“You’re right, of course,” I told Al, with a tired smile. I attributed my exhaustion to stress but found myself unduly drowsy of late; my upper eyelids seemed attached to iron weights by early evening. “I miss Camille so much. I haven’t seen her since last summer.” I didn’t vocalize it, but I recognized my older sister’s need to temporarily escape Landon. Our mother grew more despondent by the day; even Aunt Jilly struggled to rouse her of late. Camille, along with our cousin, Clint, kept me well informed via nightly phone calls.
“You’ll bring the entire family to dinner,” Al said, with gentle insistence. “At least once or twice. Helen Anne and I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
“They have five kids,” I whispered, trying to keep my smile in place; I didn’t want to relent to the urge to weep, as I did on an escalating basis. I hated being trapped beneath a constant raincloud. I sat back and rubbed my temples. At least I didn’t have to pretend around Al; he knew the whole story. “Fuck. If we could just have one sign, just one, that they’re all right. What if they’re trapped there, Al?” Desperation rang in my voice. “What if it’s like a fucking one-way ticket to the past?”
“We can’t think like that or we’re as good as defeated,” Al said; beneath everything, I reflected how much I loved him. His kind, paternal presence and even-keel attitude had bolstered me countless times in the past few months.
Unable to rally my spirits, I all but moaned, “We’re defeated anyway! No judge is going to dispute the dates on those homestead claims…”
“Patricia. You must refocus. I know you better than this. You’re not a quitter. Case isn’t a quitter, and neither are any of the Rawleys, from the look of them. Let’s not forecast disaster just yet.”
“But, Al…”
“No buts. Not a one.” His shrewd gaze flickered to something beyond my shoulder; the furrows in his brow relaxed just as the bell above the door tinkled. I turned to see Case entering and a beat of pure, simple gladness stirred my heart.
“Hi, baby,” he murmured, skirting the counter and coming straight to my desk; I rose to get my arms around him and burrowed close, inhaling his scent through his soft flannel shirt and thick canvas jacket. Even having just emerged from the chill outdoor air, Case radiated warmth. He was hatless; his hair, as rife with tones of burnished red as an autumn forest, and the tops of his wide shoulders were sifted with melting snowflakes. He’d recently shaved his winter beard and mustache but retained a hint of stubble on jaws and chin. He cupped my elbows and scrutinized my face. “You need more rest than you’re getting, sweetheart.”
“I couldn’t agree more,” Al said, rising, crossing the room to shake Case’s hand.
I saw the concern in Case’s eyes, the worry which had not fully dissipated in months, and murmured, “I’m all right, I promise. Just tired.”
“Clark said we should head over as soon as you’re done with work,” Case told me.
“Then Camille just might beat us there,” I said, trying for a little enthusiasm.
The Rawleys’ sprawling two-story house had been crafted with local wood and stone. Despite the numerous times I’d been a guest in their impressive home, its sheer presence never failed to rouse awe, shivers rippling along my spine. The grand, sweeping structure was lit from eaves to foundation as Case parked our truck, the front windows ablaze, bright golden squares to counteract the gloomy, slate-gray evening. Holding hands, Case and I had not walked more than a dozen steps toward the front door before it opened wide, emitting Wy, the youngest Rawley brother, followed by Millie Jo and her twin brothers, Brantley and Henry.
“Auntie Tish!” Millie Jo screeched, running full-bore. She overtook Wy and crashed into my open arms.
I laughed, spinning her in a circle while Case caught the twins, one over each forearm. Wy wrapped me and Millie Jo, by default, in a bear hug, almost taking us to the snowy ground.
“We miss you!” Millie said, her words muffled by my puffy coat. “It took forever to get here!”
“I’ve missed you, too.” I kissed the top of her curly-haired head and Wy released us, stepping back and offering his wide grin. I reached next for my nephews. “You guys are getting so big!”
“Tish!” called another voice, and tears filled my eyes just that fast.
I was at once enfolded in my sister’s embrace. Clad in a wool sweater dress the color of ripe raspberries and furry brown boots, Camille’s scent inundated me; one part floral, one part warm cinnamon, as if Clark had been baking something sweet and her curls retained the fragrance. The softness of her abundant hair brushed my cheek as I clung, imbibing the comfort of family.
“I’m so glad you’re here,” I murmured, eyes closed.
“Me too,” she whispered, holding fast.
Mathias was right behind Camille, dressed in a heavy wool sweater and jeans; his blue eyes blazed as he grinned, lips framed by a mustache and full beard. “Tish, Case, it’s been too damn long!”
My brother-in-law was just as handsome and full of energy as ever, hugging me and then Case; I thought back to the first time I’d ever met Mathias Carter, years ago at Shore Leave during the busy Christmas season. Since that first winter, when he
