A Thousand Little Blessings (4 page)

He smiled sardonically as the answer came to him. The richest family in Burnet, of course. Henry Davis probably owned half the land in the county, not to mention, the only bank.

Gabriel picked up a rock and tossed it in his hand. While he'd been in France, fighting for the common man's right to live without being invaded, Henry Davis had been building a mansion next to his family's farm. His parents could probably see that house from every inch of their place.

He threw the rock into the creek and continued his walk. Didn't make any difference to him how the banker spent his money. As long as it didn't hurt Gabriel's family, Henry Davis could build a mansion on every acre of his property.

The wind picked up, blowing Gabriel's hair into his eyes. He'd have to get a trim soon, a job his mother would probably undertake as soon as she saw him. He'd never admit it to anyone, but he'd missed his parents. While in France, he'd sometimes fallen asleep to memories of his mother's gentle touch or his father's proud smile, but just like carefree days, he'd taken his parents' love for granted.

The familiar sound of a horned owl sounded from his right, almost like a welcome home greeting. Another owl answered from his left, and a small part of Gabriel's battered soul rejoiced to know the birds had found each other in the darkness. Night sounds didn't alarm him, unless they were the booms of approaching artillery or the unexpected slide of a bolt as an infantryman loaded his rifle. But he was in Burnet, where nothing more than owls monitored his trek home.

Gabriel walked on. A hundred yards farther, he would reach the footbridge that marked the beginning of his family's property. Perhaps he'd spend the night in the barn and surprise his mother at breakfast.

Another gentle breeze wafted around him, carrying a soft, feminine voice. Gabriel held steady, straining to hear. Why would a woman be out at this time of night? He crept forward, scanning the banks of the stream. A few yards later, he saw a young woman sitting on a large flat-topped rock on the opposite bank, the moon illuminating her white blouse. Gabriel ducked behind a large cottonwood.

The woman looked up into the starry sky. “Fear not for I am with you. Be not dismayed, for I am your God.”

She was reading the Bible, Gabriel realized, but then amended his conclusion. There was no book in her lap, only a piece of blue and white cloth she sewed by lantern light. She must have been reciting the verses from memory.

“I will strengthen you, I will help you, I will uphold you with my righteous right hand,” she continued.

Who was this young woman? She was on Davis land. Was she one of the family? There'd been a daughter, Gabriel remembered, but she was still a child.

“I'm going to need Your strength to get me through this trial, Lord,” the woman said. “Please lead me to the right people to help Papa.”

She was praying. She'd come out into the quiet night to talk with God. He had no right to eavesdrop, but if he moved now he might startle her.

Peace settled into Gabriel's soul. Something about the woman's quiet prayer and rhythmic sewing had eased the tension that gnawed at him. He didn't know her, but neither could he leave her. Some force drew him to her, as though she had something he needed. The quiet night closed around him, cloaking him in its protective mantle, and still Gabriel watched. He'd stay there till dawn if necessary.

Just as his eyes grew heavy, lulled by the peaceful night, the woman stood and brushed off her skirt. She was of average height with a trim waist and slender shoulders. A dark braid hung down her back, but there was no other way to identify her. “If I'm being tested, Lord, help me to remember You're with me every step of the way.” She picked up the lantern and walked toward the big house.

Gabriel watched until the lantern light disappeared, then left his hiding place and walked toward the footbridge, feeling part interloper and part blessed. He'd seen plenty of people pray, especially in the trenches, but something about this woman's earnest plea had touched a dormant part of his heart. What trial was she facing? Why did he want to help her even though he didn't know who she was?

Gabriel turned at the footbridge and put the Davis land at his back. He'd keep an eye out for that young woman. In a town as small as Burnet, he'd be sure to run into her somewhere.

 

****

 

Gabriel rubbed his bristled cheek and squinted into the morning sun as he walked out of the barn. The smell of frying bacon meant his mother was up and about, and since there was no way to warn her of his early arrival, he simply walked up the back steps and knocked at the kitchen door.

“Sara!” his father's voice bellowed. “Who's at the door?”

Gabriel's heartbeat quickened at the sound of his father's voice.

Ethan Benson could be a gruff father, but he'd always been a fair man. When Gabriel had gone to college, and then joined the Army, his father hadn't voiced any disapproval.

But Gabriel hadn't wanted any part of the farm or his father's life. He'd wanted adventure. Little had he known the heavy price such adventure would cost. Excitement mixed with happiness as he opened the door and walked into the kitchen.

“Oh!” His mother dropped the bowl she'd cradled in the crook of her arm. It shattered on the stone tile, sending rivulets of white batter onto the floor. Her hands flew to her face.

Gabriel blinked away tears. His mother. His beautiful, kind mother. The one who'd scolded him when he'd needed it and loved him when he didn't deserve it. He stepped toward her, arms open.

“Sara!” his father shouted again. “Who is it?”

Tears ran down his mother's cheeks as she threw herself into his arms, wrapping her hands around Gabriel's neck. “My boy. Oh, Gabriel. At last.” She pulled his head down to her shoulder and clung tightly. “Thank You, Lord,” she whispered again and again.

Gabriel embraced the only woman he'd ever loved. She smelled of Christmas mornings and Sunday dinners, and her warm embrace soothed him just as it had when she'd treated his boyhood cuts and scrapes. If only she could ease the kind of pain he carried with him now.

His mother stepped back but kept her hands on his arms. “How did you…when did you…?” She rose to kiss him on the cheek. “I'm so glad you're home, son.”

“Sara, what in the world is…?” His father's voice died as he stepped into the kitchen and saw his son.

Although his mother looked the same as she had when he'd left for the Army, his father had aged beyond his years. Wisps of white hair now covered a nearly bald head and a pronounced stoop bowed his once strong back.

His father's eyes grew wide with surprise followed quickly by a wide smile. “Welcome home, son.”

Gabriel stepped away from his mother to shake the hand his father offered but drew his father into an embrace instead.

“There, there,” his father said, patting Gabriel's back. “It's all right now. You're home at last.” His father pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his eyes.

In the trenches, men had given up trying to hide their emotions. Fear, anxiety, defeat, and humor had been put on view for all to judge. But now that he was home, he'd have to remember that men like his father didn't express tender feelings.

“Can you still eat four pancakes and ask for more?” His mother dabbed her eyes with the hem of her apron. “Let me clean up this mess and make some fresh batter.” She brushed straw from his hair. “Where'd you spend the night? In one of the stalls?”

Gabriel kissed his mother's cheek. “I haven't had any good food since I left your kitchen. I promise to eat every bite.”

His mother embraced him again. “There's nothing I enjoy more than cooking for my son.”

His father blew his nose and gestured toward the kitchen table. “Sit down and tell us what you've been up to.”

Gabriel took in the scene. His mother busied herself at the counter while his father removed three white cups from the sideboard. It was a tableau frozen in his memory, unchanged since he'd left.

His father looked up through white eyebrows. “Go ahead and have a seat, son.”

Gabriel touched the back of the wooden chair, outlining the flecks of red paint that had worn away over the years. He must have sat in that chair a thousand times to eat, to study, or to work on one of his many building models.

“Is something wrong?” His mother touched his shoulder with a gentleness that only mothers possess. Her hair was pinned into a bun at the nape of her neck and her kind eyes shone.

He'd never be able to explain why a plain kitchen chair had suddenly become a precious artifact. He shook his head and sat in his usual spot.

“Now then,” his father said as he passed a cup, “tell me about life in the Army.”

“There's not much to tell. Hey, I noticed you've got a new automobile.”

His father pulled out the chair at the head of the table and sat down. “Not exactly new. I bought it from a guy down in Marble Falls. They call it a pickup truck 'cause you can drive it where you want and pick up what you need. Funny word, don't you think?”

“Must come in handy around the farm.”

“Sure. I've been using it to make deliveries for Adler's Hardware. Remember that store?”

His mother poured hot, black coffee from a speckled tin pot. “Do you still take cream and sugar in your coffee?”

Niceties such as sugar and cream could be scarce commodities on the front line, so Gabriel had learned to drink his coffee plain. He stared at the sugar bowl and cream pitcher as though they could lure him into a sense of false security. “Black's fine for me, Mom. Thanks.”

“In fact,” his father continued, “Victor Adler's expecting me at the store at eight o'clock. I hate to run off so soon after you've come home, but after breakfast, I'll need to get going.”

Gabriel dipped a spoon into the sugar bowl and watched the tiny grains cascade from the spoon. “It's OK, Dad. I'll be here when you get back.”

Ethan clapped a hand on his son's forearm. “I hope you'll stay for a long time, son. Your mother's missed you.”

Gabriel grinned at his father's unspoken sentiment. It was all right for his mother to have missed him, but his father was above such emotions.

His mother joined them at the table and chatted amiably during the meal, telling him about neighbors he'd forgotten and distant family members he seldom saw. But even in the safe comfort of his mother's kitchen, memories menaced him. The sugar glared at him from its crockery dish, daring him to give in to its sweet temptation, and the pancakes reminded him of Corporal Hutchins. Sam Hutchins had been so skinny he could lie down in the shade of a clothesline, but that hadn't stopped him from eating more pancakes than any other man in the platoon. What right did Gabriel have to enjoy breakfast when Hutchins and the others would never eat again?

His mother removed his plate and frowned. “Are you sure you're finished? You didn't eat very much. Can I fix you something else?” She scraped the uneaten portion into the trash bin and slipped the plate into the sink. “How ‘bout some eggs and toast?”

Not even his mother's cooking would sit well in his guilt-ridden stomach. “No, thanks, Mom.”

“I'd best be going,” his father said, clapping a weathered hand on Gabriel's shoulder. “Feel like going into town today? Lots of folks been asking ‘bout you.”

His mother answered for him. “Not today, Ethan. I've just got my boy back. Let him rest for a bit.”

“All right, all right,” his father grumbled as he put on his hat and walked through the back door.

Through the kitchen window, Gabriel watched his father shuffle slowly toward his truck. “Dad doesn't look well. What happened to him?”

His mother turned from the sink and dried her hands. “One day he came in from the fields and said he was finished being a farmer.”

“Just like that?”

“Just like that.” Sara poured a cup of coffee for herself and joined her son at the table. “When I met your father, his head was full of dreams. He wanted to go to college and become a history professor, but your grandfather expected him to take over this farm. When your grandfather died, your father gave up his dream in order to take care of his mother and sisters.”

“I thought Dad liked being a farmer.”

“He came to accept it, but he never really liked it. When it became clear you'd never take over, he began to question why he was still working from sunup to sundown. About three months after you joined the Army, he told me he'd had enough.”

Uncertainty pricked Gabriel's gut. Had his rejection of farm life hurt his father or freed him from toiling at a job he hadn't liked? “How are you making a living?”

“We lease our land. That brings in money every year. Plus, I still sell eggs, and your father gets a salary from the hardware store.”

Something was missing from his mother's explanation. “How could working less age him so?”

“Worry. His only child was far away, fighting in a war no one here really understood. Every time we'd get a letter from you, I'd see him relax for a few days. But then dread would creep up his spine and settle on his face, troubling him until the next letter arrived.”

He should have written more often. But there'd been little to write home about until he saw combat, and then there'd been too much to tell his parents.

“Now that you're home,” his mother continued, “I expect he'll recover a bit of his old self.”

Gabriel carried his empty cup to the sink and dropped it into the soapy water. He'd assumed he'd spend his days helping his father with farm work. Now that there was no farm to tend, how would he keep busy? “I need to go into town sometime today and pick up my duffel bag. I left it at the train station.”