by Gigi Moore
Lily looked at him then at their son sitting in back of the wagon, snuggled beneath Dakota’s good arm. She had her family all together with her now and after five years, she finally felt like she could breathe easy again. “Don’t be angry with me, Wyatt. I had to do it. I had to come.”
“I know, and I’m glad you did. You saved our lives.”
“No.” She shook her head. “We all saved each other’s lives.”
Epilogue
Baldwin Homestead, Oklahoma Territory, One month later
Little Wyatt ran from the house and jumped off the porch at full speed trying to keep up with his daddy’s and Uncle Dakota’s long-legged gaits as they left the house to welcome Grandpa Dyami to the homestead.
“Not so fast, young man!”
Little Wyatt’s mommy caught him by the back of the shirt and he could not help thinking that if he was still on the reservation with his grandpa and the rest of the tribe, he probably would not have had a shirt on for his mommy to catch him by.
“Mommy, they are going to leave me.”
“They aren’t going far. They’re just going to meet your grandfather and then the three of them are coming back to the house. Let grown-ups do their grown-up things.”
Little Wyatt sighed and turned around to come back into the house.
He followed his mother to the kitchen and sat on his knees in one of the chairs.
“Why don’t you help me make your daddy’s favorite?”
“Apple pie?” Little Wyatt started to drool at the thought. He loved his mommy’s apple pie as much as his daddy did. She only made it on special occasions and she said Dyami’s visit was a very special occasion.
Little Wyatt had never had apple pie on the reservation. There were many things on the reservation that he had not had, but the things he had missed the most before Uncle Dakota visited that last time were his mommy and daddy.
His mommy used to tell him all the time, when he was still a little kid and used to say he missed his daddy, that he could not miss something he never had. Even back then she used to tell him that his daddy was a good and strong man who loved him, but she would never tell him where his daddy was or why they could not all be together.
For a long time after the attack on the village, Little Wyatt thought he would never see his mommy again and never ever meet his daddy. Uncle Dakota was a good and strong man, too, and Little Wyatt knew Uncle Dakota loved him, but Uncle Dakota wasn’t Little Wyatt’s daddy no matter how much he loved Little Wyatt and no matter how much Little Wyatt loved him.
Now Little Wyatt was here on the farm with Mommy, Daddy, and Uncle Dakota together. And soon Grandpa Dyami would be here, too. All the people that Little Wyatt loved in the world would be in one place. Little Wyatt was happier than he could ever remember being.
He watched as his mother mixed peeled, sliced apples with flour, sugar, cinnamon, nutmeg, and hot cider from the stove until it became a sticky, smooth concoction that she spooned into the pie shell she had prepared earlier.
“Here you go, helper.” She handed him the bowl with leftover filling. “Don’t tell Daddy.”
“No.” Little Wyatt shook his head, but he knew that Daddy would smell the apple filling on his breath like he always did, just like he knew Mommy knew he would.
Little Wyatt scooped out some of the filling with his pointer and closed his eyes as he put his finger in his mouth and the sweet, tangy taste of apple, sugar, and cinnamon burst on his tongue.
He opened his eyes to see his mommy staring at him as if she could not really believe he was there and he smiled at the same time she did. When she leaned her head forward he did, too, and rested his forehead on hers. They used to touch heads like this all the time back in the village before the raid where they lost more than half their tribe. Grandpa Dyami said they had their own little language and lived in their own little world, just the two of them, and Little Wyatt knew it was true.
Now there were four of them to share his and Mommy’s world like it was supposed to be—Mommy, Daddy, Uncle Dakota, and Little Wyatt, together forever just like Little Wyatt used to always dream it would be.
“Mommy?”
“Yes, baby?”
“I love you.”
“Oh, Little Wyatt, I love you, too.” She wrapped her arms around him, hugging him close and tight to her bosom, and Little Wyatt welcomed the old feeling of happiness and warmth he used to feel with his mommy in the village. He had feared that he would never feel this way again.
When Mommy pulled away to look at him, he saw the tears in her eyes. Little Wyatt reached out to catch them with his fingers. “Do not cry, Mommy. All is well.”
“You sound just like your Uncle Dakota.” She laughed. “And you’re right. All is well.”
For the first time in a long time, Little Wyatt really believed it.
For the first time in a long time, Little Wyatt felt like he was finally home.
THE END
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Gracie C. McKeever writes exclusively for Siren as Gigi Moore.
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