She wondered if death could be any worse than the emptiness she felt now.During a visit home to Atlanta just last month she was pacing the house like a caged animal when for some reason decided she should clean the attic. There she had discovered, tucked away in a corner, a military issue metal foot locker. It had "Sgt. James A. Anderson USMC" stenciled on it. Inside were some neatly folded uniforms smelling of cedar, a number of photographs of a much younger James, and some small boxes with his medals inside them. She didn't recognize any of them, except for the gold one shaped like a heart with purple enamel, featuring a gold silhouette of George Washington. She had seen his scars, but knew nothing about his service, since that was well before they met, and he never spoke of it. She sat on the dusty floor in the August hot attic and read each of the red-covered citations. The tears rolled down her cheeks at the one which described how he came to be wounded. Yes, James was a hero.. ”“Pleased to meet you. I thought you’d all gone over to Blueberry Hill.”The woman laid a hand on her chest. “I’m still jet-lagged, and climbing just didn’t appeal to me. Besides, if a gaggle of artists and writers can’t capture it for me, they aren’t doing a very good job, are they?”Dara chuckled, taking an instant liking to the woman. “Guess not.”“Do you mind if I come over?”“No. Please.”“I’m afraid I’m not very good at this,” Miranda said as she tried to maneuver the canoe up to shore.“Throw me the rope. I’ll steady you, and give you a hand.”The canoe bumped against the rocky shore, and once Miranda was safely on dry land, she said, “Thank you, darling.” She reached back into the canoe for a satchel near the seat.“So, it’s your first time here?”“Yes, and it’s just as beautiful as Chase’s stories. I’m so glad I came, even though I’m absolutely exhausted.”“Well, come up and sit down.”“You are a dear,” Miranda said as she accepted Dara’s helping hand in the climb up the trail.Miranda.
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