by Linda Ford
Lizzie held her breath as the door slammed behind him. She darted a cautious look at her mother-in-law and saw a flash of pain cross the older woman’s face. She understood how difficult it must be to see her son slipping away from her, and Lizzie’s heart went out to the woman. She covered Mother Hughes’s hand with her own. “He didn’t mean to hurt you. It’s just that it’s hard for him to fit back in after being at war.”
Mother Hughes blinked hard, then moved her hands to her lap. “It’s more than that. He’s changed. He’s not the boy he used to be.”
“No, he’s now a man.”
Mother Hughes gave her a strained look as if the thought of her boy becoming a man was more than she could bear. “Thank you again for the tea. I’m sure you have as much to do as I.”
Lizzie watched her go, wishing she could find a common ground with this woman. But, despite their shared love for Caleb, Lizzie felt like an ocean separated them—an ocean as vast and wide as the Atlantic she had recently crossed.
She had no doubt as to where Caleb had gone and stared down the road, wishing she could have gone with him to visit the Duncans. Her house felt stifling. She grabbed her flute case and headed in the same direction as before and, standing under the same tree, began to play. After several songs, she glanced up to see Robbie watching from a nearby rock.
“Hi,” she called. “I didn’t hear you come.”
“I was quiet.” He grinned. “Besides, you had your eyes closed.”
“I did?” She tried to look startled but ended up laughing. Patricia and Vicky always teased her that they could tell she was sad because she shut her eyes to play the flute. “I guess I get lost in my music.”
“It’s nice. I like it.”
“Thank you.” She sat on a log beside him. “How are you today?”
“Oh. All right.” He shrugged.
“You don’t sound very sure. Want to talk about it?”
He looked at her, his blue eyes—so much like his father’s—troubled. “Do you ever get mad about the war?”
“I guess I do. It turned most people’s lives upside down. It seems impossible to get it back right.”
“Yeah. That’s what I mean.” He pulled a blade of grass and chewed the tender end. “Nothing will ever be the same again.”
She sat beside him, sharing his sadness. “I guess what we have to do is concentrate on what’s left rather than what’s gone.”
“I worry about my dad.” The boy kept his face averted as if trying to hide his emotions.
Lizzie wasn’t sure how to respond. How much did this boy know or suspect of his father’s condition?
Robbie jerked about to face her, his eyes brimming with emotion. “Why does my dad have to put up with so much?”
“I can’t answer that.” Tears stung her eyes. “Life is full of things I have no answer for.”
He threw the blade of grass with a vengeance. “It doesn’t make sense.”
They sat silent for a moment. Lizzie wished she had an answer for this child’s torment. Finally she drew a long, shaky breath. “You could get lost in trying to sort out impossible questions. And to waste your life searching for answers you can’t find would be as big a loss as the war.”
He mumbled, “Guess so.”
“I expect your dad would want to know he had made it possible for you to have a happy life. You wouldn’t want to disappoint him, would you?”
Robbie shook his head.
“I can tell you still aren’t convinced.”
The boy nodded. “I know what you’re trying to say, but sometimes it’s too hard.”
“I know. I don’t know how I’d cope if I couldn’t have my music. And if I couldn’t pray about things. Do you have anything that makes you feel better?”
Robbie’s eyes brightened. “The horses. I like being with the horses. Every night I brush them and talk to them.”
“That’s something good, isn’t it?”
He nodded. “And I like your music. It makes me feel good inside.”
She squeezed his arm. “Thank you, Robbie. That’s the nicest thing anyone’s said to me in a long time.”
The boy ducked his head, but not before she caught the pleased smile.
“I’ll play something for you now if you like.”
“Could you come home with me and play for Dad? He liked it so much the other day.”
“I’d like that very much.”
They fell into step.
“I like your family a lot,” she said.
“Me, too.”
Together they laughed.
“Bet you miss your family.”
“I do.” She told him about her sisters, the games they played, and the concerts they gave. “We had a grand time.”
“Violet and Junior are too little to play games.”
She studied the small, serious boy at her side. The load he carried was great for so young a child, but she sensed he needed only some guidance and reassurance to shoulder it. “I’m the oldest, too,” she said. “My sisters would be about the same age span as Violet and Frankie Junior are to you. I had to be patient with my younger sisters as they learned to do things, but it was always a great deal of fun.” She considered her words carefully. “I know you’re a caring boy. In many ways it’s up to you whether the younger ones learn to work and play with you.”
He cocked his head, searching her face as if hoping to find the answers for the questions and doubts plaguing him. “How’s that?”
“As I said, you can teach them not only how to do things but, more important, to want to do them by modelling a positive attitude. You know yourself it’s more fun to work with someone who makes the work fun than someone who pushes at you and complains.”
The boy walked beside her without speaking, mulling over her words. As they reached the house, he turned to her. “I will always try to be the kind of person they will like to do things with.” He stuck out his hand, and she gave it a solemn shake.
“Good for you.”
He opened the door and hollered, “Ma, Mrs. Hughes is here!”
Lizzie grabbed his shoulder. “I’d like it if you called me Lizzie. Mrs. Hughes makes me sound like my mother-in-law.”
Robbie flashed a cheeky grin. “Ma, Lizzie’s here. She said she’d play the flute for Dad.” He ducked back out, calling over his shoulder, “I got to clean out some stalls.”
“Come in—come in. I’m right glad to see you again. I hoped you would feel comfortable coming back.” Pearl shepherded her inside the kitchen. “You missed Caleb, though. He left awhile ago.”
“Then I’ll see him at home.” But she was disappointed to have missed him. He seemed more relaxed in this home than in his own.
“I’ll be making some tea,” Pearl said, pushing aside a heap of clothes smelling as if she’d just brought them from the line. “I’m right glad to see you again. My Frankie will be pleased to have you come. He says your music warms his insides.” She bustled about boiling water and warming the pot. “Mostly he’s cold no matter how much fire I put in the stove. I’m a-thinking it’s part his body failing to do its job and part remembrance of the fearsome cold of those trenches. Only God’s mercy saw our men through those dreadful days.”
“Pearl.” A thin voice came from the other room. “Bring her in here to see me.”
“We’ll be along soon as I pour the tea.” Pearl turned back to Lizzie. “Now here I am a-rattling on about me when you’re sitting in a strange country, no family of your own, and a man you barely know.”
Lizzie blinked at the directness of the woman. “I’m doing all right.”
Pearl waved aside her protest as if shooing a fly. “I just want to say, Girl, that I’m here whenever you feel the need of a friend. I’m not to be talking bad about others, but some people’d be a-willing to listen to your hurts and give a stitch or two of encouragement to help mend them hurts, if you know what I’m meaning, while there be others that somehow manage to make the tear larger no matter ho
w innocent their words be.” She set a steaming cup in front of Lizzie. “All I’m saying, Lizzie, Girl, is if you find yourself needing some good old-fashioned comfort, you come see Pearl here, and I’ll be giving you a hug and a prayer.” She turned to the little girl who slipped in the room. “Violet, you take your dad a cup of tea. Now I know I’ve gone the long road around in my way of saying it, but you understand what I’m meaning, don’t you?”
Lizzie nodded. “Thank you.” The woman’s kind words made it easier to deal with comments such as the postmistress had offered. And her mother-in-law’s disapproval.
“Now let’s be visiting Frankie.” She led the way to her husband’s bedside.
“Hello, my dear.” Frankie held out a thin hand. “I’m to be doubly blessed with visits from the Hugheses today.”
Lizzie met his steady blue eyes without letting her knowledge of his failing health make her falter. “How are you, Frankie?”
“I’m glad to be alive another day. Caleb hurried away saying he had things to do. What’s that man of yours up to?” He lay back against his pillow, taking the cup Violet offered him. “Thank you, Sweetie.”
Violet pressed close to her father’s side, her eyes adoring him.
Lizzie settled back in her chair. “Seems he’s discovered a whole lot of things needing repair around the place. He seems to delight in it. Yesterday, despite his parents’ objections, he patched the roof of our house. This morning he fixed the barn roof.”
“Good for him.” Frankie coughed once, then pressed his lips together and took a slow breath. “Fixing and building are good for him. I expect it helps him forget about the war.” He sipped his tea slowly. “Did you happen to bring your flute again?”
“I did.” But when she reached for the case, he held up his hand.
“Finish your tea first and tell me how you’re liking the new country.”
“I like it fine. The spaces, the fresh air, but I think I like the quiet best.”
He nodded. “Me, too. No more ratta-ta-tat. Or ke-boom.” He reached for Pearl’s hand. “Home is a mighty nice place.”
Pearl leaned over and kissed his forehead. “ ’Tis mighty nice to have you here.”
Lizzie set aside her now-empty cup and picked up her flute. “Is there anything special you’d like to hear?”
“Anything at all, but I really liked that last one you played the other day.”
She played several songs as Pearl and Frankie held hands with Violet, who was cuddled between them. Junior slipped in and leaned against his mother’s shoulder. For a moment after she finished, no one spoke. Then Pearl shook herself.
“Makes me feel good right here.” She touched her chest.
Lizzie put the flute away. “I must go. Caleb will be wondering where I’ve gone.”
The Duncans made her promise she’d come again soon.
But when she returned home, Caleb seemed not to have noticed her absence. He was atop the barn again, painting the last of the new shingles. He paused only long enough to wave.
A short while later, she heard more hammering and looked out to see him repairing the trim around the windows in the barn.
When he came in for tea, he brought his bucket of nails and the hammer. “I thought I’d check the cupboards to see if they needed fixing,” he said after he’d eaten. He opened each door and tightened the hinges. He pounded in several nails to reinforce the shelves beside the stove, then made a tour of the room, checking the window frames and pounding nails into the doorsills to tighten them.
The next morning, the sound of hammering accompanied Lizzie as she washed the grime from all the windows. Caleb had begun repairs on the corral fences.
That night he climbed into bed beside her and sighed. “Funny how I never noticed before how many nails are missing around this place.”
She cuddled close, but he seemed not to notice as he rushed on to describe the task ahead of him. “I had a look around the barn, and there isn’t a stall or gate that isn’t in need of a few nails here or there.”
She eased back. “I washed the windows today.”
“After I finish fixing up the barn, I’m going to check the fences.”
Lizzie crossed her hands over her stomach, wishing he would show as much enthusiasm for her as he did his bucket of nails; then remembering Frankie’s words, she scolded herself. It was good for Caleb to be able to fix things. And at least he was here at her side, not slouched in the chair in the other room. She snuggled against him, pressing her face to his shoulder until she fell asleep.
She jerked awake, her heart beating hard enough to make her gasp for breath. Her senses instantly alert, she strained to identify whatever had awakened her, at first seeing, hearing nothing. Then Caleb yelled out in his sleep, and she jumped so hard her neck hurt.
“Caleb? What’s the matter?” She shook his arm.
He yelled again, sounds garbled and unintelligible, yet tortured enough to send shivers across her shoulders.
“Caleb.” She shook him harder. “Wake up. Wake up.”
“Umph.” His breath exploded. He groaned and flung the covers off to sit on the edge of the bed. The trees streaked the moonlight coming through the window like long fingers scraping at the room. In the metal gray light, Lizzie saw Caleb huddled at the side of the bed, his head in his hands.
She scooted to his side and, draping her feet over the side, wrapped her arm around him. “It was a dream, Caleb. Only a dream.”
A shudder shook him like a rag caught in the wind.
She held him tighter. “It’s all right now. You’re here with me. Safe and sound.”
He shivered again.
She wrapped both arms around his chest. For a moment he was stiff and resistant; then he groaned and buried his face against her hair.
“I dreamt I was back in France. The artillery shells were getting closer and closer, but I was knee-deep in mud and couldn’t move.” His voice echoed with fear and pain. “I saw August and Gustave, but I couldn’t move or call out to warn them. I couldn’t pull them back to safety. My feet were stuck. August twisted as a bullet hit him. Then Gustave fell.” He choked back a sob. “I couldn’t do anything but stand there and watch them die.” He flung away from her. “They all died.” He rocked back and forth.
Lizzie felt him turning inward, away from her.
“I wish I had died.”
“No!” The word ripped from her. “Thank God you came back safe and sound.” Though she wondered how sound. “He spared you for a reason.”
“Six of us went. Me and Frankie, Gustave and August Carlson. Dick and George Leeds. They all died but me and Frankie, and poor Frankie is more dead than alive.” He jerked to his feet. She could feel him standing over her, feel the heat of his anger and frustration. In the shifting gray shadows, she saw his fist clenched inches from her face. “Why didn’t I die, too? Why should I be spared?” He yelled the words.
She shrank back, her insides quaking at this angry, loud stranger before her. “I don’t know why. I only know you have your whole life ahead of you.” Taking a deep breath, she wrapped her hands around his fist.
He jerked from her as if she’d burnt him. “I have nothing. I am nothing.”
“You have me.” The words wrenched from her. She wanted to be enough for him—enough to heal his pain. She wanted him to turn to her and hold her and say, “Yes, of course. How could I forget?”
But he stumbled into his pants and stomped into his boots. Not bothering with his shirt, he staggered from the room, muttering, “I’ve had enough. Enough.”
She dashed after him, but he had already thrown open the door and disappeared into the darkness. She stood in the open doorway, hearing him mutter as he rushed headlong into the night. With a strangled cry, she raced back to the bedroom and pulled on a robe and shoved her feet into her shoes; but when she returned to the door, she could no longer hear him. She strained for several minutes; but with no idea of what direction he had taken, she stood in the door, shi
vering, uncertain what she should do.
A coyote howled in the distance. A cow near the barn mooed, a low mournful sound that made Lizzie hug her arms around her.
She rubbed her arms as the chill of the night stole through her body.
6
The silence deepened, broken only by regular night sounds. Lizzie shook so violently, she had to lean against the door frame. Finally, chilled and defeated, she closed the door and hurried back to bed to huddle under the covers shivering. She stared at the clawing shadows on the wall as her thoughts turned inside out.
“Enough,” he’d said.
What did he mean? Her fears swelled, crowding her lungs until she could barely squeeze in a breath. Would he do something foolish?
“Please, God. Please, God.” She muttered the words over and over, her fists clenched, her eyes stinging. Don’t take him from me. Fix his agony.
The gray light took on a ghostly yellow pallor as the sun worked toward the horizon. Somewhere a bird rattled his beak against a tree trunk.
Lizzie turned toward the window, listening.
It wasn’t a bird. It was Caleb hammering. Her chest rose as she filled her lungs. “Thank You, God,” she murmured and fell asleep.
Time passed into a long string of tense days. As the evening light of this particular day faded, Lizzie waited for Caleb to return. Finally, accepting it would be another lonely night like so many others, she prepared for bed. If she’d hoped for an improvement after the nightmare of two weeks ago, her hopes had been cruelly dashed. Caleb had sunk into a sea of despondency. Often he rushed from the house as darkness descended. She’d watched him pace up and down the road enough times to know he was fleeing demons in his mind.
How she ached to be able to help him, but he jerked away if she mentioned anything about his nightmares or his memories from the war. She longed for someone to confide in. Once she’d broached the subject with Mother Hughes.
“Caleb worries me some days,” she’d begun, hoping Mother Hughes would offer a word of wisdom or comfort.
“You really didn’t get to know him well, did you?” Her words were gently spoken; yet Lizzie felt barbs tear at her. Before she could protest, Mother Hughes went on in her soft voice. “Caleb always was independently minded.” The smile on her mother-in-law’s face did not disguise her displeasure. “Like fixing the roof on the Sabbath,” Mother Hughes continued. “He simply had to prove he could make his own rules.”