Authors: Leisha Kelly
“Still here, huh, Franky?” He looked pale and lost. He didn’t meet my eyes.
“I thought you might need me.”
I saw him fix his eyes on a icy wild gooseberry bush that was still holding a dried berry or two. I sure wished I could read what he was thinkin’. “Was hopin’ you’d give up an’ go home,” he said sorta low.
“Well, Pa. It’s cold. I didn’t feel right about leavin’ you to walk home alone.”
“Maybe it’s just as well, boy,” he said without lookin’ up. “’Fore I get shuck a’ you, I’m gonna have to talk at you. I guess it ain’t gonna leave me alone.”
His words left me cold inside. He was still planning on leavin’. What would he say? Did he think it would help matters to tear me down first? I just stood, unable to answer him. No matter how badly he might think he needed to sound off at somebody like he’d done so many times before, me listenin’ to his hateful words wasn’t gonna bring my brother back or bring any comfort to our family. Didn’t he see that?
“You’re botherin’ my mind, Franky,” he started. “Ever since that night in the schoolhouse.”
He paused, and I forced myself to answer him. “I don’t understand.”
“You remember what you told me then? Same thing you said a little while ago.”
I nodded, my heart poundin’ furious in my chest. “I love you, Pa.”
He kept starin’ straight at that bush. “Maybe you do. Maybe that’s why you keep after me. An’ Lizbeth an’ Emmie’ve tol’ me they love me. Rorey too, once or twice.”
“I’m sure they do. We all do.”
“Ain’t but two a’ you boys ever said it, though. You an’ Joe. Why do you think that is?”
I hung my head. Just thinkin’ ’bout Joe made my insides feel like they were being squeezed. “I don’t know. Maybe him an’ me failed at learnin’ by example.”
He laughed. Just one short burst, but it cut at me something awful. “You’re right there,” he said. “Don’t guess I’ve said it much, have I?”
“No, Pa. You haven’t.”
“Well. Maybe that’s why you been botherin’ me.”
He was still staring at the same bush, lookin’ almost like he had in the schoolhouse, like a specter even though it was daylight this time.
“Can we go home, Pa? Please?”
“Hang it all, Franky! There you start in again, when I’m tryin’ to tell you somethin’! Why don’t you just shut up an’ listen?”
I closed my eyes, not sure what to expect. And I could hear the hesitation in what he said next.
“You tol’ me in the schoolhouse that you love me. You said it twice, an’ again today. I know real well that I ain’t never said it to you. I ain’t never tol’ none a’ you. Never thought I oughta need to. But you don’t know it, do you? An’ I got a boy gone . . .” His voice broke. “Maybe two, that never did know . . .”
He stopped, and tears filled my eyes so quick there weren’t no holdin’ them back. “Oh, Pa—”
“Don’t say nothin’. I gotta talk. I gotta tell you some-thin’ I can’t say but once. You’re gonna have to tell the rest. You can do it. You’re better’n me at talkin’. And you’s the one I gotta tell face to face ’cause I reckon I give you cause to doubt it the most. I love you, son. I love all a’ you. Ever’ single one . . .”
He couldn’t go on. Suddenly, my pa was cryin’. I stood stiff for a minute, not knowin’ what to do. What would he want me to do?
But then I couldn’t wait any longer. I went to him. I held him. He put his arms around me too, and we both cried. I used to dream of Pa holdin’ me this way, but I never thought it would ever happen. I’m sorry for both of us that it didn’t happen until somethin’ so bad come along that we was too weak to do anythin’ else.
“Pa—”
“It ain’t your fault, boy. I don’t want you to go blamin’ yourself for no part a’ nothin’ in this, do you understand me?”
I tried to nod, wonderin’ why he felt he needed to tell me that. How could anyone think of blame for anyone but the enemy? Joe’d been so far away in the war.
“You tell the rest of ’em ever’thin’ I said.”
“Pa, you can tell ’em—”
“Nah. I tol’ you I can’t say it but once.”
“But Pa—”
“I’m wantin’ to go to town now.”
I knew he didn’t want me to argue. He wanted me to accept somethin’ I’d never gained from him in my life and go home thinkin’ that was enough. But I couldn’t. “Pa, I meant what I told you. I’m comin’ too.”
“An’ I tol’ you I can’t deal with no more.” He pulled away and started toward the trees.
“Pa—it’s crazy! We oughta go home! If you wanna walk eight miles in the cold, then we’ll go, but we belong at home where they’re gonna need us. This don’t make no sense—”
“There ain’t no sense to nothin’. Wouldn’t be no sense me sittin’ ’round home.”
He was getting further away, and I ran after him. “This won’t help, Pa. Drinkin’ won’t bring Joe back. It don’t make nothin’ better.”
“An’ you know somethin’ that does? Huh, boy? You got a Scripture for this? Do you? Let’s hear it.”
He stopped and stared at me, and I longed for words that would be some help. “I can tell you Scriptures ’bout how much God loves us, Pa. That’s the important thing to remember. Despite all the trouble in this world, God loves us so much that he saved us. He promised eternal life, where we can be with him and see our loved ones again.”
“You reckon Joe’s in heaven, do you?”
I sucked in a deep breath. “I believe it. I ain’t got no doubt. I know he prayed plenty a’ times, ’specially that time our church had the outside meetin’ when he was fourteen. You remember?”
“Yeah,” he said pretty solemn. “What about your mama? Got any doubts ’bout her?”
“No. I don’t have no doubts.”
“What about me, then? Will I see ’em when I die?”
He stood lookin’ almost like a child. But his words chilled me deep anyhow. I used to pray for Pa to ask questions like this, to be hungry to know that he was saved. But now my heart was poundin’ in my throat, and it was hard to talk to him. I didn’t like him asking about his own self dyin’. I didn’t like him thinkin’ on that. But I had to tell him something. He needed to know, and so did I. “Pa, I can’t answer that so well as you can. I’ve seen you praying. But is it true in your heart? Do you believe what Jesus done for us?”
“I heard the words plenty a’ times,” he answered me. “An’ I said the words the pastor tol’ me.”
“But do you believe it?” I asked him, my eyes fillin’ up with tears again.
He bowed his head. “Yeah. Yeah, boy, I reckon I do.” I hugged him again, but this time he stood stiff and didn’t hug me back. “Then you can be sure, Pa,” I told him. “If you prayed and you believe. We’re gonna see ’em again someday.”
He nodded, and he talked just as stiff as he’d felt. “Get back home. You oughta be there. You can tell ’em what I said.” He turned around.
“Pa?”
“Don’t fret. An’ don’t follow me. I ain’t gonna be out all night. It’s gonna be too blame cold.”
I didn’t want to disobey, but I still couldn’t let him go. “I’ll come with you. It’ll be all right.”
He glared at me. “There ain’t nothin’ all right about it, boy. An’ no way to make it better.”
I took a deep breath.
Help me, Lord. I’m scared of what I’m still seein’ in him. Even after he says he’s prayed.
He turned from me and went walkin’ into the trees. The things he’d said might seem good, to tell me after all this time that he loved us. But it made me wonder at him, like maybe he was just settlin’ things in his own mind so he wouldn’t feel guilty if he left us at a time like this. So I started walking, resolvin’ in my mind that this was just the way it was gonna be. Pa too hardheaded to stop, and me too hardheaded to go back without him. “You’re acting a fool, Franky,” he told me.
“I’m finally learnin’ by example,” I answered him back.
He turned and eyed me coldly. “What’s the matter with you?”
I was careful not to back down from his gaze. “I thought we settled that already. We love you. We need you. An’ you ain’t gettin’ shuck a’ me.”
“So what if I’m gonna get me a bottle?” he suddenly demanded. “What’s so bad about that? I’ve done it before. Can’t you let it be?”
“This ain’t like before. You ain’t lost a son before.”
He took a deep breath, and it seemed like the weight of it was taking extra effort.
“I’m scared for you,” I told him flat out. “You tell me you can’t handle no more. An’ you been thinkin’ a’ leavin’. Pa, I know what things was like when we lost Mama.”
It was hard to see him clear; my eyes had suddenly got so damp and blurry. But his look had somehow softened. “Franky. I shoulda knowed better. There ain’t much use tanglin’ with you. I figured I could get ahead a’ you out here. But I shoulda knowed you’d keep up till you backed me down.”
“Pa—”
“You don’t have to say nothin’ else. I’ll come home. You’re right anyway. Drinkin’ don’t solve nothin’. It just gets in the way a’ thinkin’ ’bout it for a while.”
I hardly knew what to say. For him to back down was what I’d prayed for, but I still wasn’t sure of him. He still looked wild. We walked side by side back through the cold timber, and he told me he didn’t want to talk to anybody else. He just wanted to be left alone in his room a while. That bothered me. But just havin’ Pa home, silent or not, would be better than everybody frettin’ over him being gone. They didn’t need no more worry, that was for sure. And surely he’d be better after a while, like he was before. Surely he’d be okay.
We didn’t say nothin’ else on the way. But at least he was sober. At least he’d be home. Bad as everything else hurt, havin’ that much seemed like a victory.
I wanted to get back to the Hammonds’ house so bad it hurt. And I knew it was for Frank. I couldn’t shake the thought of him getting knocked into a chair and then just minutes later taking my hand and stepping up to protect me from his father, when it was his father who had knocked him down. What would happen now that they were alone? Mr. Hammond flew apart in the bad times, and he was way too quick to take it out on Frank.
It was hard to breathe, all of this hit me so hard. By the time we’d got home, Bert was so upset he could hardly talk. He cried, and I knew he was still feeling sick. Mom hugged him and then said that he and she ought to ride back to be there for Frank and their pa in plenty of time before school got out.
“No, Mrs. Wortham,” Bert said. “We can’t ride back. Frank said to take the horses an’ leave ’em here. I know what he’s thinkin’. He don’t wanna give Pa no easy way to leave.”
My mother nodded, the tears working in her eyes. “But I don’t want you walking back through the cold, Bert. We can’t have you getting worse. Sarah, I’m sorry to send you out again, honey, but you’re going to have to go to the Posts. I’d go myself, but I think I’d better stay with Bert.”
I nodded. She hugged me, and suddenly my faithful, strong mother wept. I didn’t know what to do but help her to a chair and hug her back, fighting my own tears. “I’ll go, Mom. Don’t worry. It’s really not that far.”
I could feel her taking in a deep breath, steadying herself. She nodded and pulled away a little. “We need Mr. Post to come by here, if he will, and take Bert and me back over to the Hammonds. We need to be there when the other children get home. And I expect that Frank and George could use some help. Then if Mr. Post would go to town—he needs to tell Samuel. That will be enough. Samuel will get word to Sam and Lizbeth, and the pastor. And probably tell Rorey and Katie on their way home . . .”
She took another deep breath and rose to her feet. I could see the pain seething raw in her eyes, worse than I’d ever known it, and I knew that this news on top of all the heartache for Robert was weighing her awful bad. But she went straight to the stove and put on water to heat. “While we wait for a ride, I’m going to make Bert some tea for that cough. Put my coat on over yours, Sarah. I want you to stay warm. I’m sorry . . . to have to ask you—”
“It’s okay, Mom. It’s okay.”
She nodded, already pulling something down from the cupboard. Bert had leaned his head and arms down on to the table. I hurried. I grabbed Mom’s coat like she told me and buttoned it quick as I could. I went running out the door and kept right on running down our icy lane. The Posts’ house was only a couple of miles. I’d walked there before. But not for anything like this.
I slipped once. I didn’t fall all the way down, because I’d come close enough to a pasture fence to catch myself first. I kept right on going. I could almost see Mr. and Mrs. Post opening the door of their big, fine farmhouse to me, wondering why in the world I’d run myself practically out of breath. What could I tell them? That Joe was gone? The honored soldier, brother, and friend. So soon. Way too young. And we needed them to rush into town and spread the horrible news.
My eyes filled up with tears, and I had to brush them away to see to keep going. This was all like some awful dream. Not real at all.
God give us peace!
I prayed as I ran.
God give us strength! Be with us. Help us understand. Help us make sense of all this.
Mrs. Post was outside when I got close, on her way back to the house with a skillet in her hands. She must have just dumped kitchen scraps out someplace. She saw me right away and first waved in the yard but then stopped and waited when I hurried her way instead of waving back.
She called for her husband as soon as I told her what had happened. They both had aged so much. Mrs. Post was getting a little stooped, and Mr. Post wasn’t as spry as he used to be. But they’d always been good neighbors. And they were quick to be good neighbors now.
“Climb in the truck,” Mr. Post told me. “I’ll take you home before I head to town.”
“Mom wants you to take Bert home from our house once you get there,” I told him, almost forgetting that part of the request. “And Mom and I might want to ride along too, to be there for the rest of the Hammonds when they get home.”
“That’s the neighborly thing,” he told me solemnly. “God be with them.”
It wasn’t a very long drive between the Posts and our house, but my mind was so taken up with awful questions that I hardly noticed the distance at all. Why Joe? Why did he have to die? All this time we’d prayed and cried. But he was still gone. And Robert and Willy were hurt bad too. Even Lester. What if Rorey’s awful dream had been true? What if none of our boys were coming home?