Wings of a Dream (21 page)

In the quiet of the early-morning chores, I told Will about Arthur, letting my silent tears soak into Ol’ Bob’s side. Will didn’t say much, but I could tell his hands itched to pummel the man who’d hurt his sister. So I set him to splitting wood instead.

“Should I tell Mama?” I asked.

Down came the axe with a thud. He threw the pieces into the pile and picked up another short log. He leaned on the axe handle and looked at me. “I wouldn’t just yet. She doesn’t need . . . disappointment right now.” He hesitated another moment. “She did ask me to bring you back home, though.”

“Oh? And are you going to try?”

He hefted his weapon and brought it down again. The wood fell into halves. He shook his head. “No. Right now these kids need you more than she does. Anyone can see that.”

I let out a long breath as Will worked. It felt good to have my brother on my side.

When Will couldn’t lift his arms overhead one more time, I set the axe in the shed and our slow steps returned to the house. While he lay recovering on the sofa, he regaled us all with stories of aerial battles and ocean crossings and encounters with British soldiers and their funny ways of saying things.

At sunset, with supper warming on the stove, I wandered out to the porch and stood behind Will’s chair, resting my hands on his shoulders. He reached up and covered my fingers with his. I smiled.

“I have to leave in the morning,” he said. “I’ll tell Mama how well you took care of me.”

I threw my arms around his neck, my cheek pressed against his. “Do you have to go? Stay here. I’ll take care of you.”

“I couldn’t do that to Mama. You know that.”

I squeezed him again before I nodded, pulled away, and knelt beside his chair, my hand clasping his. “How is Mama, Will? Really?”

“Don’t worry, Rebekah. She’s just . . . weak.” He patted my hand. “You know I won’t be staying there, either. I have things I want to see before I can’t. Like the Grand Canyon. And the Pacific Ocean. A buddy of mine from the war is going with me.”

“But can’t—”

His fingers squeezed mine. “I want you to remember me like this, Rebekah. And I want to remember you in this place. Don’t worry. You’ll get what you want one of these days. Just be patient.”

I drew in a sharp breath. How did he know what I wanted? And how did he know I’d get it? Did God give the dying special messages?

“How do you know?” The words blurted out on the breath I’d been holding.

“Because I’ve watched you. I can see in your every action that you were made for this.”

“This?” I huffed.

“It suits you. A house. A farm. Children. The husband who will give it all to you.”

I rocked back on my heels and stood. “That’s not what I want, Will.” I backed away from his startled look, my hands fidgeting with each other. “I’m going to the city. I don’t know how or when, but I won’t be tied to the seasons and the sun. Don’t get me wrong: I want a husband and a child or two of my own. But this . . . ?” I nodded toward the yard beyond the house, to the hog now in its pen, the chickens, the cow and the mules, even the fields farther beyond. “This is not what I want. I want adventure. I want . . .”

His eyes glazed over a bit. I looked away. The children’s joyful shrieks carried on the cool breeze. I wondered if memories of childhood days invaded Will’s head as they did mine. Such simple days. Days I’d once wished away, wanting to be grown up, wanting my life to begin. Now that I’d crossed that line, I wished I could go back.

Will cleared his throat, pushed to his feet, and faced me. “I’m sorry, Rebekah,” he said. “I hope you get what you want. I really do. But be careful. If France taught me anything, it’s that new experiences aren’t always what we imagine them to be.”

He shoved his hands into his pockets and sauntered down the steps, leaving me to decide whether or not to throw his advice to the wind.

We all piled into the sheriff’s car the next morning and drove to the train station. A few people milled around on the platform as the train chugged into view. A lump swelled in my throat. How could I say good-bye to my brother, knowing I might never see him again?

He tousled the children’s hair and tweaked their noses one by one. When he reached for Janie, his ashen face turned slick with sweat in spite of the heatless day. I kept her in my arms and leaned her closer to him so he wouldn’t have to strain. His trembling hand caressed her cheek. I handed her to Ollie, put my hand in the crook of my brother’s arm, and walked him across the platform to the waiting railway car.

“I’ll miss . . .” The tears insisted on flowing.

He pulled out his handkerchief and wiped my face. “Don’t cry, little sister. I’ve made my peace with God. I’m ready.”

“But I’m not,” I whispered. “If you . . . die . . . I’ll be all alone. Just me and Mama and Daddy.”

“You’ll be fine,” he said. “You’ve always been the strongest of us all.”

I had?

He chuckled as he lifted my chin and stared into my eyes. “You have no idea.”

A quick hug; then he disappeared into the train. I watched him through the windows as he found a seat away from the platform and stared out the window. The train whistled, groaned, and inched forward. I waved until the caboose pulled past the platform, even though Will never turned to look. Only as the train snaked out of sight did I notice Sheriff Jeffries by my side.

D
ecember arrived. Would Frank be home in time for Christmas? I guessed no. Besides Will, no soldiers had returned to Prater’s Junction, though the newspapers predicted the first of our boys would arrive home before the month ended. I didn’t know what to think about Frank coming home. Almost two weeks had passed without a letter from him.

Could he have been injured just before the armistice? Or maybe, like Will, poison gases made him ill—too ill to write or travel.

Then one afternoon I pulled an envelope from the box and Frank’s familiar handwriting stared up at me.

Miss Hendricks,

Thank you for your letter telling of my family. For a little while after I heard of Adabelle’s passing, I still received her regular letters. And then I figured I’d have nothing. But your note arrived, and with it, I found hope again. Sometimes I wonder if you are an angel instead of a woman, to step in and take care of my kids, my house, with no tie to us other than your aunt’s kindness to our family.

She talked about you. Did you know that? She missed you and your brother, hated the falling out with her sister, although she never mentioned the cause. I think she pretended my family was hers. And that was fine with us, for Clara and I didn’t have anyone, either. I guess she was as close to a grandmother as my children will ever know. Sorry for rambling on so. Not what you expect of a letter from a stranger, I imagine.

What I really wrote to say is that I’m due to ship out for the States soon. After a few days of debriefing at a military base, I’ll make my way home. You can bet I’ll be looking for the quickest way. I’d hate to disrupt your life any longer than necessary.

Sincerely,

Frank Gresham

I scanned a separate page addressed to the children as I wiped the inexplicable wet from my cheeks. Frank was on his way home. The thought thrilled and terrified. Before, his homecoming had meant freedom to go to Arthur. Now I didn’t know what it meant. I only knew I had no desire to go back to Downington.

My eyes locked on the date scribbled at the top of the page: November 18, 1918. A quick count of days told me he could arrive anytime. I needed to come up with some kind of plan for my future. And fast.

I read Frank’s letter to the children before bed, told them he’d probably already started on his journey home. The boys looked a bit confused, but Ollie’s eyes took on the brilliance of stars in the night sky. She sat up with me after the other children lay abed. I leaned my head against the back of the sofa and closed my eyes, my insides wiggling like kittens in a sack.

“Tell me about school today, Ollie.” I felt her curl her body into mine. I draped my arm around her, pulled her close.

“Garland Winston carved his initials in a tree with Nola Jean’s at recess. She acted mad, but I think she liked it.”

I lifted my head and opened my eyes. “Nola Jean’s not nearly old enough to concern herself with such things.”

Ollie shrugged. “She’s mostly grown. Almost fourteen. Mama married Daddy when she wasn’t much older than Nola Jean.”

Irene had said Clara and Frank married young, but she’d never managed to reveal much of anything else. “Tell me about your mama and your daddy.”

Ollie stared into a far corner of the room, squinting, as if to remember. “Mama was fifteen years old when she met Daddy. She said she knew right away she’d marry him. She said something in his eyes told her, something deep down. Something he didn’t even know yet. That’s what she said.”

Something in his eyes. I thought I’d read something in Arthur’s eyes, too. Maybe I couldn’t judge men as rightly as I imagined I could. And yet I read real friendship in the sheriff’s manner, and that had proven true. What would I read in Frank Gresham’s eyes?

“Anyway, Mama’s house was full of kids and empty of money. That’s what she said. So when Daddy asked her to marry him, she did. They left the day she turned sixteen and never went back.”

“What did her family say?” I couldn’t imagine surviving Mama’s wrath if I had done such a thing.

Ollie shrugged. “Her brothers and sisters all went other places, and I think her mama got sick and died. Don’t know about her daddy. She never said.”

I pondered the history of Clara and Frank, two youngsters embarking on a life all of their own making. The type of adventure I craved so much. Were they pleased with how their lives turned out?

Ollie slid off the sofa and gave me a small smile. “I think I’ll go to sleep now.”

I pulled her close, kissed her forehead, and sent her on her way. But it was a long while before I could stir myself to put out the lamp and climb the stairs to bed.

Late that night, my feet pattered the floor of my bedroom. Back and forth. Back and forth. The heavy braid down my back swung with each movement, like the pendulum on the clock at home, ticking away the time. Every now and then I shivered, even though I wore my flannel gown and the window sash sat firmly against the sill.