The Long Path Home

by Ellen Lindseth

  “I did. But I gave him up for adoption. He lives in Chicago with his new family, and—oh, Mama—he’s healthy and gorgeous and has the sweetest smile.”

  Her mother bit her lip and was silent a moment, moisture gathering in her eyes. Then she gave a watery smile. “Well, I’m glad my grandbaby is safe. You did all right. And you’ll have more, someday, that I’ll be able to spoil.”

  Vi winced under a fresh stab of pain. “Actually, I won’t. The doctor said I can’t have any more children.”

  Might as well put that truth out there, too.

  Both her parents stared at her.

  Vi tried to laugh so they wouldn’t look so stricken. “It’s all right. I’ve gotten used to the idea. And I’ve got a niece to spoil, right?”

  “I’m so sorry,” her mother said finally. “I didn’t mean to bring up—”

  “It’s fine.” This time her smile was more genuine. “I’m glad to have the truth out between us. It feels . . . good.”

  “You’ll still need to talk to Fern,” her father said. “She’s got a right to know, and she’ll take it better from you. She blamed herself for your disappearance.”

  Vi’s stomach dropped at the thought of that challenging conversation. But she was committed to making things right between her and Fern. “I definitely want to talk to her. But perhaps I could rest first? The chair here is fine. It was a long train trip.”

  Her mother’s eyebrows rose. “Wouldn’t you rather lie down? The bed in your old room is all made up.”

  Vi’s heart thumped unevenly. “I don’t want to be any bother.”

  “Violet Louise, this is your home until you don’t need it anymore. You’ve been gone five years, child. It’ll take a month of Sundays, at least, until I get caught up on your life! Until then, don’t even think you might be a bother.”

  Five years of guilt and grief shifted on her shoulders, crushing the breath out of her. “But—”

  “No buts. You’re home, Vi.” Her mother pulled her into a fierce hug, and Vi lost the battle with her emotions. She sobbed onto her mother’s shoulder as the trials and fears of the intervening years slid free.

  It had been a long, difficult journey, but her mother was right: she was finally home.

  And it was wonderful.

  Chapter 38

  Telling Fern the truth about Robert was the hardest thing Vi had ever done. She had fully expected her sister to spit in her eye and tell her to never speak to her again.

  Fern surprised her, though.

  Her sister, having gone through a pregnancy herself, understood how scary and overwhelming it must have been. She had cried and hugged Vi tight when Vi explained why she couldn’t have any more children. Yes, she wished she had known what a rat Robert was before she married him. But if she hadn’t been through that awful experience, she likely wouldn’t have appreciated what a stand-up guy her Joe was.

  Fern had even suspected Vi had a crush on Robert, which was why she had always blamed herself for Vi’s disappearance. She had thought Vi’s heart had been broken by the engagement announcement, and that’s why Vi had run away. It came as almost a relief, then, to know Robert had been the villain.

  Then Fern had made a confession of her own. She had taken advantage of Vi’s absence to become a renowned actress in her own right. Or had once Robert had died, freeing her to try out for local productions. While she would understand if Vi wanted to return to the Chariton stage, perhaps she could let Fern have the occasional choice role? Vi had been shocked to learn of her sister’s jealousy. If only she had known how Fern had felt about always being passed over, Vi might have bowed out once in a while.

  Oh, who was she kidding? Not at fifteen she wouldn’t have.

  Vi made a face at herself in the mirror over the parlor piano as she remembered that conversation. No matter how much Vi might have wished otherwise, she had been far too selfish and spoiled all those years ago. But not anymore.

  Fern clattered down the stairs and burst into the parlor.

  “Violet, can you help zip me? Joe is swinging by in fifteen minutes to pick me up after he drops Claire off at the neighbor’s.”

  Vi turned away from the mirror and smiled. “Sure, come here.”

  Her sister, a thinner, more angular version of Vi, hurried over and turned around. Her costume glittered like a waterfall with its hundreds of blue and green sequins, all sewn on by Vi at her own insistence.

  That her sister had even considered going onstage for tonight’s musicale in a plain sheath dress had actually caused Vi pain.

  Fern lifted her curled and waved hair off her back. “Are you sure you don’t want to come with us tonight? Joe said he could still get you a front-row ticket if you wanted.”

  “I’m sure he could, but seeing as the performance is sold out, I don’t want to be responsible for what he might have to do to get me one.” Vi smiled at the not-so-far-fetched scenario of her new, very sweet brother-in-law shaking down some poor soul to make sure his wife’s sister could attend the Chariton Spring Revue. He would do anything to make Fern happy, which Vi found endearing.

  Vi fastened the small hook at the top of the zipper. “All done, and you look fantastic.”

  Fern took a deep breath and turned around, her face pinched with worry. There were new lines around her sister’s eyes that Vi hadn’t gotten used to, ones Robert had likely put there in that one awful year of marriage. “You sure you won’t come?”

  Vi smiled reassuringly. “Don’t worry. It’s Mother and Daddy’s turn tonight. Tomorrow night is your chance to knock my socks off.”

  “Darn Mrs. Schmidt for grabbing the last ticket.”

  “She’s got just as much right as I do to see your opening night triumph,” Vi said with a laugh. “Besides, I already told you, I’ve got a voice lesson tonight. If I’m going to go visit Marcie in New York, I’ve only got until June to get my voice in shape. I promised her that I’d be able to hold my own while singing at her cast parties.”

  Fern made a face. “Fine. You go get ready to visit your friend. I was just making it all about me again. Older-sister prerogative.”

  Vi’s heart squeezed, pricked by the old ghosts of sibling rivalry. They both knew that when she was younger, she might have missed her sister’s opening night for far different reasons than not wanting her brother-in-law to ruffle town feathers. And the memory shamed her.

  She straightened a twisted sequin on Fern’s gown. “As your fond little sister, I want you to know I am nothing but happy for you. If my leg would tolerate it, I’d gladly stand in the wings and cheer you on from there. But there’s always tomorrow! So go break a leg.” Then she laughed. “But not literally. I can tell you from experience, it’s no fun.”

  Fern laughed, too. Then the sisters spontaneously hugged.

  The doorbell rang, and Fern jumped. “Oh, that’ll be Joe.”

  Vi rubbed the ache in her thigh as Fern ran to answer the door. The pain was less now, thank the Lord, but she still limped like the devil. She doubted anyone from the Palace in Chicago or from the USO unit would believe it if they saw her now. The graceful dancer she had been was nothing but a memory.

  Someday, though, she would find her way back onto a stage. Of that she was sure. Performing was too much a part of her blood for her to abandon it. And the joy in letting herself sing again almost balanced her sorrow at no longer being able to dance.

  Though she did have this idea of tap-dancing with a cane . . .

  Fern hurried back in, her coat only half-on. “Here. Joe said to give this to you.” She held an envelope in her hand. “He said it was marked general delivery, which is why it didn’t get delivered earlier, and that he’s sorry.”

  Vi took the envelope, surprised. “Thanks.”

  “Oh, also”—Fern’s face pinkened prettily under her stage makeup—“Joe says I look like a million bucks, so thank you. For everything.”

  Vi gave her sister a fond if distracted smile. “You’re welcome. Now shoo! You don
’t want to be late on opening night, it’s bad luck.”

  “Fine! I’ll go.” Her sister blew her a kiss and then turned to leave. She stopped at the door and looked back. “By the way, thank Mrs. Housley for me, will you?”

  “Why?” Mrs. Housley was Vi’s voice teacher.

  “Because your singing is better than ever! The house was so silent after you left. You’ll never know how much Mom and Pop missed you. Me, too.”

  A pang of guilt tugged at her heart. “I missed you, too.”

  The front door thudded behind Fern and Joe. Finally alone in the parlor, Vi wondered who the letter was from. Not many people knew she was here. Marcie did, of course. She had been the first person Vi had written to after coming home six weeks ago. The exchanges had been terse at first. Marcie had been put out when Vi had told her the real reason for joining the troupe, but it had quickly faded under concern. And then she had blamed herself for not being with Vi when the “assassination attempt” had happened, blame Vi quickly absolved her of.

  On the other hand, Vi still hadn’t quite forgiven her father for the somewhat inaccurate article that ran in the local papers, touting her as a star of the USO who had been injured in the line of duty. It had not only caused a minor stir but had also made her a war hero of sorts.

  He had pushed the altered narrative with the best of intentions, and the article had made it easier for her to reenter Chariton society. Unfortunately, it was also the real reason why she was going to miss Fern’s opening night, despite wanting to go. She had realized her presence might steal some of the spotlight from her sister, and that just wouldn’t do.

  Vi turned the envelope over. She hoped it was from Marcie with all the details of her friend’s upcoming Broadway debut. Something Vi couldn’t wait to witness. She was supposed to sit with Marcie’s parents.

  Except the return address wasn’t Marcie’s New York one. She frowned in puzzlement. It was from somewhere in Wyoming, and the envelope was addressed simply to Miss Violet Erndt—a common enough misspelling of her last name—via general delivery, Chariton, Iowa. It was from Mr. and Mrs. Joseph Danger.

  Confusion and no little worry pricked her as she guessed that these were Ansel’s parents. Were they writing to tell her of his death? Or that he was MIA? The war was drawing to a close in Europe. There was a cautious optimism in the country that Hitler might finally be licked, but that didn’t mean soldiers weren’t still dying. The fighting continued. She had just read this morning in the Des Moines Register about the liberation of Bologna, as well as the continuing guerrilla warfare in Italy. It had brought back such vivid memories of Rome and her encounters with Allie and Riccardo, with Enzo and his mother, and that final night with Minta and Sr. Conti. And most of all, it reminded her of Ansel.

  The details of his face were so clear, she could almost feel the prickly texture of his five-o’clock shadow under her fingertips. The otherworldly blue of his eyes haunted her, and she had woken up more nights than she cared to recall with her lips tingling from his kiss. Sometimes in town she would spin around, searching for him, sure she had caught a whiff of his aftershave.

  And yet she had thrown away whatever chance she had with him. All in the name of doing the right thing, sure. But it was still a regret that tugged at her when she was alone. A regret that would grow a thousandfold should she learn he was gone forever.

  Exhaling, she summoned her courage and opened the envelope. No way to know what news it contained without reading it. To her surprise the one-page letter was wrapped around a folded, thinner letter.

  Dear Miss Erndt,

  The enclosed letter was delivered to us at the same time ours arrived. Somehow they got attached, but rest assured we didn’t read very far before we realized the mistake. Hope this reaches you all right. Our son spoke very highly of you in his letter to us.

  Sincerely,

  Carol and Joseph Danger

  Vi’s fingers shook slightly as she unfolded the other letter, the one addressed to her.

  If only she could remember Ansel’s visit to the hospital. If not for Darla, she wouldn’t have even known he was there. Her secret hope had been that he’d bared his soul to her and told her he’d fallen in love with her. Her heart had even skipped a beat every time a Red Cross volunteer had come through the ward with mail. Then her hopes had died, bowing to the reality. She had been a fool then, but no more.

  And yet he had spoken highly of her to his parents . . .

  The letter was written in a scrawling, masculine script.

  Dear Violet.

  I’m sorry I didn’t write before now. There wasn’t a whole lot of mail service up . . . well, I can’t say where, but you can probably guess. But that didn’t mean I wasn’t thinking about you or regretting that I never told you how much I’ve always liked violets, even before I met you. They’re tough as nails and yet pretty as a moonlit night in the mountains. So a lot like you.

  I came to see you in the hospital, but I don’t know if you remember. You were doped up so high on account of the pain, I think you thought I was a ghost. I thought you looked small and fragile, all bandaged up in that bed. I still blame myself that you wound up that way, though I can hear you saying I should forgive myself. And I will, just like I forgave you for not telling me about your life sooner. I won’t lie, I was angry, even a bit hurt by that. But none of that matters in the face of you being alive. I thank God every day for that.

  Anyway, the good news is that we’ve got the Germans on the run now. With any luck, they’ll throw in the towel before too long. If that turns out to be true, I’d like to stop by and see you on my way home. Would that be okay? A lot of the guys in my unit are from Iowa and told me Chariton isn’t that hard to get to. Would that be okay?

  I hope you are well.

  Sincerely,

  Ansel

  P.S. I got a field commission, so I’m a lieutenant now, if you can imagine such a thing. Also, if you want to write back, use the address above. It may not find me right away, but eventually the army gets things sorted out.

  Vi’s eyes filled with tears as she touched the photocopied paper, wishing she held the real McCoy. She could only imagine the ink would have contained some lingering essence of him.

  I’d like to stop by and see you . . . She could hardly wrap her head around those incredible words. That he would want to do that, despite knowing all about her past, made her heart ache. There was always the chance they might not feel the same spark as they had in Italy, but she was more than willing to find out.

  “Violet, was that Fern who just left?” her mother called from the stairs.

  “Yes, and I’m about to take off, too.” Vi limped her way to the front hall to fetch her coat.

  “Vi,” her mother said, appearing in the doorway, an earring in her hands. “It was sweet of you not to take Joe up on his offer tonight. I understand why you’re skipping opening night, even if Fern doesn’t.”

  Vi paused and debated whether to play ignorant.

  “Once upon a time,” her mother continued, not unkindly, “you wouldn’t have thought twice about upstaging your sister. You two were always so competitive.”

  Vi winced, thinking of Robert and how that had turned out. “Yes, well. That little girl grew up. I’ve learned to share the spotlight.”

  Her mother smiled a little sadly. “They say war makes men out of boys. I guess it’s no surprise it can make women out of girls.”

  Vi hesitated. “It wasn’t just the war, Mom. I met someone.” Her fingers gripped the cane as her chest tightened. “Someone wonderful.”

  “I’m so glad.” Her mother stepped forward and cupped Vi’s cheek. “It’s time you had something good happen in your life.”

  “I’m sorry I didn’t trust you and Daddy. I should’ve. It was thoughtless, and cruel, and—”

  “Shh.” Her mother’s face softened. “You’ve done nothing but apologize since you’ve come home. Enough. Yes, you should have told us. But we have long since forgiven yo
u. As has Fern. As has everyone. All that’s left is for you to forgive yourself.”

  Vi reached up to give her mother’s hand a fond squeeze. “Funny, that’s the same thing this fellow told me while I was in Italy.”

  “And I hope you listened to him! He sounds like a very wise person.”

  “I’m working on it. And he is.” Vi bit her lip, sudden emotion welling up inside her.

  Her mother smiled. “I hope we get to meet him then.”

  Vi impulsively hugged her mother. “I love you, Mom.”

  “I love you, too, my not-so-shy Violet.” Her mother’s eyes were glossy with tears as she released her. “Now get on out of here before you make my mascara run.”

  Not one to disobey an order, Vi kissed her mother on the cheek and then quickly let herself out.

  As the door closed behind her, she pulled her coat closer to her neck and gazed up into the fading twilight. Stars were starting to glow in the rose-and-purple-streaked sky, and the moon would be rising soon. The same moon that was gazing down on Ansel somewhere tonight. A smile curved her lips. Would she write him? Oh heavens. She would write him pages and pages. He would have no doubt in his mind that she wanted to see him again. She would see to that.

  Hope slid through her veins as she limped down the sidewalk, cane clicking on the concrete path. This day might be ending, but a new season was starting. She could feel it in the air.

  A hum built in her throat as her cane tapped a rhythm on the sidewalk.

  Like spring following winter, it was a time for new beginnings. And oh, was she ready for it.

  With Ansel. With her family. With herself.

  It was time to let herself sing.

  Acknowledgments

  As always, thank you to my wonderful editors at Lake Union, Chris and Tiffany, for helping bring out the best in this story. It truly does take a village to raise a book, and I’m so glad you two were there for me. I would also like to thank Tami Richey, beta reader and friend extraordinaire. Without you, I probably would have burned this manuscript long ago—literally, computer and all. For encouraging restraint, my fireplace also thanks you.