Jill Marie Landis - Homecoming

It wasn’t right that Joe, at twenty-five, was already burdened with guilt over a past he couldn’t change.

Unlike her, Joe had lost his faith in everything good and true and right. He’d completely given up on God the night his father and sister had been murdered by Comanche raiders, the night he found her, his mother, ravaged and left for dead.

Since then, his guilt and the hardships of life on the Texas plains had beaten the joy out of him, made him too soon a man.

Jesse declined her offer of more chocolate and, a moment later, Hattie nearly jumped out of her skin when she suddenly heard Joe’s footsteps behind her.

She turned as her son came walking across the porch, rolling down his shirtsleeves as his long-legged stride brought him to the table. The collar of the brown-and-white-striped shirt she’d made him was damp. So, too, was his dark curly hair. It was his habit to wash up in the barn before coming into the house.

Their brown hound, Worthless, trailed along in Joe’s wake. The dog sniffed at Jesse’s boots and then stretched out on the ground near her feet.

Joe’s glance shot between her and Jesse. His mouth hardened into a taut line. Visitors were a rarity, even former old friends.

“Hey, Jesse,” he said. His expression remained guarded as he turned to Hattie. “What’s going on? Why are you here?”

“Jesse’s an old friend, Joe. He has every right to drop by.”

“We haven’t seen you in what? Eight months? A year maybe?”

Hattie was grateful that Jesse ignored the insult.

“Yesterday we had a skirmish with a renegade band of Comanche. We rescued a handful of white captives. There’s a young woman among them who looks to be in better shape than the rest, but like most of them, she’s still unidentified. I’ve come to ask if you folks will take her in—just until her family’s located.”

Hattie watched her son’s expression darken. Without comment, he reached for the chocolate pot and filled an empty cup before he sat down at the end of the table opposite her.

“You actually expect us to take her in?” Joe’s anger was barely controlled. “Are you out of your mind?”

Jesse ignored Joe’s intent stare. “You’ve certainly got the room. Your ma could use some help around the house, I reckon.”

“Help?” Joe didn’t try to hide his disgust. “You think somebody who’s gone Comanch’ is really gonna be of help to my mother? Are you forgetting what she’s been through on account of the Comanche? You forget what she’s suffered?” Joe paused, stared at Jesse as he added, “We haven’t.”

“Please, Joe,” Hattie whispered. His undisguised bitterness and anger worried her more than the thought of inviting the Comanche captive into her home.

Joe leaned forward, rested his forearm on the table. “How long has she been a captive?”

Jesse shrugged. “No idea.”

“Did she come in of her own accord? Did she ask to be rescued?”

“I wasn’t the one who found her,” the seasoned soldier admitted. “She’s made no attempt to run.”

Joe stared down into his cup. Hattie watched the muscle in his jaw tighten before he slowly looked up again.

“Maybe you’d like us to take her in because you’re thinking of keeping all the outcasts in one place? Is that it?”

“Joe!” Hattie flushed with embarrassment.

Jesse’s expression soured. Pushed too far, he didn’t bother to hide his anger.

“You know I’m not thinking anything of the sort. Your father was one of my pa’s closest friends. I have the greatest respect for your mother.”

Hattie’s thoughts strayed to the young woman in need. A white girl who had lived among the Comanche. A girl who had been ripped from her family, taken captive and had managed to survive. Some other mother’s daughter.

Her heart again began to pound with the old fear that still terrorized her in the middle of a moonless night. She took a deep breath and refused to feed that fear, forced herself to think of the possibilities instead.

Theirs was a small spread, one that barely broke even most years. Except for spring and summer when Joe hired on extra hands, there were just the two of them. There was never time to catch up.

If nothing else, she could surely use another pair of hands. But a Comanche captive?

The Lord giveth…

“With kindness and nurturing, she’ll come around.” Hattie didn’t realize she’d voiced her thoughts aloud, but figured Joe and Jesse weren’t paying her any mind anyway.

She was a born nurturer, with nothing but cattle and crops to tend for the last eight years.

She looked up and found them both staring at her.

“I can teach her,” she decided. “And I could use a hand around the house.” She bit her lip and took a deep breath before she appealed directly to Joe.

“Jesse says no one else will take her in, son.”

“Of course they won’t. What else would you expect?” He was watching her closely, undisguised disbelief in his eyes. “Very few folks ever did anything to help you, Ma. Or have you forgotten how the good people of Glory turned their backs on you, as if daring to survive was your great sin.”

“Joe—”

“Maybe no one else has taken her in because they’re afraid she’ll murder them in their sleep.” As if a thought had just struck him, Joe looked to Jesse again. “Is she dangerous?”

“She hasn’t shown any signs.”

“Can she speak English?” Joe asked.

“She hasn’t said anything yet,” Jesse admitted.

Joe’s lip curled in disgust. “Even if she did, you don’t know what she’s thinking.”

“It’s just ’til they find her folks,” Hattie reminded him.

“Do you even know her name?” Joe pressed.

Jesse cleared his throat and shoved his empty cup aside. “The governor’s office is going through records of Indian raids and letters from folks searching for missing and abducted relations. We’ve got boxes of army files dating back to the first Texas settlers. It’s just a matter of time until we find out who she is.”

Hattie watched her son stare across the open range and studied his strong, handsome profile. Now that he was older, he reminded her so much of a young Orson that at times she almost called him by his father’s name. His black curly hair and midnight eyes came from the Ellenberg side of the family, but he’d inherited his stubborn determination from her.

Since they’d lost Orson and Mellie, Joe’s heart had hardened, even as her own had opened to forgiveness.

Now a young woman needed a home and someone to guide her out of the darkness, someone to lead her back to the light. Perhaps if the girl and Joe took the journey together, one or, hopefully, both would succeed. Would it ever be possible for Joe to forgive and move on? Would it ever be possible for him to believe again?

Hattie welcomed the chance to have another female in the house, even one that presented a great challenge. She hardly remembered what it was like to have a woman friend to confide in, to laugh with.

The laughter had gone out of their lives one bleak winter night long ago.

Jesse was waiting for an answer. She met his gaze and began to understand why he’d turned to her.

Who better to help the girl than me? Who else can even begin to understand all she’s been through?

Hattie said a small, silent prayer and looked at her son.

“I’ll abide by whatever you say, Joe, but I’d like to do this.”

Then she rose and began to busy herself with the cups and saucers. She collected the empty plate she’d filled with half a dozen almond macaroons. Jesse had eaten them all.

She had made her position clear to Joe. Now she put her trust in the Lord.

Jesse’s wooden chair squeaked under his weight and then silence settled over them all. She knew Joe was devoted to her. If he wasn’t, he’d have ridden off and left her and this place behind long ago. Spurred by sorrow, emptiness and guilt, he’d have surely chosen to follow a crooked path.