by Linda Ford
*
“Dear Elizabeth,” she read. “I have read a great deal about the veterans. The newspapers, especially, are full of horrible stories of men who have returned, many with dreadful, painful injuries. Others, it seems from the reports, with no physical injuries but so affected by the horrors of their experience that they are profoundly changed and not for the better. I’ve heard accounts of men actually taking their own lives. I’ve heard stories of behaviors that made my skin crawl—stories too awful to repeat. Now you must wonder why I am telling you this. Or perhaps you already understand what I am writing of. I know you, my dear Elizabeth. You are not one to complain or even to tell us the truth for fear we would worry. But I want you to know and understand this: If you have found your husband changed beyond recognition, if you are in a situation where you fear for your safety and sanity, then, dear child, please do not be afraid to change your mind and come home. Let me know, and I will wire you the money to return home posthaste.
“I pray I am speaking of something you are unfamiliar with, but having said all this, I feel immensely better.
“Your loving father.”
She closed her eyes and leaned back, a sense of reprieve easing the tension in her spine she hadn’t even been aware of until this moment. It helped to know she and Caleb were not the only ones in this situation. And to know her father knew and had offered her a way of escape made her breathe easier. She looked at the letter again. What should she do?
8
She needed to think about Father’s offer, but the house seemed suddenly small and crowded. She folded the letters and shoved them underneath her writing supplies, then hurried outside, pausing to look about her. Although Canada didn’t yet feel like home, the wide spaces and fresh, new feel of the land were appealing. England did not pull at her to return.
She turned to study the little house, imagining how the flowers would provide a riot of color against the weathered wood. Despite Caleb’s erratic behavior, she had known good times in this little home. She pressed her palms to her stomach.
No, if she stayed or left, it would have nothing to do with the country or the house and everything to do with Caleb.
Father Hughes had said Caleb had gone plowing. Lizzie struck out toward the field. She rounded the barn and stopped. The horse stood patiently hitched to the plow, but Caleb was nowhere in sight.
Father Hughes came around the other side of the barn and ground to a halt. “Where’s Caleb?”
“I thought he was out here.”
“Well, he isn’t.” Father Hughes threw a spanner toward the barn door and stomped toward the plow. “That boy is about as useless as—” His muttered words faded as he walked away.
Lizzie stared after him, then looked around the farm, hoping for a glimpse of Caleb. At first she saw nothing; then she thought she saw a flash of dark blue, the color of his shirt, beneath some trees past the barn. Her heart thundering inside her chest, she hurried toward the spot. What was wrong now?
He looked up as she thudded toward to him. “If you’ve come to tell me I should be plowing, you can forget it.”
She shrank back from his accusation. She’d never told him what he should or shouldn’t do. “No. I’ve only come to make sure you’re all right.”
He bolted to his feet and scowled at her. “Of course I’m all right. Did you think I would try to do myself harm?”
His words were so close to what she’d been thinking that her cheeks burned. “Certainly not.” How had the conversation gotten so far out of hand? She’d only come to assure herself there was a shadow of the old Caleb in this angry man before her. She had not come to argue about who said what or what hidden meaning the words contained. But then perhaps she had. In the hidden and shadowed meanings lay the truth about Caleb and her relationship with him.
“Sorry to disappoint you.” He stomped away.
She pursed her lips and let her breath out, staring after him as he crossed the pasture, headed away from the farm. In a few minutes, she heard hammering. Building on that annoying fence again. The barricade reached the corner and passed the house and barn in a steady march toward the road.
None of her questions had been answered. In fact, her questions had multiplied.
She followed Caleb’s trail, stopping when she could see him bent over the fence. She sat down in the grass, out of sight against a tree, and watched. A mixture of emotions chased around in her head. Which one should she listen to? Her trembling fear at his outburst? Her warm memories of their time in England? And the more recent times of loving in her new home? Was his mind damaged beyond repair? Or did she need to hold on to hope and faith and wait for his healing?
Her legs cramped from huddling over her knees; yet she found no answers. Not from heaven. Not from her heart. And certainly not from Caleb.
She pushed to her feet and ambled back to the house. In the field, Father Hughes plowed a straight furrow. In the big house, she glimpsed Mother Hughes bent over the table. Baking up a storm, no doubt. But Lizzie didn’t care. She had something far more important to occupy herself.
It all boiled down to one thing: Did she want to go home? Did she want to give up on Caleb and their marriage? She shook her head. She did not. No matter what problems lay ahead, she wanted to be with Caleb. She would not give up on him. Or them.
Her mind made up, she hurried back to the house, pulled out a piece of paper, and wrote her answer to Father.
“I will not be coming home, although I cannot pretend Caleb hasn’t changed. He seems haunted by memories of the war. But I will stay with him. Together we will battle this demon. I ask only that you keep us in your prayers as I’m certain you do. I’ll write a longer letter later. Your loving daughter, Elizabeth.”
The rattle of a wagon on the road and then a soft “Whoa there” brought Lizzie to her feet. She hurried to the door to see who had stopped outside. “Molly. I’m pleased to see you.” They saw each other every Sunday, but Molly’s father hurried her away even faster than Lizzie’s in-laws hurried her away.
“Pa sent me to town for some things, and I thought, now why don’t I take the first road instead of the second and drive past that nice Mrs. Hughes’s place and see if she’d like to go to town with me?”
Lizzie laughed. “I’m not used to being Mrs. Hughes. Do you mean me or Caleb’s mother?”
Molly wrinkled her nose. “Mrs. Hughes—Caleb’s mother—would have a conniption fit if I asked her to ride with me.” She ran her hands the length of her body, indicating the man’s pants and shirt she wore. “No lady would be caught dead in pants.” She so perfectly imitated Mother Hughes’s gentle criticism that Lizzie laughed. “So you want to go to town or not?”
“Could you wait while I address an envelope?”
Molly crossed her hands behind her head, leaned back, and put her booted feet up. “I got all the time in the world. If I go home, I’ll have to get back to work.”
“I’ll be but a minute.” She scribbled the address on the envelope, waving it to dry the ink before she slipped in the folded pages and sealed it. She went to the side of the wagon. “Do you mind if I run and tell Caleb where I’m going?”
Molly dropped her feet to the wagon floor with a thud. “Where is he?”
“Down past the house.”
“It’s on the way. You hop on up, and I’ll take ya.” She held out her hand to help Lizzie up, then flicked the reins. The wagon rumbled; the harness rattled; the horses neighed.
“There he is.” Lizzie pointed, then called his name.
He looked up without straightening.
“I’m going to town with Molly.”
He waved his hammer over his head in acknowledgment.
“I hope you don’t mind my saying so, but that’s a mighty interesting fence Caleb’s working on.” Molly shook her head. “You expecting an Indian attack or something?”
Lizzie adjusted herself on the hard bench. “Caleb likes building fences.”
“I guess he must.
I thought he would be eager to be in the fields, though.”
“Father Hughes is plowing.”
Molly turned and looked directly at her. “Mr. Hughes is plowing when Caleb is home?”
Lizzie stared down the road without answering.
“My uncle came home from the war,” Molly continued. “Now I’m not one to say anything about a person’s character, but my uncle is downright crazy.” She shook her head. “He didn’t spend one night in the house. Said it was too close. He preferred to sleep outside.” She made a burring sound. “In a house he lived in all his life, mind. So he packed up a few things and left. Said he was going into the mountains where he wouldn’t have to see nobody.”
Lizzie was curious. “Is he still there?”
“Far as I know. When I asked Pa if he thought Uncle Clem would be back, he said there’s some things a man has to work out on his own.” Molly’s voice thoughtful, she added, “I guess Caleb’s got to work out a few things hisself, too.”
Lizzie had been trying her best to avoid the subject. She met Molly’s questioning gaze without flinching as she pointedly changed the subject. “Tell me about yourself. Caleb says you live west of here.”
Molly studied Lizzie a moment, her expression growing hard. “I get it. Subject closed. Fine and dandy.” She adjusted herself so she could put one booted foot up and lean against her leg. “I live with my pa about ten miles farther west. Right along the river.”
“What about your mother?”
“My mother’s dead. I don’t remember her. My pa and Uncle Clem—he’s the one I just told you about—they raised me best they could. Some would say it weren’t none too good, but I got no complaints. I learned how to cook and clean well enough, and there ain’t anything about breaking and raising horses I don’t know. Nor can’t do.”
Lizzie laughed then. “You don’t need to defend yourself to me.”
“Guess I don’t.” She pulled the team to a stop. “Here we are at the post office. You want to mail your letter?”
“Are you going in?” She gave the building a dubious look.
Molly chuckled. “Don’t you let Miss Priss get to you.”
“Miss Priss?”
“Actually her name is Miss Melinda Johnson, but I always call her Miss Priss ’cause she looks down her nose at me like I stink. I bet she said something mean and nasty to you, too.”
“Accused me of stealing a man from under her nose.”
Molly nodded. “Not like you see a whole lineup waiting a chance to ask her out. Don’t pay her no mind.”
“You’re right.” Lizzie jumped down from the wagon and marched inside, handed her letter to Miss Priss—Miss Johnson, she corrected herself—smiled, said, “Isn’t it a pleasant day?” and sauntered back out.
“Weren’t so bad, was it?” Molly asked.
“Not at all. But then I never gave her a chance to say anything.” She hopped up on the wagon again. “I hope I didn’t appear rude, though.”
“Don’t worry about it. Miss Priss would never notice unless it had something to do with a man.” She guided the horses down the street. “You got something else to do, or you want to wait while I get the feed?”
“I don’t mind waiting.” In fact, she welcomed the chance to look around. Most times when she came to town, she got no farther than the Duncan home on the south edge. The train station lay on the east side with the road leading directly out of town. Apart from that, the post office was the only place she’d been. She craned around, taking stock of the wide streets and board sidewalks.
Molly pulled to a stop in front of a feed store.
Down the street a spire poked skyward. “Isn’t that a church?” she asked Molly.
“Yup.” Molly heaved a heavy sack into the wagon.
“Then why do we meet at the Sidons’?”
Molly brushed her hair off her forehead. “ ’Cause it ain’t necessary to have a fancy building.”
Lizzie leaned over until she could see the white frame building. It was plain as pudding compared to the fine structures back home. “I can’t see that would be a problem.”
Molly laughed. “Nothing very fancy about that building, I reckon. Nor the other church in town.” She ducked inside the building, returning in a few minutes with a box.
Lizzie waited until Molly was back on the seat beside her before she asked, “Are you saying those people believe it’s wrong to meet in a church building?”
“Not exactly wrong, I guess. Just not necessary. Now if you were to mention something fun or exciting, that would be wrong.”
“You’re not serious.”
“Maybe I am. But I never pay it much mind. I do as I like and mind my own business. I ’spect folks to do the same for me.”
“Oh, my. Caleb never said anything about this to me.”
“Maybe he don’t care one way or the other.”
Lizzie turned to watch the girl’s face. Her remark made Lizzie uneasy. “What do you mean?”
“Only that it strikes me Caleb don’t put up much argument, but that don’t mean he agrees with everything he’s told.”
Lizzie thought about his fixing the roof on Sunday; how he nodded when his mother criticized him for going to town almost every day to see Frankie, then continued to do exactly as he had done before. Even working on the fence. Both his parents had made pointed remarks about it; yet Caleb continued unperturbed. “I believe you’re right.”
“You betcha I am.” She turned the wagon to return home. “You sure there’s no place you’d like to stop? I ain’t in a big hurry to get home.”
“Could we stop at the Duncans’? I’d like to see how they’re doing.”
“Fine by me.” She pulled to a halt in front of the Duncan barn. “You go on ahead and see Mrs. Duncan. I’ll just have a gander around.”
At the sound of the wagon, Robbie came from the interior of the barn. He called a greeting to Lizzie, and his eyes brightened as he recognized Molly. “Hey, Molly! Come and see the team you sold us.”
Lizzie left Molly and Robbie to their inspection of the horses and went inside to find Pearl sitting at the table staring blankly.
In the other room, Frankie coughed until he gagged. Lizzie shuddered.
“Pearl?”
Pearl lifted wide, desperate eyes. “I can’t stand it. Every day he gets worse. I know I should be grateful for whatever time I have, and you know I am. But to listen to him struggling for breath and to see his face screwed up from the pain…” She shivered.
Lizzie held her, letting Pearl sob against her shoulder.
Frankie coughed again.
Pearl sighed. “Here I am a-rattlin’ on about how awful things are when I wouldn’t be wanting to miss a minute.” Her voice dropped, and she plucked at her fingers. “I only wish Frankie didn’t have to suffer so.”
“Pearl?” Frankie called, his voice barely audible. Even that little effort made him cough again.
“I’m coming.” She reached for Lizzie’s hand. “You’ll come and say hello, won’t you?”
“Of course.” She looked around the room. “Where are the children?”
“Playing out back. I’m trying to keep them out of the way as much as possible.”
“You can send them to me anytime you want, you know.”
Pearl nodded. “I know, and I thank you. Mrs. Lawson across the street will take them for me, too.”
They went to Frankie’s bedside. Frankie reached for Pearl’s hand, and she leaned over and kissed his brow. “Hello, Lizzie.” His voice grew reedier every day. His wheeze filled the room. His face was drawn with pain.
Lizzie patted his hand. Words seemed so inadequate. She sat with Pearl and Frankie a few minutes. They didn’t speak as they clung to each other, drawing strength from being together. “I have to go,” she whispered.
“You’ll come again soon?” Pearl asked, momentarily diverting her gaze from watching her husband.
“Bring your flute.” Frankie opened his eyes for a hea
rtbeat. Long enough for her to see the depths of his pain.
“I’ll be back, and I’ll bring my flute.” It took all her self-control to keep her voice steady before she rushed outside and gulped in a deep breath.
Robbie and Molly leaned against the wagon talking. Molly straightened as Lizzie approached. “Ready?”
Lizzie nodded. She smiled at Robbie, trying to hide her sadness; but from his expression, she knew he understood his father was failing. She squeezed his shoulder. “Come and get us if you need anything.”
He nodded. “I will.”
“Remember what I told you about the team,” Molly called as they drove away.
Robbie waved. “I will.”
“I told him I’d buy back the team if it helped them any. Robbie says Audie can’t seem to keep both outfits going.” Molly shook her head. “Beats me why he can’t. There’s plenty of work hauling freight around here. The man at the feed store was complaining he couldn’t get anyone to take a load out to Willard’s. How’re Frankie and Pearl?”
Sudden, unexpected tears choked Lizzie’s throat. For a moment, she couldn’t speak. “They’re so brave and loving.” Their devotion filled her with loneliness.
“Frankie getting any better?”
Lizzie swallowed hard. “I don’t think Frankie is going to get better.”
Molly jerked around to face her. “He’s dying?”
“He’s failing badly.”
Molly puffed out her cheeks. “Well, I never guessed. No one said anything.” She squinted and pulled her mouth to one side. “That makes a whole lot of difference.”
Lizzie drew her brows together. “To what?”
“The way Audie is neglecting their business. I thought Frankie would be on his case soon enough.”
Lizzie nodded, though she only half guessed what Molly meant.
Caleb was still working on the fence when they neared the farm. Molly pulled up at the edge of the road and hopped down. “Hope you don’t mind if I have a chat with your man.”
Lizzie climbed down after her. “Of course I don’t.” She wondered if Molly would pay any attention if she’d said otherwise.