motto, ‘Live free or die!’ ” He held the medal high above his head as the crowd roared, turned and draped the red ribbon around my neck before embracing me. Then he limped slowly back to his seat.
The people had risen to their feet, applauding and cheering, and the band suddenly began playing “The Impossible Dream.” I turned toward Sally. She was crying, but Rick was standing and applauding. I just stood at the microphone until the music ceased and the crowd quieted down.
“Friends and neighbors,” I began as I tucked the heavy medal inside my sweater to prevent it from banging against the microphone. “I thank you from the bottom of my heart for this warm and very special gesture oflove toward myself and my family. Also, I deeply regret that even though we have lived among you now for almost two months, I have been so busy in Concord, taking over the reins of Millennium, that I still haven’t had time to visit with many old friends from the past, and I beg your forgiveness. I shall correct that omission as soon as possible. Before too long, I promise you, the Hardings will throw the barbecue to end all barbecues at our home, and when we do, all of you are invited!”
I waited until the cheering subsided. “One of the things that has amazed me since my return is how many of you have never left Boland. You were born here, grew up here, went to school here, got married—and now you’re raising your kids here. How wise! You all know a good thing when you see it. I cannot think of a better environment in which to live a happy and peaceful life than right here, in the heart of New Hampshire.
“Like Judge Duffy, I, too, wish my mom and dad could have been here to share this special moment with us but … but … I’m sure they are watching, just as I am certain that I could have accomplished very little without their love and guidance. I thank you all for coming. This day is without doubt the highest point of my life.”
And then, only two weeks after the celebration, my life plummeted from its peak to the utmost depths of anguish and despair. Sally and Rick were on the Everett Turnpike, going south to Manchester to do some shopping, when an old Ford pickup truck, heading north, suffered a blowout of its left front tire, careened acrossthe center strip of grass and struck Sally’s station wagon head-on. Both Sally and Rick were killed on impact.…
… I don’t remember how long I had been staring out the rain-streaked window in my den before I turned back to the desk and the Colt .45. I opened the lower-right desk drawer again, removed the box of cartridges and placed it next to the weapon. Then I tipped the container until several ugly-looking brass cartridges rolled toward me. This was it. I wanted to die. Very much. I wanted the pain in my heart to stop, and there was no medicine available anywhere that could relieve my agony. Living without Sally and Rick was a punishment I did not have to endure a moment longer. I removed the empty cartridge magazine from the pistol and began stuffing bullets into it. Easy. Finally I was ready. I shoved the magazine back into the gun.
Hurry! Don’t think about it! Just do it!
I raised the gun to my forehead.
“Dear God,” I sobbed, “please forgive me!”
And then an angel—yes, an angel—saved my life!
III
A t first it sounded like distant thunder. When it persisted, in an almost rhythmic beat, I realized that the thumping sounds were being made by someone pounding on the rear of the house clapboards. Then I heard footsteps on the deck and a voice shouting, “John … John … are you in there? Answer me, please. Open the door, any door … even a window! John, it’s Bill West. Can you hear me, old buddy?”
Bill West? Could it be? He had been my closest friend during all the growing-up years in Boland, as close as any blood brother could have been—from that first day of kindergarten when two frightened little boys shared the same
The people had risen to their feet, applauding and cheering, and the band suddenly began playing “The Impossible Dream.” I turned toward Sally. She was crying, but Rick was standing and applauding. I just stood at the microphone until the music ceased and the crowd quieted down.
“Friends and neighbors,” I began as I tucked the heavy medal inside my sweater to prevent it from banging against the microphone. “I thank you from the bottom of my heart for this warm and very special gesture oflove toward myself and my family. Also, I deeply regret that even though we have lived among you now for almost two months, I have been so busy in Concord, taking over the reins of Millennium, that I still haven’t had time to visit with many old friends from the past, and I beg your forgiveness. I shall correct that omission as soon as possible. Before too long, I promise you, the Hardings will throw the barbecue to end all barbecues at our home, and when we do, all of you are invited!”
I waited until the cheering subsided. “One of the things that has amazed me since my return is how many of you have never left Boland. You were born here, grew up here, went to school here, got married—and now you’re raising your kids here. How wise! You all know a good thing when you see it. I cannot think of a better environment in which to live a happy and peaceful life than right here, in the heart of New Hampshire.
“Like Judge Duffy, I, too, wish my mom and dad could have been here to share this special moment with us but … but … I’m sure they are watching, just as I am certain that I could have accomplished very little without their love and guidance. I thank you all for coming. This day is without doubt the highest point of my life.”
And then, only two weeks after the celebration, my life plummeted from its peak to the utmost depths of anguish and despair. Sally and Rick were on the Everett Turnpike, going south to Manchester to do some shopping, when an old Ford pickup truck, heading north, suffered a blowout of its left front tire, careened acrossthe center strip of grass and struck Sally’s station wagon head-on. Both Sally and Rick were killed on impact.…
… I don’t remember how long I had been staring out the rain-streaked window in my den before I turned back to the desk and the Colt .45. I opened the lower-right desk drawer again, removed the box of cartridges and placed it next to the weapon. Then I tipped the container until several ugly-looking brass cartridges rolled toward me. This was it. I wanted to die. Very much. I wanted the pain in my heart to stop, and there was no medicine available anywhere that could relieve my agony. Living without Sally and Rick was a punishment I did not have to endure a moment longer. I removed the empty cartridge magazine from the pistol and began stuffing bullets into it. Easy. Finally I was ready. I shoved the magazine back into the gun.
Hurry! Don’t think about it! Just do it!
I raised the gun to my forehead.
“Dear God,” I sobbed, “please forgive me!”
And then an angel—yes, an angel—saved my life!
III
A t first it sounded like distant thunder. When it persisted, in an almost rhythmic beat, I realized that the thumping sounds were being made by someone pounding on the rear of the house clapboards. Then I heard footsteps on the deck and a voice shouting, “John … John … are you in there? Answer me, please. Open the door, any door … even a window! John, it’s Bill West. Can you hear me, old buddy?”
Bill West? Could it be? He had been my closest friend during all the growing-up years in Boland, as close as any blood brother could have been—from that first day of kindergarten when two frightened little boys shared the same
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