Toby's New Home

by Sue Latham

The tour guide stopped in front of a portrait of a dashing, dark-haired young man dressed in a crimson uniform lavishly decorated with gold braid. "Now, this is the fifth earl, direct ancestor of the present earl. He was a soldier under the command of the Major-General Ponsonby in Wellington's army and disappeared in 1815, at the Battle of Waterloo." "Disappeared?" asked a woman in the crowd. "Yes. According to family legend, he was last seen fighting valiantly in hand-to-hand combat with one of Napoleon's soldiers, but his body was never found. Now if you will kindly follow me..." Toby Wellesley struggled to open his eyes. The French soldier was dead. Toby noted without emotion that he seemed hardly more than a child. Child or not, this soldier of Napoleon had pierced his ribs and Toby was bleeding. It was not a deep wound, but Toby was dizzy from loss of blood. From the sound of it, he thought the battle was moving away from him. But the slightest movement made his head spin sickeningly, and hidden as he was in a gully behind a small stand of trees, he couldnt see to be sure. In spite of the

scarlet uniform, it was unlikely anyone would spot him lying here and even if they did, Toby doubted someone would find him in time to help. His only regret was that he would never meet his unborn child. His thoughts drifted back to the joyous news in the lettercould it possibly be only yesterday that hed received it? A brilliant light suddenly lit up the small clearing where Toby lay. So this is what death is like, he thought. Then he slipped into oblivion. Toby awoke, rather surprised to find himself alive. His head was pounding and the the room swam around him nauseatingly before he managed to focus his eyes. The bed he was on was comfortable but narrow, and the walls, ceiling and bedcovers were stark white. Directly in front of him, a white light seemed to glow from what looked like an open doorway. Could it be I actually made it to Heaven? he wondered. Folded neatly on one corner of the bed he noticed a suit of clothes. At first he thought it was his lovely scarlet uniform, of which he had been so proud-perhaps cleaned and mended. But on closer inspection, he could see that it wasnt his uniform at all, just a costume like one hed seen once on the stage. Toby's ribs were sore. A new scar ran along his rib cage. For a few minutes, he could hear nothing but the sound of his own breathing. Then the silence was broken by a

sorrowful cry, "Help me!" Toby climbed to his feet as fast as the pain in his ribs would allow. He steadied himself and lurched the few steps toward the door. But when he neared the door a powerful force hurled him backwards. As he lay on the floor, a stabbing pain shot through his ribs and he sank into oblivion again. When he awoke, he was still on the floor. He had no sense of how long hed been unconscious. Toby staggered slowly to his feet and approached the doorway, cautiously this time. Some kind of light almost seemed to be pulsating from it. He tested itcarefully this time. He got another nasty shock left his hand throbbing. He leaned against the cool wall and listened for a few minutes, but heard only an occasional quiet sob. Slowly, he crept back to the bed and sat down. Just this little bit of movement left him out of breath, but at least the white-hot pain in his midsection was starting to subside. Carefully curling up on the bed, he fell asleep almost immediately. He was dreaming about the dead French soldier when voices woke him. "I assure you, madame, we offer only the best here," said a man's voice soothingly. "Well," answered a woman's voice "the last one we got for our Carlyle from here only lasted a week. I think there was something wrong with him." "Now dear, let's not be too hasty." A different man's

voice. "Well, now. Our warranty does require that certain basic care be provided..." The first man's voice again. "Of course Carlyle took care of him. He seemed...traumatized," said the woman, sounding defensive. "I think he had some kind of problem before we got him." The second man cleared his throat and spoke quietly, as if about to share a secret. "It's the whole combat experience. You know, maybe it isn't very...healthy for them," he whispered, sounding almost apologetic. "And how old is your fine young man?" asked the first voice. "Oh, he'll be nine in just a few days. This is his birthday present." said the woman with maternal pride. "Ah well, then. Perhaps the last one would have been more suitable for an older child," said the first man cheerily. "Let me show you one more appropriate." Toby could hear footsteps coming toward him. He was beginning to suspect that he wasn't in heaven after all. "Here we have one that hasn't seem quite so much... um, 'action'," said the first man with a small chuckle. An orchestra leader. World War II. We got him just as his plane was about to go down in bad weather over the English Channel. "Dad!" A child's voice this time. "What is it, Carlyle?" said the second man. "Don't

interrupt people when they're talking." "Dad, I want a real soldier," whined Carlyle. "Hush, son!" "Oh, that's perfectly alright," said the first man, chuckling. "Gotta admire a kid who knows just what he wants, eh Carlyle? Now here's one that might be just what you're looking for. He's only just come in. Definitely a real soldier. An officer! Obviously from a good home, well fed. I can guarantee he's been well taken care of. This one won't last long." "Oh yes! Dad, can I see him, please?" "Well, it can't hurt to look. Lead the way," said Carlyle's dad. "If you'll just step right this way." The light in the doorway abruptly vanished. The footsteps stopped just outside. "Well, yes," said the father's voice. "He seems to be in fine condition." "There was a small injury to the ribs, nothing serious. But that's all been taken care of." Cautiously, Toby walked to the door. He tried to look out the doorway, but saw only darkness. He placed his hand in the doorway--the force that had thrown him backward earlier was gone. He could feel only intense cold. The woman's voice spoke again. "He seems to be a fine specimen. What do you think, dear?"

"Oh yes," said Carlyle. "I like him. Can I have him, please Mom? Dad?" Cold fear enveloped Toby, then panic. Furiously, he dashed toward the doorway but suddenly found himself completely paralyzed. Totally without control of his body, he toppled over and landed with a thud on the floor. "He's a real live one, isn't he?" chuckled the first man. "Why, yes. Yes, he is," agreed Carlyle's father. "Son, you think you can handle this one?" "Oh yes, Dad. He's just what I wanted. Can we take him today? Please!" Had he been able to, Toby would have screamed in terror, behavior totally unbefitting his rank as an officer. But no sound escaped his throat. Numb with fear, he sat on the edge of the bed and waited. Toby paced his small room nervously. The new clothes hung loosely on him now. As a soldier, he was used to having to go sometimes days without food, but a man could only live without water for so long. The thirst was driving him mad. At first, Carlyle had brought him food and water every day. But after a few weeks, Carlyle started to miss a day occasionally. Toby soon learned to ration his food and water, but Carlyle hadnt been herehow long had it been? A week, perhaps? He peered through the bars in the door. Relief swept over

himCarlyle coming toward him with a bowl. Water sloshed from it onto Carlyle's shoes. Thank God, he thought. But then he heard the sounds of running feet from another direction. A kid shouted Hey Carlyle! Come see what we found. It's really cool!" "What is it?" Carlyle stopped, forgetting all about Toby. "I gotta get my bike!" He set the dish down in front of the door without so much as a glance at Toby. "Carlyle, Carlyle--wait!" yelled Toby, but Carlyle had already jumped on his bicycle and was off. Help! he yelled. Please, somebody help me! But he realized he was just wasting the last of his strength. He might not see Carlyle again for days and the boys parents seldom ventured out of the house. Not ready to give up hope, Toby stretched out on the floor and stuck his arm through the bars. The water was just beyond his reach. Once, tantalizingly, he imagined his fingertips brushed against the bowl. But finally, exhausted and weak from hunger and thirst, he lay on the floor and sobbed. As darkness descended, Toby could see lights go on in the house, and shadows behind the curtain as Carlyles family sat down to dinner. He curled into a fetal position and finally fell asleep, dreaming about food, water and freedom.