Homecoming

“It’s been eight years, Hattie.”

“Joe will never agree.”

“Why not ask him?”

Her own emotional concerns aside, she knew how deep Joe’s bitterness ran. He not only blamed himself for not being there when she’d needed him most, but he’d lost his faith in himself and, worse yet, in God.

Hattie clung to her faith now more than ever. Faith filled the hollow places, banished the darkness that might have otherwise taken her down. Faith gave her the strength to forgive, the will to get up and face each new day knowing the Lord was always with her.

But now, Jesse was asking her to do more. He was asking her to take action, to prove forgiveness was not just a word or a thought, but a deed.

She struggled for a way out.

“I’m sure there must be someone else, some other family willing to care for her, Jesse.”

She surveyed the land that had once held so much promise, remembered how thrilled her husband, Orson, had been the day they’d staked their claim. So long ago. So many memories were buried here. Memories and pieces of her tattered heart.

She studied Jesse, amazed he’d ridden all the way out from Glory on a fool’s errand.

“She’ll only be here until we locate her family, Hattie.”

Hattie reached up, smoothed back a strand of hair that had escaped the back of her bonnet and trailed down her neck. She let her imagination run loose, tried to picture a young woman sleeping in the empty room upstairs, the room that hadn’t been used since Melody died.

She had no doubt this was God’s hand working through Jesse. In the beginning she’d struggled to forgive the harm done to her, the injuries inflicted upon her, the taking of her loved ones. Eventually, she’d succeeded, or so she thought. Setting aside the past was the Christian thing to do.

Nine years ago she would not have hesitated to say yes if asked to help, nor would Orson. They would have opened their door and arms to anyone in need. But Orson was gone and so was little Melody, and now Hattie didn’t know if she had the courage to say yes. She was scarred inside and out. She wasn’t the woman she’d been then.

Besides, even if she agreed, Joe would never stand for it.

Oh, how she wished Orson was here. But then, if Orson was still alive, things would be different. Joe might be different.

But he’d been a rebellious youth before Orson and Mellie were killed and now he was a bitter young man.

“Is she…dangerous?” Hattie met Jesse’s gaze, hoping to measure the truth of his answer.

“She hasn’t shown any violence. Hasn’t tried to escape. She may not even be right in the head anymore, but she looks to be sane. Only God knows what those savages did to her.”

“How old is she?”

“Hard to tell. Maybe eighteen. Maybe younger. Maybe a year or two older. No way to know how long she’s been a captive, either. She doesn’t speak English anymore. That’s how long.”

“I just don’t know what to tell you, Jesse.”

Her Melody would have been sixteen in August; Mellie with her cherub’s curls and bright green eyes. Mellie was the light of all their lives before the Lord saw fit to take her. Both Melody and Orson at once.

Only by her faith in the goodness and workings of the Lord had Hattie made it through her darkest days, her bleakest hours. She slowly convinced herself that her work here was not finished or He’d surely have taken her, too, and spared her the pain.

The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away.

Was this opportunity His way of giving her back something she’d lost? Was this challenge another test of her faith?

Even if she agreed to take the girl in, Joe would still have to consent. But she doubted he’d ever shelter a former Comanche captive, someone who’d been with the Indians for so long she no longer spoke English, someone who had taken on their savage ways.

Try as she might, Hattie could not stop thinking of the damaged young woman in need of a place to recover from unspeakable hardships. A young woman who needed her —

Only another survivor could understand.

Hattie noticed her hands were shaking as she lifted the China chocolate pot covered in dainty yellow roses. It seemed a century ago that she’d carefully wrapped it in yards of calico along with the rest of her mother’s dishes before moving them across the country.

“More coffee, Jesse?” In his eyes she saw glimpses of the same bleakness that was ever present in Joe’s nowadays. Both men had witnessed too much bloodshed and far more violence than they deserved. But Jesse Dye was a good ten years older than Joe. And Jesse had chosen his lot in life. He’d been a soldier since the first Confederate regiment was formed in Texas.

It wasn’t right that Joe, at twenty-five, was already burdened with guilt over a past he couldn’t change.

Unlike her, Joe had lost his faith in everything good and true and right. He’d completely given up on God the night his father and sister had been murdered by Comanche raiders, the night he found her, his mother, ravaged and left for dead.

Since then, his guilt and the hardships of life on the Texas plains had beaten the joy out of him, made him too soon a man.

Jesse declined her offer of more chocolate and, a moment later, Hattie nearly jumped out of her skin when she suddenly heard Joe’s footsteps behind her.

She turned as her son came walking across the porch, rolling down his shirtsleeves as his long-legged stride brought him to the table. The collar of the brown-and-white-striped shirt she’d made him was damp. So, too, was his dark curly hair. It was his habit to wash up in the barn before coming into the house.

Their brown hound, Worthless, trailed along in Joe’s wake. The dog sniffed at Jesse’s boots and then stretched out on the ground near her feet.

Joe’s glance shot between her and Jesse. His mouth hardened into a taut line. Visitors were a rarity, even former old friends.

“Hey, Jesse,” he said. His expression remained guarded as he turned to Hattie. “What’s going on? Why are you here?”

“Jesse’s an old friend, Joe. He has every right to drop by.”

“We haven’t seen you in what? Eight months? A year maybe?”

Hattie was grateful that Jesse ignored the insult.

“Yesterday we had a skirmish with a renegade band of Comanche. We rescued a handful of white captives. There’s a young woman among them who looks to be in better shape than the rest, but like most of them, she’s still unidentified. I’ve come to ask if you folks will take her in—just until her family’s located.”

Hattie watched her son’s expression darken. Without comment, he reached for the chocolate pot and filled an empty cup before he sat down at the end of the table opposite her.

“You actually expect us to take her in?” Joe’s anger was barely controlled. “Are you out of your mind?”

Jesse ignored Joe’s intent stare. “You’ve certainly got the room. Your ma could use some help around the house, I reckon.”

“Help?” Joe didn’t try to hide his disgust. “You think somebody who’s gone Comanch’ is really gonna be of help to my mother? Are you forgetting what she’s been through on account of the Comanche? You forget what she’s suffered?” Joe paused, stared at Jesse as he added, “We haven’t.”

“Please, Joe,” Hattie whispered. His undisguised bitterness and anger worried her more than the thought of inviting the Comanche captive into her home.

Joe leaned forward, rested his forearm on the table. “How long has she been a captive?”

Jesse shrugged. “No idea.”