Return The Hearts Of The Father: A Novel

J.A CAIN

RETURN THE HEARTS OF THE FATHERS by J. A. Cain

Published by Creation House

A Strang Company

600 Rinehart Road

Lake Mary, Florida 32746

www.creationhouse.com

This book or parts thereof may not be reproduced in any form, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or otherwise—without prior written permission of the publisher, except as provided by United States of America copyright law.

Charles Lamb quote, Lawyers, I suppose, were children once, is in the public domain.

If they ask us why we died, tell them because our fathers lied is from a World War I poem, author unknown.

Design Director: Bill Johnson

Author photo by Colin Searle, www.captureportraits.com

Copyright © 2008 by J. A. Cain

All rights reserved

Library of Congress Control Number: 2008941346

International Standard Book Number: 978-1-59979-547-8

E-ISBN: 978-1-59979-789-2

You have been abandoned,

you have been orphaned,

for a purpose,

for such a time as this.

For my children

CONTENTS

[1] The End and the Beginning

[2] The Jetty

[3] The House Across the Water

[4] The Funeral

[5] Broken Treasure

[6] From Our Fathers

[7] Open and Shut

[8] Changing Land

[9] Hot and Cold

[10] One to Infinity

[11] New Day

[12] To the Farm

[13] Little One

[14] Running Girl

[15] Grievous Wound

[16] Named in Town

[17] The River

[18] Stones

[19] Skin and Flesh

[20] Cut

[21] Fire

[22] Blood

Afterword

[ chapter one ]

THE END AND THE BEGINNING

I’VE DECIDED YOU will stay behind, my mother informed me. Try to brighten up the house. Gran can’t survive with just the housekeeper for company."

Personally, I had never seen anything lacking in Mrs. Frederick’s company, but I didn’t dare share this opinion with my mother. Besides, Gran wasn’t going to survive, no matter who stayed behind.

Her decline had been rapid. Just three weeks earlier Gran collapsed in her kitchen, her forget-me-not china broken on the floor, then crushed to pieces under the feet of two heavy-set and surprisingly chatty paramedics. It was my tenth birthday.

Later, I peered from behind the faded hospital curtains, my feet giving me away, watching a gray growth smother the rose-blossoms under her skin. Then suddenly Gran motioned for me. I shed the curtains like a silk coat, nervous that death would get me too, and walked forward.

Why can’t I be young like you? she whispered, her stale breath seeping into my nostrils. Startled deeper into silence, I tried to unknot her gripping stare, her pupils falling backward into a dark hole.

That afternoon, while my shoes continued to watch as I remained hidden in the curtain, the doctor spoke with my mother.

We’ve found a large shading on her left lung.

He sounded kind and short, and as he spoke the smell of coffee beans seeped up my tunnel of cloth. I’m afraid there is nothing more that we can do.

Mother sniffed. It’s an artistic way of describing cancer, she announced, throwing her remark toward the veil surrounding my face.

I would like my mother sent home as soon as possible. I’m going to phone Paul.

The doctor let out a slow, Mmmm.

Oh, I do hope this doesn’t spoil his concentration, Mother continued. She swept past me sucking the curtain out and in.

I pulled back my yellow shroud, antiseptic air sterilizing my throat.

You’ll find out how important exams are next year, Gwin. Her voice trailed over her disappearing shoulders out into the hall.

So Gran had been sent home to die, unwittingly trapping me in the process. The next day Paul and I said our good-byes outside Gran’s house.

Don’t worry, he whispered. We’ll be back to collect you soon. His eyes locked onto my quivering mouth. Gwin—seven days. His hand brushed my arm, his eyes giving a quick glint.

Look after the jetty while I’m gone.

I stood without waving, as mother drove Paul away into the foggy dusk. I had never been separated from him before. Soon he would be on our home shore of Kent, awoken each day by the gulls and the smell of seaweed, while I remained in Cumbria, trapped underneath high-away mountains. We had spent many summers here at Gran’s, but now each day that passed without Paul would feel like breathing in ten times without being able to breathe out.

A crow pulsed above my head, its feathers scratching the low canvas of cloud. I watched it rise toward the horseshoe of mountains surrounding Gran’s house. Suddenly the door creaked open behind me.

I’ve made some cordial. Elderflower. Would you like to come in?

I turned to see Mrs. Fredericks, her smile evaporating the mist. I nodded and ran straight into her apron.

At sixty-nine Mrs. Fredericks had just begun to look her age. She was short and round with sharp, lively eyes and wore her hair with great disrespect. I was sure it hadn’t seen a comb in years.

Soon she was tucking me up in the spare bed, her velvet curtains spilling low, heavy waterfalls out over the carpet to meet my floating suitcase.

Tell me their story one more time, I whispered, as her fussing hands smoothed down my pillow.

She sat down and drew in a slow breath while squeezing the itchy blanket against my bare arms. The most magical theater was about to begin. Mrs. Fredericks hushed the orchestra inside my head and proceeded to play.

It was 1945, and the war was almost over.

The familiar chords of her voice held me steady, and my heart finally began to slow its pace.

"Your grandfather got off the train at Kings Cross. Major Filer was a handsome man. He almost didn’t come. He didn’t want to leave his men back in France. But his only child had just been born, and he longed to meet her. He had given his boots an extra shine. Clip, clip, clip he went along the pavement, as he rushed home toward his waiting wife. How he loved his Rose—and what a beauty! He fell in love with her legs, you know. She was reading the paper in Hyde Park. Your Gran could have been a movie star. And when he saw her face; well, that was that." Mrs. Fredericks chuckled.

I love this bit, I exclaimed.

I know. She widened her eyes. So do I! So this beautiful woman replied that yes, he could call her, but only if he remembered her number by heart!

I’m going to tell my husband that when I grow up, I announced, and then see if he gets it right, dialing code and all!

Mrs. Fredericks chuckled again and stroked my forehead, waltzing once more into the romance of the past.

So, would his baby girl have her mother’s dark eyes, or his pale blue ones? When he turned onto their street, Major Filer stopped sharp. A bomb had destroyed every house but one. He was so shocked he didn’t see her at first. But she kept calling, ‘Augustus! Augustus!’ while waving her free arm high above her head. And then your grandfather saw them, his beautiful Rose, standing safe in the doorway of the only remaining house, proudly cradling their baby girl.

And that’s why they called her Angel.

And that is why. Mrs. Fredericks leaned down and kissed my hair. Your Gramps spent the next two days kissing his girls, before returning to the front line. She stopped abruptly, closing her throat around her words.

Why did they tell her by letter?

That’s how it was done. She paused, her comforting eyes looking deep into mine. It was called a telegraph. It was even shorter than a letter. Your grandmother moved to this house when your mother was just six months old, you know. She managed well in these mountains, considering she was all alone.

She had you.

I’m just her housekeeper. I think she did well considering she never remarried. Mrs. Fredericks pulled the blanket up to my chin. It’s time you got some sleep, little one. French toast for breakfast?

With maple syrup?

She nodded and smiled, and with one more kiss she was gone.

I stayed in the past for a while, imaging her face in the park, and his summer-sky eyes, as he waved good-bye that final time. I wanted to reach back through all those days and somehow stop him from climbing back onto that train. I would plead with him to stay close to the ones he loved, for I wanted to meet him too. But instead he was ripped away into another place, lost into the past, cut off from people desperate for his arms, desperate to see him saunter round the corner in his shiny boots just one more time.

[ chapter two ]

THE JETTY

THANKFULLY, THAT AUGUST week turned out to be sweltering, which suited me fine. The sunshine became my excuse to escape that old, stone house. Mrs. Fredericks popped by to look after Gran, while the days passed slowly and without event.

It was my last morning. Freedom beckoned as I climbed the stairs to wake Gran. Pausing at the door I watched her sleep, surprised by her hair. It rolled in large, silver curls around her face, immune to the infestation within. She stirred as I pulled back the faded pink curtains to let in the day.

Good morning, Gran, I stuttered, my skin suddenly goose-bumped in my shorts and T-shirt.

She struggled to find her lungs.

Good morning, Gwin. Her tiny voice cracked through the air, like a sparkler trying to hold back the dark. But then she brightened. I had a delightful young visitor last night.

She wheezed in deeply, speaking too much for someone so ill.

His name was Mr. Lambe. Apparently he owns the adjoining estate. He made me feel…

She trailed off, weighed down by an invisible reaper perched on her ribs, before making one final effort, …peaceful, somehow.

Then with one thinning finger she motioned for me once more.

I walked round to her side of the bed, her wax eyes pulling me in.

I haven’t seen much of you, Gwin, she whispered.

I broke her gaze, quickly finding a pattern on her rug to trace with my toes.

So, how are you feeling today, Gran? I offered, trying to sound grown-up.

Not very well, dear.

I bit my lip and looked up.

In what way? I struggled on, a child actor searching for her lines from someone else’s script.

I have cancer.

Her proclamation was simple and far too complicated.

I know, I spluttered. I’m sorry.

And with that I fled. I was stupid, I knew it. What would my mother say? I took the stairs two at a time, burst out of the house and fell into the light.

Thankfully the mountains were there to catch me, splashed gold and green with the late summer gorse. Below the spacious sky I could see the lake, and so I ran toward it with all my soul. Faster and faster I flew down the hill, the long grass whipping my legs, leaving the stone house and all cancerous air behind. I heard my laughter beat to the pulse of my flailing arms, out of control. Many times I thought I would fall, into the sun and into the sky and down toward the shore.

I slowed as I neared the water, quieting myself out of respect for a dear old friend. The lake had been mine since before I could talk, always there before words became words. Now was the time to watch and listen. Tiny minnows flicked in the shallows as the ripples played with the morning sun, scattering diamonds for the fish to find. I breathed in, recapturing my hope for the fading adventure of summer. Walking along the shore I soon arrived at the jetty, friendly and drunk on crooked legs. And suddenly I missed Paul all over again.

Go on, skinny, right to the end!

I can’t! I can see through the planks!

Go on, jump on it. See? Jump, jump, JUMP!

His laughter roared inside my head, yet through all our summers, still our jetty would stand.

I thought of Gran back at the top of the hill. Steadying my hands I took a deep breath and walked slowly but firmly to the end. Smiling minutely and victoriously to myself, I sat down and took off my shoes. It was hot already. The weeds smelled pungent, as the dart of a fish caught my heel.

I sat in silence for quite some time. Why did Gran have to die? Come to think of it, why did anyone have to die? It all seemed quite unfair.

After several minutes I noticed someone moving along the shore behind me. Yet my shoulders remained down, my eyes resting on the shimmering water. With quiet footsteps, the strong feet moved onto the jetty. I could tell it was a man. He had a big fresh smell, like new sheets and showered hair. Thoughts of Paul drifted away as this visitor quietly reached the end of the jetty and sat down by my side. I allowed myself a quick sideways glimpse at his legs. He removed his shoes and placed his toes into the water, just like mine.