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Second story - World War Two
Part 1 - Conscription: September 9, 1943

There's a world war going on today, but it's over in Europe. Ryan Feldric snaps off the radio at a call from his uncle, and looks at the hired man's daughter, who is doing the morning's dishes. "I'm off for now, Mary. I should be back at lunch."

"All right. I might be able to watch today."

"I don't know why you watch...it's boring. Anyway, I'll see you later." He sees Mary smile a bit at him as he walks out the door, picking up the long case by the door as he goes out to the wide back yard, where his uncle is standing. Twenty feet away is the target. "Same as always, Uncle Tim?"

His uncle nods. "Aye, same as always. Hit that target as you always do."

Ryan simply nods, setting the case down and kneeling to open it. Inside is the prize of his life, a prize he has cherished since he earned it at the age of seven. It is a Lee-Enfield Mark III bolt-action rifle, polished and clean as if it were brand new, yet it is not. It was Ryan's grandfather's, from the muddy trenches of the Great War that raged from 1914 to 1918. It was, then, called the war to end all wars...but that will be different when all is done in 1945. As always, Ryan opens the breech of the rifle, checking to make sure it isn't loaded, then places a single bullet, also taken from the case, in the breech, closing the bolt. He crouches, staring down the barrel at the target and focusing. He lets his emotions slide away and sees only the target...then he focuses all his emotions and channels them. Fury, anger, despair, all he has accumulated from the desolate years of the Depression...

There is a loud report as Ryan fires, and a hole opens up dead center in the target. Ryan, though, has opened the bolt again, reloading his rifle and closing the bolt in one smooth motion. There is another report, but no new hole appears in the target - the bullet has gone through the same hole as the first. A third, and a fourth, and then Ryan hears a call. He sets down the rifle without reloading it...

"Mr. Tim? Someone from the army wants to see you out front."

"All right, Mark. I'll see him. Come, Ryan."

Ryan, all of twelve, nods, placing the rifle in its case and locking the case. He carries it with him as he follows his uncle, the only family he has ever known...

The officer is in uniform, and appears well decorated. "Mr. Timothy Feldric? he asks. At a nod from Ryan's uncle, the officer hands him a sheet of paper. "Notice of conscription, Mr. Feldric. You're to come with us to Halifax, where we will fly you to Britain to be outfitted for service in the military."

It's too shocking for words. Ryan's uncle just nods. "I'll go right now," he says. He then turns to Ryan, crouching slightly and looking Ryan directly in the eyes. "I promise I'll be back, Ryan. Keep up your training, and look after the farm while I'm gone."

Ryan nods, still lost for words, and watches his uncle go with the officer, stepping into the back of the covered truck, waving one last time...and then, he was gone.

Ryan waits outside for a while, then returns into the house. Every morning at this same time, he will walk back out front and wait for his uncle to return, and he will listen to the radio for news of his uncle.

Part 2: D-Day - June 9, 1944

Ryan is training on his own now. Renewed with hope from D-Day on June 6, he has refocused himself, anticipating his uncle's impending return. Mary is dutifully repairing the targets, patching the holes over and over, but always smiling her smile. Whenever Ryan asks her if she'd like a break, she simply shakes her head. "I'm always happy to help you, Mr. Ryan.

It's five minutes to noon, still morning morning. Ryan fires off a shot from the Lee-Enfield, but instead of reloading, checks something on it. He's noticed less responsiveness from the trigger lately, a slight and barely noticeable catch, not the smooth motion he's used to. He is about to take apart the gun for cleaning when he hears a familiar yell. Too familiar.

It was five past ten in the morning, nine months ago, when he heard this same yell directed to his uncle. "Mr. Ryan? Someone from the army wants to see you out front."

Ryan is shaken. He knows that when the army is asking for him, not for the hired man, it can't be good news. Not at all. "All right. I'm on my way." Mary is already in the kitchen, preparing lunch...

He steps out and sees a distinguished-looking officer standing at the head of the drive. He holds a folded flag, the Red Ensign, in his hands as he walks up to Ryan. "Mr. Ryan Feldric?"

Ryan nods, standing straighter. "Yes, sir. Ryan Samuel Feldric."

The officer nods, looking Ryan in the eyes. "Lieutenant-Colonel Andrew Thompson, Saskatchewan 19th."

Saskatchewan 19th...that had been the one his uncle had been in. "Yes, sir?"

"I must regretfully inform you of two deaths. Your father, Corporal Edward Feldric, and your uncle, Private Timothy Feldric, both died on Juno Beach as a part of Operation Overlord." Thompson extends the folded flag, which contains some possessions of his uncle and father in it, to Ryan. "On behalf of the Royal Canadian Armed Forces, I extend my deepest condolences to you and your family."

Not my family, Ryan thinks. My family is gone. My mother, my father, my uncle. My entire family gone. Now it's only me. To the officer, he says: "Would you like to stay for lunch? My hired man's daughter is preparing lunch right now, if you would like to come inside."

The officer nods. "Thank you, Mr. Feldric. It's not something I would expect."

Ryan sighs but still manages to shrug. "It's the least I can do for any visitor," he says, taking the folded Red Ensign. "And please, call me Ryan."

As Ryan turns around, he feels shaken to the core. He walks inside, and goes into his room, where there is the entrance to an underground tunnel connecting Timothy's house with Edward's, for use in bad weather. Ryan will place the folded Red Ensign inside the tunnel, burying it that night. In his later sessions with his rifle, though he fixes the trigger, he is never able to focus properly again, and cannot channel his emotions into each shot, as he was once able to.

Fourth story - Ryan's Last Memory

May 1949

It's a beautiful day. The sun is not shining in the oppressive heat of 1930s summer, it shines on a beautiful fall morning over Greenvale, Saskatchewan. It's a happy day, the first in a long time at the old Feldric place. Everyone has been muttering about loss ever since the Depression, which for them started when Stephen Feldric died in 1928. Things got worse when Edward's young wife Marcella died after giving birth to young Ryan, and Edward himself left in search of work. Young Ryan had been a good boy. Quiet, but inspiring, but things had gotten worse for him after Timothy and Edward had both met their ends on D-Day. And then Ryan, that calm soldier he was, one of the most respected names in town despite his young age, had to die suddenly one year ago.

Now, Mary Higgins, whose father took care of Ryan's estate ("Mr. Ryan would have wanted it, and so would Mr. Timothy. Hell, Mr. Stephen himself is probably smiling because I'm still working," he always said), was being married to Zachary Sarin. Some questioned the marriage, as Zachary had always been quite brash and had little respect. Everyone knew he even got in trouble with his parents, especially due to his disrespect of Ryan Feldric. Some even whispered that Zachary was trying to isolate young Mary and wasn't treating her properly.

That was all forgotten today, though. The entire town turned out for the wedding, a truly happy day as it showed things beginning to look up. Hopefully for good.

Unknown to almost everyone present, Ryan himself was also watching.

And he was not the least bit happy about this wedding.

He watched the flower girls throw their flowers - all bought in Regina, of course, no one around here grew flowers as they were a waste - and the people smile at the girls. Judge Clair himself stood at the head of the aisle, as Mary had requested a nonreligious marriage. Not like many cared, many people had broken with their faith during the Depression. Indeed, there was no longer a formal church service in Greenvale, as the minister himself had renounced God, and while the church still stood, only a select few came on Sunday, and even then the most that was said was the Lord's Prayer and prayers for the town to get better.

Today, though, there was no prayer. All of Greenvale's 240 residents were in attendance, all having brought their own chairs and all dressed up nicely. As the flower girls passed, they gave polite applause, then the real stuff came.

Zachary came first, striding confidently up the aisle on his side until he stood next to the judge. He looked perfect and regal, but Ryan could read his face. In that face, Ryan could see that smirk of victory.

Ryan wished he could spit in it. He wished he could tear it apart...and something told him that he could.

Then came Mary. One of the townspeople made a quiet remark to one of her friends that they were missing music, and that Ryan's harmonica would be good. The friend motioned for the speaker to be silent, muttering something about a jinx.

Mary continued up the aisle...and Ryan followed her. He felt that tugging as he looked at Zachary, felt something tugging at him. He could kill Zachary, take Mary for his own...it would all be so easy.

Ryan stood behind Zachary. Zachary was read the vows, and without hesitation, nodded. "I do," he said.

"Mary Higgins, do you take Zachary Sarin to be your lawfully wedded husband, for all that may come, in sickness and in health, for richer and for poorer, inseperable by distance save death?"

Mary hesitated. She wasn't looking at Zachary, but past him.

Ryan stared back, his face coldly composed. Mary could read it, read the unspoken words Ryan had for her. She stared for what seemed like eternity as Ryan stared back. "...I do."

Only Mary could hear Ryan's whisper. "Traitor." Then, he slowly turned around, turning his back on Mary. Mary wondered if it had been the right thing to do. She could have disagreed, she could have said no, she could have screamed about what Zachary was trying to do.

"If anyone has any reason as to why these two should not be married, speak now, or forever hold your peace."

Ryan did not speak. His objection would go unheard by all but Mary, even by his friend Judge Clair.

Motioning to Zachary, Judge Clair smiled. "You may kiss the bride."

Ryan almost snapped. His face was beginning to show rage. He wanted to scream, he wanted to yell. He was no longer on the ground, but high above, struggling. It would be so easy to give into this power, to go down there and rip Zachary's soul from his body, to teach Zachary what love meant, who loved Mary, who Mary really loved...

But then...

Another voice spoke in his head. It was small, but strong. It told him what else would happen. If he gave in, he would kill Zachary, then kill Mary. In the end he would lose everything. "And besides," Ryan thought, "why should I care? She's a traitor...only a traitor. She matters none to me, and neither does he. I will not give up my promise for a traitor." For indeed, if he were to give in, he would become no better than the German soldiers that had cut down his father and uncle in Normandy. He would be just like them, and he would break faith with those that had died. "I will not break faith."

And yet, as Mary and Zachary walked hand in hand to Zachary's car, he screamed after them. "Traitor! Never come back here, do you hear me? Come back here again, Mary Sarin...and you will live forever knowing what you have done to the one you claimed to love!"

He didn't want to know if Mary had heard or not. Ryan retreated to his room and his radio, sitting in silence and crying as he lost the last of his family...the only person he had ever truly loved. Yet, as he cried, he was proud in knowing that he had not given in, that he would not break his promise.