud that men were actually drowning in it. They had swollen feet, they had maggots, the wounded were screaming in pain. There was nothing to kill the pain. There was so much blood. . . .” He stopped for a moment and his eyes filled with tears, then he controlled himself and went on.
    “Those French fields were black and fertile, and men were dying in them of blood poisoning. They were wounded and they either bled to death or died of septicemia. We were summer soldiers, Rose, and we didn’t know a thing.”
    “I’m sorry,” Rose murmured.
    “I was so young then,” Ben Carson said. “We all were. Do you know Alan Seeger’s poem:
I Have a Rendezvous with Death?
”
    “We read it at school,” Rose said.
    “We thought it was romantic. We thought being doomed was romantic. We had no idea.”
    How could you? Rose thought. You’re just a man. And you were young, besides. But at least he’s apologizing for having been so arrogant. I will give him credit for that. She liked him better now.
    “The worst part is,” Ben said, “that although the war changed me, I don’t feel it changed the world. It was too far away and too short. Even now, people don’t really care about the returning veterans.”
    Really? Was that true? She didn’t know because she hadn’t read the newspaper in months.
    “Your family does,” Rose said. “That’s all that matters.”
    “Is it?”
    “It is to me. But I’ve lost so much.”
    “I know, and that’s why I came here to see you.”
    “That was kind,” she said. “Thank you for telling me about the war.”
    “Thank you for listening.”
    She sighed. Now she wished he would go.
    “Perhaps I could come to see you again,” he said.
    “Why?”
    “Just to see you.”
    “I’m still grieving,” Rose said. “I have nothing to say to someone who visits me.”
    “You could use a friend.”
    “I have friends.” She didn’t want to be impolite, but he was being too pushy. Could Ben Carson possibly, in a million years, think that since he hadn’t been able to rescue the world that he could try to rescue her?
    “I’m going back to law school soon,” he said.
    Rose held out her hand to say good-bye. “Then I wish you luck.”
    When he had gone Celia came in, looking as if she had eavesdropped on the entire conversation, and what was more, as if that was perfectly acceptable. Ever since Rose had started acting like a wooden doll, Celia had treated her as if she were stupid and had no rights, as if she were a real doll, to be placed in position, to be spoken for. “You didn’t have to be rude to him,” Celia said.
    “I wasn’t rude,” Rose said.
    “He’s a good young man, he’s kind, he’s very intelligent. How well he expresses himself! You could do worse than have Ben Carson for a friend.”
    Rose didn’t answer.
    “You’ll get over Tom some day,” Celia said.
    The way you got over Alfred? Rose thought. His room a