KeepingFaithCole

by Christina Cole

  He reached for his wife’s hand, held tight to it, and silently prayed they were headed in the right direction.

  Tom hoped for light, for a sign, but the sky grew only darker. Soon the heavens would unleash their fury. He offered another plea to the almighty, praying this time that they would not be too late.

  “What if she didn’t go to the cottage? What then? Where else would she go?” Lucille gave voice to the same questions that ricocheted through his head.

  “We have to hold on to whatever hope we have,” he replied, reaching for her hand.

  “It’s as dark as night. Are you sure we’re even on the right road?”

  “Trust me, I know the way home.”

  “It’s not your home now, Tom.” She squeezed his hand. “You’ve made a new home for yourself…for us.”

  He nodded, refusing to let his bitter memories of childhood rob him of the future he’d created with Lucille. But had his mother already destroyed all they held dear?

  “We’ll get through this,” Lucille said. “We’ll find your mother. We’ll find Faith.” She spoke with a confidence Tom knew she didn’t truly feel, but which he needed to hear.

  “Yes, we will. Everything will be all right.” They both needed to believe that.

  But the cottage was so far away. How much longer could they keep believing?

  In the distance, lightning flashed. A rumble of thunder rolled across the heavens.

  “It’s just beyond that hill,” Tom said, at last. His tension mounted. Flicking the reins over the horse’s broad back, he urged the animal onward through the growing darkness.

  As they crested the slope, he peered through the gloom, grateful to see the shadowed shape of the little cottage tucked beneath the towering trees. His heart jumped.

  “There it is!” Beside him, Lucille straightened. She lifted her hand and pointed. “Do you see the wagon, Tom? Can you tell if they’re here?”

  His gaze scanned the grove, and when he spotted the wagon at the side of the cottage, he let out a grateful breath. “We’ve found them.”

  Not waiting for Lucille, he halted the wagon, jumped to the ground and took off at a hard run. Behind him, he heard her shouting, but he didn’t look back. Later he’d deal with Lucille. In this moment, his head, his heart, his body, his soul, all belonged to Faith. Every thought, every breath, every movement joined in one purpose—to find his precious little girl.

  “Ma, get the hell out here! Now!”

  He shouted as he ran. Lucille was shouting, too. Breathless, she caught up to him.

  “Charlotte! Please! I’m begging you. You have to give her back.” Lucille grasped Tom’s arm and held on. He knew she needed his strength.

  The door creaked open. Charlotte walked out, carrying Faith in her arms. She carried a small lantern, too. Its flame flickered eerily in the darkness, throwing jagged shadows across the ground.

  “Get away from here. Both of you.” She lifted her hand and shook the lantern at them.

  She might have been a witch spat up from the depths of hell. Her disheveled hair fell in greasy clumps around her face, and spatters of mud clung to her skirts, her bare feet, her cheeks. Although she stood nearly ten feet from them, Tom thought he could actually smell the liquor on her breath. Probably only his imagination, but the mere sight of her was enough to show how drunk she was.

  “She’s drunk,” Lucille said in a quiet voice. “She must have been drinking all afternoon.”

  “Ma, calm down. Don’t do anything crazy.” Tom held out a hand and took a cautious step forward.

  She swung the lantern again. “Stay where you are!”

  Faith’s mouth puckered, and she began to fuss, tiny cries at first, then as she twisted and squirmed in her grandmother’s arms, the cries turned to frantic, frightened wails.

  “Be careful!” Lucille rushed forward. “You’re going to drop her, Charlotte. Please, hold on to her.”

  “Get away,” the woman said again, backing up. “You’ve got no right to come here, no right to tell me what to do.” Her features contorted. All softness left her face. “This is my property. My home. And this is my baby.” With the lantern in one hand, she clutched with the other at the screaming, flailing child. “You can’t have her. You’ll never have her now.”

  “She’s not your baby, Charlotte.” Lucille moved another step closer, then jumped back as the crazed woman growled and lunged at her.

  “She’s mine! She loves me.”

  Tears fell from his mother’s eyes. Tom looked away. He could not let her emotional display affect him in any way.

  “That’s all I’ve ever wanted,” she went on. “Just love, Tommy. Nobody ever loved me. All those men…” Bending down, she set the lantern on the ground, then cradled Faith tighter in her arms. “They wanted me. They used me. But they never loved me.”

  Tom exchanged glances with Lucille. With his eyes, he gestured to the ground ahead of her, silently directing her to slowly move forward.

  One step at a time. Easy. Take it slow.

  His mother reminded him of a frightened horse, a wild creature caught in a trap, desperate to run. Instead of anger, she needed understanding. Instead of shouting, she needed a soothing, comforting voice. Gentleness. Kindness. Yes, love.

  But she needed truth, too.

  As much as Tom wanted to speak words of love to the woman who’d given him life, he couldn’t find them. Not knowing what more to do, he hung his head and stared down at the ground.

  “Charlotte, yes, Faith loves you very much.” Lucille picked up on his cue. “So does Tom. We all love you,” she said, her voice soft and sing-song. “That’s why we came to find you. We want to make sure you’re all right.” Slowly, she moved one foot forward, then the other. “You love Faith, too, and you want her to be safe.”

  Tom glanced up, relieved when his mother nodded. “Ma, you need to do the right thing now. Lucille’s going to come to you. She’s going to walk real slow, real easy, and when she reaches you, you’re going to give Faith to her. You’re going to let Lucille take Faith now, all right?” He held his breath, only letting it out when his mother finally bobbed her head again. “Easy, now,” he said, guiding Lucille. “Step by step. Just move slow, honey.”

  Only a few feet separated the two women, yet traversing that ground between them seemed to take a lifetime. Lucille at last reached her. With all the loving care a grandmother could give, Tom’s mother placed Faith in her outstretched arms.

  “Thank you.” Lucille’s whisper carried through the hush of the late afternoon. She backed away. Suddenly the earth shuddered, breaking the stillness as another clap of thunder rumbled across the darkened skies. A fierce wind picked up, rattling the branches of the trees and whipping through the grasses.

  * * * *

  The sudden gust must have spooked Charlotte. Confusion shot through her red-rimmed eyes. Her features screwed up, and a cry of pure anguish ripped from her throat. Her hands came up, the fingers knotted into grotesque forms. Fearing the woman might come after her, Lucille backed away.

  “Leave her alone, Ma,” Tom called out. “She’s never done anything to hurt you.”

  The haggard woman spun around, her fury now directed toward her son. “Well, isn’t that nice, real nice. You take her side, do you? Forget your own mother, never mind that I was the one who brought you into this world. Yeah, well, I can be the one to take you right out again.”

  “Ma, you’re talking crazy.”

  Lucille glanced toward her husband, caught his almost-imperceptible nod, and knew the moment had come for her and Faith to safely get away. Charlotte’s attention remained fixed on Tom. Holding her breath, and praying the innocent child in her arms would remain quiet, Lucille slipped into the shadows, then bolted for the relative safety of the wagon.

  “Don’t you get smart with me, Tommy.” Charlotte’s body shook, and her clenched fists beat against the air. She hunched her shoulders forward, bared her teeth, and emitted a low growl.


  The woman was mad!

  “You can stop it any time.” Tom took a step toward her. “You think I don’t know you’re putting on an act? You think I don’t remember all those times you’ve pulled tricks like this?”

  “Get away from me!” she shouted as he grabbed at her thrashing arms.

  “Shut the hell up.”

  Charlotte straightened. Standing stiff and rigid, she stared at her son. “You’ve done it now, Tommy. You want to know about hell? I’ve lived in hell all my life. I’ll show you hell.” Suddenly she whirled around, swept up the lantern and ran toward the cottage. “Here’s what hell looks like!” She hurled the burning lamp toward the porch. The glass chimney shattered against the side of the cottage. Oil spilled out, flames shot up, and within seconds the old newspapers, brush, and debris scattered there were afire.

  “Charlotte!” From her vantage point behind the wagon, Lucille called out, watching in horror as the woman ran into the burning cottage. “Dear God! What are you doing?” Choking as smoke rolled toward her, she pressed Faith against her bosom, turned, and ran through the darkness into the night.

  Hell, indeed. She peered over her shoulder. Behind her the flames engulfed the tiny cottage.

  Where was Charlotte?

  Dear God, where was Tom?

  She squinting to see through the smoke, desperate for a glimpse of her husband, the man she’d come to love with all her heart, all her soul. She couldn’t lose him!

  “Tom, please!” Tears streamed down Lucille’s cheeks, her frantic sobs mingling in the night with Faith’s piercing wail of terror. She sank down onto her knees, knowing that nothing she said would stop him. Despite all the anguish his mother had caused him, all the hardships he’d suffered because of her, despite all the agony, the pain, the sufferings and humiliation she’d heaped upon him throughout the years, Tom Henderson had come through it with honor, with decency, with an unerring knowledge of what was right and what was wrong.

  Everything his mother did was wrong. In so many ways, she didn’t deserve a son like Tom, but then again, she didn’t deserve to die a horrible death in a fiery hell of her own creation. Lucille knew he would not give a thought to what he must do.

  He would simply do it.

  He would risk his own life to save hers.

  Each beat of her heart became a prayer. Each breath became a plea to God. In between the prayers and the pleas, an overwhelming pride brought new tears to Lucille’s eyes, as she stared at the nightmarish scene before her. The frightened little girl in her arms cried too. Lucille held her closer, rocking her back and forth, giving voice now to her entreaties.

  When the first cold drops of rain pinged against her cheek, moments later, Lucille couldn’t grasp it. She felt the cold, the wet, but couldn’t figure out what was happening. It was only when more drops fell, only when the rain came down harder—and harder still—that Lucille struggled to her feet with a cry of joy.

  “It’s raining!” Exultant, she bounced Faith in her arms. God had heard their prayers. The flames flickered, smoke hissed from the burning wood, and almost as quickly as the fire had started, it died away, leaving the porch and outer walls of the cottage charred and ruined.

  Scarcely able to breathe, Lucille gave silent thanks to the almighty when Tom staggered out, his mother in his arms.

  “Is she…” Lucille looked away, unable to utter the word.

  “She’s alive,” he whispered.

  Alive. And very lucky. By some miracle, her body wasn’t burned too badly. With immediate medical care, proper treatment, and lots of rest, she would recover from the effects of the fire. As for the effects of her drinking…well, Lucille wouldn’t think of that now. She had other things on her mind.

  “What about you?” she asked. “Are you all right?” She reached up and brushed a smudge of soot from Tom’s cheek. He winced and stepped back.

  “I’ll be fine.”

  “We need to get your mother to Sunset.” Lucille carried Faith toward the wagon. “We’ll have Abner take a look at you too.”

  The driving rain made their travel difficult. Charlotte lay atop a pile of old blankets in the back of the wagon. From time to time she moaned softly, and now and then she cried out in pain. Each sound cut through Lucille’s heart.

  She didn’t hate Charlotte. She just hated what the woman did. Yet she loved Charlotte’s son, and somehow, they would see their way through the darkness.

  * * * *

  Tom and Lucille stood together in the parlor of their little farmhouse at the end of what had become a long, grueling day. He had no idea of the time but guessed it was probably closer to morning than midnight. Faith was sleeping in her own bed, and a restful quiet settled over the house.

  Their house, their home.

  Abner had treated Charlotte’s burns—and bandaged Tom’s hands, as well—and they’d all driven to Denver. By the time Tom and Lucille were ready to return home, his mother was resting comfortably in a sanatorium Dr. Kellerman had heard about, one that specialized in treating women with dipsomania. The former drunkard made all the arrangements and even offered to pay the cost for her treatment. Charlotte would stay at the Home for Inebriated Women until she was truly well. She’d regained consciousness, had begged her son and daughter-in-law for forgiveness, and had finally fallen into a deep sleep, thanks to a dose of morphine to ease her pain.

  She would be all right.

  “Can you ever forgive me, honey?” Tom asked, lifting one tightly-wrapped hand and resting it against Lucille’s cheek. He wished he could feel the softness of her skin. “I’ve been such a fool.”

  “We’ve both made a lot of foolish mistakes.” She shook her head. “Let’s not talk about it now.”

  “Lu, please.”

  When she peered up at him, tears pooled in her beautiful, dark eyes. “Can’t we just put it all behind us? What’s done is done. We need to go on.”

  True enough. The past could not be changed, and the best thing was to leave it alone, walk away from it, move ahead to a better time and place. Tom had learned that lesson well. Still, it was a tough thing to do, especially when so many of the misfortunes had been of his own making.

  He wanted forgiveness. He needed assurance that the ghosts of the past had been laid to rest, never to rise again. But life didn’t come with guarantees.

  That was another lesson he’d learned. You took each day as it came, gave thanks for what you had, even if it wasn’t all you wanted, and you lived that day to the fullest. You worked hard to make your dreams come true, and sometimes…well, sometimes, a man got lucky.

  “I don’t know about you, but I’m exhausted.” Lucille leaned against her husband.

  “Maybe it’s time we headed for bed.”

  “Probably so.”

  She sighed, and he drew her into an awkward embrace. His hands would heal, but for now, he’d need a lot of help with even the most basic chores. Because of his injuries, Lucille had been the one to drive the wagon to Denver and back. Little wonder she was about to fall asleep on her feet.

  “I should have listened to you,” he whispered as he brushed kisses against the crown of her head. “You were right, I was wrong, and—”

  She placed a finger to his lips. “Hush, Tom. It’s over, remember. It’s all in the past. Come now, please. Maybe we can get a little sleep before the sun comes up.” She traced the shape of his mouth with a delicate touch. “I love you. We’re going to make it.”

  Warm, golden light tip-toed across the hardwood floor, following the couple as they walked toward their room. Outside their window, the new day dawned.

  Epilogue

  Two years later…

  It was all coming together just like the plots in the dime westerns he’d taken to reading lately. Except that his life wasn’t a story of danger or violence, but a story of light and truth, a story of goodness triumphing over evil, a story of love that was meant to be.

  Happiness hadn’t come easily, but he and Lucille had found it.
His horse farm provided them with all the material things they needed, but better still were all the things that money couldn’t buy.

  As he drove the buggy toward Sunset, Tom glanced at his growing family. Beside him sat his wife with Faith—now a rambunctious toddler—on her lap. Wrapped in swaddling clothes and tucked safely away in wooden carriers Tom had built, two more little girls gurgled and cooed. The twins—Hope and Charity—had arrived three weeks earlier. A feeling of genuine pride surged through him. How could any man get so lucky?

  Lucille rested her head on his shoulder. “Your mother is doing all right, don’t you think?”

  “I’m sure of it.” Indeed, he was, yet her words brought a momentary tenseness. He drew up on the reins. “Honey, if you have any doubts about this, we’ll turn around now.”

  “No, it’s fine. We’re doing the right thing.”

  “Yes, we are.” Tom reached out and stroked her cheek as he maneuvered the horse through the narrow streets of town, still wet and muddy from the recent spring rain. “It’s not too late to change your mind. You know,” he said, his voice low, “you and Ma went through some rough patches.”

  “That’s all in the past now.”

  Charlotte had remained at the sanatorium for more than a year. Twice a week, Abner Kellerman had driven from Sunset to Denver to visit her and encourage her progress. By the time she was released, she and Abner had developed a true relationship, one that seem destined to last.

  As the buggy neared the little house in town where Charlotte now lived, Faith bounced about on Lucille’s lap. “Grammy! Go see Grammy!” Once the vehicle stopped, she wasted no time, but crawled down, ready to jump to the ground.

  “Faith, stay right there!” Tom called. “I’ll be around to help you.”

  Charlotte was already coming toward them. “I heard you drive up. I figured you could use a bit of help with all those little ones.” She laughed, held out her arms, and lifted Faith from the buggy.