On the fourth day of Christmas Anita gave to me . . .

A sweet tidbit from the Captain’s Rose . . .

“To serve my country,” Jayce answered in a firm voice. “And before you give me one of your speeches on why you ended up defending the cause you’d once fought against, let me remind you that in spite of your pride in being a traitor, we are British. This is our homeland.”
Jayce was surprised to see more sorrow than anger in Ritcherd’s eyes. His voice was softer as he said, “Yes, Jayce, we are British. I love my homeland, and I am grateful for the life we live here. But I cannot and will not endorse this ongoing colonization of the world. How can I sacrifice my son for a cause I cannot even believe in?” While Jayce was attempting to find a retort, Ritcherd went on to say, “Are you prepared to set your feet upon foreign soil for the purpose of forcing the natives of that land to submit to British rule, knowing nothing of their customs, their lives? Are you prepared to defend tyranny and oppression and ridiculous taxation?” Ritcherd shook his head and sighed loudly. “That’s what I did. I didn’t realize it at the time, but that’s what I did. I led troops through cities and villages where the people lined the streets to spit at us and profane our presence there. I woke up one day and understood that their hatred was valid.”
Through a long minute of silence while Jayce realized his mother was still crying, he honestly couldn’t think of anything to say. Ritcherd filled the silence by asking, “Are you prepared to die for your country, Jayce? You have to accept that it might come to that.”
“Truthfully, I really don’t care,” Jayce said.
Kyrah made a noise of astonishment and turned her back as if to hide her increasing emotion. Ritcherd sighed more loudly and said, “Well, I care. Your mother cares. So you tell us how we’re supposed to sleep at night while you’re engaged in this ridiculous crusade. Especially when you can’t even give us a reason.”