Behind us, as the echoes faded, bagpipes began filling in the void, starting as a low hum that escalated into the melancholy strains of Amazing Grace. Felicity was trembling now, and even without looking I knew she was no longer holding her tears at bay. I shoved my hand inside my overcoat and sent it searching for a handkerchief. Finding the one I’d stashed in an inner pocket, I pulled it out and carefully dabbed her cheeks before slipping the square of cloth into her hand. She pressed herself harder against me and allowed her head to hang, chin against her chest as she quietly expressed her grief.

The rifle squad was now standing at attention, their weapons ordered at their sides, while the honor guard carefully removed the flag from the casket and proceeded to fold it into a tight triangle. I was having trouble containing my own tears at this point, but I took a deep breath and bit them back. I would have to find time to grieve later. Right now I needed to be strong for my wife. Even though “fragile” was almost never an accurate description where she was concerned, “temporarily breakable” definitely fit the bill at the moment. Emotionally she was still floundering in the dangerous wake of her own far too recent crisis, and that left her vulnerable. One of us had to hold it together awhile longer, and it might as well be me. She had seen me through my share of moments in recent years, and I owed her.

I hugged Felicity closer and allowed her to cry as I stared past the ranks in front of us. My eyes eventually settled on the casket at the center of the crowd. I could see Ben standing off to the side of it along with the other pallbearers. Of course, being six-foot-six, and full-blooded Native American, he would have been hard to miss even if he was with the rest of the masses.

One by one, the half dozen men came forward and placed their boutonnieres atop the casket.