He had watched helplessly as a teenaged, female skier suddenly skidded into Susan’s path. Out of control, the novice had dropped her poles and was flailing her arms wildly to maintain her balance while sliding laterally across the hill, directly toward Susan.
Still skiing hard, Susan made a sudden, powerful move to avoid the collision and veered sharply off the run, plunging into a copse of mature quaking aspens whose solid white trunks blended into the flat light of the mountain.
Unable to do anything but cry out, Dan watched in horror as Susan cart-wheeled and tumbled through the grove to slam headfirst into the trunk of a large, gnarled tree.
Fighting back his tears, his chest pounding with exertion and fear, Dan half-skied, half-tumbled down the mountain. He had wrenched off his skis, screaming over his shoulder for help and wading frantically through the soft snow to the place where Susan lay crumpled against the tree, an ever-widening patch of red snow staining the pristine powder. Her once-beautiful face was bloodied, contorted in death, framed by the fur-lined hood of her ski parka, and as he held her lifeless body in his arms-
This was usually the point at which he would wake up each morning, drenched in sweat. For months after her death, he had not gone to church. His bishop had visited and gently counseled with him, and still Dan resisted. Even Susan’s parents had pleaded with him to come to church with them, to no avail. Finally, several months later when his sister was home visiting with three of her five children, she asked Dan for help one morning, taking her kids to the mall, since her husband had not made the trip. Dan agreed, and as he sat in the food court area, his four-year-old niece, Rachel, climbed on his lap, whispering in his ear, “I wish Aunt Susan could be here with us.”
The rap on his car window startled him, and he turned his head, taking a second to recognize Sheriff Sanchez standing beside his car. Dan removed his keys and exited the vehicle, placing his garrison cap squarely on his head.
“You in a dreamland, Danny boy?” Tony asked, smiling. “Looks like you’re a bit overheated.”
“Just thinking,” Dan replied, wiping the perspiration from his brow and noticing that Tony was dressed in a business suit rather than his sheriff’s uniform.
“I can understand that. Looks like a big turnout,” Tony said as they began to walk across the parking lot toward the chapel.
Dan looked around as they neared the entrance, spotting several groups of green and blue uniforms among the civilians heading for the service. He saw General Del Valle at the door, greeting his officers and men as they arrived. Twenty yards before they reached the door, Tony slowed his pace and nudged Dan in the side. Dan followed Tony’s gaze and identified Kenny Bailey, Dan’s brother-in-law, heading toward the entrance in the company of three other men, all dressed casually in jeans or slacks and open-necked shirts.
Tony looked away from the building, scanning the cars in the parking lot. “I’ve got a cameraman out in the unmarked SWAT van filming the attendees,” he said.
“You don’t think they’d come here?” Dan asked.
“Stranger things have happened. . and, well, there’s Kenny, right?”
“Yeah,” Dan said, again walking toward the entrance. “Good afternoon, General,” he said, snapping a salute.
“Afternoon, Captain Rawlings.”
“Sir, I’d like to introduce Tony Sanchez, Yolo County Sheriff.”
The two men shook hands. “Are you the investigating authority, Sheriff?” Del Valle asked.
“At present, sir. The FBI has been in contact with our office, but they’ve not assumed jurisdiction.”
“I see. Well, shall we go in, gentlemen?”
Dan had never met Mrs. McFarland until the previous Monday, when he and General Del Valle had gone to her home to inform her of her husband’s death. Del Valle had arranged for Mrs. McFarland’s mother to be escorted to the house as well, and several family members had arrived while Dan and General Del Valle were still present. Even though the general had handled most of the dialogue, it had been one of the hardest things Dan had ever done. Surprisingly, the young, very pretty woman had taken the news without breaking down, her silent tears the only outward sign of her shock and grief.
Inside the chapel, Lieutenant Colonel Jack Harman, Commander of the 324th Mechanized Battalion, stood several rows from the front, retaining seats for the general and his staff officers. Dan and Sheriff Sanchez slid into the pew, followed by Colonel Harman, with General Del Valle taking a seat on the aisle.
Dan could see through the gathering that Mrs. McFarland sat on the front row of the right section. Two women, whom he took to be her sisters, were seated on either side of her, with her mother and mother-in-law on either side of the sisters. The remaining men of the family filled the outer edges of the pew. Kenny and his associates took seats toward the back, and as far as Dan could tell, Kenny had not noticed Dan’s presence.
The front of the chapel contained a large floral arrangement. In the center, directly below the dais, sat the closed coffin, draped with an American flag. A large photograph of Lieutenant Richard McFarland, in Army dress blues, was displayed on a raised tripod next to the casket. Dan felt the blood rush to his head and neck, his face suddenly warm and flushed. He took several deep breaths and willed himself to calm down. Then the National Guard chaplain, Major Alexander Butterman, stood behind the pulpit and motioned for all to rise. He waited for the shuffling to die down and commenced with an opening prayer, then motioned for all to be seated.
“It has often been stated,” Chaplain Butterman began in a low, soft voice, “that in time of peace, sons bury their fathers, and in time of war, fathers bury their sons. But our world has become more complicated, and war is not always as we once knew it. .”
Following the service, six platoon commanders, all young lieutenants, carried the casket with precision as the cortege followed them slowly across the soft, grassy field to the burial site. There, Lieutenant McFarland’s family sat next to the open grave, beneath a green canopy, on two rows of folding chairs. Surrounding the site was a large crowd of both civilians and uniformed men and women of the California National Guard. To one side, a hundred yards away and standing on a gentle rise beneath a small grove of trees, was an honor guard of seven soldiers, standing at parade rest, their rifles held at order arms, the stock grounded beside their right legs.
The graveside service was brief as General Del Valle spoke to the assembled crowd about duty, honor, and country. His remarks echoed those of Chaplain Butterman, who had reviled the cowardly act that had taken the life of a brave young American soldier. Concluding his remarks, General Del Valle stepped back into the throng, and the first volley of rifle fire rang out across the field. An involuntary shudder rippled through the crowd at the expected, but startling sound. Two additional volleys rang out, completing the twenty-one gun salute to a fallen soldier. Mrs. McFarland stifled a sob and laid her head on her father’s shoulder. The older man, proudly wearing his blue-and-gold VFW cap, wrapped his arm around his daughter and wiped at his own eyes with a handkerchief.
Finally, McFarland’s company commander, Captain Everton, accepted the folded, tri-cornered flag from the pallbearers, and, in a precise movement, stepped toward the young widow, coming to attention directly in front of her. Everton leaned down and presented the flag to the woman, mouthing a few words not heard beyond several feet. He returned to attention and rendered a slow, deliberate salute. Then he turned on his heel and resumed his position with the pallbearers.
Dan experienced a quick flash of himself sitting in the widower’s position at Susan’s funeral. His temples began to pound as his heart raced, sweat beads broke out on his forehead, and again he breathed deeply, willing himself to control his thoughts and emotions.