Stranger's Return

Stranger’s Return

By Abigail Grace


The snow fell like powdery sugar to frost the ground in its sweet whiteness. The flakes, large and round, clung to whatever they touched, namely the now quiet cobblestone streets of the small town square and the rooftops of cozy cottages scattered about, warm gray smoke ebbing from their chimneys.

Inside, the atmosphere was quiet and subdued. This small town, nearly hidden amongst the hills of Merris, was quite accustomed to blistery winter days. The people had learned well how to deal with the weather - stay inside and always keep the pantry full. It was sort of a motto in these parts.

That creed had never impacted a certain loner who rode horseback through the empty streets. He guided his faithful midnight mare on slowly, murmuring softly to her beneath his breath, all the while fighting back the shivers that threatened to overtake him.

The lone rider soon reached the town square and slowed to a stop. He looked around. To his right sat the town hall and courthouse, both present in the same modest building. To the left lay a small white church, its steeple raised high and stained glass windows frosted and powdered by windblown snow. All was as it should be for a Sunday evening, just as he remembered.

The rider urged his mare on, and she stepped forward to forge a new path in the freshly lain snow. Around them, the sun was just beginning to shrink below the horizon. Soon the two passed through the town square and were met with quiet cottages that lined the street. At first the homes where bunched near to one another, as if to keep warm in such close company, but quickly became more sporadic as the road led farther from town.

To each home he passed, the lone rider cast a glance, but was met each time by only a lit front lamp. All seemed to be asleep or, at least, he speculated that everyone was snuggled away in some cozy spot, book in hand, enjoying a tale told about a land far from there.

A smile warmed his face at the thought of it. He wished very much that he could have been some place like that instead of riding through the snow on the coldest evening he had yet to meet.

Lost to the thoughts of other times and places, he was suddenly startled back to the present when his mare came to an abrupt halt, her ears erect and perked forward toward some invisible sound that her rider had not yet noticed.

“What is it, girl?” he murmured. “What do you hear?”

Oblivious to his words, the mare flicked her ears, then began again, this time walking swifter than she had before.

Then he remembered. The trees around this place were familiar. He had been here before – many times. They had neared their destination.

It did not take the horse long before she brought her master close enough to the cottage set back from the road that he, too, could hear what had caught her attention. The sound of gambling children met his ears: shouts, laughter, squeals of sheer delight.

"Ah, so someone is indeed out tonight," he thought, his lips turning up. He urged his mare forward and up the long lane that meandered its way to the cottage’s front gate.

In the yard, three children frolicked about in the snow. Two were working on what appeared to be the words largest snowball, what he assumed was to become the base for a giant snowman. The other was of a considerably younger age and ran circles around the older, shouting out, giggling, and falling back in the snow as she pleased.
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"Home . . . just as it ought to be." He pressed his heels into the mare’s sides, and she broke into an instant trot. As he neared, the two oldest children caught sight of him. At first they simply stared, then, probed by his sister, the boy hurried across the yard to meet him.

“Hello,” said the boy, swinging the gate aside. He stepped up to where the horse and rider had stopped. “Welcome to the Wheaton cottage,” he greeted.

“Greetings,” the man returned.

The boy continued to stare up with round blue eyes as if he knew this man from somewhere yet could not place him. “What can we do for you, sir?” he asked hospitably, just as his father had taught him.

“May I speak with your father?” the man inquired in return.

“Certainly. He’s inside. I’ll show you the way.”

The man dismounted, left his horse at the gate, and followed the boy through the track littered yard. The two younger girls stared at him curiously as he walked past, and he smiled in return. They grinned shyly back.

At the cottage door, the boy paused to stomp his boots in an attempt to dislodge some of the snow and ice that clung stubbornly to them. After a good minute of stamping, he finally gave up and reached for the door latch. “Papa?” he called, heaving it aside. “There’s someone here to see you!”

“Your father just went out to bring in some wood, Jamie,” his mother’s voice called from the kitchen. “You can catch him now before he starts.”

“All right,” Jamie returned. He looked back up at the man who had come in behind him. “Papa’s out back right now. Follow me, and I’ll take you to meet him.”

“No, that’s all right. I’ll just speak with your mother.”

“Well, okay . . .” Jamie threw a glance out to the yard were his sisters were waiting.

“I’m sure I can find the kitchen,” the man offered, a smile finding its way to his face. “You go back to your snowman building.”

A grin slid across Jamie’s face, and he was off in a flash, shutting the door behind him to leave the nameless visitor standing alone.

The man gave a sigh. It would not be easy to again face the ones he knew would, unlike Jamie, surely recognize him.

Slowly, he removed his hat so that red-brown waves fell loose to his ears. He took steps down the hall. He knew this house well; the kitchen and dining room lay to the right, the living room and library to the left, and the bedrooms below. He chose the right.

“I wonder who’s come to see Father,” he heard a young woman’s voice say as he approached the kitchen.

“Perhaps someone from church,” the mother replied. “We should make coffee, Shel.”

“All right, Mother. That is quite a wise plan.” He sensed a smile in her tone. “I’ll do it right away.”

He stood beneath the doorframe now, watching, wishing with all his might that he could step back into these people’s lives, that things could be as they were before . . . before he had left. Scornfully, he told himself that it could never be that way again, not after what he had done. No, he had had his chance and thrown it away – all over a silly argument. Now the best he could do was to state his long in coming apology, pray it would be accepted, and move on, knowing his destiny lay elsewhere beyond those walls.

He cleared his throat.

Shel, the young woman close to his own age, turned from measuring coffee. The moment she saw him, a look of shocked recognition flashed across her face. She trembled so that the spoon in her hand slipped from her fingers and clattered to the floor. Then she found her voice. “Mi! You’ve come back!”