All Roads Lead Home
by Mary
Alone once again, Jess lay back in the large comfortable bed listening to the sounds of an active household going about the daily business of living. From time to time, he would hear footsteps approaching his door and would sense rather than see curious eyes looking in at him.
Finally he drifted off to sleep and when he awoke several hours later, he felt refreshed and much better. He noticed that there was a tray on the bedside table covered with a white starched napkin. Seeing it reminded him that he was also famished. Gingerly he pushed himself up in bed and, with some difficulty, stuffed several pillows behind him. Transferring the tray from the table to his lap proved far more daunting. As he sat there pondering his dilemma, there came a soft tapping on the side of his open bedroom door. Peering around he saw the tiny figure of the little girl who had visited him earlier.
“Well, howdy,” he said in his friendliest cowboy voice.
She gazed at him calmly without smiling. “I’m not supposed to wake you up but since you’re already awake, I’ve decided to keep you company,” she announced. “That is, if you want company.”
“I never turn down a visit from a pretty girl,” Jess said warmly. “How’s about you give me a hand with this tray before I dump it all over myself.”
All business, the little girl marched around the bed and first straightened out the pillows at his back. Then, when she felt he was sitting up properly, moved the tray onto his lap and lifting the napkin tucked it securely under his chin. That accomplished, she crawled up onto the foot of the bed, pulling her skirts primly down over her dark blue stocking clad legs and sat with her back perfectly straight, regarding him expectantly.
His stomach growling, Jess attacked his lunch. In between bites of cold chicken, fresh bread slathered with butter and new peas covered with warm cream, he managed to ask, “Mind tellin’ me your name? If we’re goin’ to be friends, it might be bettern’ me callin’ you Fred or Sam.”
The little girl fought hard to maintain her serious demeanor. Finally, in her best grownup voice she said, “My name is Lucy and that was my brother Ben with me. We used to be orphans.”
Jess considered that for a moment. “You’re not orphans anymore?”
“No,” she replied simply. “After our parents were killed by Indians, Uncle Thad – only he wasn’t Uncle Thad back then. He was just Mr. Davis and he was the guide for the wagon train we were on. Well, after that, we were going to be sent to a place back east but Uncle Thad said that our parents would have wanted us to live out here so he sent us to live with Aunt Abigail and Uncle Buck. Actually they were just Mr. and Mrs. Davis back then but after they adopted us they were Aunt Abigail and Uncle Buck. Oh, and Uncle Thad, of course. Ben doesn’t remember the wagon train or our parents – he says he does but he doesn’t.”
“And do you?” Jess asked gently.
“Yes,” Lucy replied and left it at that.
Deciding a change of subject was in order, Jess asked, “So who are all these folks?”
Lucy rocked back on her heels and ticked off the names on her fingers. “Well there’s Ben and me. And then there’s Joshua who you met and Aunt Abigail. Uncle Thad and Uncle Buck are buried in the little cemetery up behind the old barn – I’ll take you there when you are feeling better. Then there’s Rose who does the cooking and her daughter, Fiona who helps. Fiona’s married to Buster Waite who’s one of the wranglers that works for Mr. Austin. Mr. Austin is the foreman – he used to be a real sheriff before he came here. They have a little boy named Davy and he likes to play with Ben and Fiona’s going to have another baby soon. I’m not supposed to know that. Rose used to have a husband a long time ago I think but I don’t know what happened to him. Is your head hurting?”
Finally as she paused to catch her breath, Jess was able to get a word in edgewise. “No,” he said smiling. “Do you always talk so fast?”
“Just when I have a lot to say,” she replied. “We don’t get many guests.”
Jess gathered that that was probably true.
“Are you going to eat that last piece of bread?”
“Help yourself.”
With that she daintily snatched up the bread and sat delicately nibbling on it.
Jess took a good look at her. She was a very pretty child – long blond hair and hazel eyes wise beyond their years. Like Abigail, she carried a deep underlying burden of grief but with her back straight and her wide intelligent eyes facing right down the road she would, as Abigail had said, “Move past it.” He found himself greatly admiring these two fine, strong ladies.
“Well, Miss Lucy,” he said as he finished the last of his meal, “I think I feel another nap comin’ on. You wouldn’t want to take this tray downstairs would you?”
She peered at him anxiously and when she had satisfied herself that he was, in fact, just sleepy, she climbed down off the bed and gathering up the tray made her graceful and dignified exit.
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