Another Homecoming Read online

  For some of the young people he was meeting, he represented their only chance of knowing love. Not the love of the streets, where they bartered their bodies for what they so desperately yearned to have—a sense of belonging. Joel had found he could reach to them on a deeper level, giving from the peace and joy in his own heart, and speak of One who would grant them unconditional love. Real love.

  Joel had discovered an ability to share that love. He knew this was his gift, his calling, as clearly as he knew his own name. He could not explain why he had been chosen to serve in this manner. He did not understand how someone like him had been selected from a world of believers to have the glory of such a mission. Except for perhaps having come from circumstances with a similar lack of love and acceptance.

  Joel heard the farmhouse door slam and took it as a signal to roll from his bed. Today was a chore day, and he had promised Ruthie to hitch up the buggy and take her to town. As he slipped into his clothes, he gave thanks anew for this gift of understanding, the gift of renewal, the gift of purpose.

  If only there was some way he could give a little longer.

  Normally Joel enjoyed urging the horse and buggy to a brisk pace. The animal was a trotter and loved to run. Joel usually gave him the freedom to do so, as he loved to feel the energy of a racing thoroughbred passing through the leather reins. But today he deliberately slowed him to a gentler gait. There was no need to hurry. They had not managed to leave the farm until late afternoon, what with one chore after another keeping them busy. Ruthie had delivered the cartons of eggs to the local merchant and purchased the few supplies from her list, and now they were headed home.

  The afternoon drive seemed a perfect time for slowing life’s busy pace. A time for reflection. For enjoying a little leisure, a rare commodity for people who worked so steadily. Even the horse sensed it and settled into a slow, even trot, so different from his normal pull against the reins. Joel relaxed, his arms resting lightly on his knees. The cool breeze gently played with his uncovered hair. The day was warm for fall, and his dark cap lay on the seat beside him.

  Ruthie, close at his side in the buggy’s confines, leaned back with a gentle smile playing about her lips. Clearly she meant to enjoy every moment of the rare respite from her household responsibilities.

  On the road toward them moved another buggy, the horse traveling much faster than their own. Little puffs of dust lifted with each clip-clop of hoof and spin of buggy wheel. Joel pointed and spoke with a smile. “Someone’s in too much of a hurry for such a fine day.”

  Ruthie peered ahead, then replied, “It’s the Enns’ black. He must be forgetting something up to town.”

  Joel nodded. Just as some folks knew cars, Ruthie seemed to know every horse in the entire neighborhood. They continued to watch the distance close between their two buggies. There was no other traffic on this road, and the sound of the horses’ hoofs fell into a pleasant rhythm in the crisp autumn air.

  Ruthie was right. It was indeed Henry Enns, a neighbor to the Millers. He nodded in their direction and called out with a broad grin, “Strange time of day to be courting out!”

  Joel frowned. He knew the words were good-natured teasing, but he wondered if there was more to them than that. Yes. Henry likely meant his words. Joel stole a sideways look at Ruthie. What he saw made him stir with uneasiness.

  He had grown to know her well over the months, and he could see that the girl’s thoughts were taking her in the same direction as Henry’s. She blushed and smiled, then shifted slightly on the leather seat. Her arm brushed up against Joel’s sleeve. He felt the color rise in his cheeks.

  He had to do something. Say something. But what? What could he possibly say without hurting the one he had come to care for so much? He worked his dry mouth and tried to formulate some words. Nothing reasonable came to mind.

  Ruthie stirred again. He heard a little sigh escape her lips. She seemed so totally at peace with herself and with their relationship. But maybe she was thinking that the relationship held more promises than Joel was prepared or able to make.

  Again he fought for some way to broach the subject. At last he straightened and turned slightly. “Do they really think we’re courting?”

  The smile on Ruthie’s face was a little embarrassed, but she nodded.

  “Why is that?” The question sounded much too abrupt, he knew as soon as the words were out.

  Her smile wavered, but her eyes did not fall before his. “Because, Joel, we are together much. And we enjoy our times together. This all can see.”

  “Yes, but . . .” Joel could not deny the fact that he spent a good deal of time with the young girl. Nor would he have tried to deny the fact that he enjoyed her company. But to court her? His sigh seemed to come from the bottom of his soul. No. Courting was a privilege of young men with a future. Men with promise. He had nothing to offer Ruthie, not even time.

  “What is it, Joel?”

  “You know that . . . that I can’t . . .”

  The girl’s eyes clouded. “You do not enjoy?” Ruthie asked frankly.

  “You know I do. It’s just . . . you know my circumstances. I’m not well, Ruthie.” He glanced at her with painful appeal. “I don’t even know how long I have.”

  Timidly Ruthie slipped a hand over his. Joel could feel her press close to his side. He dared not look at her again. “I know about your heart that makes you sick,” she said her voice clear, confident. “I know, and I pray.”

  “But, Ruthie—”

  “Wait, Joel. No one knows the time of parting. The hours, or the days, those are God’s to give. We are not to know. Just to live, and thanks to give to Him our Maker. To make good what we have.”

  The words and the feelings began tumbling out. “But they wouldn’t be good, can’t you see that? At any time I could—be gone. I can’t promise you anything, Ruthie. Not even to live long enough to marry. To build a home. To raise children. I wouldn’t do that to you, Ruthie. I wouldn’t do that to anyone. I will not make promises that would only be broken.”

  “Have I asked for promises yet?”

  “No, but—”

  “And I will not do. But we can dream and plan, Joel. Plans can change—without being broken. And if God wills . . .”

  But Joel was shaking his head. The agitation that filled his whole body transferred down the reins he was holding. The horse threw up his head and quickened his gait. Joel had to give quick attention to his driving, but he welcomed the change of pace. Suddenly he wished to have the ride over. To be freed from his difficult position. He straightened and lifted his hands to control the horse that now had broken into a full run. Ruthie’s hand withdrew and joined the other in her lap.

  “I cannot make plans,” Joel declared with a firmness that sounded almost cold. “I have no tomorrows to share. I will not unload this on anyone else.”

  A quick glance showed him the tears in Ruthie’s eyes. Her chin was lifted, her jaw set. “You are a stubborn man, Joel Grimes. Do you not leave room still for love—or miracles?”

  “No,” he said, and immediately realized he was proving her statement to be true. Maybe he was stubborn but he repeated, “No, I don’t expect miracles. And you’d be wise not to be looking for one either.”

  Kyle’s heart soared and plunged a dozen times during her second drive back to Riverdale. What if they did not want to meet her? What if they did not like her at all? Why had they given her up for adoption in the first place? What if the reason was a bad one? Could she survive the news?

  Finally Kenneth stopped on a street very much like others they had traversed and pointed to a house ahead of them. “Up there, the second on the right.”

  Kyle’s breath came in quick little gasps. She looked up at the small home. “You’re sure this is it?”

  “If the address the doctor gave you is right, it is.” He stared through the front windshield. “I don’t see anyone.”

  “No.” She pressed a hand against her rib cage, willing her heart to slow
its frantic pace. She looked up at the house, trying to gather a feeling for who lived there. The narrow yard fell in three grassy steps to the sidewalk. Shrubs colored by late autumn frosts formed a neat border. A picket fence held it all together. “I’m so scared.”

  “I understand.” He reached over for her hand. “Are you sure you’re ready for this?”

  “I think so.” She looked at him. She hesitated, then asked, “Would you . . . would you pray with me? Please?”

  “You don’t know,” he said, still holding her hand, “how often I have dreamed you would say those words to me.”

  She bowed her head and heard him say, “Heavenly Father, we are so grateful for this moment. Grateful that we are sharing it together, and sharing it with you. Be with Kyle, precious Lord, as she steps into this new part of her life. Guide her, shield her, comfort her. In Jesus’ name we pray. Amen.”

  “Amen,” Kyle murmured and raised her head. The first thing she saw when she opened her eyes was a slight, dark-haired woman standing on the house’s front porch. The woman held the door with one hand, as though fearful to let it go and step away. She stared down at the car. Kyle whispered, “Oh, Kenneth.”

  Suddenly her fingers were unable to work the door handle. Kenneth reached across her and pushed it open. “God will go with you, sweetheart.”

  The words gave her strength to stand. At her appearance, the woman on the porch raised one hand to her mouth and started down the steps. Kyle took a tentative step forward.

  The woman made it down the steps, walked hesitantly forward, and finally whispered, “Katherine?”

  Kyle felt her heart twist painfully at the sound of that name. “Mrs. Grimes?”

  “Oh, Katie . . .” The woman ran forward, then halted, her arms halfway raised, tears streaming down her face. She reached one trembling hand out, uncertain, helpless to go farther. Kyle found herself unable to see the woman’s features any longer for the tears in her own eyes. She took another tentative step, and suddenly the two of them were hugging, and the woman was stroking Kyle’s hair and her back and crying over and over, “Katie, oh my little Katherine.”

  And suddenly Kyle was crying, too. Partly because the search was finally over, partly for all the sadness that had brought her to this place, partly because she had never even known that her name had once been Katherine.

  “So this is your young man,” Martha Grimes said for the fifth or sixth time. “How nice. You make such a handsome couple.”

  “Thank you. It’s all very new to us,” Kyle admitted with a flush to her cheeks. She shifted, flustered and shy over her discovery of love. While getting her feelings back under control, she let her glance travel about the room. Everything in it spoke of age and hard use. The covers to the sagging furniture were worn, the coffee table scarred. The bookshelves were almost bare, the television an older model with a huge cabinet supporting a small corner screen.

  “And you brought him for us to meet.” Martha beamed at Kenneth. “I am so happy for you both.”

  “It is an honor to meet you, Mrs. Grimes.”

  “Call me Martha, please. What do you do?”

  “I work in Kyle’s company. Rothmore Insurance.”

  “How nice. It’s wonderful to have things you can share, isn’t it, Harry?”

  “Absolutely,” her husband agreed.

  Kyle looked from one to the other. It was remarkable, how little interest they seemed to have in the Rothmore wealth. Despite their obvious lack, they listened to her speak about her family, her growing-up years, her experience as the daughter of a successful businessman, with interest only because it was her they were happy for. They looked incredibly satisfied with what they had.

  She turned back to the woman seated beside her. Martha had not released her hand since embracing her outside. Not even the room’s dimness could disguise the light that shone from the woman’s face. And from that of her husband. Kyle glanced over at the silent man, saw the same gentle light as she had found in the woman’s gaze. “You both look so happy.”

  For some reason, her words caused Martha and Harry to exchange a long glance. Harry finally replied with, “Yes. We are. Finally.”

  “At long last,” Martha agreed.

  Harry turned to Kyle and explained, “It was all Joel’s doing.”

  “It was God’s doing,” his wife corrected quietly.

  “True, true.” There was another shared glance. “But it was Joel who showed us the way.”

  “You’re believers,” Kenneth said. “This is wonderful.”

  But Kyle’s mind was still back grappling with the previous statement. “I’m sorry,” she stammered. “Who is Joel?”

  The question brought fresh tears to Martha’s eyes. “Oh, my dear, sweet child. You don’t know.”

  “How could she?” Harry murmured.

  “No, of course.” Martha sniffed loudly and tried to collect herself.

  Kyle demanded weakly, “Know what?”

  “You have a brother,” Martha said softly. “His name is Joel.”

  “A brother?” The word rocked Kyle. A brother? She had always longed for a brother. Had begged for a brother, and now she was discovering she had a brother that she did not even know. It was all so overwhelming. “Where is he?” she finally managed.

  “Oh, he’s not here,” hurried Martha. “I know he’d be as excited as we are if he only . . .”

  When Martha’s voice dropped off, Kyle had to take several breaths before she found the strength to whisper, “Doesn’t he know about me?”

  Martha’s head lowered and she fiddled with the hankie in her lap. “No,” she said and there was anguish in her voice. “No . . . we never told him.”

  “But why . . .” Kyle could not finish her question.

  Even so, the words brought a fresh rush of tears from Martha’s eyes. “Losing you was too painful to even talk about.”

  “Even between us,” Harry added quietly. Lines like jagged furrows etched his face as he sadly observed his wife. “All those wasted years,” he murmured.

  “We could not even talk to each other . . . until . . . recently.” Martha wept as she said the words. “And only after Joel brought us face to face with our need. After the doctor . . .” She could not go on. Sobs shook her shoulders.

  Harry crossed to her and put a protective arm about her, comforting her with clumsy yet gentle pats. He looked over at Kyle and said, “It truly is God’s doing, bringing you here now.”

  Kyle could sense that something was wrong, something more than the emotion of all the lost years. There was an underlying current of sadness in the home, even amid the evident feeling of peace and the joy of reunion.

  “Oh, Harry, must we speak about that now?” Martha said, trying to stop the flowing tears.

  “I think so, but if you’d rather . . .”

  Martha hesitated, then dropped her eyes and sighed, “No, no, I suppose she should know it all.”

  Kyle felt a chill. “Know what?”

  “Your brother,” Harry Grimes replied quietly. “He’s not well.”

  “His heart,” Martha said and wiped her face anew. “The doctors—they say there’s nothing they can do.” The last part of her sentence was spoken so softly Kyle wondered if she had heard correctly.

  No. No. Kyle fought against the fact of finding a brother and then losing him in nearly the same breath.

  “Is he in the hospital?” she heard Kenneth ask on her behalf.

  “No, he’s . . .” began Martha.

  “Honey—I think we need to start at the beginning and tell her everything.”

  Kyle sat and heard the full story. The meeting of two young people just as the country was going to war. The marriage and their few short but happy weeks together. The war. The injury and loss of Harry’s ID. The anguish of a young mother, seemingly widowed, giving up the baby she wanted and loved. Harry’s return to an empty cradle and a grieving wife, suffering through the loss of his health and his profession and the daughter h
e never knew. The arrival of Joel, whose presence in the home was unable to heal the deep rift that had driven them apart. Martha’s accident and the gradual breaking down of some of the unseen walls. Joel’s friendship with the Millers. His finding a faith that he shared with his parents when they needed it the most. The doctor’s diagnosis had been cruel, crippling, yet with God’s help they were somehow managing to bear it. Now Kyle—their little Katherine—had been brought back into their life. Surely it was God’s doing.

  Kyle wiped away tears as she listened to the story. Why had it happened? Why the strange circumstances and twists of fate that had ripped them all apart? And brought them together?

  And a brother. A younger brother. As the story wound its way toward her presence here in this room, Kyle found she could hear no more. She simply could not emotionally face anything further. She rose to her feet, shaking her head as if that would help to put things into some kind of focus. “I . . . I need to be going,” she stammered.

  “Oh, must you?” Martha rose with her, holding Kyle’s hand as though not wishing to ever let her go. But there was no conviction behind Martha’s protest. Clearly they all felt overwhelmed by the day’s events.

  Harry’s wounded leg was giving him trouble as he pushed himself erect. “When will we see you again?”

  “Soon,” Kyle promised. She would be back. Just as soon as she could catch her breath and sort things out. But she had to see Joel. Her brother. She had to. “Where will I find Joel?”