Do You Feel What I Feel. a Holiday Anthology

by Fletcher DeLancey

  “What was it?”

  “To live.”

  “He had two good legs left.”

  “Aye, he did. But he come out of that mine and he’s still the meltin’ man, ain’t he?”

  Laird hung his head.

  “Kids still taunted him; women still looked away in horror, but he figured God saved his life twice and was waiting on him to appreciate that. So he paid no more heed to the stares and the whispers. He lives, every day. He works. He makes music. He laughs and tells the worst jokes, and he loves his brother and his frien’s.”

  The church bells rang out from the far end of town, and Kicker smiled. “And t’night, he’s got a date with the Widow Boyle. D’you understan’ what I’m telling you, lad?”

  “Some people have it far worse than me.”

  “Nope, that ain’t it. What you seen, where you been—it was hell. Ain’t nothing those of us back here on the home front can e’er understan’, and that’s the truth. But that don’ mean your life is over, unless you will it so.”

  Laird cocked his head as the bells of the Catholic church rang on.

  Kicker waited until they were done. “I can’t tell you life is going to be easy with only one leg. I can’t promise that children won’ stare or whisper. But I can tell you some special woman won’ care that you wear only one boot.”

  “Ghislaine.”

  “Clarence’s sister?”

  A ghost of a smile flickered on Laird’s lips. “She’s been writing to me since I left. I got almost every letter in here.” He tapped his foot on his duffel bag. “I lost a couple when…”

  Laird stared off into the darkness. “It wouldn’t be fair to court her, though. She deserves more than half a man.”

  Kicker shook her head. “Don’ be silly, lad. The mark of a man ain’t two good legs. The bastard who tried to blow me to bits had two good legs and a heart blacker ’n coal. Ghislaine is a fine young woman. I b’lieve she’ll be nineteen on her nex’ birthday. If she’s bin writing all these years, I expect she’s waiting for you to come home to her. She won’ care about your leg. She cares about your heart. An’ e’ryone aroun’ here knows your heart to be good an’ true. We’ve known that since you were a wee lad. War din’t change that, and tis all that matters.”

  Laird turned to her. “Do you really think so?”

  “Aye, I do. Let me tell you a story. A long time ago, I went through hell myself. Someone I loved let me down sum’pin fierce, and I mourned so deep that I turned away from e’ryone I knew.”

  “He’s why you never married? The fellow who let you down?”

  Kicker hesitated for only a second. “Aye. I had gi’en away my heart, and what was left was torn to pieces. My bes’ frien’ worried I wouldn’t live through it.”

  “Mrs. Bristow? Your cousin is your best friend?”

  “Aye, that she is. But them that loves you, don’ give up on you. They make you eat when food is like dust in your mouth. They keep you company when all you can do is cry. They offer comfort and love when you don’ think you warrant either. Tis what your family and friends stan’ ready to do too, Laird. You jus’ gotta give them a chance. Can you do that? Because I can tell you that your ma wants nothing more than to see your face and hug the stuffing out of you.”

  “I won’t be of much use to her or the ranch.”

  “Pah! D’you think she cares about that? Wynne has suffered every moment you been gone. All she wants is her boy home. If she can see you across the Christmas dinner table, t’will be the grandest gift she’s e’er gotten. Don’ you know that?”

  Laird stared at the emptiness below his left thigh. “I…I… Some of the men I was in the military hospital with said they couldn’t go home again. They couldn’t bear the thought of seeing pity in their family’s eyes. Said they couldn’t stand to be a burden the rest of their lives. I didn’t know what to think. I tried to write Ma many times, but I couldn’t make the words come. I’ve been sitting here tonight, not knowing what to do. I made Billy a promise, and that’s what held me here on this bench. But I’ve been thinking maybe I should get back on the morning train and go east, all the way to the Atlantic.”

  “Damn fool idea, lad. Firs’ off, you don’ need to be anything to your family but who you already are. And if you’re worried about being a burden, I’ll make you a leg.”

  Laird’s head swivelled, and he blinked at Kicker. “Make me a leg?”

  “Aye. I got a factory and a lot of skilled workers. I’ve never made a leg b’fore, but I ’spect there’s not much I can’t make if I put my mind to it. Jus’ gotta research the right materials and way to do it. I’ll get Clarence right on it. Man has a mind sharper than a quill. We’ll have you back up on a horse b’fore you know it. Or if you’d a min’, Seamus can teach you to drive one of those damn fool motorcars that are ruining our countryside. There’s always ways to get aroun’, Laird. You want to work the land? You want a wife and family? Tis up to you. You’re ne’er going to forget the hell you bin through for three years, but you don’ have to stay stuck in that trench fore’er. Honour the brothers who fought and fell b’side, but do it by livin’ a full life. Don’ dishonour their sacrifice by leaving all you know to become a stranger on some strange coast. This is your home. Claim it. We’re all waiting, an’ you know tis what Billy would wan’ for you.”

  “He would, wouldn’t he?”

  “Damn right. He was your brother in all but blood, and if you live on, so does he. Now…are you ready to go see your ma?”

  Laird didn’t say anything for a long moment, and Kicker held her breath.

  Then Laird sighed and nodded. “Yes. And thank you.”

  “Seeing the joy on Wynne’s face tis all the thanks I need.”

  Kicker picked up Laird’s duffel bag and Seamus’ blanket as Laird tucked the crutches under his arms and began his slow trek across the platform.

  To Kicker’s surprise, Madelyn was already seated in the cargo area of the sleigh.

  Laird’s eyes widened. “Oh, no, Mrs. Bristow. Please, I’ll ride back there. Ma would have my hide for denying a lady a seat.”

  Madelyn tucked the warm travel robe more tightly around her legs. “I’m perfectly comfortable, thank you. You climb on up there with Kicker.”

  He did so, but cast several mortified glances back at Madelyn, who affected an expression of perfect serenity.

  Kicker grinned and winked at her partner as she tucked the duffel bag and crutches next to Maddie. She got an impertinent smile in return and swung up on the driver’s seat.

  The church bells began to ring again as the horse cantered away from the station.

  At the edge of town, where they turned north into the woods, Kicker wordlessly offered the reins to Laird.

  He took them and guided the horse over the familiar back road that led to Kicker and Madelyn’s Shadow Creek cabin, and to the Steeple Seven Ranch—Laird’s home.

  Confident that the sleigh was in steady hands, Kicker leaned back and studied the night sky. It was black and brilliant with stars, the earlier clouds having long since vanished. The cold air curled between her toque and the sheepskin collar of her jacket, making her shiver and long for her forgotten wool scarf, but the frigid night was no match for the warmth within.

  Laird had come home from the war, and they got to deliver him to his mother. Of all the gifts they’d exchanged with Wynne over the years, none came close to equalling what they were bringing her this night.

  Joy and sorrow filled Kicker’s soul. Tonight Wynne’s heart and arms would be filled, but Mrs. Donnelly would never again hold her son. Still, Billy’s son was growing like a prairie weed under his grandmother’s roof and his mother’s care. Kicker hoped he would prove consolation enough for Billy’s family.

  As they neared Shadow Creek, Kicker pointed ahead to the lane that led to their cabin. “Your ma will be waiti
ng at our place, ’less Seamus o’erturned his motorcar again. But the snow’s not so deep tonight, so I’m sure he made it back fine.”

  “Does Ma know I’m home?”

  Kicker shook her head. “No. The best gifts are unexpected ones, don’ you think?”

  Laird snapped the reins, and they took the turn into Shadow Creek far too fast for Kicker’s comfort, but she understood Laird’s eagerness.

  They pulled up in front of the cabin in one piece. Warm lantern light spilled out of the windows and created bright patches on the snow.

  Laird almost fell in his haste to dismount from the sleigh, but Kicker caught him as Madelyn hurried around with the crutches. They flanked him as he struggled through the snow.

  Kicker stepped forward and threw open the door.

  Wynne looked up from her seat beside Seamus. “Kicker, what’s going on? Seamus won’t tell me a thing. He only insisted that I come with him. Are you all right? Is Maddie?”

  “Aye, we’re fine. Bett’r than fine. Tis sorry I am to pull you from your family’s hearth on such a col’ night, but I s’pect you’ll forgive us. We brought you a gift, Wynne.” Kicker stepped out of the doorway and Laird entered.

  Tears streamed down his face. “Ma, I’m home.”

  Wynne hurtled across the room. She laughed and cried as she swept Laird into her arms.

  Laird wobbled and almost fell from the onslaught of his mother’s embrace, but Madelyn grabbed his coat and steadied him from behind.

  For several long moments, the only sound in the cabin was of mother and son sobbing together.

  Kicker dashed her sleeve across her eyes and noticed Seamus doing the same. Madelyn dabbed at her eyes with a lace handkerchief.

  Finally Wynne pulled back and cupped Laird’s face. “You’re so thin.”

  He smoothed the hair back from her brow. “And you’re so white. Did I do that?”

  Wynne smiled through her tears. “You sure did. Every last hair on my head. But I don’t care one whit. You’re home, and that’s all that matters. Come, get in out of the cold, son.”

  Wynne helped Laird off with his greatcoat and made room for him to hobble across to the divan. She sat next to him and clasped his hand. She patted it, stroked his cheek, and pushed his long hair back behind his ears, securing the tactile reassurance that he was really, finally, beside her again.

  Seamus cleared his throat. “I thought perhaps, unless Wynne is in a hurry to get Laird back to the ranch, we might cobble together some supper. The chicken and biscuits will be fine cold.”

  Wynne’s gaze never left Laird’s face. “I’m in no hurry, unless you are, son. Let me keep you to myself for just a little while longer. We’ll be swamped with family by the morning.”

  Laird smiled. “Suits me, Ma.”

  Kicker tore her gaze from mother and son, and nodded. “Then dinner it is. Chicken and biscuits are ready. Tis pumpkin cream soup and rum sauce to be heated, and hardboiled eggs and plum pudding in the icebox. Maddie made carrot loaf a few days ago, and we can have that with jam.”

  Laird rested his head on Wynne’s shoulder for a moment. “It sounds like a feast. Last Christmas we had giblet pie and red cabbage that Billy found somewhere. He was the best forager in the battalion. He’d go off in the night and come back with everything from wild turkeys to Fritz’ rifles. He could find things in places that had been scavenged to the bare bones by both sides. We ate a lot more bully beef after he died. I even saw some Tommies roasting trench rabbits.”

  Kicker cocked her head. “Trench rabbits?”

  “Rats.” Laird shrugged. “We weren’t brass hats. We ate what we had.”

  Wynne shuddered and put her arm around Laird. “Wait until you meet Billy’s son, Ford. He’s the spitting image of Billy when he was a boy.”

  Laird tugged a chain with a ring from beneath his uniform jacket. “I brought this for him. His papa never took it off, and I want to give it to Ford, though maybe Mary will want to hold on to it until he’s a little older.”

  “I’m sure she will, son.”

  “I want to be there for her and Ford, Ma. I can’t take Billy’s place, but I promised him—I swore I’d look out for them, always.”

  Wynne kissed Laird’s head. “I’m glad. Mary will be so pleased to see you again.”

  “I know I look pretty worthless right now—”

  “You stop right there, Laird Angus Glenn. I don’t care if you left a leg over there. I wouldn’t care if you left both legs in those damned trenches. The only thing I care about is that you’re here now. It’s all I’ve prayed for since the day you left.”

  “I know, Ma. But this is important to me. I swear I’m going to make myself useful again. You just wait and see. Kicker promised to make me a new leg, and as soon as I get it, I’ll be back to work. I’m never going to be a burden to you or to the ranch.”

  Wynne glanced at Kicker with glistening eyes. “You could never be a burden to your family. I hope you know that, and if you don’t, I’ll spend the rest of my life telling you so. But if Kicker says she’s going to make you a leg, you can bank on it. One way or another, you and me will be out together checking the herds by springtime.”

  Laird nodded, determination in his eyes. “Yes, we will, Ma.”

  Epilogue

  Kicker and Madelyn waved from the doorway as Seamus drove their guests away. Dinner hadn’t been lavish, but Kicker couldn’t remember a meal she’d enjoyed more.

  Laird had spoken little of his experiences, except to say he’d taken his war-ending wound in the late October mud and rain of Passchendaele, when the Canadian Corps was sent to relieve the ANZAC’s. Instead, Laird was hungry to hear the smallest details of life on the home front, particularly life inside Madelyn’s schoolhouse and on the Steeple Seven. The only time he returned to the topic of war was when he heard that Kicker’s nephew, Jeremiah, a Royal Flying Corps pilot, had perished in 1915.

  “Those aerial reconnaissance spotters saved our asses a few times—Oh, sorry, Ma. I’ll try to watch my language.”

  Wynne shrugged. “I don’t care. I’ve been waiting three years to hear the sound of your voice, and every word is as sweet as an angel song to me.”

  The whole dinner had been like that. One moment they’d be laughing over Laird’s attempts to convince his mother how handy a biplane could be at the ranch, and the next, Laird or Wynne would rip their hearts out with a few words that alluded to the pain both had suffered. Even the Christmas concert Seamus had played after dinner with the fiddle he always left at their home had ricocheted between rollick and melancholy.

  Kicker was exhausted by the time she closed the front door.

  Madelyn went to their Christmas tree and snuffed out the candles, then turned to Kicker and opened her arms. Kicker walked into them and laid her head on Maddie’s shoulder.

  “Tired, dearest?”

  “You have no idea.”

  “I listened, you know.”

  Kicker tilted her head back to look into Maddie’s eyes. “Sorry?”

  “To you and Laird talking. I opened one of the station house windows so I could hear you.”

  “Ah, tis how you made it to the sleigh b’fore us.”

  “Yes. I’m so proud of you. You knew just what to say to reach Laird. I couldn’t have done half as well.”

  “Aye, you could’ve.”

  “No, dearest. I really couldn’t. But it shames me still that the reason you were able to reach him was the pain I put you through so long ago.”

  Kicker brushed a tear from Madelyn’s cheek. “Tis many years and much water under the bridge since then. It matters not.”

  “I think that I will go to my grave some day with that regret above all others—that I hurt you so terribly.”

  “You came back. Twas all that mattered. I hold no grudge, Maddie. I ne’er did.”
>
  “I know.”

  Madelyn took Kicker’s hand and led her to their bedroom. Though they kept two bedrooms for the sake of propriety, the second bedroom had only ever been occupied by Seamus, on the odd occasion. Since the day Madelyn had returned, they had never spent another night apart, and if Kicker had her way, they never would.

  At the doorway to their room, Madelyn stopped and drew Kicker into an embrace. “Merry Christmas, dearest. You are the greatest gift I’ve ever or will ever receive. I hope you know that.”

  “Aye, and you as well to me, though t’night tis a toss-up, is it not? Wynne may have gone home with the greatest Christmas gift e’er.”

  “She did. I cannot begin to comprehend the agony she endured, not knowing from day to day if Laird was even alive.”

  Madelyn’s shudder rippled against Kicker’s body, and she tightened her embrace. “I’m here, love. I’ll ne’er be away from you again. I swear.”

  Madelyn drew away slightly and cupped Kicker’s face. “You cannot make that promise, dearest. None can. But it reminds me to cherish every day I have with you—and every day we’ve had together since I so foolishly threw our love away.”

  “You ne’er threw it away. You only put it aside for a bit. Let us set this sadness aside and cel’brate proper.”

  “Laird’s return?”

  “Aye, that. But also Wynne’s joy, Pudge’s date, Seamus’ music, and mos’ of all, the love that guides my e’ry step.”

  Madelyn smiled and caressed Kicker’s face. “And you think I’m the poet.”

  “Aye, you are. But as you always say, tis more to life than jus’ words.” Kicker drew Madelyn with her as she backed into the room and kicked the door closed behind them.

  This night they would rejoice.

  Love had brought the lost home once again.

  If you enjoyed this short story, you might want to read Lois Cloarec Hart’s Kicker’s Journey, the novel in which Kicker and Madelyn met and fell in love.