T. McClure - An Allegheny Homecoming

“Are you coming in?” With an anxious look, his mother placed a hand on his arm.

“No, Mom.” He leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. “I’ll stay at the cabin tonight. The key still over the door?”

“Oh, Josh, it’s too cold—”

“I’ll be fine, Mom.”

Sue reached into a paper bag on her lap and slipped a package into his jacket pocket. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow then.”

He was about to get out and help his mother from the truck, but Joe was already assisting Sue. He would leave his mother safe at the church, but he had no intention of walking into the brightly lit crowded place. Bad enough that he was home at all. He saw a burly patrolman approach his mother and glance in his direction. It was time to make a quick exit.

He shifted into first gear and was about to take his foot off the brake when he saw the man standing in front of his truck. How did a guy that big move that quickly? Holding up a gloved hand, the officer rounded the truck. He tapped on the driver’s window. “Sergeant Hunter?”

Josh sighed. The last thing he wanted was attention from the local police. He rolled down the window. “Yes, sir?”

“Your mom said you’re home on leave from the army.”

Josh didn’t see the need to say otherwise. He would be gone soon. What did it matter if people thought he was still in the military? “What can I do for you, Officer?” Up close, the policeman was much younger than he had appeared at a distance. His face was round and the reddened cheeks appeared smooth. Not a whisker to be seen, as if he had shaved just minutes earlier.

“I’ve kind of got my hands full.” One eyebrow raised with an unspoken question.

Josh knew what was coming. “I’m sorry, but I can’t stay.” Josh moved his hand to the gearshift lever.

The young man stuck his hand through the window. “I’m Bob Williams. Most folks call me Moose.”

Removing his hand from the gearshift, Josh gripped the other man’s hand. He resisted wincing. “Is Stone still the chief of police?”

“No. He died two years ago come January. Mac McAndrews is chief now. Good man.”

Josh didn’t recognize the name. “Well, good luck but—”

“Mac’s wife went into labor tonight.” His broad shoulders lifted in a massive shrug as he grinned. “Figures, huh? And I just heard about an accident on the interstate. The plow trucks can’t keep up with the snow.”

Josh suppressed a groan as he felt himself getting pulled into the town’s crisis. His mother’s empty cabin beckoned. A quiet place in the woods. A fire in the fireplace. A shot of whiskey. A single shot.

“Look, all I need is for someone to pick up Mrs. Hershberger and bring her back to the church. She lives a block from your mom’s bakery. Has a Go Cubs sign in the yard. She doesn’t have family so...” His words trailed off.

Josh drummed his fingers on the steering wheel and pictured snow falling around the cabin, the stack of logs waiting by the door.

Moose’s grin faded. “Look, man, just forget it. I’ve got to keep moving.” He backed away.

The disappointed look on the young man’s face convinced Josh he was being a heel. “Sure, Moose. I know where she lives. I’ll take care of her. Don’t worry.” He hesitated, and then thought if he was in for a dime he was in for a dollar. “Anything else?”

“Looks like this truck of yours can go anywhere. Maybe you could check on the Smith brothers. They’re two old guys—”

“Yeah, I remember. They still live on the farm on the other side of Little Bear Creek? That all?”

“I don’t suppose you’re familiar with Last Chance Farm. Two elderly people there, too.”

Josh felt his breath catch in his chest. “I’ve heard of it. Anyone else?”

Moose shook his head, but his gaze was on a caravan of cars turning into the parking lot. “Thanks, man.” His last words were shouted as he moved toward the new arrivals. “Your mom said I could count on you.”

Josh peered out the passenger window and saw his mother outlined in the open door of the church basement. He knew she had a lot of questions for him, but then, he had a lot for her, too. Though with the man from the tea shop in the cab with them, the questions, and the answers, would have to wait. He pulled out of the parking lot and headed toward his mother’s bakery. He hoped the retired teacher wouldn’t recognize him, that she would be so concerned with getting to the church she wouldn’t pay attention to the driver.

No such luck.

“Joshua Hunter, what are you doing here?” Mrs. Hershberger stood in the doorway of her small ranch house. Wearing a pink tracksuit, she clutched a heavy shawl draped over her shoulders.

His own mother had barely recognized him, how had the teacher? “Taking you to the church, ma’am. The power’s out.”

“I’ll be fine here. Besides, I’m not presentable.” Leaving the door open, she walked into her living room.

Hesitating, Josh looked down at the threshold. He really shouldn’t be here. He stepped into the hall and closed the door. “This blizzard’s forecast to continue through the night, Mrs. Hershberger. Are you sure you don’t want to go over to the church for a while? If you don’t like it, I’ll bring you back home.” Officer Williams had made a simple request, and if there was one thing Josh knew how to do, it was to follow orders.

She stood at the window, holding back the curtain so she could see. “I suppose you’re right. I’ll need a few minutes to get ready.”

Waiting for the older woman as she gathered her belongings, he looked around the living room. The retired teacher lived comfortably, but she certainly wasn’t well-to-do. The matching couch and chair were of a style at least twenty years old. An upright piano stood in one corner of the room. He walked over to look at the pictures on top. Multiple class pictures. First graders. Individual pictures of toothless children were stuck along the edges of the frames. A wedding photo. Josh picked it up. Mrs. Hershberger had been a beautiful woman, her curly hair short and dark. She wore a long white dress. Next to her stood a barrel-chested, muscular man, his hair cut in the buzz-cut style of the sixties.

“My wedding photo.”

Josh jumped. He hadn’t heard the woman return. Putting the picture back in its place, he turned. “Do you need a hand with anything?”

She passed him an overnight bag. “I’m ready.”

Two hours later he was finally on his way to the cabin, wondering if he would be as stubborn as Mrs. Hershberger and the Smith brothers when he got old. He grinned. With his mother’s and father’s genes? Probably.

The Smith brothers had been fine, a generator rumbling outside the rear kitchen door. Although they would soon be snowed in, they wouldn’t have a problem once the snowplows hit the back county roads probably in the morning. The elderly couple at Last Chance Farm had been fine as well, comfortable in the kitchen with a fire in the cookstove. They refused to go with him.

He was glad in a sense that they had the blizzard to talk about. It took the pressure off them possibly asking more questions about why he was in town.

He slowed as he approached the turn onto the suspension bridge over Little Bear Creek. The water ran dark between the snow-covered banks, the temperature not yet having been cold enough for freezing. As he crossed the bridge, the wooden boards rumbled under his tires.

At the end of the bridge, he turned right onto the unplowed road that passed in front of the cabin. As his headlights swung in a circle, a movement caught his eye. He slammed on the brakes. The truck skidded and came to a stop.

Josh peered into the curtain of falling snow. He must have imagined it. Or maybe he had seen a deer. But no deer in its right mind would be out on a night like this. No other wildlife, either.