Fate’s Bounty (Coming Home I)
Posted By J.C. Montgomery on March 4, 2009
Filed Under Excerpts, Westerns | Leave a Comment
© J.C. Montgomery 2009. All Rights Reserved
As I approached the building a gentle breeze rustled through the corn stalks in the garden. It was beautiful; thick green vegetation coating the land when only last year it was an arid and dusty desert. A scarecrow dressed in a tattered flannel shirt, its trousers faded in the sun, stood as a sentinel between the pole beans and the squash.
Not that it seemed to do much good at keeping away the four footed thieves for as I continued up the path, several rabbits bolted from the rows where the sunchokes were in full force. The tubers were good eating, but it was their flowers that were more appreciated as they brightened the garden, their yellow petals contrasting nicely against the verdancy of the vegetables. Clara strived to add color any way she could, to the garden and our lives.
It was another quality that I loved about her, and had never acknowledged. I’ve been such a fool, having all that I ever needed and not knowing it because I was too pigheaded and selfish, thinking that true happiness was in what I was supposed to be, not in what I already was.
The rustling of the stalks brought my attention back to the garden. Leaves swayed, leaning toward me, then away, as if beckoning me to come nearer and join them in their revelry. In that moment, I knew the sacrifice, the blood, the tears, the parts of us shed in order to expose the rawness of ourselves was worth it. It had allowed us to see our weaknesses and gain strength from accepting that they were forever a part of us.
My heart still ached for my losses, keeping the memories alive and fresh. I could not, I will not, forget those who gave their lives so I could have mine back.
Looking up, I see Clara has laid several quilts over the railings surrounding our porch. She liked to air them out before hanging them on the line to be beaten. Was it Saturday already? There was a rhythm to our lives, the beats of which kept in time by the chores that needed tending. You could tell the day of the week by the list of things needed to be done that day. It was the same since the day we married and had only changed as each child was born and grew into their own melody.
Counting, I notice that there is one missing. My mind races as I try to recall which. I take deep and deliberate breaths in an attempt to calm myself and rationalize instead of accept the possibility that while I was away battling my demons in order to keep my family safe, it wasn’t enough.
Death had come and gone, taking with it another part of my heart – but which one?
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