Another Homecoming (18 page)

Kyle kept her face utterly impassive. She stilled her hands from betraying any impatience by clasping them in her lap.

“Aren’t you joining me?” Abigail asked.

“No thank you, Mother. There was something you wanted to talk with me about?”

Abigail shot her daughter a glance. “Obligations, young lady. A word you have had as much trouble with as you did the tea service.”

Kyle’s calm features and lack of response only seemed to irritate her mother further. “Obligations,” Abigail repeated sharply. “They come with the territory, the name, the house. You are not a free spirit, young lady. You have responsibilities to uphold.”

The words were so familiar that Kyle did not even bother to respond.

“Life is full of unexpected change. And responsibility. And the fact is, you shall never be able to live up to your responsibilities alone. You need someone to take care of them for you.”

“Mother,” Kyle said quietly, gathering herself for what she had planned to say. “What do you and Randolf plan to do about the trust?”

Her mother sat in silence, staring at her. There was no change to her features that Kyle could see. But inwardly Kyle felt as though a choice had been made, a change begun.

“So,” Abigail said finally. “Randolf was correct.”

“I want to know,” Kyle said quietly.

“Yes, I see that you do.” Her mother’s normal poise seemed exaggerated into a new stiffness. “Kyle, I want you to brace yourself for some very bad news.”

She nodded. Apparently Kenneth’s suspicions were right. It was hard to say why she was not surprised.

Abigail’s features were abnormally stony. “My dear, I am afraid I must inform you that you were adopted.”

“I do not want you to change Daddy’s . . .” Kyle’s voice sank to nothing as her mother’s words hit home. “What?”

“Yes. I did not want ever to tell you, but circumstances are such that now the truth has to come out.” The words were evenly spaced and spoken with a metallic clip, as though Abigail was reading off an unseen script. “The welfare of your heritage, and that of our family, demands that you know.”

Kyle gripped the chair’s arms to stop herself from trembling. “What . . . what do you mean?” She could not control the quaver in her voice.

“I could not have children. Your father wanted a daughter. He—that is, we chose you.” She glanced over, then away. “But never mind that now. The reason I am telling you is that your inheritance has been brought into question. There are apparently some discrepancies with the adoption documents. Fortunately, Randolf has unearthed them in time. He has offered to take care of everything and make sure that none of this ever comes to light.”

Kyle would have risen to her feet, but she could not force her body to move. Tiny tremors shot through her muscles, little electric shocks in time to the ones bombarding her mind.

“Randolf is offering to become your guardian, Kyle. To take care of all your needs. Both in regard to your inheritance and your future.
Our
future. The future and welfare of Rothmore Insurance.”

Feebly Kyle raised a hand, silently begging her mother to stop.

“In return,” Abigail pressed on doggedly, “you will marry Randolf. He is a most capable young man, quite handsome, an enviable catch. Really, Kyle, I don’t see why we should be having this discussion at all. He has courted you quite properly for years. And even though these discrepancies could mean that you would be totally disinherited if brought to a court of law, he still wishes to go through with marriage. You should be grateful.”

At Kyle’s look of sheer panic, Abigail continued. “You are so exasperating, I am honestly at the end of my rope.” She took a deep breath. “You shall marry him, and that is that. Your twentieth birthday is coming up in a month’s time. It will make a perfect occasion to announce your betrothal. Then you shall have a year to complete your schooling. On your twenty-first birthday we shall organize a gala event. You shall be wed on the day you receive your inheritance.”

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.