Sabers and... Snippet 5

"Bill," she said, holding up a long box, "my father sent this from Chicago.  He wanted you to have it before you left for... for... the other side."

Lieutenant Fowler took the box from his wife and opened it, knowing before looking what it had to be.

It was her father's sword.  The one he'd carried in Crimea.  The sword his father had taken off a French colonel at Waterloo.

The green one.

It's blade was more curved and heavier than the 1860 saber he'd been issued and the hilt and guard had been reworked several times.  But that's not what made it stand out.

It was the color of the blade.

It was green.  Green the way copper is red, not green like verdigris.  It was shiny and untarnished.

Despite its heft, it felt light as a foil in his hand.

Under the scabbard was a hand written note:

"Use it well.  Bring it back.  I loan it to you, I give it to my grandson."

"But we don't have any children," he muttered.

"We will soon," Emily Fowler said, "the doctor says I'm two months along."