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“They made it!” Johnny was shocked. He was sure that the Molly G had gone down in the storm. “They’ll tell you what happened. They’ll tell you about Skeets.”
The old man shook his head. “War,” he muttered. He held onto the gun, but his anger melted into pity. “You just sit down, boy. Your friends will be here soon.”
They sat in silence and waited. Soon, the sheriff arrived with Frank and Billy. The Callahan brothers walked up to Johnny, and the three men embraced with a kindred sprit instilled by the memories of war. They talked quietly as the sheriff led the Tylers into the kitchen to wait.
“Let them have some privacy, Tom.”
Hesitantly, Tom and Mary went with the sheriff. They could hear the men’s muted voices from the living room, interrupted occasionally by Johnny’s outbursts of disagreement.
“Do you remember, Mary,” Tom said gently to his wife as he took her hand, “what Skeets said to me that day that he and I went off to the war?”
“I sure do, honey. I won’t ever forget.”
Tom walked into the living room, and the three soldiers looked up. “Why don’t you show me that trail you used to get here last night, son.”
Johnny nodded. “Yes, sir.”
“Now, Tom,” the sheriff started.
“It’s OK, sheriff,” Mary took him by the arm.
Tom nodded at Johnny. It had been dark, but Johnny had no trouble retracing the path that Skeets had led him through the night before. Billy and Frank walked by his side, and Tom followed closely behind, not too surprised to see the young man take him through the trail that only he and his brother Skeets had known about those many years ago. It was heavily overgrown, but the branches that Johnny had trampled down the night before following Skeets in the darkness made the travel easier this time.
They came out on a hill overlooking the ocean. Near the top sat a lone gravesite, marked with a weathered granite headstone.
“This where you washed up on shore last night, son?”
“Yes, sir.”
Tom put his arm around Johnny and walked up to the headstone, as the rest of the group stayed behind. They stopped just in front of it. The inscription was simple:
SKEETS TYLER
1898 – 1916
They stood together for a moment and looked at it. A tear came to Tom’s eye. The sea air drifted up the hill, and somehow made Johnny feel good this time, just like it used to.
“It was what he wanted, Johnny,” Tom said. “He loved this spot.”
A cool breeze stilled the air. “I went with him to WWI, but I came back without him. He was just a year older than me. That day we left for the war, the last thing he said to my wife was “Don’t you worry, Mary. I’m gonna bring him home to you. I’m gonna be his guardian angel.”
Tom Tyler glanced at the young soldier. “Everyone needs a guardian angel, Johnny.”
