Chapter 2
The sun rose slowly, illuminating the prairie in soft pinks and yellows, and Callan quickened his pace. He wanted to be there before things got busy. He could see the house in the distance, the white walls blending into the haze of the early morning light. God, it had been a long time, he thought. Twelve years was a long time. He hoped he wasn't too late.
He was surprised at the stab of loneliness that went through him at the sight of his home. He hadn't missed it for a long time. But now—now that he was coming home again, the memories flooded through his heart, and he was startled to find his eyes misting over. The chickens scattered as he rode silently up the lane, disappearing into the wheat fields on either side. The scent of roses wafted to him on the breeze, and the delicate morning glories greeted him from tangled vines upon an old split rail fence. Some things never change. And others changed a lot.
She was sweeping the porch, her long chestnut tresses tied loosely behind her, a bandana around her hair. She was older, but still a striking woman, rawboned yet beautiful. She propped the broom against the wall and brushed a strand of hair out of her eyes. She heard his approach and shaded her eyes against the sun with her hand. She hadn't really believed he'd come, but she should have known, he'd told her he would. Their eyes met, and the look exchanged froze them both in their tracks. She spoke first. "Hello, Troy."
"Amelia."
"You're here just in time; I don't expect she'll be here much longer." It was only now that he swung off his horse. He had wanted to hear those words; otherwise he'd have ridden on. "Tom!" She called behind her through an open window, "come here please!"
"You look good, Amelia."
"You're a terrible liar, Troy."
He had meant it, but she did look tired, and he could tell the years had been spent in hard work. The door opened and a boy of about 10 emerged. He had dark brown hair-almost black, and a smattering of freckles along the bridge of his nose.
"Tom, this is your uncle, Troy."
"Pleased to meet you, sir."
Troy was moved at the sight of him. This could have easily been his boy. "Good to meet you, too, son."
"Thomas, go water your uncle's horse and fetch it some grain. Looks like he's been rode hard."
"Yes, ma." Thomas was reluctant to leave, but he obeyed his mother's command.
"He's a fine boy, Amelia. Looks like Jeff."
"He looks like you." She said bluntly. "Come in and have a cup of coffee before you go up to see your ma."
He followed her inside. The smell of frying bacon and freshly brewed coffee hit him and he was startled by a faint rumble in his stomach. Amelia laughed softly as she filled a delicate china cup with the hot black liquid. His mother's china; a wedding gift. It was supposed to have been their wedding. He took the cup and sipped it, clearing his thoughts. He sat at the chair she pulled out for him, resting his hat on the blue and white checkered table cloth. She kept a neat house. The hard wood floors were swept and polished, and a mason jar filled with daisies sat in the window sill and in the center of the table. The last ten years vanished as the familiar sounds and smells and the sight of everything in its place stirred his memories. "Where's Jeff?"
"He went out to check the fence line around the south water hole. He should be back anytime. He's missed you, Troy. He tells Tom stories about you all the time. Your ma, she's missed you too. I'm glad you came back."
Had she missed him? "I promised myself I'd see ma again. Tom, he looks like a fine boy, I'm glad I've come home, too." He paused. "Twelve years is a long time to be away."
"Yes." She avoided his gaze as she pulled the biscuits out of the oven with a towel and placed them on the table next to a freshly obtained pail of frothy white milk. She took an oak tray and placed a plate of food and a glass of milk and coffee on it. "Why don't you take your ma her breakfast? Jeff should be back directly, but she's been waiting to see you, Troy." He took the tray from her, and slowly climbed the stairs.
He knocked softly at the door, it opened slightly at his touch and he went on in. She didn't turn her face to see him right away. He studied her in that brief moment: his mother, her face aged and her hair white as snow. She was still a small woman, and her eyes looked the same, blue and clear, and the smile that lit them when her gaze met his brought true tears to his eyes.
"Troy? Troy, is that you, son?" She raised a bit, her arms outstretched, beckoning him to her. Setting the tray on the table next to her bed, he embraced her tightly, lifting her almost out of the bed. She motioned to him and he propped her into an almost sitting position with her pillows, and took her hand. "So, you've finally come to see your old ma before she dies." The words were spoken without reproach.
"Ma, you're not that bad off. You look like a spring chicken yet."
"Don't know why you bother lying. You never was good at it. But it does me good to see you." Her wrinkled skin was sallow and her breathing raspy in her chest. She had the look of a child about her, in an oversized cotton gown in the middle of that enormous feather bed. She looked old. She looked terrible. But at that moment, she was the most beautiful sight he'd ever seen, his mother.
It was some time later when Troy finally emerged from the little bedroom. She had gotten too weak to talk anymore, and he had suggested she rest some before their next one. He assured her he'd be staying on for a few days, and that they'd have time. She hadn't questioned him about his livelihood. She knew of course, he knew that somehow she knew. He'd never been able to hide anything from her, ever. She hadn't asked him about the woman in his life, or the lack there of. She knew that too. There hadn't been anyone permanent. Not since the day he'd rode in after a two year absence and found his girl married to his brother. He'd rode back out that evening. There'd been girls, of course. In saloons. In boarding houses. But not in his heart. He hadn't met her yet, the woman who could truly stand by her man, the woman who could wait and trust and love completely. He didn't even know if she existed, this woman. He was waiting for her, but in the meantime, he had fun with the others. But no ties. No ties, not ever again. He would stay a few days because he'd promised.
She died that afternoon. She'd always had a way of making things easier on him.
He and Jeff dug the grave together. He was glad to see his brother again. He'd never blamed Jeff; it was Amelia who had betrayed him. And it was in partial respect to Jeff that he'd rode out that night so long ago, he did not like scenes.
It wasn't until after the funeral that he learned of his brothers troubles. "What do you mean, we're losing the farm?" Troy was incredulous. Everything seemed so prosperous; the crops looked good, even for this early in the season.
"Big man in town. He's buying up all the land around here. Anyhow, we had some bad crops last few years. I'm in debt, Troy. It's shameful. I owe this man a lot of money, and the payments are late. This year's gonna be good, I know, but he won't wait that long. He's pressuring the bank to foreclose now. I could make a small payment now, but he wants it all."
"How long do you have?"
"A week. There's no way in heaven I could get that kind of money in that time. I always wanted Tom to have it- to pass it down the way pa wanted. I'm glad ma went now. She didn't know, it would have hurt her something awful."
"How much do you need, Jeff?"
"Twenty-five hundred. I ain't never even seen half that amount at one time before."
Troy swallowed slowly. His pa had slaved himself to an early grave to make this place work. He'd be damned if any strong-armed city man would have it. "I can wire the money to you tomorrow."
"Where the hell are you gonna get that kind of money?"
"I've got it."
"This is my problem, Troy, not yours. I can't ask you to do that."
"You didn't ask me, I'm volunteering. Besides, you're my brother, your trouble's mine. And you got a wife and a boy to think of. You ain't losing the place; you'll have the money tomorrow. Maybe someday I'll be back and we'll work it together."
"Is that a promise?"
"If I don't get myself killed. 'Course, I ain't cut out for farming. Staying in one place very long don't agree with me. But if I live long enough, I'll need somewhere to spend my old age."
He rode out after dark. He hadn't much time to find Aiken, and buy a one way ticket to Dodge City, Kansas.
