Baby, Come Home

by Stephanie Bond

  “Okay, dinner tomorrow,” Nikki said. “But I’ll make plenty if you change your mind about inviting Kendall.”

  Amy gave her a tight smile. “I won’t, but thanks.”

  They said goodbye, then Amy joined the food queue. Molly McIntyre wore a camouflage apron and lorded over the serving line like a drill sergeant, especially where the school kids were concerned, putting the food on their plates that she deemed appropriate before shooing them on their way. Even the adults seemed to cower and accept their fate as gelatinous fare was plopped onto their plates. Amy’s nerves jumped as she neared the front, but she had to admit, she was curious as to what the woman wanted. Molly’s eyes lit up when she saw her in line.

  “Amy! Your hair is more like I remember.”

  Corkscrews, Amy acknowledged wryly. Her flatiron couldn’t conquer the winter humidity. She smiled back weakly, thinking whatever Molly wanted couldn’t be too bad if she was being friendly. “Kendall said you needed me to stop by?”

  “It can wait until you eat lunch,” Molly said, dipping a ladle into a vat of something thick and unidentifiable.

  “Actually,” Amy said, “I need to get back to the jobsite, so maybe just something portable, like fruit?”

  Molly looked disappointed, but handed her ladle to a helper and came around from behind the serving counter carrying an apple and a carton of yogurt. “I guess you got hooked on this sissy food when you moved to the North.”

  “Er…yes. Thank you.” She put the items in her pocket to eat later. “What did you want to see me about?”

  “Follow me,” Molly said, then turned on her heel and walked off, assuming Amy would follow.

  She did, trotting to keep up as the sturdy woman exited the building, then walked toward the Lost and Found warehouse. Amy was starting to get a bad feeling—she didn’t want to go back into that sad place full of forgotten belongings. “Molly, if you found something of my aunt’s—”

  “It’s not something that belonged to Heddy,” Molly said over her shoulder, and kept walking.

  Amy frowned, but followed her into the warehouse. Betsy sat at the desk working on a laptop. She smiled at Amy and removed her earbuds.

  “We found something of yours! And it’s wicked.”

  Molly looked at Amy and rolled her eyes. “I think she means it’s nice.”

  Betsy walked over to a file cabinet and unlocked it, then rifled through for a few seconds before removing a plastic bag marked “M. Bradshaw.”

  Amy’s heart skipped a beat. Her mother’s name was Marie.

  “This belonged to your mother,” Molly confirmed, taking the bag from Betsy and opening it to withdraw a gold chain with a pendant.

  Amy’s mouth went dry when she saw the pendant, a stylized circle of a mother holding a child. The child was represented by a sizable diamond. “I know this necklace,” she gasped. “My mother is wearing it in pictures I have.”

  Molly smiled and handed it to her.

  The pendant was heavy, a ball of gold. “But how… Did my aunt have it?”

  “Heddy didn’t have it,” Molly said. “When it was found and turned in, we saw it had the initials MB on the back, but we didn’t know who it belonged to.”

  Amy turned it over and saw the miniscule letters. “How did you know it was my mother’s?”

  Molly tapped her temple. “Since we met again the other day, something has been nagging at me. I went back and read through Heddy’s letters and found this one.” She pulled an aged envelope and a pair of reading glasses from her apron pocket, then removed the letter and found her place with her finger.

  “‘My adorable niece, Amy, is ill, poor child, something to do with her stomach. The doctors say she needs an operation. But Stanley lost his health insurance and Marie is worried sick over how they’re going to pay for it. I gave them all I could spare, but when Paul died, he left me with so much debt, I’m afraid I’m going to lose my house. Marie has a nice necklace with a diamond in it that Stanley bought for her with money he won in Vegas. He says it’s worth a lot. She doesn’t want to sell it, but that woman will do whatever it takes. She loves that little red-headed girl something fierce. We all do.’”

  Molly stopped reading, but Amy couldn’t see her anymore through the haze of tears. She touched the spot on her abdomen where a faint scar remained from the surgery she had no memory of. “And whoever my mother sold the necklace to…they lost it in the tornado?”

  “Looks that way,” Molly said, then shoved a handkerchief in Amy’s hand. “Could’ve been someone she knew, or maybe a pawn shop—heck, it could’ve changed hands a half dozen times since then. But the important thing is it’s back where it belongs.”

  Amy dabbed at her tears, but her throat was still thick with the unfairness of losing loving parents she couldn’t remember. In that moment, she softened toward her widowed aunt Heddy, too, who must’ve been emotionally and financially overwhelmed to have a child thrust on her. Amy knew what that was like…except the child thrust upon Aunt Heddy hadn’t been her own. And the child hadn’t been particularly appreciative for the safe, if meager, home provided to her.

  Shame enveloped her.

  She closed her fingers over the pendant. “Thank you,” she said to Molly. “You don’t know how much this means to me.”

  To her surprise, the erect woman gave her a quick, but heartfelt, squeeze. “There, there. Shake it off,” Molly said with a hearty sniff. “I need to get back to work.”

  “So do I,” Amy said with a smile.

  “I’ll walk you out,” Molly said, stuffing the glasses and letter back into her apron pocket.

  Nursing guilt for rebuffing Betsy on the previous visit, Amy thanked the young woman and said goodbye, then walked out with Molly. “That was a very kind thing to do for someone who once stole from you.”

  Molly gave a dismissive wave. “Bygones. Besides, you were a child.”

  “Still, I knew it was wrong. But you made an impression on me.”

  The woman smiled. “What’s the saying? It takes a village to raise a child.”

  Amy had heard the saying many times, but this was the first time it made sense to her. It was true that so many people in Sweetness had lent a hand in raising her—concerned teachers, nosy neighbors, chiding grocery clerks, meddling ministers. All of them had touched her life somehow.

  “Molly, is there an ATV around I can borrow?”

  “Take mine,” Molly said, pointing to a vehicle painted with mottled camo paint parked under a nearby tree.

  “I’ll be back in about an hour,” Amy promised.

  “Take your time and be careful.”

  Amy jogged to the four-wheeler, stopping long enough to lift the necklace over her head and tuck the pendant inside her blouse. Then she climbed on and turned the ATV toward the main street. She chugged along slowly, conscious of the children leaving the dining hall to return to school for afternoon classes. Her heart squeezed when she looked at their faces. She missed Tony so much. She was counting the days until she saw him again.

  After she was clear of pedestrian traffic, she veered left up a broken roadway that led to Clover Ridge, where the Armstrong boys had grown up, and where one of the largest cemeteries was located.

  She bit her lip. Had the cemetery survived the tornado? Were the roads clear enough for her even to reach it? She was suddenly overwhelmed with remorse for having been so neglectful of her parents’ and aunt’s final resting place.

  The cracked, weed-choked road gave way to another that was in even more disrepair, then another. Now that she was away from the downtown area, she was starting to get an idea of the amount of work that remained to make Sweetness a habitable place. Kudzu-covered mounds were the only indication that homes had once stood in these places. The opening to the little hollow where she’d lived with her aunt was so overgrown, it was impassable. Her heart lodged in her throat, and she fought back tears. Their little rental house hadn’t been much to speak of, but it didn’t seem right that it had
been wiped from history.

  She kept riding across the ridge, slowing when she reached the Armstrong property. She swallowed hard—the house where she’d loved to spend time with Kendall’s family was gone, but the land was cleared. At the end of the fragmented driveway the newly painted black mailbox heralding “Armstrong” made her smile—a pronouncement that the Armstrongs were back to stay.

  In the field next to the lot, uniform logs were stacked in a crosshatch pattern for drying. Nikki had told her the homestead property now belonged to Porter. It looked as if he were contemplating building a home for them sometime in the near future. Then Amy gave a little laugh—Porter’s time might be better spent getting that church built.

  She goosed the gas and continued past more abandoned rubble, out to the cemetery where her family was buried. She expected it to be a tangled jungle of weeds, but the place was in decent shape—the Armstrongs had obviously made it a priority to keep the graveyard in check out of respect.

  Her heart swelled. That was the kind of men they were—mavericks…heroes…leaders. It was comforting to know there were still people like them in the world.

  She pulled up next to the tall gate that had received a new coat of paint recently and cut the engine. After walking inside, she surveyed the sea of gravestones—some of them dating back to the Civil War—and was filled with shame that she wasn’t quite sure where her family plot was located. There had been a tree nearby, she remembered, and a small stone bench.

  She scanned the area and headed in the direction of the remains of a large tree. The bench was gone, but as she walked, she felt sure she was on the right track. She swung her head back and forth, scanning headstones, recognizing the names of families that had once inhabited the town: Maxwell, Cole, Smithson, Cafferty, Moon. If any headstones had been damaged by the tornado, they had been repaired. No surprise, the Armstrong plot where Kendall’s father was buried was perfectly manicured. The brothers took care of their own.

  And Tony was one of their own.

  The thought was both comforting and worrying.

  She proceeded through tall grass to the rear of the cemetery and the lots that were less level and not as scenic. She searched her memory, but it was the cleared area that drew her attention to the Bradshaw plot marked with a simple white cornerstone with an engraved “B.” To her amazement, the graves were neat and the marble headstone that marked her parents’ grave was clean. Beloved husband and wife, Stanley and Marie Bradshaw.

  Who had tended their graves? As soon as the question flitted through her brain, she knew the answer: Kendall.

  Amy crouched to touch the stone, her tears flowing freely now for the people she knew only from a handful of hazy photographs. Their lives had been cut short, and here they lay, neglected and forgotten by their only child. When she’d left Sweetness, she’d turned her back on every memory, the good with the bad. She put her hand over the lump of the pendant underneath her shirt and made a silent vow that when she left this time, she would come back to visit regularly.

  She glanced over to her aunt’s grave, two plots over from her parents’ resting place. When she’d left, Aunt Heddy’s grave had been a mound of dirt and clay, covered with the drying remains of a few bunches of flowers that friends had sent for the funeral. It had apparently settled and grass had taken hold…but her aunt didn’t have a headstone.

  Amy took a deep, cleansing breath. That, at least, she could remedy.

  The wind picked up, tossing the ends of her springy hair. She surveyed the sprawling cemetery as the breeze kicked up leaves, giving life to the quiet place. The breeze swirled around the headstones, whispering and moaning. It was as if the long-gone residents of Sweetness were speaking to her. Don’t forget us.

  It was what she’d feared most about coming back here, that she would be swept up in the inexplicable pull of this place and these people. She tugged the mother-child pendant from her shirt and looked down at it, all the more meaningful because she had a child of her own.

  A child without a village.

  13

  “What’s in the bag?” Porter asked, loping up next to Kendall.

  Kendall didn’t break stride but continued walking toward the General Store with a package under his arm. “None of your business.”

  “I thought your mood would improve when Amy got here, but you’ve gotten downright morose.”

  Kendall pursed his mouth. “So go find someone else to talk to.”

  “But I want to talk to you.”

  “Don’t you have a church to build?” Kendall asked pointedly.

  Porter frowned. “You don’t have to get ugly. I just wanted to see how things are going on the bridge. Dr. Kudzu will be here in a few weeks and I want to make sure we’re in a position to start building that lab.”

  “We’ll be ready. She’ll be gone before you know it.”

  Porter squinted. “What?”

  He hardened his jaw. “I mean, she’ll be up before you know it—the bridge, I mean.” He stopped and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Go away, Porter.”

  “Hey, talk to me, bro. Things not going well with Amy?”

  “That would be no.”

  “Then how did you get pink fuzz all over your shirt?”

  Kendall swiped at the front of his shirt. “I ran into Rachel at breakfast this morning. She must have brushed up against me. Amy noticed, too. She thinks there’s something going on between me and Rachel.”

  “Well, if that’s the only thing standing between you, tell Amy the truth—that you’re still carrying a torch for her.”

  “It’s not the only thing standing between us. She has a boyfriend in Broadway, some guy named Tony. She can’t wait to leave here again and keeps thinking of ways to make the bridge project go faster.”

  “Well, she’s not gone yet. And if she’s noticing you and Rachel, that’s a good thing.”

  Kendall frowned. “How’s that?”

  Porter clapped him on the back. “Because, you idget, it means she’s jealous. Just like you’re jealous over her boyfriend. And you can’t be jealous unless you have feelings for someone.”

  Kendall brightened. “I guess you’re right.”

  “Of course I’m right,” Porter said with a grin. “I’m a genius when it comes to women. I got Nikki, didn’t I?”

  “You got her attention by writing on the water tower while she was on her way out of town,” Kendall added. “Whether you manage to keep her is yet to be seen.”

  Porter frowned. “I’m going now.”

  “Thought you might.” Kendall resumed walking, but he had a lighter step. He turned. “Hey, Porter.”

  Porter looked up.

  “Thanks.”

  Kendall turned and kept going until he reached the General Store. He jogged up the steps onto the porch. Firewood was stacked in small cabled bundles, and children’s four-buckle galoshes were on sale. He opened the door and stepped back as two boys burst out the door, squirting each other with water guns. Caught in the cross fire, Kendall caught a wet shot in the face.

  The boys froze. “Sorry, Mr. Armstrong.”

  “Yeah, sorry. Don’t tell my mom, okay?”

  He wiped his eyes, then gave them a chagrined smile. “Only if you promise to practice your aim, Justin.”

  The boys grinned, then ran down the stairs, yelling and soaking each other.

  Kendall gave a laugh, then walked into the store, inhaling the good scents of winter—peppermint and evergreen. Despite Rachel’s complaint that Molly wasn’t the right person to order supplies for the General Store, the place was actually pretty cozy. And while the merchandise fell a little short of Macy’s, the basics were covered: dry goods, cleaning supplies, underwear, outerwear, tools, toys, candy and occasional baked goodies if one was lucky enough to be there when the bread truck pulled up on Mondays and Thursdays.

  The store was bustling with customers, always good to see. Monica Kinsey, who apparently used to work in a department store in Broadway, was a ch
eerful, helpful head salesclerk. From behind the long front counter, she smiled. “Hi, Kendall. What can I do for you?”

  He set the wrapped package on the counter. “I broke the glass in this frame. Can you replace it?”

  “That shouldn’t be a problem. Give me a couple of days?”

  “Sure, just call me when it’s ready.”

  “Okay.” She grinned. “The bread truck will be here tomorrow. Want me to set aside another chocolate cake for you?”

  Kendall pursed his mouth. Maybe he could take it to Amy as a peace offering. She hadn’t had any the first time, but he knew she’d wanted it. Maybe it would wear down her defenses. Maybe she’d even let him feed it to her. He smiled at the fantasy. “Yes, I’ll take one, thank you.”

  “You got it.”

  The sound of raised voices caught his attention. To the right, Rachel Hutchins, still wearing that shedding pink angora sweater, and Dr. Jay Cross, dressed in his white lab coat, were having some sort of disagreement.

  “All I’m saying is that a flu shot is the surest way of staying in tip-top shape this winter,” the doctor said in his precise, polite tone. Then he punched at his horn-rimmed glasses and looked her up and down. “Although admittedly you already look like you’re in tip-top shape.”

  Kendall winced for the man.

  Rachel peered down at him. “And all I’m saying is, I don’t care. I don’t do needles.”

  “But we can achieve our goal orally.”

  Rachel leaned down to be eye to eye with the shorter man. “Did you just say something dirty?”

  “N-no,” he stammered. “I mean, I can give you the vaccine orally.” Then his Adam’s apple bobbed and he looked hopeful. “Do you want me to say something dirty?”

  Rachel reached forward and fisted her hands in his lapels. “Listen, you prissy little—”

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Kendall said, walking over to intervene. “Everybody just take a deep breath.”

  Rachel saw him and smiled. “Kendall, hello again.” She released the lapels of Dr. Cross’s jacket and gave them an ineffective pat. “Dr. Cross and I were just…talking, that’s all.” She twisted a lock of golden hair. “I should’ve asked you this morning at breakfast, but I was wondering if you’d like to come over tomorrow evening and take care of that little matter in my bedroom we discussed.”