Another Homecoming Read online

  Kyle had to leave. She had to. Her only hope was to get up and walk away from this terrifying encounter. She focused all her attention on moving her legs, bringing her feet up and under her, readying herself for the effort of trying to stand.

  Abigail’s hands moved nervously about, touching her hair, her pearls, twisting her gold bracelet. “It’s your fault it has come to this, I hope you realize. If you had only shown the good sense to realize marrying Randolf was the only proper course, that the family demands you do this, it would never have been necessary to speak of it. But no, you have dillied and dallied, and now I’ve reached the end of my tether. The absolute end, Kyle. I hope you realize what you’ve put me through . . . Kyle? Kyle! Where are you going? Don’t you dare walk away from me! I’m not through, do you hear me? Come back . . .”

  Without knowing where she was going, Kyle walked down the back stairs and away from the veranda. Her feet seemed to know where she needed to go, for her mind could not move beyond the single word. Adopted. She had not been born into the Rothmore family, did not belong to Lawrence Rothmore. Not really. Had never been his true daughter. The thought hit her with such solid impact that it left her weak and drained.

  Her entire being felt uprooted, torn away from everything she had ever known. She wandered aimlessly down the graveled walk lining the back garden, her frantic thoughts tumbling about in utter confusion.

  Suddenly she recalled a storm that had struck many years earlier. She had been only seven or eight. That night the wind had been so fierce that the rain had struck her window with driving fury, fighting to break in. Lightning had blasted from every side, flickering so constantly that everything in her room had come alive and danced with the blinding light. Kyle had been absolutely terrified. She had hidden, whimpering, under her covers until her father had come and taken her in his strong arms, quieting her fears with love and calm words.

  The next morning, they had walked outside to a world transformed. The garden, normally so neat and precise, was a jumble of trash and debris. Limbs had fallen from trees, and almost every bush had lost its flowers. Kyle had walked along, her hand tucked safely in her father’s, and listened as he had consoled Jim. The gardener had been numbed by the destruction. Together they had walked over to where one of the grand old elms had been uprooted. The tree, almost as tall as the house, had lain there on its side, the bundle of roots sticking up in soil-strewn defeat. Kyle had stared up at the great twisted wreckage for a long time. She had felt as though only her father’s strength had protected her from the storm.

  But now, when this new storm raged and tossed her about, her father was no longer there. She did not have a father. Had never really had one. Why had he deceived her—the one person she had felt she could trust? Why? Kyle shivered with the loneliness and the fear.

  Adopted.

  16

  THE YEARS HAD NOT TREATED Dr. Howard Austin very well. He did not need a mirror to realize this. Reaching up to his head meant encountering more bald patches than hair. A glance downward meant he was confronted with an expanding paunch. Whenever he caught sight of his reflection, he could not help but see the dark half-moon pouches below his eyes.

  I care too much. The thought came unbidden to his mind. But the words had been repeated so often over the years that they no longer held the power to ease his burden. Especially today.

  As Joel sat on the edge of the examining table and rebuttoned his shirt, Howard fiddled with the papers in his hand. “I’ve known you since before you were born,” the doctor said, surprising them both.

  Joel grinned. “You delivered me. I remember Mom talking about that once.”

  “That’s right.” Suddenly tears pressed against the back of Howard’s eyes. It was not a giving in to today’s sorrow. Rather he felt as though all the loads he carried, all the pains and discomforts and illnesses he had seen, all suddenly crowded up in a mighty wave, hitting him when he least expected. He swallowed hard. “That’s right, Joel,” he said again. “I was there from the beginning.”

  “You may as well go ahead and say it,” Joel said quietly. And though the voice was only that of a young man, the calmness Joel showed seemed to Howard Austin to be coming from beyond time. “I can see on your face that the news is not good,” Joel probed.

  A young man cut down in his prime. Howard wondered if perhaps he should put off telling him until Joel’s parents could be summoned. But the young man sat there, his peace and inner strength so evident that Howard found a calm for his own troubled mind.

  Which gave him the strength to say, “The results of your tests have come back. And this examination verifies the diagnosis.”

  Joel searched his face. “Not good,” he repeated.

  “No.” The word was a long sigh, drawing all the breath, all the resistance from his body. Telling the boy was a defeat, both for Howard and the body of medicine as a whole. “You have a degenerative heart condition.”

  Joel gave a slow nod, his eyes suddenly fastened on nothing. “I knew it had to be something,” he said quietly. “I’ve been feeling so tired lately. And my chest hurts a lot. It’s been worse the last six months.”

  “Last six months? You’ve had this a long time?”

  Joel nodded. “I guess so.”

  “Why didn’t your folks bring you in earlier?”

  “I never said anything about it.” Joel looked down. “I didn’t know anything was wrong—really. It wasn’t until the pain and weakness got bad that I thought . . .”

  The silence hung between them. At last Joel spoke again. “Would it have made any difference if I’d come earlier?”

  “In all honesty, probably not. You have degenerative heart disease, and your condition is inoperable,” he replied. Howard was flying directly into the face of his normal habit, which was to give very little information to the patient at all. But this strength about Joel—a strength that transcended the problems of his body—was something Howard had recognized whenever they were brought together. Even here, even now. “I’ve seen this before, and I have to tell you that your condition will only grow worse.”

  Fathomless eyes looked across the chasm that now separated them, and Joel asked, “How long do I have?”

  Why was he doing this? Why had he even started talking about it at all? Despite his desire to cover over with platitudes, Howard continued with his chosen course. “Hard to say, son. Six months, a year, two at the outside.”

  As though he understood the struggle inside the doctor, Joel said quietly, “It’s okay, Doc.”

  The words were so strange, coming from a young man who had just heard of his own approaching death, Howard felt himself jerk back a step. “What?”

  “I really appreciate you being straight with me. It’ll give me time to do some things. Prepare as best I can.”

  The words left Howard feeling indignant. “Doggone it, Joel, I’m the one who’s supposed to be consoling you.”

  Joel’s grin came and went very quickly. “Mom will be the one who’ll need consoling. We’ll need to tell her together. And Dad.”

  “Your father doesn’t feel much of anything.” The words were out before he could think, and he wished he could take them back.

  Slowly Joel shook his head. “I used to think the same thing, but I’ve decided it’s not true. He feels too much. That’s his problem. He’s never been able to get over his sorrows. He cares too much about things.”

  Another wave of sadness swept over the doctor. “Here you are, just graduating from high school next week. All your friends will be heading off to college.”

  “Not so many friends,” Joel said without remorse. “I got to be known as Simon Miller’s buddy. Most of the kids couldn’t understand him. They felt really uncomfortable about his clothes and his attitudes. Even since the Millers left, the other kids still see me as an oddball. I don’t really mind. It has helped me to rely more on the Lord.”

  Howard found himself shocked by the easy manner with which Joel talked about God, as
though He was a close personal friend. Howard stared at this young man, seeing him with new eyes. “You’ve grown, son. So much it makes me feel older than I already am.”

  “It’s the Lord’s doing, not mine,” Joel said. “I feel like I never really lived before coming to know Him.”

  In the silence that followed, a shadow of grief passed over Joel’s young features. “I’ve been saving my paper-route money for college,” he said quietly. “Plus I want to go see the Millers. It’s going to be hard to tell them.”

  Howard found himself unable to respond. There were so many levels to this young man, such a sense of timeless maturity. He was less than half Howard’s age, yet already he had the strength to accept as well as the strength to honestly grieve.

  “It doesn’t seem fair,” Joel said with a sigh. “Why should I be struck down now? Why do I have to suffer from a bad heart?”

  Howard stood and watched as the young man sorted through his thoughts and knew Joel was coming to grips with his own death. And doing so with a strength that left the doctor feeling incompetent. All his life he had cared but had run away from caring. Why? Because he did not have the strength required for the responsibilities of caring.

  “I hate bringing pain to my family,” Joel mumbled. “I hate missing out on all the things I wanted to do. But life isn’t fair, is it? That’s what Pop’s always saying, anyway.”

  For some reason, the moment held a reflective power for Howard Austin. He observed the young man seated on his examining table, but in truth he was paying more attention to his own mind and heart. He had hidden behind a hopeless yearning for another man’s wife, and never given as much as he should to anyone else. Not to his wife, not to his patients, not even to himself. Why? Howard Austin did not need to search for the answer. It rested there directly in front of him, as clearly as though the words were being spoken straight to his very soul. He had run away from caring because he had always cared from an empty heart.

  Joel seemed to gather himself. He straightened, and the hollow lines of his face filled with renewed calm. Howard stood there and watched it happen. “As long as I’m prepared to go,” Joel went on determinedly, “death is nothing to be feared. The Lord has shown me that. I think in a way I’ve known what you were going to tell me, and He has helped to make me ready.”

  For the first time in his life, Howard had the feeling that what Joel spoke of was something genuine. In the past he had always used his trained mind to dismiss what could not be seen. But here in the calm strength of this young man, in the shining eyes and wisdom beyond his years, Howard found himself accepting the reality he had always refused to consider before.

  Howard felt the young man’s gaze rest on him and struggled to find words to fit the moment. “I’m so sorry, Joel. If there’s anything at all I can do . . .”

  The words drew Joel outward, in a way that spanned the distance caused by Howard’s news. “There is one thing, Doc.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Pray for me.” A veil lifted from Joel’s eyes. “Pray I’ll be strong enough to see this through to the end. And pray that I’ll do what the Lord wants with what I’ve got left.”

  There was a crumbling inside, a silent acceptance of Howard’s own defeat. “All those wasted years,” he murmured, not even aware he had spoken.

  “Nothing is wasted,” Joel replied quietly. “Not if in the end it brings you to your knees.”

  “You don’t know,” Howard said, no longer speaking to the boy. He could not be saying these things to someone so young, especially not Martha’s son. Martha. Howard released a long, aching sigh. The yearning was with him still, for what might have been.

  “No,” Joel agreed quietly. “But God does.”

  “I wish I could pray with you, son. I really wish I could. But, well, life—your God, if you will—hasn’t dealt too kindly with me. I’m afraid there is nothing left inside that can . . . can reach out in prayer . . . even for you.”

  There in the whitewashed doctor’s office, with its smells of disinfectant and iodine, Joel spoke quietly, yet sincerely. “Then I’ll pray for you, Dr. Austin. Every day that I have left.”

  Martha Grimes paused in the front room and examined herself in the mirror hanging above the scarred table. It was a nice face with pleasing features and clear eyes. Yet there was something missing. Maybe it was the light she had seen for months in her son’s face. It had been there even as Joel had sat with Howard Austin and delivered the news. Such a peace and light that even as she had cried over the coming loss of her boy, she had felt the serenity reach out with his hand and gently touch her, easing her sorrow.

  But over the hours, the days, that followed, Martha had been tossed to and fro, one minute accepting, the next collapsing in uncontrollable sobs. It couldn’t be happening. It couldn’t. She would never be able to bear the loss of another child.

  Harry did not—could not—help. He had curled his emotions into an even tighter ball. He came home only to eat and sleep. Martha did not know where he went, never dared to ask. Did he just walk the streets, or was he trying to dull his sorrows at the local bar like many of his army buddies? She never smelled liquor on him when he did finally come in. But that didn’t prove anything.

  In between her bursts of tears and desperation she watched Joel. He must feel it—this dreadful horror of what the future holds, but he looks so calm. So settled. How can he be this way? she asked herself over and over. He has so much to live for. How can he bear the thought of dying? Martha had no answer.

  She lifted her eyes again to the mirror. What is missing inside me? she wondered, running her fingertips down her cheek. Whatever it was, she had learned to live without it for so long that she had not given it thought. But now it was here before her. All she had to do was close her eyes to again see the light shining from Joel’s face. It seemed as though the light grew stronger with each day. He did not need to say anything. Anyone who looked at him with honest eyes had to see the growing strength from inside even as his body gradually weakened.

  Martha glanced down the hall to where her husband sat at the kitchen table. She found herself wondering if he could see the changes in Joel as well. She walked down the hallway, entered the kitchen, and seated herself across from her husband. Martha examined Harry. There was a small scar on his forehead, one he had brought back from the war. The thin line had been joined by a dozen others and now had deepened until she could no longer tell which one was the actual scar. The skin of his face looked gray, as though the silent exertion of keeping so much inside had aged him beyond his years.

  She seemed to see him for the first time, as though all the years and all the memories and all the sorrows had been washed away. It only lasted a moment, yet it was long enough for her to observe him with crystal clarity. This was a gift from beyond herself, of that she had no doubt, both the vision and the compassion that filled her heart. He had known such a hard life. Working every day at a job that was as close as he could ever come to his dream. Bringing himself back home, staying here with her, doing the best job he could. It was not all that good, no, but he had tried.

  She found herself reaching across the table, taking his hand. The move was so alien that Harry jerked upright and stared down at her hand.

  “I think Joel has found something that can help us,” Martha quietly told him.

  He looked over at her. Instead of the barrier of old disappointments and bitterness, there was only confusion. “You mean, this religion thing?”

  She nodded. “I feel as though, well . . .” Martha stopped and gathered herself, as though just saying the words was enough to push them both over the edge. New beginnings loomed before her, strange pulses ran through her veins. It took a long moment before she realized what she felt was hope.

  She took a breath and went on. “I think maybe we could start over, you and I. If we ask God to help us.”

  There was no cutting response. None of the acrid mockery that normally greeted anything she said. Ins
tead, his gaze dropped back to her hand resting upon his own. He murmured, “I don’t know what to do.”

  “Maybe—” she whispered, her breath catching in her throat, “maybe you could ask Joel to teach us how to pray.”

  To her surprise, tears formed in Harry’s eyes and dropped unheeded onto her hand. He said nothing, just turned his palm upward and enclosed her fingers with his own.

  “It seems too much,” he said when he was able to speak. “First our baby girl—now this.”

  For a moment Martha’s eyes showed her surprise. Then they too filled with tears.

  “You miss her, too?” she asked quietly.

  His tears increased. He nodded.

  “I never knew. I mean—you never talked about her. I thought I was the only one . . .”

  “I visit that upstairs room, too, when no one is around.”

  Martha was weeping openly now. “I didn’t think . . . I mean, you never said—”

  “I couldn’t. Not without . . . blaming you. You shouldn’t have done it, Martha. Shouldn’t have given away our little girl. There would have been a way. Some way. My mother . . .”

  “I couldn’t ask her, Harry. I barely knew her. I couldn’t ask. I felt so alone—and scared. All I could think about was that I’d lost you and I couldn’t bear to . . . I didn’t even want to live.”

  He reached a hand to her cheek. “You cared that much?”

  “Oh, Harry, I thought I’d die with the pain of it. I wished that I’d been in that battlefield. That I’d died, too.”

  “But when I did come home you were so distant.” There was puzzlement in his voice.

  “I was numb by then. Dead inside. And you were so changed. I felt I didn’t even know you anymore.”

  “Guess I was numb, too.” Ancient pain creased his features. “I’d had a tough time out there in the field hospital. It was really bad, Martha. A lot of pain. Took almost three months before I remembered my own name.”