Chorus of Dust
Page 8
When the trial ended and Adem was sentenced, Winston realized that it didn’t bring him any satisfaction. The anger passed, only to be replaced by an overwhelming sense of emptiness. There were times when he felt so immersed in his grief that he considered ending his own life and taking Sid with him. A terrible thought, but it seemed a great mercy at the time. Eventually the worst of it drifted away, but there always remained a core of sadness in him like a majestic oak tree rotting away from the inside out.
It wasn’t until he visited the farm that he began to feel even the slightest hint of joy again. Sidwin Comeaux had foolishly left the farm to Adem, but in a separate clause he had stated that in the event Adem could not care for the land, ownership would revert to Winston and Sam. When Adem was convicted, it became his farm. At first he wanted no part of it. Why would he? Who wants to live in the same place where a loved one was brutally murdered?
In time though, he thought it best to at least go survey the farm and see what kind of condition it was in before he got ready to sell it. When he and Sid first stepped out of the car, he knew immediately that this was where they were meant to be. Maybe it was the years of good memories of this place, or maybe it was the fact that this was where Sam was always the happiest. He didn’t know why, but suddenly the fact that she’d died here didn’t seem so bad. She would have wanted to die here, and after, she would have wanted them to be here with her.
Now, it was his house, his farm. One day it would be Sid’s, just like she would have wanted. He sometimes wondered if it had been the best decision, and he still never allowed Sid to wander out into the fields.
Yet, despite everything, it felt right. It felt like home.
Winston broke away from his thoughts as the patio door slid open. Sid burst into the great room, sweaty and dirty, as every little boy should be.
“Daddy, do you hear that?” he asked.
“Hear what?”
“That music! Isn’t it beautiful?” Winston unfocused his vision and strained to listen to the air outside. It was completely silent.
“I don’t hear anything,” Winston said. “Maybe you imagined it?”
Sid laughed. “You’re silly, Daddy.” Winston grinned, then reached over and tousled his son’s hair. He shrieked and ran back outside, leaving the patio door wide open behind him.
“Hey!” Winston shouted, but it was too late. The boy was long gone, already lost in a new game. Winston stood and walked to the open door, but before closing it he cupped a hand to his ear and listened one last time. He felt the breeze suddenly pick up and heard a faint whistle coming from the fields. It’s only the wind blowing through the cotton, he thought, that’s all he heard.
Only the wind.
About The Author
Justin Paul Walters lives in Richmond, TX. His work has appeared in Shock Totem Magazine and online at the Lowestoft Chronicle. When he isn’t writing, he spends his daylight hours working as an Electrical Engineer in the energy sector. So far, he has somehow managed not to electrocute himself. You can find out more about Justin at www.justinpaulwalters.com.
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Available wherever eBook are sold.