Love Comes Home by Ann H. Gabhart

Author:Ann H. Gabhart [Gabhart, Ann H.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: FIC042030
ISBN: 9781441245199
Publisher: Baker Publishing Group
Published: 2014-04-24T16:00:00+00:00

22

Tori pretended all was fine through supper. No, not pretended. All was fine. Other than missing Samantha so much that her insides ached. The little girl always settled down in Tori’s lap after supper and the sweet warmth of the child’s body had a way of soaking through Tori to make the day’s worries slide into the background. Tonight instead, the worries gathered on the edge of her thoughts like dark thunderclouds.

Worry clouds were bothering her mother too. Tori hadn’t wanted to worry her mother, but after she sent Clay away, time hadn’t seemed to matter. She cried until she had no tears left and then stared at the pond. At every rustle of brush, she held her breath and wondered what she would do if he came back out of the trees. But he didn’t. She should have baited her hook and started fishing again. That would have made more sense than sitting there like a turtle afraid to stick its head out of its shell to move on.

Back at the house, after she stashed her fishing pole and bait bucket in the barn, Tori had dipped water out of the rain barrel to wash away every last trace of tears. She didn’t want her mother to know she’d been crying. She’d already told Kate too much.

When Tori went in the back door, her mother turned from the stove to give her a hard look.

Tori rushed out her apology. “I’m sorry, Mama, but I didn’t think you’d be worried about me. You knew I was fishing.”

“You never stay this late.”

“But I didn’t have Samantha tonight.” Tori met her mother’s eyes and added gently, “I’m not a little girl anymore, Mama. I can take care of myself.”

“I know.” Mama breathed out a sigh. “But you’ve got to realize you’ll always be my little girl no matter how old you get. The way you feel about Samantha, that’s how I feel about you.” She put her hand on Tori’s cheek. “Age doesn’t matter.”

“But you have to let your children grow up.”

“You don’t let them. They just do.” Mama smiled. “And that’s what you want, but that doesn’t mean you stop worrying.”

“You don’t have to worry about me when I’m at Graham’s pond.”

“Was he there today?” She turned to stir the soup bubbling on the stove.

“Not today. Wasn’t he at the store?” Tori went to the sink to wash her hands with soap.

“He came in for a soft drink right after you left, but then he headed over to Buddy’s. More man talk over there, I suppose.”

“With all that banging and clanging I don’t know how they hear any talk.”

“Mechanic work is noisy. Then so was shoeing horses when your father used to do that. But I always loved the ring of his hammer on iron.” Mama looked toward the sitting room.

“Me too.” The pinging rhythm of her father’s strikes on the glowing metal played through Tori’s memory. “I used to beg to go to his shop to watch him shape horseshoes. Or even better, those pokers with the fancy handles.

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