The Homecoming

by Christine Sterling

  There were a few more buildings than his memory, but for the most part, it all looked like it had when he last saw this town. He was lost in memories and he didn’t realize a woman was calling to him, until the little girl next to him was tugging at his arm. “Abigail, what is it?” he asked, turning to her. She was clutching his arm like she was scared.

  “Who is that woman?” she asked. “She is calling your name.” The little girl pointed to the left of him, to an elderly woman heading their way with purpose.

  Since the incident, Abigail was frightened of almost anything. When they were on the train, she would scream at any bump and was scared of the black smoke coming from the locomotive. He had hoped that time would eventually ease her uneasy heart. Sixth months had passed since that terrible day, and if anything, it seemed she had become worse. Abby wouldn’t even sleep by herself anymore. She would cry and scream until Hank had carried her into his room, promising that he would stay up and guard her door.

  And he did. He was devoted to his niece, making good on the promise he had given to his brother on the day of her birth. He vowed to take care of her if anything were to happen to them. Of course, he had made that promise with no real thought behind it. He never in his wildest dreams thought Seth would be killed, or that Seth had given guardianship of Abby to Hank through his last will and testament.

  Hank took on that burden when he had to, as he had promised his brother. But on those late nights, when she was sleeping restlessly next to him, he realized that in order to keep the promise he gave to his brother, he couldn’t do it in Santa Fe.

  He didn’t have the support that he needed to raise Abby. He had to go to the only place that he knew he still had family waiting for his return. That family was in the form of the woman waving to him from the end of the street.

  “Hank!” cried the older woman, as she hurried towards them, waving her handkerchief in her hand and smiling. When she caught up to them, she threw her arms around him and hugged him tightly. “I’m so happy to see you,” she said, as she moved a step back. She held him at arm’s length and gave him a once over. “You’ve grown up so much,” she said, with tears filling her eyes.

  Hank chuckled. “It has been fifteen years, Aunt Martha,” he said. “I’d expect I’d be grown by now.”

  To this, she blushed. “Well, of course. I just mean, gosh, you look so much like your father,” she said. “It was like I was seeing a ghost. You certainly are handsome.” She brushed imaginary lint from his shoulders. “Just wait until the women in town take a look at you.”

  Hank didn’t have the heart to tell her he wasn’t interested in the women in town looking at him. There was only one woman he was interested in. The one he gave his heart away to fifteen years ago. And he didn’t even know if she was still in Belle.

  Hank smiled softly. Aunt Martha’s was his father’s sister. She was a short, plump woman, with wavy brown hair streaked with gray. He patted her on the shoulders and stepped out of her embrace. “I’m glad you were able to meet us; I know how busy this time of year is for you.”

  “Oh, utter nonsense,” she said with a flick of her wrist. “Even if we were busy, I wouldn’t dream of leaving you here, without someone to greet you. Besides, this way you didn’t have to take the stagecoach to Belle.”

  “I can take Pap’s old wagon over a road filled with ruts, instead?” Hank chuckled. “How have you been, Aunt?”

  “Nothing ever changes, but we get older.” Martha was retired on her husband’s farm. The same farm that Martha and his father grew up on. The same farm where Hank and his brother were raised. The same farm that was attached to Pap’s horse farm, which in turn was attached to the Beck’s plot of land.

  That was part of the reason his father was so anxious to move to Santa Fe. He wanted to raise his family on his own. Hank’s eyes still burned when he thought about the attack.

  As he looked on her chiseled face, memories of their times together came flooding back to her. Christmases around the fireplace and birthdays with large cakes. Aunt Martha was always present for every major event in their young lives. She was almost like a second mother to him. “I wanted to say sorry about Uncle Dwight.”

  Uncle Dwight, Martha’s husband, had passed several years ago, so she turned over farm operations to the foreman. She just couldn’t bear to part with the farm as it had been a part of her life for so long.

  She said she had been secretly hoping that either Seth or Hank would come back and take it over. Martha and Dwight had been married for what felt like forever; he was a kind man who was very devoted to his wife.

  They were never able to have children, so they lived alone at the outskirts of town on the farm that backed up to the Beck’s. After Seth was born, his mother and father moved into that old farm house as well, and Martha and Dwight became an integral part of Seth’s and Hank’s lives.

  Hank was sure when his family left abruptly, Martha and Dwight were heartbroken. He couldn’t help but think how devastating that time might have been for them.

  “Thank you, I miss him every day,” she said softly. Martha looked down and saw the little girl. “Is this Abigail?” she asked.

  Hank nodded. “Yes ma’am,” he said, as he pushed the little girl forward. “Abigail, this is Aunt Martha.”

  Abigail looked at Martha for a few moments, as if trying to read her intentions. After the accident, Abigail had become suspicious of everyone she met, not knowing really who to trust. She buried her head into Hank’s side, peeking from behind his arm with one eye.

  “Abby,” she said softly, pressing closer to Hank’s back. With a sigh, Hank pushed his hand around to rub her back in a comforting way.

  “Don’t pay any mind,” he said, as he could see the heart flash through Martha’s eyes. “Since the accident, she’s been very timid around people.”

  “I can only imagine,” she said with a small breath. “Well, we should probably get going. It’s going to take a bit to get back to the house. Want you to get settled and all,” she said, as she turned towards to the street. “Paps has the wagon over by the freight car right now.”

  “Is he still doing the runs back and forth between Glenda?”

  “And Ft. Bridger too. He really does need to pass the reins to someone. It has been hard on his back.”

  “What about Mr. Beck?” The words were already out, and he couldn’t take them back. “I thought he was helping with the supply runs.”

  His aunt sighed. “Stanley Beck can’t do the runs anymore.”

  “What happened?” Hank asked. Stanley was well known around the freight yards. He and Paps would arrive once a week like clockwork to pick up mail and incoming packages from the trains.

  “It would be better to talk about it tonight.” Martha looked at Abigail. “Little pitchers,” she said.

  Hank wondered why she wouldn’t say anything, but he didn’t press it. He followed Aunt Martha as she moved between the patrons standing by the platform towards the area where deliveries were offloaded.

  Paps waved when he saw them. His smile opening wide on his ragged face, revealing his toothless gums. He embraced Hank in a hug. “Welcome home, my boy,” Paps said, wiping his eyes. “It has been too long. And who is this, pretty little lady?” he asked, kneeling in front of Abigail.

  “I’m Abby,” she said, peeking from behind Hank.

  “I am very pleased to meet you, Miss Abby. You can call me Paps.”

  Abby took her fingers from her mouth. “Is that your real name?”

  Paps laughed. “My real name is Patrick, but everyone calls me Paps.”

  “Good to see you, old man,” Hank said affectionately.

  Paps nodded and pointed to the two bags Hank brought with him. “That’s it?” he asked. “You don’t have much.”

  “There wasn’t much left. After the attack, they set the house on fire,” he said, as he felt Abigail’s hand tighten around his. He looked down at the little girl, who stared at him, tears in her eyes. She was o
nly seven years old, but she had seen things that no child her age, or even an adult should have witnessed. Abby didn’t like when he talked about the event; it was as if the mere mention brought her back to that day. “And the rest, I didn’t think we needed,” he said, trying to change the subject.

  “Oh, of course,” Martha said. “That is perfectly understandable. I have some clothes still of Dwight’s that you might be able to wear,” she said, as she looked at Hank, top to bottom. “You are a tad shorter, but that’s nothing a skilled seamstress couldn’t fix,” she said with a wink. “And I have some fabric I’ve been saving. Would you like me to make a dress for you, Abby? I have always wanted to make dresses for a little girl. Why the last dress I made was for the little girl next door.”

  Abby didn’t say anything but placed her two fingers back in her mouth. Hank remembered that dress. Clementine had worn it to the Easter service. The way the dress caught the light as Clementine twirled in the grass to make the skirt flare out, made his heart beat like a swarm of butterflies trying to escape his chest. He had never seen someone so beautiful. Now, all it did was make his heart ache. Hank rubbed his chest again.

  Martha looked at him and shook her head. He was so close to asking about Clementine. Martha would know exactly if she was still here. It was on the tip of his tongue, but when Paps grabbed the bags and put them in the bed of the wagon, he lost his nerve. He knew he wouldn’t be prepared to hear if she gone or worse. It was better not knowing. It was that thought that he always buried deep inside himself whenever he let himself think of her.

  He decided that he was going to let himself have another day before he broached the subject with Martha. Paps assisted Martha onto the seat at the front of the wagon. Hank quickly picked up Abigail, placing in her in the back, and scrambled in beside her.

  As Paps grabbed the reins, she looked at Hank with a smile. “Ready to go to your home?”

  Hank smiled. “Yes, sir” he said, as he thought of his new beginnings, trying his hardest not to think about the girl from his childhood who still consumed his thoughts.

  Chapter 3

  The water sloshed around her hands as Clementine pulled the shirt out of the wash bucket. She squeezed out the water before she flicked the fabric into the air, trying to get the last drops out before she hung it up to dry. It was the last shirt of the wash and when she clipped it to the clothesline, she let out a low whistle.

  One more chore down, only a hundred more to go, she said to herself with a long sigh.

  The wind picked up at the moment, flinging her long black hair. The curls fluttered behind her, the light breeze cooling her face.

  It was only the mid-morning and she was exhausted. Her mother had dragged her out of her bed before the rooster even had a chance to crow. It wasn’t that she wasn’t used to early mornings; she couldn’t remember a time when she was able to sleep in. She had just had a long night of hemming clothes for Paps the night before. She barely landed in her bed before her mother was hollering at her to get up and milk the cow.

  “Clementine?” she heard her mother, Eva, call from the window of their small house. She saw her mother’s almond shaped face appear through the curtains.

  “Yes, Momma?” she asked, walking towards the window, pulling her dress up so it didn’t drag on the wet grass. She came to a stop in front of the small window. She looked at her mother, who looked more tired than she felt. She was a small woman, with thick black hair and bright blue eyes.

  “I’m going to go down to the main farm house to help finish cutting the pattern for Rosalie’s wedding dress. Then Martha and I need to finish planning the wedding supper. I need you to feed your father once he wakes up,” she said.

  Rosalie was Paps’s daughter. She was dropped off at the ranch by a mother claiming that Paps was the father. Without a word her mother disappeared from their lives.

  Paps took to fathering immediately and Rosalie turned out to be a fine young woman. Now she was marrying one of the ranch hands.

  “I was headed to town today,” Clementine interjected. “I wanted to visit with Charity for a bit this afternoon.”

  “You can go tomorrow,” Eva said.

  Once a week Clementine ventured into town to have coffee at the café and visit with her close friend Charity Isaac and catch up on the town gossip. Charity was a waitress at the café and heard everything that was happening in town.

  Clementine wanted to groan but kept the noise at bay. Someone needed to stay. That meant Clementine needed finish all the additional work around the house before she would be free to go to town and visit her friend.

  Her mother didn’t like leaving Clementine’s father alone for any amount of time. She looked down at her fingers, noticing the markings from the needles where she sewed without a leather thimble.

  She still had four pairs of pants that needed to be hemmed and a shirt that needed the sleeves fixed.

  Clementine took in mending for the ranch hands to earn a bit of extra money. Father’s morphine was expensive. Momma needed all the help she could get.

  Fortunately, she didn’t tell Paps when they would be ready. She might be able to delay a day or two before returning the pants and shirts to him.

  “Clementine? Are you listening to me?” Eva asked her again.

  Clementine shook her head and refocused on her mother. “Yes, Momma. Finish cooking and take care of Father.”

  Her mother smiled wide, drying her wet hands with a towel. “You are my wonderful girl,” she said, before she turned and started to pack her things for the journey.

  Clementine smiled at her mother’s words, but she couldn’t help but feel a small prick in the bottom of her stomach.

  When Clementine was younger, she never expected her life to turn out like this. She had always thought when she was 25 years old, she would be living with her husband on their own little patch of land, chasing around children of her own.

  In her head she would have had three already, with a fourth on the way. Two boys first, followed by two little girls. With shaggy brown hair like their father and deep blue eyes like hers.

  In the fantasy, her husband would be sitting down by the lake as their children played in the creek behind their house. They would sit together, watching their children splash each other with the cool water.

  His hearty laugh would consume her as she would lean into his chest, his arm around her shoulder. He would whisper how much he loved her, tell her how grateful he was to have her in his life, how she gave him joy, happiness, and three wonderful children.

  He would then put his hand on her belly, caressing the small bump that was forming. She would laugh when he would talk about the son she was carrying, but she knew deep down that it was a girl. A strong girl that kicked every time he put his hand on her.

  The dream was so real that she could smell the peppermint wafting from his skin.

  That was the most vivid memory she had of Hank.

  The scent of peppermint seemed to be a part of him. It just seemed to magically seep from his skin. It had been so long since she had seen Hank’s face, she didn’t really know what he looked like now.

  Her memories were clouded with the face of the ten-year-old boy that asked her to wait for him. It was hard to imagine what he would look like now, but she knew if she ever saw him again, the connection that they had as children would only be strengthened.

  Though he never explicitly stated he loved her, she felt it. She held onto those last few words and had never loved anyone since.

  She honestly thought Hank would have returned for her when he was old enough. But he never did. She wondered why she wasted all those years waiting for a love that was never returned?

  Clementine walked into the house as her mother was gathering this and that and placing it into the large basket on the table.

  She knew her mother was running late; because she would normally have been halfway down the hill by now. Their house was perched on the far side of the Johnson farm, near the c
reek that fed into the Belle River.

  Clementine had lived in that house all her life. Although the horse farm itself was owned by her father’s best friend, Paps Johnson; her father had a partial share in the actual horses. There was another share that went to Dwight’s widow, Martha.

  Paps’ father established the livery and stud farm, which grew into a very profitable business. Her father was his lead trainer.

  The elder Mr. Johnson’s goal was to breed the finest horses west of the Mississippi and sell them to the Cavalry. When he passed, the ranch went to Paps, and Paps brought on Stanley as a partner with a stake in the horses they bred and sold.

  The town started with about 10 people and had now bloomed into ten times that, and more people were coming every day. There were many marriage celebrations in the past six months, and babies should soon be adding to the growing population.

  “Well, I believe I have everything,” her mother said, as she surveyed the basket. She slung it over her arm and walked over to Clementine. She cupped Clementine’s cheek and gave her a quick kiss.

  “Now, don’t feed your father too much. He had too much dinner last night, and you know how the doctor said more food will make him sick. He should only be eating so much, not matter how much he believes he’s not getting enough food.” She slid her hand down and grasped Clementine’s shoulder. “I should be back by nightfall. Can you start the roast around 3 o’clock?”

  Clementine nodded.

  Eva smiled again and kissed her daughter’s cheek once more before breezing out the door, letting it bang closed behind her. Clementine took a moment as she stood in the house listening to the soft wind outside. She needed to take a few moments like these to herself, or she knew she was going to lose her mind.

  She said a little prayer of gratitude then she moved to the kitchen and started to prepare breakfast for her father. Her mother had made salt pork and cornmeal mush that morning for breakfast and it was still warm on the stove. Her father normally slept later, so sometimes he didn’t get his first meal until close to noon.