Promises to Keep, Nan Rossiter [feel good fiction books .txt] 📗

yard, taking in all the wonderful barnyard scents, but when two coon hounds charged around the house, bellowing, the happy-go-lucky Lab came to a stiff halt. The three dogs greeted each other with obligatory sniffs, and finally—deciding all was well—trotted off, wagging their tails and marking one another’s scents.

Gage climbed the steps of the wraparound porch and immediately saw his brothers’ tears. “Dad’s gone,” Eli said, giving him a hug.

“He is?!” Gage looked stunned. He turned to go inside and found his mom surrounded by their family and friends in the big country kitchen, drying her eyes, but when she saw him standing in the doorway, tears immediately filled them again.

“Oh, Gage, you just missed him,” she cried.

Gage closed his eyes and held her. His mom’s tears were almost harder to bear than losing his dad. He let her pull him into the room where his father lay, and with a clenched jaw, gazed at the frail frame of the man who had, at one time, towered over him in stature and authority. Libby put her hand on his arm. “It was peaceful,” she consoled softly. “He’s had so much pain, but the morphine helped, and he just . . .” She paused. “I’m so sorry you didn’t get here in time.” She looked up at her son. “I’ll let you have some time alone—you can still talk to him. . . . His spirit will hear you.”

Gage raised his eyebrows, wondering if this was true, and after she quietly closed the door, he walked over to the window and looked out across the fields of golden timothy swaying in the summer breeze. Time for third cutting, he thought. He glanced around the room, trying not to look at the bed and trying to remember the last time he’d stood in his parents’ bedroom. He gazed at their wedding picture hanging above his dad’s bureau—how young they’d been—much younger than he was now—and their eyes were so bright with dreams. A second framed photo on the bureau was of his dad surrounded by all his sons . . . except for Chase—who was on his shoulders. Tucked in the corner was a smaller photo of Cale standing in the opening of the hayloft with his hands on his hips. He was smiling. It was one of those rare photos that truly captured his brother’s spirit. Cale had been tough and hardworking, but also kind to a fault, and he had a streak of mischief, too. In the photo, he looked every bit the part. Gage turned on the small lamp next to the photo and saw the wooden bowl of loose change he and his brothers would “borrow” from when they were little—pulling up a nearby chair so they could reach it. Next to the bowl was his dad’s old Timex watch, which absolutely lived up to its name and taken a licking but kept on ticking—even out-ticking its owner.

Gage closed his eyes. Behind him lay the great Jack Tennyson: the man who had not only confounded him, and wittingly—or unwittingly—crushed his dreams, but who also had, his mom insisted, loved him. And now, this giant of a man had fallen, conceding—as every mortal must—to death. How, he wondered, did the loss of his father make him feel? Did he feel less angry? Did he regret lost time and opportunity? Did he regret the pride that had kept him away? He shoved his hands into his pockets and turned to look at his dad’s lifeless body, waiting for some emotion—any emotion—to hit, but all he felt was . . . numb. For years, resentment, anger, and pride had built up inside him—enough to keep him away . . . and now, he just felt empty.

Where had the fiery spirit of the tall, strong man who’d ruled his household with a firm, even hand gone? Was he in heaven? Had he already been reunited with loved ones who had passed before him? Was he, at that very moment, embracing Cale? Gage swallowed, trying to wrap his mind around the concept of eternity, the concept of time, and, picturing the joyous reunion his brother and father might be sharing, decided his father certainly wouldn’t want to be interrupted by words from his prodigal son—that would be an unwelcome, ironic repeat of the past. So, Gage just stood there, stoic and silent.

Finally, feeling the sudden need to breathe fresh air, he opened the bedroom door, and—purposely avoiding the kitchen—walked toward the front porch. Before he could make it outside, he encountered his brothers Grayson and Chase, along with Liam, talking to their uncle Mike—their mom’s younger brother, who was the spitting image of a young Dutch—in the living room. Gage shook hands with all of them.

“Mom make you go in and talk to him?” Chase teased with a half smile.

Gage eyed his youngest brother, wondering if the same request had been made of him. “I don’t have much to say.”

“Do you know if any of the arrangements have been made?” Mike asked, eyeing Grayson, who still worked the farm with Matt and Eli.

Grayson nodded. “She wants to have the wake Monday night and the service Tuesday morning.”

“That’s pretty quick,” Mike said, raising his eyebrows.

“That’s how we do things around here,” Chase said wryly. “We don’t mess around—it’s all business, all the time.”

Gage listened as the conversation turned to their mom and her capacity to carry on, and they all wondered if she would be just as strong after losing the love of her life. Grayson and Chase thought she would, but Mike—who’d known her all her life—wasn’t so sure. “She’ll put up a good front,” he said, “but her sorrow will be lasting and deep, just as it was with Cale.”

Gage nodded, and then excused himself, saying he needed to check on the whereabouts of his dog. He walked out into the steamy August heat, expecting to find Matt and Eli, but the porch was empty. He continued across the yard, and when he didn’t see Gus, he frowned. He called him and peered into the open doors