Where My Heart Belongs

by Tracie Peterson

  Kathy drew a deep breath and realized she couldn’t continue in such anger. She felt split right down the middle: A part of her hated her sister, while the other half was so happy to see her alive and safe. Sunshine looked absolutely miserable. Gone was any pretense of strength and sophistication. Her sister was obviously hurting—sorry for the truth of the moment. With a sigh, Kathy shook her head. “You would have known if you’d come home.”

  “What happened?” Sunshine’s ragged breath caught in her throat. “When?”

  “Amy?”

  Kathy turned to find their father standing not ten feet behind. He clung to the banister of the stairs, weakened from the cancer that was ravaging his body.

  “Is it really you?” he asked.

  “It’s really me!” Sunshine wiped at her tears and pushed past Kathy. “Dad, I’ve come back.” She started to cry again. “Oh, Daddy, I’ve come to ask your forgiveness.”

  She fell into his arms and hugged him closely. Dad dropped his hold on the banister and held his daughter close. Tears welled in his eyes as he gazed upward murmuring two words over and over. “Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.”

  Kathy felt immediately convicted by the intense love that showed on his face. He didn’t care that a dozen years had separated them. He didn’t care that his child, long given up for dead, had given no consideration to her parents and their feelings. He probably didn’t even remember that she had stolen money from him.

  The lost had been found. The dead had come back to life.

  Prodigal Sunshine was home.

  TWO

  GARY HALBERT WAS A MERE SHADOW of the man he’d once been. Born and raised on a Kansas farm, the man had never wanted for more than to work the land. He loved farming, and despite the market’s ups and downs, weather problems, and pests, farming was all he knew and all he wanted to know. Of course, all that changed when he got sick.

  Kathy hated the way the cancer had robbed him of his life. The doctors said it was stage four now—spread from the bladder to the liver, lungs, and bones. There was nothing they could do but monitor the pain and control it with a steady supply of narcotics. They told her it would be merely weeks before he succumbed, and that had been five weeks ago.

  Dad had been quite stoic about the news. He had talked through all the final preparations with Kathy as though he were planning nothing more emotional than putting in a new fence. Dad had told her what kind of funeral he wanted and how she was to handle the sale of the farm and all its personal property. He made calls to friends, giving them first rights on the purchase of livestock and farm implements, and seemed to adjust well to the fact that his life was at its end. Still, Kathy wondered if he was holding on for something. Now watching him with Sunshine, she thought she knew what he’d been waiting for.

  After embracing his child for several minutes, Dad tearfully pulled back to look at her. “You’re all grown up, Sunshine.”

  “I’ve got so much to tell you—to say. I’m so sorry, Dad. Sorry for all I put you through.”

  “Shhh, that’s not important now.”

  Not important? Kathy’s mind whirled. How can he say it isn’t important? How can he act as though nothing matters more than the fact that she’s waltzed back into our lives? If he dares to tell her that it doesn’t matter anymore, I swear I’ll scream.

  He faltered on his feet and reached for the banister. Kathy took this as her cue to interrupt the reunion. “Dad, you need to be in bed.” She took hold of his arm.

  “Let me help,” Sunshine whispered.

  Kathy threw her a look that she hoped made it clear her help wasn’t needed. Apparently it did the job because Sunshine took a step back.

  “Why don’t you go get your things,” Dad suggested. “Kathy can show you how to make up the pullout sofa. I’m afraid with things as they are, your old room is full of boxes and such.”

  “That’s not a problem, Dad. I don’t even have to stay here if it makes you uncomfortable.”

  Kathy was trying to lead her father away from Sunshine, but he stopped. “This is your home too. You’re always welcome here.”

  Kathy met Sunshine’s gaze and realized her sister was waiting for some response. Kathy tightened her grip on the back of her father’s pants in order to steady him. “I’ll help you when I get Dad settled in.” She tried, for the sake of her father, to sound civil.

  When her father had taken ill, Kathy had converted what had once been the family’s den into a bedroom. Dad wasn’t able to make it up the stairs anymore, and the den was the perfect solution. It turned out to be a much better choice than Kathy could ever have imagined, in fact, because the large picture window and sliding glass door looked out over the vast wheat fields Dad had once farmed. It seemed to please him to at least have this small connection to the life he’d known.

  Tony Anderson, long married to Kathy’s best friend, Sylvia, had taken on the farming, and often stopped by to report all the details to Dad. That too brought him a great deal of pleasure. Especially now that he knew his days were numbered and that the farm would soon be sold.

  “You mustn’t wear yourself out,” Kathy told him as she helped him swing his legs over the side of the bed.

  “She’s home,” he said, shaking his head. “She’s really come back.”

  “Yeah, she’s come back, all right.”

  “You don’t sound happy. What’s wrong?”

  She helped him to adjust the bed to a comfortable position. “I guess I’m surprised that she’s come back after twelve years without a single word to any of us. That takes some nerve.”

  “Don’t be angry, Kathleen. This is a good thing—it’s a God-given answer to prayer.”

  “I know you feel that way, but I don’t.” Kathy helped him to get comfortable by tucking pillows under various parts of his body. There were about a dozen pillows of varying sizes, and they generally used them all. “I can’t just act as if nothing’s happened,” she said as she pulled the sheet up. “I can’t pretend twelve years haven’t passed without a word.”

  “I love her, Kathy. I love her just as I love you.” He looked at her with such a pleading in his eyes that Kathy immediately felt ashamed of her outburst.

  “Of course you do. I’m sorry.” She offered him some water, but he turned it down. “Are you hungry?” She knew the answer even before her father opened his mouth.

  “Not just yet. Maybe something later.”

  But Kathy knew later would be long in coming. Her father was eating very little these days. The doctor had already advised her that this pattern would continue until he ate and drank nothing at all. When that happened, it would probably be no more than a week before he died.

  Dad reached out for her hand. “Kathy, I know you’re angry, but I’m begging you to let it go. My prayers have been answered today. Seeing Amy again was the only thing I wanted before I died. The only thing I prayed for.”

  Kathy felt horribly selfish. Her own misery and pain over Sunshine’s return were nothing compared to the peace she knew he’d be feeling. Their father would finally feel he could die. But maybe that only made her resent Sunshine’s reappearance even more. Frankly, Kathy wasn’t sure she was ready to say good-bye to Dad and all that she’d known on the farm.

  Kathy drew a deep breath and studied her father’s face. “I know. I don’t know why it upsets me so. I guess I just keep thinking of how she cost me everything—how she completely altered my life with her selfish choices.”

  “Sit here with me for a minute.” Dad pulled gently on her hand.

  Kathy complied, but her heart wasn’t in it. She knew he would tell her how forgiving Sunshine was the Christian thing to do. How they were really blessed because now they knew she was safe.

  “I want you to know how much I appreciate your sacrifice for Mom and me,” he began. “I always regretted that you didn’t get a chance to finish college. I regretted too that you and Kyle never worked through the situation to marry.”

  “I couldn’t h
ave my focus divided,” she told her father. “I couldn’t give Mom the care she needed and also be a wife to Kyle. He made me see that when he walked away.”

  “But he came back and apologized. You hardened your heart to him.”

  “Never,” Kathy said sadly. “I hid my heart from him. I never hardened it—not in the way you’re suggesting. I knew I could never be the wife I should be. He needed to travel to get where he wanted to be in his career. I couldn’t leave you and Mom to be taken care of by strangers. And even if we’d married and I’d stayed here, what kind of marriage would that have been? What if we’d had children? They would have suffered, because I could never have given them the attention they’d need. They would have lived in a home without their father in residence—at least he wouldn’t have been there very often.”

  “I know you’ve said that many a time. I’m not convinced it would have had to be that way, but I think I understand your choice. I just want you to know that I appreciate what you did for us. That your sacrifice didn’t go unnoticed.”

  “That was never what it was about. I loved you both—I love you still.” Kathy glanced at the partially opened door. “I stayed because of that. She left because she didn’t love any of us as much as she loved herself.”

  “It’s true,” her father agreed. “But now she’s back. I want you to forgive her, Kathy. I want you two to put the past behind you and start fresh.”

  “You don’t know what you’re asking me.”

  He smiled ever so slightly. “I think I do. But I know you’re hurting right now and that doesn’t allow you to think clearly. When I’m in a lot of pain from the cancer, I can’t think clearly either.” He gave a little chuckle. “And my mind is muddled when I’m on the pain medication too. Guess my thinking days are over.”

  “Dad . . . I’m afraid. Afraid that she’s only come home to cause trouble. Afraid of what her expectations are for us.”

  He shook his head. “It doesn’t matter what her expectations are. Expectations are dangerous things to have when they involve the reactions and actions of other people. I think your sister, however, has had a genuine change of heart. You need to respect that and give her a chance.”

  “A chance to do what? Change her name again and run off for another twelve years?” Kathy knew her father didn’t deserve her anger and frustration, but she couldn’t seem to rein in her emotions. “I don’t see any reason to trust her.”

  “I didn’t ask you to trust her. I asked you to forgive her.”

  “So she gets to just waltz in here like nothing happened, and we’re supposed to be okay with it—pretend it never happened, pretend her choice was completely acceptable?”

  “No,” Dad said, shaking his head. His voice was ever weakening. “She knows her choice wasn’t acceptable. She wouldn’t have asked me to forgive her if she thought otherwise. She knows we can’t forget or pretend that she hasn’t been gone for twelve years. And she knows she’s hurt us, and she’ll go on knowing it—so long as we remind her.” He looked at her and held her gaze. “Is that what you want—to make sure she hurts as much as we have?”

  “She chose to hurt the people who loved her the most.

  She decided to run off and never tell anyone where she was or if she was all right. Now you want to celebrate her return. You want to act as though she did nothing worse than make a bad career choice.”

  “No . . . I want to remember that my choices are sometimes just as poorly made in the eyes of God. I want to remember that I haven’t always pleased the people who loved me—that my choices were not always good ones and because of that, people suffered.”

  “You’ve never made poor choices like that,” Kathy protested.

  “That’s not true. What about the fact that I wouldn’t go to the doctor when my symptoms first started? That I didn’t get the farm on the market sooner?”

  Kathy felt as though the wind had been knocked from her. “That’s . . . different.”

  “Is it? I don’t think so. You suffered because of my poor choices.” He paused and looked out across the fields. “She’s my child, Kathy. I can’t turn my back on her, even if she would turn her back on me.”

  Kathy knew he was right. Everyone made bad decisions. She’d made enough of those herself. She took a deep breath and patted her dad’s hand. “I’ll try for your sake to be kind, but I won’t lie. If she asks me how I feel, I can’t lie.”

  “I don’t expect you to, Kathy.” He sounded so sad, as though he knew there was an irreparable hole in her heart that had been put there by Sunshine. “I would hope, however, that you’d speak the truth in love, just as the Bible says. If you tear into her just for the sake of making her feel bad, how does that make it any better than what she did all those years ago?”

  Kathy thought of the way her mother had suffered, the long hours spent crying and mourning the loss of her younger child. The questions and fears and her own imagination had been harder to deal with than had her mother just known where Amy was and what she was doing.

  “At least my anger—my desire to put Amy in her place—isn’t going to kill someone. She killed Mom as sure as if she’d put a gun to her head. Mom never would have suffered a heart attack and been left in such a weakened state had it not been for Sunshine’s heartless disappearing act.”

  Kathy got up and paced beside the bed. “I’m glad for your sake that Sunshine has chosen to come home, but for me, I hate it. It opens up an entirely new set of problems to be dealt with, and frankly, I’m not sure I have the strength to face her antics again.”

  Sunshine stood in the hallway, listening to her sister’s tirade. She had never expected to be welcomed with open arms after a twelve-year absence, but neither had she anticipated outright hatred. Kathy hated her—that much was clear. She hated her so much that she blamed Sunshine for the death of their mother.

  Tears streamed down Sunshine’s face. Why had she made the choices she’d made? Why had she done so many bad things?

  If only I’d come home after I ran out of money. If only I’d realized the pain I was causing by my selfishness.

  But Sunshine had learned that life could not be based on “if onlys.” Nothing could change the past. What was done was done, and there was no way to go back—no matter the depth of regret.

  She heard Kathy say something about keeping the peace for the sake of their father and cringed. Something was desperately wrong with Dad. He was nothing but skin and bones, and he’d said something about not going to the doctor when his symptoms first started. She wanted to know what had happened and what the prognosis might be, but Sunshine was fearful of asking. She wasn’t entirely sure she could handle the answer, for one thing. And for another, she wasn’t sure she wanted to deal with Kathy’s hostility.

  Sunshine moved away from the den and into the kitchen. To her surprise it looked the same. The old farmhouse hadn’t been remodeled or upgraded since she’d left. She touched the speckled countertop and thought of all the times she’d had to wipe it down. How she’d hated chores. Tall white cupboards beckoned her to explore. Sunshine remembered when she and Kathy had painted them white as a surprise for Mom. Dad had thought it the perfect way to brighten the kitchen, and Mom had loved it.

  Sunshine found a startling reminder of her childhood in the Depression glass that still lined a few of the shelves. Her mother had inherited the dishes from her great-grandmother and had loved to use them. Sunshine remembered once asking if it was dangerous to use them for everyday, but her mother had laughed at this. She’d told Sunshine that they were only things and that things weren’t much good if they couldn’t be used.

  Moving away from the cupboards, Sunshine went to the back door. There were still notches in the doorframe, where Dad had measured her and Kathy as they’d grown. Sunshine touched the carved wood lovingly. It was a part of her history that actually seemed viable. Here was proof that she had once existed as a child in this house. Here was proof that she had once belonged.

  Beyond the
door was a small mud porch at the back of the house. The porch had been screened in the year Sunshine had turned twelve. She and some of her friends then promptly had a slumber party there, but it only lasted until around midnight, when all the girls had come inside after being scared by the noises of the night. Sunshine couldn’t help but smile at the memory. Life had been so simple then. She had thought herself oppressed with rules and regulations, but if she’d only realized how protected and loved she was, things might have been different.

  There it was again. If only. Oh, how she regretted the choices she’d made. Kathy no doubt thought her sister had enjoyed some magical life of prosperity and happiness, but Sunshine could set her straight on that count. There’d been streaks of both, but there had been nothing magical or overly good about the life she’d made for herself after leaving home.

  Sunshine opened the porch’s screen door and gazed across the backyard. Everything was just as she remembered it: her mother’s clothesline, the chicken coop and yard, the barn and the storm cave. How she had hated that storm cave as a child. Most of her friends had basements in their houses, but not the Halbert home. This place had been built shortly before the First World War, and apparently basements hadn’t been all that fashionable in Kansas prairie farmsteads. Nothing was ever so terrifying as having to leave the seeming safety of the house to venture into the storm itself in order to get to the cave.

  She remembered crying in fear as a little girl. Storms had terrified her, but the cave was equally frightening. Nothing more than a hole dug into the ground and firmed up with a structure of corrugated tin and lumber, the cave was musty and dark, with a dirt floor. Bugs—especially spiders—had seemed to like to make their homes under the crude wooden benches where the family would sit out the weather. Sunshine always worried about what might crawl out from under the bench and would plead to sit on her father’s lap. As the years went by their father made updates to the cave, but it was never a place Sunshine wanted to stay for long. Even now, the sight of the door peering out from the mounded ground gave her the shivers.