Wings of a Dream (20 page)

He spied me and straightened, holding out the milk pail as his cheeks brightened.

“Would you care to breakfast with us?” I didn’t figure it mattered much anymore whether we had a chaperone or not.

“I’d be glad to.”

I held open the screen door. All three tromped inside. For the first time in a long while, breakfast seemed like the beginning of a good day.

I
n spite of our dwindling supplies, I invited the ten Lathams and Sheriff Jeffries to spend Thanksgiving with us. I wanted a festive atmosphere, with company around the table. Like the day we’d heard news of the armistice. I relished the work, the exhaustion. It gave me less time to think.

On the Wednesday before our feast, I rolled piecrusts and peeled and cooked the pumpkins. Even though the air outside hinted of winter, the kitchen burned like summertime.

“I need more wood for the stove,” I called out the door while I wiped my arm across my forehead. “And would someone open the window for me, too?”

James staggered through the kitchen door and opened his arms. Chunks of wood crashed to the floor.

Squeezing my eyes shut, I determined not to scold him for the racket. “Thank you.”

Dan came up behind, a piece of wood in each hand. He tossed them on top of James’s pile. “Some ’uns coming.”

I threw the wood in the stove before glancing out the window. Far off down the road walked a slender man, a suitcase swinging in his hand. It couldn’t be Frank. Not yet. But if not Frank, then, who? Fear and excitement, anger and relief jumbled together like berries in a cobbler until I couldn’t separate one from the other. Had Arthur changed his mind? Come to apologize in person? Did I want him to?

“Ollie, watch the pies.” I ran outside and stepped into the road, my heart fluttering and my stomach in knots.

The man waved an arm above his head. “Little sister!”

All my anxiety melted into astonishment. “Will!” I raced down the road and threw my arms around my big brother’s neck.

“Ho, there.” He stumbled backward. “Don’t cry.”

“It’s you. It’s really you.” My tears wet his neck as his hand rubbed a circle on my back. When I finally pulled away to study his face, he appeared much older than when he’d left for France more than a year ago. Wrinkles framed his eyes, and pain glowed from their depths. War had changed him.

My hand crept to my throat. Why had my brother shown up unannounced? “Is it Mama?” I whispered. “Is she—?”

Will chuckled a little and shook his head, looking more like the big brother I remembered.

“You always could make things seem worse than they were, Rebekah. No, you silly goose. Mama’s fine.” He lifted one shoulder, as if in resignation. “She’s not in danger, at least. But she wasn’t up for big doings, either. So I decided to come celebrate Thanksgiving with you.”

My arms dropped to my side. Will had been the stable one, like the thick oak that spread its arms over our house in Downington. He knew his duty and always did it. If he hadn’t stayed home for Thanksgiving, something was definitely wrong.

“When did you get home? And why didn’t anyone tell me?” I hooked my arm around my brother’s. It felt small and frail, as if my touch might break it. My stomach soured.

“I was already on my way home when the armistice was announced.”

I stopped, forcing him to stop, too. “Why, Will?”

He stared off into the distance, his eyes narrowing as if he could see all the way to France. “I’m dying, Rebekah. They let me come home to die.”

I couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. Was my heart still beating? Breath and motion returned with a wave of nausea, but before I could ask more questions, Will’s mouth lifted in a sad smile.

“I hear you’ve become a mother, in a manner of speaking. You’d better introduce me.” Taking hold of my arm, he propelled me forward, my feet somehow obeying.

An eerie silence stole over the yard, the house. It seemed fitting, given Will’s news, so it took me a moment to realize it wasn’t normal. Not for this house. Things were rarely silent, even in the middle of the night.

“Ollie? James? Dan?”

No answer.

“Have you lost them already?” Will’s playful grin settled me some.

“I haven’t lost them,” I sassed back. “At least I don’t think I have.” I went to the cistern first, always afraid one of the boys would fall in while “just looking.” But the lid remained firmly in place and the little stool didn’t stand near the edge. Hands on my hips, I called again.

This time a giggle drifted up from somewhere nearby. I stepped off the porch, got down on my knees, and peered into the crawl space beneath the porch.

Eight eyes twinkled back at me.

“If you don’t get out from under there, that old possum’s gonna come and eat you up.”

Squeals of delighted fear accompanied their scramble from their hiding place. They were filthy, of course. I opened my mouth to scold them, but the scent of something burning stung my nose. I sniffed the air again.

“My pies!” I flew into the kitchen and opened the oven. Black smoke poured into the house. I waved it away, coughing, as I covered one hand with a dish towel and pulled the first pie from the oven. Instead of golden brown, the crust looked like dried mud. I dumped it in the wash bucket and pulled the second pie from the oven. Even worse than the first.

“I hope you don’t expect me to eat that.” Will pointed at my pies, lifted Dan off his shoulders, and sank into a chair. His breath heaved out in gasps. Beads of sweat clung to his temples.

I carted in water to souse the pies. The coffee needed warming, too. That would keep my hands busy and my back turned long enough to compose myself from the frustration of burning pies and the shock of Will’s news. I couldn’t bring myself to ask what he was dying of. Not yet. I only knew it couldn’t be contagious or he wouldn’t have come.

The coffee boiled. I pulled it from the heat and poured a cup for Will. The children soon tired of the newness of the visitor and left to chase the last bit of sunshine. All except Janie. She sat in Will’s lap, gazing up at him in wonder. I think she thought Will was her daddy—some vague baby intuition none of us could quite comprehend.

Will didn’t seem to mind. He held her, stroked her hair, planted little kisses on her nose.

The daughter he’d never have. My shoulders sagged at the thought, but I forced them to straighten again. I had to start new pies. Besides, it helped to have something to do, something to think about. And while I worked, Will talked. About home. About his friends. About everything but himself. Or the war.

“Are you fighting off beaus with a stick?” Will asked, bouncing Janie on his knee.

I winced as his words unknowingly probed my wound. “No.”

“That’s not what I hear.”

My head whipped around. “What kind of ‘beaus’ do you think I have? I’m here with these children all the day long.”

“And a fine mess you’re making of it, too.” His eyes twinkled and teased.

I wanted to hit him over the head with my rolling pin.

“So, you’re getting married soon? Do tell.”

I slammed the rolling pin on the pie dough. “Did Mama tell you that?”

“Yes. She seemed to think it a sure thing. Some junior ace from around here, or something. Of course, she hasn’t given up on ‘dear Mr. Graves,’ either.”

“I’m not marrying either one of them.” I marched the cooled, soggy pies to the door and tossed them into the slop barrel before rolling the new piecrusts into the still-warm pie plates. I prayed I had enough pumpkin left in the pot to fill two more pies. If not, I guessed I could whip up chess pie instead.

“Oh. You have other plans, then?” He sipped his coffee, set it down, and pushed it away from Janie’s reach.

I scraped the remaining pumpkin into the piecrusts. “Yes, I have plans. Mama doesn’t know everything.”

He looked as if he didn’t believe that any more than I did.

Brother Latham gave a prayer of thanksgiving before dishes clanked, voices chattered, and food disappeared much more quickly than it had been prepared. Will ate well and joined in the conversation. But I didn’t. I couldn’t seem to get my mind off the facts that my brother was dying and all my other plans had vanished like ashes in a strong wind.

The men and children drifted outside once they’d eaten their fill. Irene instructed her older girls to wash dishes. She and I dried and sorted them.

“Want to tell me what’s happened?” Irene’s eyes brimmed with sympathy, no trace of aggravation. She handed me a platter, clean and dry.

I stared at the dish as if I had no idea what to do with it. Then I breathed the kitchen air, tainted with the scent of stale food and soap. “My brother’s dying.”

Irene took the plate from my hands, gently prying loose my fingers. Her head shook as she set it aside. “I’m so sorry, honey.” She put her arm around my waist and led me to the door. “You go on and visit with your brother. We’ll finish up here.” Her voice was as gentle as a mama with her newborn babe.

I obeyed, wandering first into the backyard and then around toward the front of the house. Brother Latham had pulled a chair onto the porch. Will and Sheriff Jeffries sat in the rocking chairs while the gaggle of children frolicked on the lawn. Will looked tired, yet one corner of his mouth lifted as he watched the children laugh and play.

I settled myself on the porch step in front of the men, hands clasped around my knees, eyes fixed on the children, ears strained to catch the low concert of voices behind me.

“I just hope it’s what they say. A war to end all wars.” Will’s raspy voice. “I wouldn’t want any of those little guys to have to go through what we did.”

Silence followed. Then Brother Latham rumbled indistinct words.

A rocker creaked in its motion. Will coughed, deep and long and rattling in his chest, like Aunt Adabelle. A shiver traveled down my back as he composed himself.

“Not sure which was worse—watching those poor souls suffocate in an instant, or having to waste away by inches, like me. Those gases did their damage in so many different ways.”

Poison gases. I’d read of them in the newspapers. Were the gases responsible for Will’s demise? I turned slightly, hoping Will’s words wouldn’t stop. Instead, he seemed to speak more clearly, as if he wanted me to know without having to tell me directly.

“Maybe I didn’t get my mask on in time. Maybe some of those gases lingered in the air after I thought it safe to unmask. Either way, they got into my lungs. And when they don’t kill you right away, they cause other things that kill you. Like cancer.”

My throat tightened. Cancer ate away at a person, sometimes for months, sometimes for years. I wondered which it would be for my brother.

“I figure if I’ve got to meet my Maker soon, I might as well go out living instead of lying around waiting to die.”

Maybe he’d come to the right place. These kids teemed with life and energy.

“I don’t suppose you’ve given any thought to taking my sister away from all this?” Will’s teasing voice caused my head to whip in his direction, just as his gaze settled on the sheriff.

“Well . . .” Sheriff Jeffries drawled.

I tossed them both a grin as sweet as white sugar. “I’ll thank you very much to leave my life be, big brother.”

Laughter thundered from deep within Brother Latham’s chest. Sheriff Jeffries stared at his hat in his hands. Will’s mouth curled into a smile, hilarity bubbling out of lungs damaged by warfare, infected with disease. He looked young again. Full of life.

And my heart cried.