The Long Trail Home by Stephen A. Bly

Author:Stephen A. Bly
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: B&H Publishing Group
Published: 2001-11-11T05:00:00+00:00

A tiny, round, red face slept on the feather pillow beside an exhausted woman with tangled hair and chapped lips. His tie and jacket tossed across a chair and white shirt rolled up to his elbows, Mr. Edgington paced the room.

He stopped right next to Sam. “Mr. Fortune! How can I ever thank you?”

“I just . . . just happened to . . . I’m glad. . . . Those telephones really work, don’t they?”

Mrs. Edgington held out her arms to Rocklin and Sam placed the toddler on the bed. “Come see your little brother Samuel,” she murmured.

“Samuel?” Fortune gasped. “You named him Samuel?”

Amanda looked up through tired eyes. “We named him after you—Samuel Gabriel Edgington—because you showed up like the angel Gabriel when we needed help most. I’m afraid we can never repay you.”

“I told you, ma’am, you don’t me owe anythin’. Your daddy was a good man and treated me square. I only tried to do the same for you. It was just a coincidence that I—”

“Mr. Fortune, I do not believe in coincidences,” Mr. Edgington asserted. “The Lord brought you here, whether you believe it or not.”

Rocklin curled up at her mother’s other side.

“I think perhaps we all need a little more sleep,” Mrs. Edgington declared. “Mr. Fortune, would you please call on us tomorrow about noon? We would like you to join us for lunch. I want to talk with you, but I don’t think I’ll have the energy until then.”

Sam pulled on his hat and nodded. “Yes, ma’am. I’ll call on you.”

“Could I talk to you in private, Mr. Fortune?” Mr. Edgington asked.

The men strolled out onto the porch.

“Did your wife get a chance to tell you about her daddy and the funds he sent?” Sam asked.

“Yes, and I don’t know how much of it was reality and how much was delirium and pain talking.”

“Mr. Rocklin died by a snakebite down in the Indian Territory. I buried him there. And this,” he pulled out the folded banknote, “is his inheritance that he wanted you and Amanda to have.” He handed the man the paper.

Edgington gaped at the note, then looked up. “If I were an emotional man, I’d cry, Mr. Fortune. You cannot imagine the joy this brings to our lives. Surely my cup is full and runneth over.”

“Mr. Edgington, I want to be honest. I haven’t exactly spent my entire life doin’ things I’m proud of. But seein’ the joy of this day for you and Amanda and little punkin . . . well, it makes a man enjoy doin’ the right thing. It might not be too bad a habit to continue.”

“Mr. Fortune, forgive me if I sound presumptuous. But do you need a job or a place to stay? We would be happy to put you up with us until you find what you’re looking for.”

I spent most of the past three years in prison, and most of my life on the other side of the law . . . I’m not at all sure what I’m lookin’ for.

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