Chapter 3
Two Years Later
Ben felt a deep swirling in his stomach as he drew nearer to his destination. The scenery on the mountain road was becoming more familiar.
He knew that tree. It was bigger now, its branches unfurling further out over the road and making him duck a little to the side as he passed underneath it. The motion strained against the scarring of his lower abdomen.
That was the tree he used to climb as a boy, the one whose branches were just low enough for him to wrap his hands around the lowest limb and hoist up his feet until he hung upside down.
Eventually, as he got stronger, he ventured further up toward the sky, his hands full of sap as needles fell all around him.
Over to the left, he spotted two low bushes. They wouldn’t have meant anything to anyone else; Ben was sure. But the sandy earth between them had been worn down over the years by small, eager feet. The bushes marked the beginning of the trail the children used to run around the rim of the valley.
For a brief moment, he was tempted to stop his wagon and go explore it for himself, to see if the view from the ridgetop was as exhilarating as he remembered it.
But nothing was ever as good as it seemed.
That was one of the many lessons Ben had learned when he’d run away from this place to join the army.
All the promises in the world, all the hopes and dreams that could fit inside a boy’s head, were broken and shattered when they came up against the truth of reality.
Instead of walking the trail, Ben reached under the seat for his flask.
He took a few swigs and then shook it gently.
It was nearly empty, but at least it’d lasted him this long.
Ben wouldn’t be getting a refill anytime soon, not where he was headed.
He held onto the light feeling the whiskey gave him. Ben was going to need it.
The road narrowed and lifted as the mountain ridges converged and left only a small pass between them. From his perspective, it looked like the road led only to blue sky, with no more road to catch him and hold him up if he should decide to press onward.
Ben had come this far, and he couldn’t go back now.
There was no place to return to, anyway.
The fields, farms, and roads that he’d traveled with the army were no true place, not to him.
They were merely the backdrop for what he’d done, a path he’d had to take that only led him right back to his starting point.
Some men went back to their homes, eager to rebuild their farms and greet their families.
Others who hadn’t had families when they enlisted were married by the time they were discharged, and they went in search of places to settle down. Soldiers fell in love with nurses, but some of them fell in love with new towns or cities they hadn’t dreamed of before.
Nothing called toward Ben. Nothing made him wonder what else waited for him in the world. He had only the pain of his injury to remind him of his foolish mistakes.
Ben reached the crest of the pass and pulled back gently on the reins.
The glow of the late afternoon sunlight illuminated the flat bottom of the valley below him.
It bathed the wooden sides of the little church with its steep roof, gilding it.
For a moment, it looked as though God had put it there himself.
The orphanage sat immediately next to it, squat and square, a construction that was made not to please God but to house as many people as possible and for as little money as possible. It bore the same wooden siding, with the white paint peeling off like pale scabs.
In front of these buildings, right where the road descended into the valley and ended, a sign declared this place as the St. Thomas Home for Wayward Children.
Ben clicked to his horse and headed down. He focused on the third word on the sign. “Home.” It’d been home for many children, including himself. Was it still home? Did he have any business being there?
That was the debate that’d gripped him time and again during his journey. He had no business returning, not after so long and not after the way he’d left. He was a grown man at nineteen, and it was time for him to make a life for himself.
But how? There was no life that he wanted and no place he belonged. He was a man, but he’d left a part of himself behind when he’d left St. Thomas.
A wiry boy with black hair came barreling up the path on foot, his fists curled at his sides as he ran up the steep hill to greet him. “Hi!”
“Hello,” Ben said politely, but he wasn’t there to visit the children. None of them, he was sure, would be the same ones he’d once shared a bunk with. They’d likely all gone off to homes of their own in the three years that he’d been gone. Or at least, Ben hoped they had.
Another boy jumped out from behind a bush, starling the horse. Dust flew from his dirty blonde mop of hair as he fell into step on Ben’s other side. “Who are you?”
He hesitated. Who was he? He didn’t truly know. The boy, though, didn’t care about the inner workings of his mind. “Ben.”
“Are you here to take one of us with you?” the dark-haired boy asked. “Sister Andrews said a farmer was looking for someone to help him. Is that you?”
Ben’s spine stiffened in alarm, which reminded him of how sore he was after so many hours in the wagon. “Sister Andrews?”
“No, stupid,” the blonde retorted to the other boy, ignoring Ben’s question. “He’s not a farmer.”
“How do you know?” the first boy retorted back. “He’s got to be the farmer! Nobody comes just to visit!”
That was a familiar feeling. Ben had been just like those boys. On the rare occasion that anyone had shown up at the remote orphanage, he’d been so hopeful that they’d come to take him away to a real home.
At the same time, there’d always been a small fear quivering in the center of his heart that he might have to leave St. Thomas.
The children who’d come to the orphanage late, the ones who’d already experienced a home life before their parents had died, complained all the time about the crowded conditions and the hard work.
They told him of having their own bedrooms and real parents, and they’d made it sound as though it was Heaven on Earth.
But Ben had never known anything but St. Thomas. He’d never had a mother other than Sister Matthews, and Father Tillman was the only father he knew. He’d been delivered to the orphanage as a baby, and his earliest memories were of running around the church pews.
“Just look at him! He doesn’t look like a farmer to me!
He’d need a better wagon, and a stronger horse.
And his clothes are all shabby, so he can’t afford to pay someone to work in his barn.
He looks more like a…a…” The blonde boy’s eyes had been scanning Ben’s rig and clothes, but as they traveled up to his face, he realized just what he was about to say.
Let them call him a beggar. Ben looked like one and knew it. He didn’t care. “You said Sister Andrews. Is Sister Matthews still here?”
His heart ached at the idea that he might’ve missed her, that she might’ve been called to service somewhere else while he’d been gone, or worse. She wasn’t young even when Ben had left.
“Yeah, she is,” the dark-headed one answered. “You here to see her?”
Ben considered this. What was he there for, at all? The first thing he needed to do was speak to Sister Matthews, though. “Yes. I am.”
A much smaller boy suddenly appeared, running alongside the blonde one. “Who’s he?”
“He’s here to see Sister Matthews,” the blonde boy announced, proud that he knew something that the little one didn’t.
“I’ll get her!” Despite his small size and skinny legs, the smallest boy zipped off across the yard and disappeared behind the buildings.
“I don’t want to disturb her,” Ben began, but it was far too late to stop the boy.
They weren’t listening. “Lonnie is the fastest runner here,” the blonde boy said. “He can outrun any of us.”
“I was fast once…” Ben mused. He could practically feel the rocky soil under his bare feet as he flung himself from one end of the valley to the other. He pushed himself to run further and faster all the time, finding freedom in the way the wind pierced his clothes and lifted his hair.
That speed had led to his position as a courier, but even speed wasn’t enough to stop a hardened blade.
“Here he comes!”
Lonnie came back around the corner of the building, racing back toward Ben and the boys.
A nun emerged behind him, wiping her hands on her apron.
Dust discolored the hem of her dark habit.
She stopped to study the newcomer for a long moment, and then her skirt was rippling over the ground as she hurried forward as fast as her frail body would allow.
“Ben!” she shouted, waving. “Ben Hale, is that really you?”
The smile that came over Ben’s face felt foreign as he studied Sister Matthews. There were more lines in her face, the skin dark and hardened from the hours she worked out in the sun. Her pale blue eyes were just as familiar as always, even after all this time.
“It’s me,” he said as he pulled the horse to a halt and climbed down from the wagon. His feet and back ached, and his scars tugged at him no matter how he held himself.
“Or at least what’s left of you,” Sister Matthews noted. “You were injured? In the war?”
“Wow,” the dark-haired boy breathed. “You were in the war? You don’t look like a soldier!”
“Emmitt, you go tell Father Tillman that Ben is here,” Sister Matthews directed.
“How’s he going to know who that is?” Emmitt challenged.
The nun gave him a stern look. “Trust me. He’ll know. Lonnie, you go fetch the others from the garden. It’s nearly supper time. Shane, you need to take care of the goats.”
Shane scuffed his shoe against the ground, kicking up a cloud of dust. “Why do I have to take care of the goats again? They’re mean, and they’re always ramming me in the ass.”
“And you deserve it if you’re going to keep talking like that,” Sister Matthews reminded him without any hesitation. “You’ve been off playing instead of doing your work, and you’ll mind the goats until you start doing as you’re told.”
Shane’s shoulders sagged as he trudged off toward the barn, which sat a short distance away from the church and orphanage. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Still keeping them in line, I see,” Ben noted.
“As best I can.” She studied his face, her blue eyes dancing back and forth as she tried to take him all in. “Emmitt is right. You don’t look like a soldier. Your hair is all grown out, and I had no idea you could grow a beard like that!”
Ben ran his hands through his scruff. “I didn’t exactly have a mirror and shave soap while I was sleeping under my wagon.” Sister Matthews had always been a stickler for cleanliness, and he should’ve stopped off somewhere to make himself presentable before he arrived.
Not that there had been many places Ben would’ve been willing to stop. When the road brought him to a town, it was easier to ride straight on through instead of trying to stop at an inn. People at inns always had questions, and that was a much higher price to pay than the money for a room.
“How far have you come? And where are you headed? You’re not still in the army, are you?
I mean, the war is over, but I know they’ve kept some soldiers on.
No, you must not be, or they wouldn’t let you be in such a state.
” Sister Matthews reached up to adjust the collar of his jacket, but then she pulled him to the embrace of her bony arms.
“You see what you’ve done to me?” she scolded, her sharp jaw digging into his arm. “You’ve got my thoughts all running together. I thought maybe you were…”
He held her tightly, regretting so many things about his past. “Nope. They tried to kill me, but it didn’t work.”
“Well.” She pulled back and straightened herself as though embarrassed by such a show of affection. That’d always been her way, though. The softer side of Sister Matthews was kept tucked away, only visible to the lucky few who earned it. “As for the rest, you’ll have to tell me over supper.”
“I don’t want to be a burden,” Ben replied. “You work hard enough just to feed the kids here.”
“Nonsense. God has always and will continue to provide, and there’s always enough.
We’ll be just fine, and I wouldn’t forgive myself if we didn’t at least share a meal with you while you’re here.
Come on.” Sister Matthews hiked up the front of her habit just enough that it would stay out of the way of her feet as she marched back toward the church.
They went around the side of the building, where the valley floor wasn’t as flat and forgiving. The orphanage used the land by cultivating it into a garden, with rows of tomatoes, squash, peppers and herbs undulated across the uneven ground.
“You’ve expanded it,” Ben noted. He’d remembered the sun beating down on his back as he pulled weeds and harvested vegetables.
The dirt would always get under his nails, and he’d have to scrub it clean again before Sister Matthews would allow him to sit at the dinner table. “I hated working the garden.”
Her laugh was a dry sound, like two twigs rubbing together. “Most children don’t understand that the reward at the end is what makes the work worth it. They all complain just as fiercely as you did, but they like having their bellies full at the end of the day.”
The boys, rounded up by Emmitt and Lonnie, were coming out of the garden carrying baskets of their harvest. Proof of their hard work showed up in the dirt on their hands and the sweat on their brows. They put the baskets on the back porch of the orphanage before hurrying to the well.
Lonnie reached the pump first. He lifted the handle, but it took the force of his entire body to push it back down again and make the first slosh of water come rushing out.
“Let me do it,” Emmitt said, trying to brush Lonnie aside.
“I’ve got it!” Lonnie insisted. He worked the pump with every fiber of his meager muscles as the other boys crowded around to wash their faces and hands.
To the north, just outside the orphanage, a few girls were working on the laundry. They’d finished with their washing and were carefully pegging the clothes to a couple of long lines that’d been run between sturdy trees. They peered surreptitiously at Ben, but they made no move to come closer.
The youngest of the girls, who couldn’t have been more than a couple of years old, had been placed inside a laundry basket in the shade so the older girls could watch her more easily. She grinned at him from under her bonnet as she held onto a ragdoll.
“It’s all the same, and yet it’s all different,” Ben told Sister Matthews as he tried to take it all in. The orphanage had been a home, but it’d also been a prison. It was free and open, but he’d always felt that it was completely separate from the rest of the world.
“We have much to talk about,” Sister Matthews said as she observed her charges. “Let’s get your horse settled in the barn, and then come in for supper.”