The Homecoming

by Christine Sterling

  “Yes, enough to make me get my hopes up.” She was speaking at a loud volume and her voice was starting to crack. She brushed away a tear that escaped from her eye.

  “Clem,” he started to say, as he pulled her hands back to him.

  She wrenched them back, gaining the courage that she long since thought had disappeared. “You have no idea how long I waited at that station for you. You made all these promises that you didn’t keep. And then I thought maybe something had happened, and yet, you never sent me a letter to tell me what happened. What was I supposed to think?”

  “Clem, I know I owe you an explanation.”

  “I would say you owe me several, Hank Lucas. I want to know why you disappeared on me. When I waited for you all these years because you gave me promises you couldn’t keep. Did you want me to be made a fool? To turn into an old maid?”

  “No, Clem, that’s not it. I meant everything when I made those promises to you. Promises that I can still make happen, if you would just give me a chance.”

  She wanted to give him a chance. She looked into his eyes, pleading silently with hers. He was so close now, only inches away from her. If she just stretched her neck, she would be able to kiss his lips. How she would love a repeat of the kiss at Sunday dinner.

  As he leaned forward, she closed her eyes, expecting his lips to touch hers. Suddenly there was a rustle next to them and a small voice called, “Who is she?” When Clementine opened her eyes and turned, she saw a little girl, who looked no more than eight years old.

  She was wearing a bright blue dress, with her long blonde hair tied in a ribbon behind her head. There was a familiarity about her that frightened Clementine. It was like she was staring at the past. She looked so much like Hank when he was that age it made her heart ache. And when she looked at her deep hazel eyes, she knew that what she had feared had happened.

  Before Hank could say another word, she got up from the chair. “I think I have my answer,” she said, as she walked towards the door.

  “Wait, what answer?” Hank asked as he followed her brisk pace to the door.

  “I know why you didn’t show up at the station. I should have known the whole time that your promises were meaningless. Why you never wanted to come home to me.”

  “What are you talking about?” he said, looking at her as if she had lost her mind. And maybe she had; all she could think about was what the woman looked like to give his daughter that blonde hair. She must have been very beautiful, she thought as the little girl stared at her.

  “You just didn’t want me to know about her, did you?” she asked him, pointing to the child.

  “You mean Abigail? Well, no. But I do have something to explain to you about what happened. If you would just let me…” he started to say.

  She didn’t want to be swindled by him, so she cut him off. “No, I don’t want to know. I would prefer not to know about your woman.”

  “My woman?” he repeated, turning his head to the side. And then something dawned on him. “Oh, no, Clementine, you are mistaken, I never...”

  “Me too. I never should have believed you,” she said as the tears started to earnestly fall from her face. She couldn’t take it anymore; she opened the door and started to run back home. She could hear him calling out to her, but she didn’t dare look back. She couldn’t take her heart crushing into a million pieces once again.

  Chapter 8

  Charity Isaac slid a piece of pie and a cup of coffee in front of Clementine. “It looks like you need this,” she said. Charity went back to the kitchen and returned with a second cup of coffee before taking a seat at the table.

  The café was empty. It was before the dinner rush, so Charity had a few minutes to spare. Charity always knew what to say to make Clementine feel better, but in this situation, it seems that Clementine had left her speechless.

  “So, Hank Lucas, your childhood friend, with whom you have been exchanging letters with, came home with a child?”

  “Yes, he came home with a child,” Clementine repeated.

  “And you said that this was his child?” Charity raised her eyebrow at her friend.

  “Of course, it’s his child!” Clementine insisted. “She looked just like him when he was that age. She is just so precious. The only difference is the hair color. Hers was much lighter.” Clementine took a bite of the pie. “It must have been from her mother.” She took another bite. “This is really good.”

  “It is cracker pie. We ran out of apples. No one has complained so far.”

  Clementine put down her fork.

  “Charity, I don’t know what to do. I know I still have feelings for him, even after he left me without a word. But I don’t know if I can forgive him. He expected me to keep my promise. Why didn’t he keep his?”

  Charity laid her hand on top of Clementine’s. “Oh, sweetheart. I am such the wrong person to ask. The person I love doesn’t even notice me.”

  “What?” Clementine asked through her tears. “Why is this the first I’m hearing about this?”

  Charity laughed, “Because you have enough on your plate. You don’t need my tale of woe there.”

  “Some friend I am,” Clementine lamented.

  Charity pulled a rag from her pocket and wiped the table. “I’m not sure that I’m following still. You and Hank exchanged letters for years; then they stopped.” Clementine nodded, feeding herself another bite of pie. “Now you think he had a secret child this whole time? And that is why he couldn’t tell you?”

  “I don’t have any other explanation,” she said.

  “I can think of plenty, just off the top of my head,” Charity said. “I think you are jumping to conclusions. You have such a wild imagination.”

  “What other explanation could there be?”

  “Well, the likeness could be explained. They could be related, but not in the way you think. Or you could just be making inferences that aren’t there.”

  “Like what?” Clementine had finished her pie and pushed the plate to the center of the table.

  “Maybe you think they look alike, but they don’t.”

  “You think my eyes are playing tricks on me?” she asked, leaning against the back of the chair.

  “No, I just think you are looking for an excuse.” She sighed. “You should have at least asked him to explain.”

  “He was willing to explain; that was never the issue. I just don’t know if I can trust him.”

  Charity sighed again. “I’ve never been the best at taking my own advice, but I hope you do. Please, listen to him. And if after, you still don’t think you can continue, then you’ll know. But right now, you are going to go back and forth between your child self and your woman self. You need to hear his side of the story.”

  Clementine groaned at her answer. “I hate when you are right.”

  “I know,” Charity smiled, as she picked up the empty plate and swept the crumbs from the table onto it. “Finish your coffee, but I need to finish cleaning before the crowd gets here,” she said motioning to the other tables that needed to be cleaned.

  “All seven of them?”

  Charity laughed. The café was very small with about a half dozen tables. Which is why Charity was running all the time. On Friday nights folks came out for the meatloaf and potatoes.

  Clementine stood and gave her friend a quick hug. “Thank you. Next time I hope to hear about this man who can’t see what’s in front of him.”

  “Maybe the time after that. I’m not ready to talk about it yet. But you, you need to talk to him and clear everything up,” Charity called to Clementine as she left the cafe.

  Clementine had time to get the few errands done for her mother before she needed to be back home. She completed her visits around town: to the doctor’s for her father’s morphine and then to the mercantile for some bits and bobs. “Good afternoon, Mrs. Stewart,” she called, placing the basket on the counter.

  Mrs. Stewart appeared from behind a curtain that led to a store room. �
��Clementine,” she said. “How is your father?”

  “Not too good this week. The pain is getting a little more unbearable. He isn’t reading as much.”

  Mrs. Stewart pushed her spectacles back up her nose and gave a tsk. “Give him our regards, child. Your momma too.”

  “I will.”

  “Do you have a list?” Mrs. Stewart asked, holding out her hand.

  Clementine handed her the piece of paper that contained Momma’s shopping list. Mrs. Stewart looked it up and down before pulling the basket towards her side of the counter. “I’ll need about 10 minutes.”

  “Thank you. I’ll take a quick walk and be back to collect everything.”

  Mrs. Stewart nodded and went to work gathering up Clementine’s purchases and putting them in the basket.

  Clementine was glad she had a few minutes. Some of the items were heavy so she stopped by the livery to see if she could get a ride home with Paps. He told her to come when she was ready.

  As she was walking back towards the wagon, she looked towards the trees that were up on the hill. She wondered if the heart Hank had carved into the trunk was still there.

  Before she could tell her feet to stop, she walked up the hill to look at the tree. She put her hand on the trunk, letting it fall until she could feel the indentations from his carving. She smiled as her fingers traced the initials Hank so lovingly carved in the wood.

  They had been so young; she didn’t really know at the time what they had meant. But when she thought about them later, she knew it was his way of saying how much he loved her. He just couldn’t say it out loud.

  She wondered how they had gotten to this moment. Did she really want to close her heart to him?

  Charity was right.

  She needed to hear what he had to say, not go and draw her own conclusions on information she wasn’t entirely sure was real.

  She traced the carving once more and turned to head back to the mercantile. As she came around the tree, she spied the young girl she had seen at Hank’s house. She was standing halfway down the hill, holding a handful of wild flowers.

  She walked down towards town and called to the girl. The girl startled and dropped her flowers.

  “I didn’t mean to scare you,” Clementine said to the girl. “These are pretty flowers,” she said picking up the ones that lay scattered on the ground. She put them in some form of a bouquet and handed them back to the girl.

  The girl took the flowers from Clementine and gave them a sniff. “They are, aren’t they? We don’t have flowers like these were I grew up. I want to get as many as I can to fill my room.”

  “I bet that would be beautiful.”

  “Flowers make me happy,” the girl said, sadness appearing across her innocent face.

  “Did you see the light orange ones on the other side of the hill?” she asked, as she pointed in the direction. “They catch the sun at a certain angle that is absolutely beautiful,” she said with a smile.

  “Oh really? I’ll have to go and look.”

  “You aren’t out here all alone, are you?”

  The child shook her head. “Aunt Martha is at the store.”

  “Well we can walk together. I’m on my way back there right now.” She held out her hand to the small child.

  “You are Abigail, correct?” Clementine asked, although she knew the answer.

  The girl took another sniff of her flowers. “Yes, I’m Abby. And you are the woman that was at my house yesterday.”

  Clementine smiled. “Yes, that’s me. My name is Clementine.”

  “Yes, I do know that. He talks about you a lot.”

  “Who? Hank?”

  “Yes. He talked about you when he came over to the house. He talked about you on the train. He talks about you all the time. He said to Aunt Martha that he had hurt you and was hoping you would forgive him.”

  Clementine’s voice squeaked. “He did?” Abby nodded. Clementine paused. Did Abby say when he came over to the house? It must be worse than she thought. He wasn’t even married to Abby’s mother!

  “Yes. Uncle Hank said so,” she said, as she squeezed the flowers in her hand.

  “Your uncle?” Clementine questioned. “Hank is your uncle?”

  “Yes,” she said with a smile.

  “What about your parents?” Clementine asked, waiting for the answer.

  She saw the smile on Abigail’s face disappear. “Something happened to them,” she said somberly, signaling the conversation was over.

  “I’m sorry,” Clementine said. And she truly was.

  Now she felt terrible for blaming Hank for a secret child. Could he ever forgive her?

  Clementine gave Abby’s hand a quick squeeze. “Let’s go find your Aunt Martha.”

  Tomorrow, she would talk to Hank once more and give him the homecoming that he deserved.

  Chapter 9

  Hank sat at the table, thinking that nothing was going the way that he had planned. It was only yesterday when Clementine stormed out of the house, but it seemed much longer. Every minute away from her was a minute too long. He rubbed his chest. He had been heartsick for her most of his life. Now that she was gone, his heart really felt sick.

  He wished he had sent her those letters so long ago. Then he wouldn’t be sitting here alone, wallowing in his thoughts of what could have been.

  How did Clementine ever conclude that Abigail was his secret child? He didn’t understand. He wished he had come right out and gone to see her the moment he arrived and explained everything. Instead he delayed until he could find the courage to face her.

  But Clementine had no such problem with courage. She came over to confront him and now she was gone.

  The front door opened, and Martha walked through with Abby following behind. She was holding more wild flowers in her one hand. Hank smiled at the little girl, only then noticing that her other hand was connected to someone.

  “Hank,” she said breathlessly.

  He couldn’t believe that she was standing there. Every thought went out of his head. Every single thing that he mentally rehearsed to say to her … gone. Poof!

  Martha cleared her throat. “Abby found Clementine in town. She told us she wanted to talk to you about something.”

  “Look Uncle Hank. She helped me pick wild flowers!” Abby announced, holding the flowers out to Hank.

  “Those are so beautiful,” Hank said, as he stared straight into Clementine’s eyes. “It looks like you have orange ones in there that only grow on the hill at the edge of town.”

  Martha walked up to Abigail. “Come on, little one, we should find a place to put these in your room,” she said as she took her hand, leading her to her bedroom. When Hank heard the door close behind them, he stood up to pull Clementine to him.

  “Those flowers came from by the tree, didn’t they?”

  Clementine nodded. “I went there today to see our heart.”

  Hank cupped her face. “I know we have to talk, but please let me have these few moments,” he said as he crushed his lips to her hair. “I thought I lost you forever,” he said.

  She pushed back and looked him in the eyes. “So did I. I wanted to say I was sorry that I thought Abigail was yours. I don’t know why I let my imagination run wild like that.”

  “There is no need to apologize. She is mine.” Clementine looked confused. “I wanted to tell you from the start, but it was so painful,” he said, as he led her back to the table where their conversation had started yesterday.

  “Tell me now.”

  “I was coming that day I said in my letter. I was all set to sneak out when my mother caught me. She asked me to sit down and talk before I left. Turns out Seth had proposed to a woman in town and they were going to be married.”

  “How wonderful!”

  “She was so good for him. Ma asked me to stay until the wedding, promising I could leave after that. She said I wouldn’t have to sneak off in the middle of the night.”

  “Why didn’t you write? Or s
end a telegram?”

  “I did. I just didn’t send it. When I realized it, several months had already passed and I was too embarrassed to write another letter. I thought about coming north once more, but Meg was carrying Seth’s child and the time didn’t seem right.”

  “Abby?”

  Hank nodded. “Abby is Seth’s daughter. She is the image of her mother.”

  “But why isn’t she living with Seth and Meg anymore?”

  “About a month before we arrived here, I was at the railroad working.” Hank’s face grew somber as he continued. “One of the men noticed smoke in the distance. Several of the worker’s lived in that area, so we ran to see which house was on fire.” Hank pinched the bridge of his nose, willing the visions to leave his mind. “I will never forget what I saw there.”

  Clementine placed her hand on Hank’s arm. “What was it?”

  “There had been an attack by a tribe of Apaches. No one was spared. Not even the dogs. Once they were done, they burned the houses down.”

  “Oh, Hank.” Clementine was truly mortified. She couldn’t imagine seeing everyone she loved and cared for murdered. “Where was Abby?”

  “Abby hid in a ceramic box left by one of the churches that came through. She was far enough away that she didn’t get burned. And thank you, God, the Apaches didn’t see her.”

  “What did they want?”

  “I don’t know. I honestly don’t.” Hank wiped his tears away. “I promised Seth that I would take care of Abby if anything ever happened to him. He trusted me and I couldn’t let him… I couldn’t let any of them down.”

  Clementine felt the tears pour down her cheeks. She wrapped her arms around him and hugged him close. “I am so sorry, Hank. Can you ever forgive me for not listening to you?”

  “Of course, I do.” He took in her face and wiped away the tears with the pads of his thumbs. “I am so sorry, Clemmie. I think I’m still getting over the shock. I can’t imagine what Abby is feeling. Some nights she wakes up screaming.”

  “She is safe here. She has a new family now You, Aunt Martha.” Clementine looked at him from under long eyelashes. “Maybe, me?”