by Linda Ford
“I told Caleb there was plenty of room for you both in this house.” Mother Hughes sighed heavily. “But he insisted on fixing up that old shack. It wasn’t meant to be anything but temporary quarters for harvest help. But Caleb always seems to be glad of a chance to be on his own. Just like when he signed up for the war when he didn’t have to.”
Caleb’s hand tightened on Lizzie’s. She felt her eyes grow wide.
“Now, Mother,” Father Hughes said, his voice gentle but slightly chiding. “I’m sure Caleb didn’t sign up just to gain independence.”
“Not many men went to war because they wanted to.” Lizzie couldn’t remain quiet when Caleb had been criticized. “They went to defend our freedom. Thank God that Caleb returned. And thank you for making me welcome and for inviting me to share your house, but I’m sure you’ll understand how much I’ve ached to take care of Caleb. I’m anticipating being able to make his meals”—she laughed low in her throat—“though I don’t claim to have any culinary skills. With rationing so tight, Mother said she couldn’t afford to let us practice.” Caleb’s hand relaxed, giving her confidence to continue. “But my sisters and I managed to learn the basics.” A lump swelled in her throat as she thought of her sisters and parents. Suddenly she missed them more than she could imagine, and she bowed her head, holding back tears.
Caleb squeezed her hand. “It will be hard for Lizzie to be so far from her family.”
“Lizzie? What a frivolous derivative of a beautiful biblical name.”
“Frivolous?” Lizzie chuckled. “Not me. I’m the sober one of the bunch. I leave the frivolity to my sisters, Patricia and Victoria.”
Caleb’s deep chuckle rang in her ear. “Lizzie’s sisters are probably responsible for my falling in love with her. When I saw how good-spirited she was with their shenanigans, I couldn’t help but feel she was a special girl.”
“You’ll find things different here.” Mother Hughes nodded briskly without a hint of a smile.
Her words carried an ominous warning, but Lizzie decided to remain light-hearted. “I’m sure I shall. But with your help I’m certain I’ll learn and adjust.”
“We’ll help all we can, my dear,” Father Hughes said, giving his wife a warning look.
They left a few minutes later, carrying a pot of stew and a slab of meat.
“Mother tends to be sharp at times,” Caleb said as they returned to their own little house.
“Not to worry. I didn’t take offense. Mother taught us life is too short to look for offense when none is meant.”
“I remember her saying that more than once.”
“Can you help me hang pictures?”
“I could spare a little time.”
She hurried to the trunk. “I want to hang this ‘Home, Sweet Home’ sampler beside the door.”
“I’ll get a hammer and nails.” He went outside, returning before she had chosen a place for the series of paintings Vicky had done. He hung the sampler, then turned to her for more instruction.
“Frames took too much room, but I don’t know how to hang these without them.”
“I could make some simple ones if you like.”
“That’d be wonderful. But first look at these.” She handed him some photos, pressing close as he studied them.
The first was a picture of her, her sisters, and Caleb, clustered around an oak tree. “That was the first time we went on a picnic together. Do you remember?”
“How could I forget?” He smiled as he ran his thumb along the edge. “I had never met anyone like your bunch. It was like being with an impromptu theater company.”
“You made a very nice prince.” At first he’d seemed a bit overwhelmed by the trio of sisters; then he joined in their fun with a gusto that made them all love him. She tipped her head to study him. “I still can’t believe Father brought you home. It’s so unlike him. I wonder why he did.”
Caleb’s eyes grew dark, unreadable. “Probably because he saw a country hick lost and alone.”
“I think he saw something more than that.” She hugged his arm. “He saw a warm, gentle man facing the horrors of war.”
Caleb stepped back, but not before she felt him shudder. “I’ve got things to do. I expect you can manage the rest on your own.” He yanked on his coat and strode out.
Lizzie rushed to the window. She expected him to go toward the barn or to his parents’ house, but he headed down the road. She watched until he was out of sight before she turned back to the room. But her interest in the mementos of home had vanished. She set the pile of pictures aside and turned her attention to the stack of dirty dishes.
With the corner of her apron, Lizzie wiped beads of sweat from her brow. She wanted this meal to be special—the first real meal she’d cooked for Caleb in their new home. But the stove proved uncooperative. She threw in a handful of wood only to have the fire blaze so hot she burned the meat. And just when she wanted the water to boil for potatoes, the flames barely flared. Yet when she added more wood, the pot boiled so hard the potatoes turned to mush.
Caleb came in, the dark look in his eyes still lingering. He brought with him several lengths of narrow wood; and while she tried to salvage the meal, he measured the frames he had promised.
“I tried so hard to make this a special meal, but I can’t seem to get the hang of the stove,” she muttered, as she set what was still edible before Caleb.
“Looks fine to me.” He dished up charred meat, watery potatoes, and lumpy turnips.
Lizzie watched in amazement as he ate the food without flinching. She tasted her own and grimaced. A burnt flavor permeated the meat. Despite her hunger, she had to choke it down.
“What did you do today?” She toyed with the food on her plate.
“Nothing special.”
“Everything is new and special to me. I saw you walking down the road. Where did you go?”
“Mostly just walking.” He ate as if his life depended on it.
She laughed. “Caleb, you don’t have to pretend it’s good. I know it isn’t. But thank you for trying to make me feel better.” She pushed back her chair and moved to his side. Leaning over, she kissed his cheek.
“It’s not that bad. After the food we ate—” He pushed his plate aside, a slow grin spreading across his face as he shoved his chair back and pulled her to his lap. “’Course the company here is a lot better.”
She nuzzled against him. “Are you saying you’d sooner be with me than a bunch of muddy soldiers?”
His arms tightened around her. “I’d sooner be here with you than anyplace I can imagine.” He shuddered once. “I’m so glad you’re here.”
*
“Me, too.” And a thousand times more glad to hear him confess it. She turned her face toward him. He accepted her invitation and kissed her slowly and thoroughly. “I love you, Caleb. I’ve missed you so much I thought I would die.” She hugged him hard enough to make him groan.
“I’ve missed you like crazy, too,” he murmured.
She coiled her fingers in his dark curls and sighed. She had come home at last.
He looked deep into her eyes. “I fear life will be full of hardship for you here.”
“Don’t worry about it. I’m prepared to adjust. Besides, I’m not as coddled as you think. Things got difficult for everyone before the war ended. Food shortages, fuel shortages, and the long lists of casualties.”
He set her aside and jerked to his feet. “War is hell on earth.” He strode to the door. “I’ll go fix those frames I promised you.”
Shocked at his words and stunned by his sudden change in mood, she stared after him.
2
Before Caleb returned, the sun dropped below the horizon, and only a steely gray light remained outdoors. She lit the lamps and waited.
Suddenly he threw the door back and stepped inside. He stared at the lamp, his eyes wide and unfocused.
“It’s a cool evening,” Lizzie said.
He didn’t turn toward her or eve
n blink.
“Perhaps you could close the door, Caleb.”
He jerked at the sound of his name. “Sorry.” He kicked the door shut. “Are these all right?” He handed her four wide, wooden frames.
“They’re perfect.” She secured the paintings in the frames with the thin boards he had cut. “There. Don’t they look fine? Where do you think we should hang them?”
“I suppose you want them where you can see them often. Reminders of home and all that.”
“Caleb, they’re for you as much as me. Reminders of when we met and fell in love. See this one?” She picked the one showing the trees at the back of the yard. “Remember the play we put on down there?”
He nodded. “We were full of stories of heroism and pride.”
She chose another picture. “Here we are in the parlor. Vicky never could do faces very well; but if you look carefully, you can see it’s the three of us.” She lingered over the scene, remembering all the good times they’d had. “Of course, you have only to look at the musical instruments to know who each one is. Vicky’s at the harp, Patricia’s at the piano, and I’m playing my flute.” She handed the picture to Caleb and chuckled. “And just to make sure, Vicky’s titled the picture ‘Beanie, Pete, and Bear.’ ”
The darkness in his expression faded, and he grinned. “I never could understand those silly nicknames you gave each other.”
“Pete grew out of Patricia’s name. And I guess because Vicky was the youngest, Patricia and I would say she was no bigger than a bean.”
“And you?”
“I’m sure I’ve told you this before.”
“If you did, I don’t remember.” His eyes twinkled.
Lizzie clung to his gaze. Oh, that look in his eyes! That look had captured her heart in the first place. “I suppose you could say Mother started it. One of the neighborhood boys teased Vicky one day, and I sprang to her defense.” She looked away and mumbled, “Rather vigorously, you might say.”
He chortled. “You beat up the little brat.”
“You have too heard the story before.”
“Parts of it, maybe. But how did that lead to your nickname?”
She studied him suspiciously. “You’re stringing me.”
He held up his hands. “Honest. I don’t remember the details.”
“Mother said I defended her like a mother bear.” She raced through the words.
He hooted. “Bear! I do believe I’d better be careful not to cross you.”
“I was only about ten years old.”
“Now you’re twenty-three. I guess you’d be more than twice as fierce.”
She remembered her inclination to defend Caleb when his mother accused him of going to war simply to get away. She laughed. “I guess I tend to spring to the defense of those I love.”
He caught her close and tweaked her nose. “Not a bad fault, I wouldn’t think.”
She showed him the next painting—one of her family home surrounded by flowers, groomed hedges, and green lawns.
“Your home.” He shook his head. “You’ll miss it greatly.”
“It’s my parents’ home,” she corrected gently. “I’ll miss them and my sisters, but I chose you. I could never be content apart from you.”
He took the last picture. “The lake.”
She nodded. “I asked Vicky to do this specially for us. It’s where you first told me you loved me.”
“And where a week later I told you I would be shipped out in two weeks and asked if you would marry me before I left. It was such a rushed wedding.”
“I wouldn’t have had it any other way. I loved you then as I love you now. Neither of us knew what the future held, but I knew I wanted whatever time we could have together.”
“No regrets?”
“Only one.”
His eyes darkened.
She smiled. “That we missed out on the first two years of our marriage.”
“We can never gain back those years.”
“To have the future together is enough for me.” She turned to study the room. “Let’s hang them over the bookcase. They’ll look good there.”
He drove in the nails, then, wrapping his arm about her waist, stood at her side to admire them.
She pulled away first. “It’s getting late. I think I’ll get ready for bed.” She turned away, hiding her hot cheeks, lest he guess why she chose to go to bed early.
In the bedroom, she pulled from the trunk a lacy nightgown made especially for this night together. It was long and flowing, with ribbons closing the neck.
She prepared carefully, brushing her hair until it gleamed with indigo shadows. She studied her reflection in the mirror. Did Caleb see how much she loved him? She straightened. She had every intention of making her love quite plain to him.
She returned to the other room. “Caleb?”
He sat in the rocker staring at the lamp. At her voice, his head jerked up.
“I’m ready for bed.”
The taut muscles in his jaw drew deep hollows in his cheeks. “You go ahead,” he muttered. “I’ll be along later.”
She sighed. Later wasn’t good enough. She stepped into the room and crossed to his side, plunking down on the sagging sofa and resting her hand on his knee. “I need you.”
His nerves twitched beneath her hand.
“For two years I have lived for the time we could curl into each other’s arms.”
She could feel him returning to her and leaned closer, aching for him. “I have clung to the memory of the three days we spent together.” She reached around him to the pile of photos on the bookcase and sorted through them until she found the one she wanted. “Here we are.” In the photo, he smiled down at her with a heart so full of love, one could see it even through the medium of photography.
He took the picture and looked at it. Suddenly he smiled. “We had a good time, didn’t we?”
“The best.”
“We aren’t the same two people. Those people were young and innocent.”
“Yes, we’ve had to grow up in a way our parents didn’t have to. But inside I’m still the same. I believe you are, too. Still full of dreams. Gentle. Kind.”
“No. That man died back in France.”
She nodded. He was partially right. He had changed. “The changes are simply layers that add maturity and depth.”
“I wish I could believe you’re right.” He stared into the darkness and shuddered.
“I know I’m right.” She laughed. “You’ll have to trust me on this one.”
Again he pulled himself back to her presence with visible effort and smiled, a smile so full of sweetness and sadness, her throat choked with tears. He stood, pulling her to her feet. “Come on then—let’s go to bed.”
She awakened from her contented sleep. A flickering light danced across the floor at the foot of the bed. She reached out for Caleb, but his side of the bed was empty. “Caleb,” she whispered, checking around the room, but she couldn’t see him. She slipped from the bed to the doorway.
He reclined in the rocker, his head tilted back, low light shining from the lamp on the shelf next to him.
She watched him for a long time, seeing the gentle rise and fall of his chest, then took one of the quilts off the end of the bed and spread it over him. At her gentle touch, he flung out an arm, muttering something unintelligible. She ducked his arm and turned away, going back to the cold bed, where she lay shivering for a long time before sleep returned.
Caleb was up, the fire burning in the stove, when Lizzie hurried from the bedroom the next day. “Good morning,” she called.
He nodded toward her. “It looks like a nice bright day out there.”
“Did you sleep well?” She watched his reaction.
He slowly faced her. “Sometimes I can’t sleep in the bed.”
“Is there a particular reason?”
His gaze slid past her. His jaw tightened; then he shook his head. “It has nothing to do with you.”
�
�Of course it does. I’m the one who wakes up with your side of the bed empty and wonders what’s wrong.”
His gaze flickered toward her. “Nothing’s wrong.”
“It seems to me there’s plenty wrong when you huddle in a hard wooden chair all night long. And when you turn inward so often, it’s like watching a revolving door. I can only guess at the reason.” She paused to take a calming breath, praying for wisdom in the words she used. “But I don’t mean to push you to talk about things you’d rather not. Just don’t turn away from me.”
Unblinking, he studied her several seconds. Slowly his shoulders relaxed, and he nodded. “Sorry if you worried about me last night.”
She wiped at a smudge on the tabletop. He hadn’t given any promises or offered any explanation, but something warned her not to push. He’d open up when the time was right. Meanwhile, she would do her best to show how much she loved him. And she’d pray for God’s guidance and healing.
After he’d eaten, he pushed his chair back, his hands clenched in his lap. He shuffled his feet back and forth, then crossed one leg over the other and leaned back.
Lizzie, lingering over her tea, watched his fidgeting with curiosity.
Suddenly he dropped his chair to the floor and jerked to his feet. “I’m going for a walk.”
She jumped up to ask if she could go with him, but he yanked his coat on and said, “I’m sure you’ll be able to amuse yourself without me.”
She sank back to the chair, rebuffed by his words. “I expect I can.”
“I’ll be back later.” He jerked out the door.
She watched him through the window. Again he turned away from the farm, heading down the road. She sighed. It would take time for them to adjust. Although his welcome lacked a certain spark, at least he’d said he still loved her.
She hurried to the bedroom and pulled her Bible from her bag, then, sitting in the old rocker, opened it and read a chapter. It’d been hard to find a place and time for her usual Bible reading and prayer as they travelled, but now she was eager to re-establish her routine. She bowed her head and prayed, “God, things are not what I dreamed they’d be. Caleb seems so distant at times. Like he’s forgotten I exist. In some ways it’s been a bit of a disappointment, but at last I’m home. Caleb and I are together. Help me give my love unconditionally.”
