Finally Home

by Lyn Cote

  “Please. This is really good. I like the cheese and bacon flavor with the beans.”

  “You have a discriminating palate, sir.” She gave him another generous helping of the creamy white and green casserole. “Why don’t you take the rest of this home with you tonight so your family can finish it up? It will just go to waste here.”

  “Thanks.”

  “You might be having company tonight for supper.”

  Guthrie’s expression asked a question.

  “When I was up on the roof, I saw an older silver-toned truck I didn’t recognize pull up to your mother’s house.”

  Guthrie pushed away from the table and hustled toward the hall to the side door.

  Hannah stood up. “Guthrie, what’s wrong?”

  “I’ll be back!” Guthrie’s farewell was followed by the slamming of the church door.

  Whatever did I say to cause that reaction?

  Chapter Six

  His heart pumping double time, Guthrie bolted out of the church, his anger outracing his feet. When he reached his sister’s corner, he caught himself and slowed down. What if this was a false alarm? The person in his sister’s house might not be whom he suspected it was at all. But like a waving red flag, the battered pickup sat in plain sight in front of the little yellow house on Church Street.

  Taking even breaths, Guthrie walked up the short path and into the house. He paused and closed the door behind him without a sound. If it wasn’t the man he dreaded, he’d turn around and go back to the church. Underneath the outside noise of the kids’ shouting and squealing, he detected the sound of muted voices in the kitchen. Why were the voices low? That sounded fishy.

  He started forward, but his steps slowed—it was like walking up to a ticking package. If the person he thought was in the kitchen actually was in the kitchen, it would upset everything.

  In the kitchen doorway, Guthrie stopped.

  Mom looked up from where she sat at the table. Her eyes widened.

  Guthrie recognized the back of the man’s head. The sight sucked the breath right out of him.

  The man stood and slowly turned to face him. “Guthrie.”

  “You.” Words roared through Guthrie’s head, but only one came out. “You.”

  A ball of fire torched Guthrie’s stomach. A red haze clouded his vision. His right fist shot forward.

  Billy dodged to the left, then stumbled out of range.

  “Guthrie!” his mother exclaimed. “Stop that right now! Beating up your brother-in-law won’t help matters.”

  Gritting his teeth, Guthrie clenched and unclenched his hands. If anyone ever deserved a beating for all he’d done, his sorry excuse for a brother-in-law did!

  “Billy has come back to town,” Martha said.

  “Obviously!” The word burned Guthrie’s throat.

  Martha went on as though he hadn’t spoken. “Billy’s cleaned up his life and has come back to shoulder responsibility for his three children.”

  “They’re not his children. They’re our children. We’re raising them with Lynda.”

  “I truly regret that.” Billy spoke in a quiet voice.

  Guthrie singed Billy with a glare. “I’m not talking to you. You’re not here.”

  “I am here.”

  “Not for long.” Guthrie was insistent.

  “Stop it right now.” His mother held up one hand to each man. “Billy left. Billy’s back. He’s coming again this evening when the kids are in bed to talk to Lynda and see how she wants to handle this.”

  “How long has he been here?”

  The icy words startled Guthrie. He turned to the screen door. Lynda stared in at them. His sister’s accusing tone made Guthrie feel guilty—even though he’d done nothing to bring his deadbeat brother-in-law back to Petite.

  “How long has he been here?” Lynda repeated coldly.

  Billy took a step toward her. “I moved back yesterday. I’m at my mother’s. I’d like to talk to you.”

  Lynda stared him down. “No.”

  “Mommy!” Hunter called in breathless excitement. “Mommy, look, I’m swinging all by myself!”

  Lynda turned. “That’s great, Hunter!” She looked at the occupants of the kitchen and said in a frigid tone, “I don’t want you upsetting the children. Please leave.”

  “I’ll go for now, Lynda. When you’re ready to talk, let me know.”

  Lynda walked toward her children.

  Billy passed Guthrie. He walked out the front door.

  Guthrie shivered. Lynda had doused the fire in his gut.

  His mother sat, folded her hands in front of her face and wept.

  A few minutes later, Guthrie found himself climbing onto the roof from the steeple opening. He’d walked to the church in a daze. Hannah’s hammering sounded in his ears and echoed through his body.

  Seeing Billy over three years after his desertion, Guthrie felt pounded, battered, and the sound of the hammer intensified this. Suddenly weak in the knees, he sat in the steeple opening. Billy here in town? He couldn’t believe it.

  “Is that you, Guthrie?” Hannah shouted.

  “Yeah,” he answered hoarsely.

  “You got a call while you were away. Benard’s Building Supply called to say they have the zinc strips and the rest of the shingles that were on back order. We can pick them up any time.”

  The energy had leaked out of Guthrie. He couldn’t have raised a hammer if he tried. Going to Benard’s would be a good excuse to get away for a while. “Let’s go.”

  “You go. I’ll stay and work.”

  He inhaled. “This is your boss speaking. I won’t leave you on this roof alone. Pack up your hammer and nails. You can go home or you can come with me. Your choice.”

  “All right. I’ll come. I want to look at wallpaper and paint. Mom wants me to bring samples back to her.”

  He heard Hannah’s footsteps as she levered herself to the peak of the roof. He was glad she was coming along. Her presence would distract him.

  Inside the attic, he undid his worn leather tool belt.

  She led him down the attic stair-steps and another flight down to the basement office.

  “Mom, I am going to Benard’s with Guthrie.”

  Her mother halted her typing at the word processor. “Thank you, dear. You know the paint colors and wallpaper styles I would be interested in.”

  Hannah gave her mother a kiss on her forehead. “Love you.”

  “Love you, too.”

  Hannah led him out to the truck. He automatically opened the door for her, then he got behind the wheel. Guthrie wondered if his mother was still crying at home.

  Something was wrong.

  Hannah studied Guthrie from the corner of her eye. In just the few days she’d known this man, she’d come to expect his low-key good humor. Earlier, from her high perch, she’d watched him run to his mother’s house and seen Lynda drive up and walk to the back door. Within minutes, a stranger had hurried out the front door and into his truck, then driven away. What did it all mean? The cheerful light in Guthrie’s eyes had been snuffed. Why?

  “Is your mother all right?” she asked tentatively.

  “She’s fine.”

  Next possibility. “You needed something at home?”

  “No.”

  Okay, then. “Your sister came home from work early?”

  “Yeah.”

  Last question. “Your mother had a visitor?”

  “That’s none of your business!” he exploded.

  So the stranger was the problem. She looked out the window on her side. “Sorry.”

  A few moments passed, then Guthrie said, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to blow up at you.” He sounded miserable and grumpy at the same time.

  “No, I’m sorry. I’m afraid I’m so used to having people confide in my parents, and sometimes even in me, that I assume too much. I’ll try to remember curiosity killed the cat.” She kept her gaze on the scenery, giving him space to grapple with whatever this stranger
meant to him.

  They’d left Petite far behind them. Lush green cornfields and hayfields, verdant pastures like luxuriant green carpet dotted with black and white Holsteins, Wisconsin’s favorite dairy cattle, passed her window.

  He cleared his throat. “What kind of wallpaper…I mean, what room is your mother planning to wallpaper?”

  Hannah recognized his invitation to smooth things over and go on with the day. She offered him a warm smile. “Mom likes wallpaper or a border in almost every room. She had me bring her samples from several stores in Milwaukee, but she’s still looking. She loves to decorate, and she loves looking at samples of wallpaper and paint chips.”

  “Just like my mother. I remember when she decided to strip the wallpaper off our kitchen walls at the farm. She wanted to paint and hand-stencil a border around the room. She started stripping and ended up taking off nine different layers of wallpaper before she reached the wall itself.”

  “Nine? How old is your farmhouse?”

  “Built in 1909.”

  “Nearly a hundred years old.” She teased him with a grin. “After your mom took off the wallpaper, did the walls cave in?”

  “Very funny. No, but she did have something to say about people who wallpaper over wallpaper over wallpaper.” He chuckled.

  She joined him. The Guthrie she knew was coming back. From the corner of her eye, she watched him drive. Observing this man was pure pleasure. It wasn’t just his physical attractiveness. Today his customary peace had been ruffled, but his solid aura of strength and honesty drew her spirit to his. Guthrie Thomas was a man a woman could count on for a direct answer and kindness. Unfortunately, she’d only imagined Edward had those qualities.

  She kept up an easy flow of conversation until they parted at the crowded entrance of Benard’s. Though still concerned over her new boss’s moodiness, she spent several happy minutes picking out wallpaper and border samples and paint chips. The paint manager stood nearby mixing a custom shade of peach for a young red-haired mother who was expecting a child and had a baby boy sitting in her cart, jabbering to passersby.

  Hannah waved her pinkie finger at the little guy, which made him squeal with excitement. She selected a paint chip for that same shade of peach, one of her mother’s favorite colors. She also picked up the latest do-it-yourself sheets on rag painting and feather painting. Her creative mother might want to try her hand at those.

  Smiling, she met Guthrie at the front entrance. She loved the bustle of customers around them, pushing carts top-heavy with area rugs, light bulbs, plant food, paint and much more.

  Carrying the long, narrow, silvery zinc strips that would prevent moss from growing on the roof, he led her to the truck. Then he drove them through the lumber yard entrance and loaded the shingles, which had finally come in. He headed the truck toward Petite.

  Only a few miles from home, Hannah saw a welcome sign hand-painted on plywood. Farmers’ Market Today! She grabbed Guthrie’s arm.

  He glanced over at her touch. “What?”

  “We have to stop at the farmers’ market.” Her hand still gripped the bottom of his arm, his warm skin within her grasp.

  “But you’re not cooking. I mean you’re living at the motel.” He glanced at her hand.

  “I’m sorry.” She released his arm, abashed at herself. She went on in a steady voice, suppressing the urge to foolishly apologize for her lingering touch. “That doesn’t matter. I can’t resist a farmers’ market. You never know what you might find!”

  “Okay, whatever you say.” He pulled the truck into an empty spot in the row of trucks and cars, then parked in matted wild grass. Nearby a double row of tables had been set up at the front of a county park with a ball diamond in the distance. Some vendors stood behind tables, some sold from the backs of their pickups. An abundance of sweet corn, zucchini, cabbage, tomatoes and muskmelon in bushel baskets gave the air a sweet scent.

  Hannah jumped out of the truck, avoiding mud from yesterday’s rain. She gazed at the feast of color, light green, dark green, red-orange and gold. This was her kind of place.

  She stopped to admire the sweet corn in the back of an old, rusted red pickup.

  “Picked fresh today. Do you want one dozen or two?” the grandmother in blue jeans and a ball cap asked.

  “Just a half dozen. I don’t have any place to store it.” She’d fix it for her parents for lunch tomorrow in the church kitchen.

  “Well, if you’re feeding Guthrie Thomas, you’ll need half a dozen just for him.” The woman chuckled and winked at Guthrie, standing behind Hannah.

  “Thanks for reminding me!” Hannah snapped open the paper bag the woman had given her and began choosing a dozen plump ears. She stripped the outer husk and punctured a kernel to watch the milky juice spurt out. The white and yellow kernels looked like rows of exotic pearls.

  Guthrie nodded at the woman politely. “This is Hannah Kirkland, our new pastor’s daughter.”

  “Oh, hi! I thought I recognized you. I saw you on TV today. Hey, Karen, this is the new pastor’s daughter in Petite. You saw her today on the noon show, didn’t you?”

  For the first time in her career, Hannah found herself mobbed. She definitely wasn’t in Milwaukee anymore! Women swarmed around her, each vying for her attention.

  “I have your first cookbook. I wish I’d brought it so you could sign it.”

  “Your recipes helped me lower my husband’s cholesterol twenty-nine points!”

  “I thought it was so sweet of you to let the Thomas sisters help you on today’s show.”

  “Imagine someone letting Ida and Edith cook with them! You must be a saint!”

  From across the way, Lila Fink waved to her.

  After speaking to everyone, Hannah thanked them and walked over to her landlady. “Hello, Lila.” Hannah felt a bit dizzy after so much attention. “What are you doing here?”

  “I’m helping out my sister. She sells fresh eggs and weaves these rugs.”

  Hannah looked down. “These are beautiful rugs.” Hannah stroked the lush warp and weave of the multishaded white, buff and gray rugs and shook her head. “Does she make rugs to special order?”

  “Sure. Just tell her the size you need.”

  “Lady! Lady, do you want a kitty?” A little dark-haired girl with a pixie haircut held up a little yellow tabby with a fat baby belly.

  “Oh! He’s precious!” Hannah took the tiny ball of silky fur in both hands. The kitten mewled until she cradled it close to her face. She’d wanted a cat of her own for years, but Edward hadn’t liked cats.

  “Do you want them, lady? I got three left, two from one mama cat and one from another one. Their eyes are opened, and they’re ready to leave their mamas.”

  “I’m sorry, honey. But I’m living in Mrs. Fink’s motel and I can’t have a kitty.”

  “Sure you can,” Lila said. “Cats don’t make any mess.”

  “You mean it?” Hannah felt as giddy as when she was a six-year-old and her father had brought home her first kitten.

  “Can you take two more?” the little girl asked plaintively. “We don’t need anymore barn cats at our place.”

  Hannah shook her head, then stopped. “Yes, I’ll take one more for my mother.” She giggled. “She’ll need a new cat for her new house.”

  “I’ll take the last one.” Guthrie spoke up. “Amber and Jenna have been asking for one.”

  “Hey, Guthrie,” Lila asked abruptly, “what’s your no-account brother-in-law doing back in town?”

  Hannah watched Guthrie’s tanned face redden. So that’s who’d upset him!

  “He won’t be around for long.” The ugly tone Guthrie used worried her. It revealed the depth of the anger and pain he was experiencing. How must Lynda be suffering? A homecoming should be joyful, not agonizing.

  Guthrie accepted the final cat from the little girl, then asked brusquely, “Hannah, did you need anything else?”

  Hannah took the hint in his question. “No, that’s all. Lil
a, please tell your sister my mother will be getting in touch with her about ordering some area rugs.”

  “Okay.” Lila glanced apologetically at the tall man standing beside Hannah. “Sorry if I upset you, Guthrie. It was just such a shock to see Billy in town yesterday.”

  “No problem,” Guthrie said in such a way that reiterated that it was a big problem.

  Carrying her two kittens, Hannah walked beside him to the truck. The soft gray kitten looked out of place cradled in the crook of his powerful arm. One of her golden kittens still mewed, but the one in Guthrie’s arm looked around, trusting, enjoying the ride. Back in the truck, she took charge of the three kittens.

  While Guthrie drove, she sat Indian-style, letting them nest in her lap. Their sharp little claws slipped right through her heavy denim shorts. “Ouch!” she scolded them with a giggle in her throat. Murmuring to them, she stroked under their chins, making them purr and arch their necks, begging for more.

  The silent man beside her drew her sympathy. But she knew better than to wound him by saying anything. At this point, even the most kindly meant words might cause pain instead of comfort. I’m so sorry for you, Guthrie, and your family and for the pain and worry Lynda must be feeling, too! Lord, you know what has gone before and what is happening now. Please be with this family and help the right things happen. Work your miracle of love!

  When he turned into town, Guthrie finally spoke, “I’m sorry. I’m letting my bad mood get me down, and you don’t deserve to be ignored like this.”

  “That’s all right. I realized earlier when you took off from the roof so suddenly that something was wrong. Do you want to talk about it?”

  He made a sound of disgust. “I just didn’t think we’d ever have to deal with him. He took off right after Lynda delivered Hunter prematurely.” He paused as though remembering something he didn’t want to recall. He shook his head. “It hit everyone hard.”

  “How awful for your sister, for your family.”