The Homecoming (14 page)

“Sorry for your loss, sir. I’m Shawn Collins. I lost a lot of good men and good friends.”

“Wished you were Jimmy’s pilot. Might’ve made it back home.”

“You’re very kind . . . truth is, I have no idea how we got out of the scrape we were in.”

“Lord had a reason, always does. I believe that . . . most days, anyway. Well, an honor to meet you.”

“You too.”

In a few moments, Shawn stood before the office door. He took a deep breath and knocked. He tried to blot out the unsettling thoughts stirred by what Mr. Rigley had said, about God having a reason for everything, and about the pathetic answer he’d given, as if he had no idea how he’d survived the battle. Not long ago, he would have been telling anyone who’d listen that God’s mercy and providence had made the difference.

His heart was hardening. He could almost feel it. And he hated the feeling.

The door suddenly opened. “Hi,” a smiling middle-aged man said. “You must be Shawn Collins.” He looked at Shawn’s lapel. “Major Shawn Collins.” He held out his hand.

“Thanks for taking time to see me, Pastor.”

“Come in, come in. No need to thank me. Any friend of Jonathan Barnes is a friend of mine.”

Shawn walked in to a cozy reception area. There was no one seated at the desk. “So you talked with Pastor Barnes?”

“Just briefly,” said Pastor Harman as he walked past the desk toward an open door just beyond. Shawn followed. “About two weeks ago. He said you might be calling.”

Pastor Harman sat at his desk, which made Shawn a little nervous. He didn’t want a long conversation. The room was fairly small, crowded with bookshelves loaded with books. Not arrayed in some neat order, like a man looking to impress, but like a man who simply loved books and couldn’t part with a single one. Shawn stood just inside the doorway. “Do you have time to sit down a minute?” the pastor asked.

“Uh, not really, sir. I’m leaving for Boston tomorrow. I got a lot of things to check off my list today.”

“I understand. Mind if I do? These middle-aged bones are always looking for a chance to sit.”

Shawn smiled. “Not at all.”

Pastor Harman had a pleasant face, and he looked right at Shawn as he talked. But his eyes were gentle, instantly putting Shawn at ease. His auburn hair still covered most of his head, surrendering at the borders to a creeping invasion of gray. Shawn thought the wrinkles around his cheeks and eyes looked like they’d been formed by years of smiling.

“Major, I am so sorry for your loss. I can’t begin to imagine the pain of it.” He looked to a picture frame at the edge of his desk. “Mary and I have been married for thirty-five years. I’d be lost without her.”

“Thank you, Pastor.” Shawn felt sincere empathy from the man. “That’s partly why I’m here. I wished I could have attended your church the last two weeks left on my leave, but it has been crazy for me, trying to get everything done . . . all the distractions.”

“Well, you are quite a celebrity in this town. People are looking for something positive to cling to in times like these. It’s one thing to read about the war in the paper or watch the newsreels, quite another to meet someone like you face-to-face.”

“I’m trying to get used to it. It looks like it’s going to be my life for the next four months. Anyway, I’ve hired a nanny to take care of my son while I’m away. Her name is Katherine Townsend. My son’s name is Patrick. He’s seven.”

“Well, we’ll do our best to make them feel right at home. Our church isn’t very large, just about two hundred. But they are a caring bunch, doing their best to stay centered on the gospel. We have quite a few moms with husbands fighting overseas, even a few widows. I’ll speak to two or three I have in mind about Miss Townsend and Patrick. Is there anything I can do for you?”

“Thanks, but I don’t think so.”

“Well, if you can think of anything, or while you’re away, if Miss Townsend makes you aware of anything we can do to help her or Patrick, please call and let me know.”

“Thank you, that’s very kind.” Shawn reached out to shake the pastor’s hand before the conversation went any deeper.

The pastor stood up and followed Shawn to the door. As Shawn reached for the knob, the pastor asked, “Can I pray for you?”

“Sure,” Shawn said.

He laid his hand gently on Shawn’s shoulder. “Lord, I thank you for Shawn, for all you’ve done to bring him home safely to his son. I can’t begin to fathom your wisdom or your reasons for taking his wife, Elizabeth, home so suddenly. Thank you that he has at least the assurance of her salvation to comfort him, and the knowledge they will one day meet again. Please, Lord, sustain him by your grace for the challenges he will face over these next four months. Protect him and keep him and give him your peace as he entrusts his son to the care of others. In Jesus’s name, amen.”

Shawn exhaled and said amen. As the pastor lifted his hand off Shawn’s shoulder, the warmth remained. His words, at least for those few moments, imparted something that used to be familiar to Shawn—rest in his soul.

“Thank you, Pastor,” he said. They exchanged good-byes, and Shawn quickly walked away. The wind had picked up; the sky was a little grayer. At the intersection he looked up at the bell tower pointing toward the sky, then down the tree-lined road in the direction of his father’s house.

For a moment, it seemed unfamiliar, like a road leading nowhere.

Twenty

The cab carrying Katherine and all her worldly goods pulled up to the curb just outside Mrs. Fortini’s home. She’d driven out to this neighborhood maybe a dozen times before, but now—and for at least the next four months—it would be home. She could barely contain her joy.

“This it, ma’am?” the cabbie asked.

“Yes, it’s perfect.”

“What?”

“I mean, yes . . . this is it.” She stepped out and twirled slowly around. She’d never lived in the suburbs before. The cab driver got out and walked past her. He pulled her two suitcases and a cardboard box out of the trunk. “I’ll get the box,” she said.

He followed her down Mrs. Fortini’s driveway and up the porch steps. Mrs. Fortini burst through the front door. “You’re here, Katherine. I’m so glad.” She held the door open. “Come right in. I’m all ready for you.” She looked at the luggage being carried in. “Is there any more?”

“This is it,” the cabbie said.

He set the bags just inside the living room, walked out to the porch, turned around, and stared back. There was this “C’mon, lady” look. Katherine walked out and paid him. Now she had only fourteen dollars left in her purse. And nothing left in the bank. No car, no furniture. Just two mismatched suitcases full of clothes and some odd items taped up in a box.

She had never been so happy.

She walked back into the living room and closed the door. The sofa with the doilies, the photographs in the frames, the knickknacks on the shelves, the smiling Italian mother. It was like a dream.

“Got your old room ready,” Mrs. Fortini said. “Remember where it is?”

Katherine looked up the stairs and nodded.

“That was some night,” Mrs. Fortini said.

“I was so afraid we’d lost him,” said Katherine, remembering the ordeal that happened just before Christmas. “But you weren’t. You knew we’d find Patrick.”

“God let me know somehow.”

Katherine was glad to be here under much nicer circumstances. “I’m going to bring my stuff upstairs and get situated, if that’s okay.”

“Let me help you,” Mrs. Fortini said.

“No, I had to carry all this down three floors. I’m sure I can manage carrying it back up one.”

“Then I’ll make us some coffee. Would you like that?”

“Very much.”

“Take your time. If you’re not done, I’ll bring it up.”

Katherine climbed the first few steps. “Mrs. Fortini?”

“Yes, child?”

Even that, so sweet. “I just want to thank you again for opening your home to me.”

“Think little of it, dear. I’ve been looking forward to this since the moment Shawn mentioned the idea. After coffee, I’ll show you where everything is in the kitchen.”

A few minutes later, Katherine had all three pieces up the stairs and in her room. Mrs. Fortini had the closet empty and full of hangers. The dresser drawers were all empty too. Plenty of room. She might have enough money in a month or so to replace some of these neatly folded rags she was unloading. Major Collins had insisted she be paid the same salary she got at Child Services, then included Mrs. Fortini’s room and board. The money she used to pay for rent and food was now . . .
extra
. What must that be like, she thought, to have
extra
money at the end of a month?

She finished unpacking and slid the empty suitcases under the bed. The cardboard box could wait until after coffee. She looked at her watch, the main reason she was down to fourteen dollars. She’d bought it at Wanamaker’s, the first thing she’d ever bought there. It was almost 2:30. Patrick would be getting out of school in thirty minutes. She wasn’t responsible for Patrick yet, but all day she kept checking her watch, memorizing the schedule Major Collins wrote up for her. The watch wasn’t fancy, but it was nice, the nicest thing she’d ever owned. After buying it, she’d walked it right up to the Crystal Tea Room and stared at it over a cup of tea.

At the head of the stairs, the smell of fresh coffee greeted her just a moment before Mrs. Fortini’s voice. “It’s ready, Katherine. Shall I bring it up?”

“I’m coming right down. It smells wonderful.”

“You like cream and sugar?”

“You have cream and sugar? Real cream and sugar?”

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Mrs. Fortini said as she walked back to the kitchen.

Katherine walked down the steps. She noticed the floral wallpaper, how perfectly the patterns connected, even at the seams. She rounded the stairway and followed the aroma back to the kitchen. Mrs. Fortini poured the coffee into two matching china cups. “It’s so beautiful,” she said as she sat down.

“My Anthony bought them for me on our fortieth anniversary. People say you should use your china for special occasions. This is a special occasion.” She sat in the little chair, just one of two in the kitchen.

“It’s very special for me.” Katherine sipped her coffee, careful not to drip it on the linen tablecloth as she set the cup in the saucer. She looked over Mrs. Fortini’s shoulder at the corner section of white metal cabinets, with little ivy stencils stuck on the center of each door. Beside them a General Electric icebox and Magic Chef gas range. They almost matched, and neither had any rust. What kind of appliances did Mr. Collins have? She didn’t remember. That’s where she’d be cooking for him and Patrick next door. “I’m a little nervous,” she said.

“I can see why. There’s a lot to be nervous about.”

That’s not what Katherine wanted to hear.

“I’m only kidding you, dear.”

“I thought you were serious.”

“My, you
are
nervous.”

“I’ve just never been a nanny. I’ve never taken care of a home. I’ve never cooked for others. Major Collins made out three pages of instructions for me, but there’s nothing on the list about running a home. I said yes so quick, I never thought through all the home things I’d have to do. I’m not ready.”

Mrs. Fortini reached over and patted her wrist. “You’ll do fine, Katherine.”

“I don’t even know where to begin.”

“Katherine, guess what I’ve been doing for the last forty-five years? Taking care of a home, cooking for others, all kinds of home things. I was hoping you’d let me help you.”

“But I don’t know anything.”

“Then we’ll take it nice and slow, one day at a time. Anthony and I never had any girls. I thought . . . who will I pass on my family recipes to? Then God sent me you.”

“I can’t imagine ever making a dinner Mr. Collins will approve of.”

“Katherine, Mr. Collins loves my cooking.”

“How do you know?”

“A woman knows. He shuts up the whole dinner. He cleans the plate. He asks for more. Where’s the mystery? You’ll never hear him say it, but you get those three things in the same meal . . . he loved it.”

Katherine laughed out loud.

“We’ll do fine, you’ll do fine. Patrick will love it—everything you do—and he will tell you. So do it for Patrick.”

Do it for Patrick, Katherine thought. That she could do.

Shawn folded the dish towel over the towel bar to dry. He was exhausted, but before dinner he had managed to check every errand off his list. Tomorrow he wanted to spend every remaining moment with Patrick before boarding the train. Patrick’s teacher had agreed to give him the day off from school. Shawn walked into the dining room then turned back for a final inspection. His mother would have been proud. After dinner he told his father to rest in his chair with the paper. When Shawn came home from his errands, his father had looked winded and weary. Far as Shawn could tell, he hadn’t done a thing all day.

Shawn walked past him on his way to the stairs. His father’s chin was planted firmly on his chest, which moved up and down as he breathed, deep in sleep. The paper had fallen to the floor. Fortunately, the cigar had burned itself out in the ashtray. Better put the first one to bed, he thought, then come back for him.

Patrick was already upstairs, taking his bath, putting on his pajamas. He could do the whole routine now on his own. Shawn was sad it was already his bedtime on the last full day they’d spend together in months. Maybe he could prolong things a bit by reading him a book. He tiptoed up the stairs, careful to sidestep the squeaky spots. As he cleared the landing, he looked to the left, but Patrick was already finished in the bathroom. He turned the bathroom light out and walked toward Patrick’s room straight ahead. The door was closed but not latched.

As he neared the door, he heard Patrick crying, muffled as if trying to hide. His first thought was to rush in, but then he heard Patrick’s voice, speaking through tears. He pressed his ear to the edge of the doorway and listened.

“God, why is Daddy leaving tomorrow?” More muffled sobs. “I’m trying to be strong, so Daddy won’t be sad, but I can’t do it anymore.” It sounded like he’d buried his face in the pillow. Shawn could bear it no longer.