“Even though he earned it?” Rufus said.
“I’m not disputing that. But I can’t believe your brother would want to be buried there either.”
“I guess he’d spend all of eternity telling those dead brass exactly what he thinks of them.”
“Something like that,” the man said dryly. “So then we’re in agreement? You’ll arrange burial for him elsewhere?”
Rufus eyed the man. “I made up my mind.”
Thus, on a cool, clear day in October, former Sergeant Joshua Harms, USA, was laid to rest at Arlington National Cemetery. From an angle, the ground was so covered with white crosses that it looked like an early snow had fallen. As the honor guard fired off its salute and the bugler launched into taps, the simple coffin was lowered into the ground. Rufus and one of Josh’s sons received the flag, folded tricornered, from a somber and respectful Army officer, while Fiske, Sara, McKenna and Chandler looked on.
Later, as Rufus prayed over his brother’s grave, he thought about all of the bodies buried here, most in the name of war. There were both men and women who had this as their final resting place, although, historically, it was the men who were the instigators and chief wagers of armed conflict. For those who traced their history though the Book of Genesis and beyond, as did Rufus, the bodies buried here could blame the existence of wars on the man called Cain and the mortal blow he struck his brother Abel.
As Rufus finished his prayer, his talk with his Lord and his brother, he rose and put an arm around the nephew he had never seen until today. His heart was sad, but his spirits were lifted. He knew that his brother had passed on to a better place. And for as long as Rufus lived, Josh Harms would never be forgotten. And when Rufus went to join his Lord he would also, once again, embrace his brother.
CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO
* * *
Two days later, Michael Fiske was buried at a private cemetery on the outskirts of Richmond. The well-attended funeral service included each justice of the United States Supreme Court. Ed Fiske, dressed in an old suit, his hair neatly combed, awkwardly stood next to his surviving son and received condolences from each of the jurists, together with many of Virginia’s political and social elite.
Harold Ramsey spent an extra minute giving comfort to the father and then turned to the son.
“I appreciate all that you did, John. And the sacrifice that your brother made.”
“The ultimate one,” Fiske said in an unfriendly tone.
Ramsey nodded. “I also respect your views. I hope that you can respect my views as well.”
Fiske shook the man’s hand. “I guess that’s what makes the world go round.”
Looking at Ramsey made Fiske think of what lay ahead for Rufus. Fiske had encouraged him to sue everybody he could think of, including the Army and Jordan Knight. There was no statute of limitations on murder, and the ensuing cover-up orchestrated by Jordan and the others had broken numerous other laws.
Rufus had refused Fiske’s advice, however. “All of ’em except for Knight are in a far worse place than any judge on this earth could send ’em to,” he had said. “That’s their true punishment. And Knight’s got to live with what he done. That’s enough for me. I got no reason to get mixed up with courts and judges no more. I just want to live as a free man, spend a lot of time with Josh’s children. Go see my momma’s grave. That’s all.”
Fiske had tried to get him to change his mind, until he realized that the man was right. Besides, Fiske thought, according to the precedents established by the Supreme Court, Rufus couldn’t sue the Army anyway. Not unless Elizabeth Knight could use the Barbara Chance case to give military personnel the same basic rights as the rest of the country’s citizens. To do that, she had to get past Ramsey. As he thought about it, though, Fiske concluded that if anyone could do it, Elizabeth Knight could. He’d like to be a fly on the wall of the Supreme Court in the coming years.