VoyForums
[ Show ]
Support VoyForums
[ Shrink ]
VoyForums Announcement: Programming and providing support for this service has been a labor of love since 1997. We are one of the few services online who values our users' privacy, and have never sold your information. We have even fought hard to defend your privacy in legal cases; however, we've done it with almost no financial support -- paying out of pocket to continue providing the service. Due to the issues imposed on us by advertisers, we also stopped hosting most ads on the forums many years ago. We hope you appreciate our efforts.

Show your support by donating any amount. (Note: We are still technically a for-profit company, so your contribution is not tax-deductible.) PayPal Acct: Feedback:

Donate to VoyForums (PayPal):

[ Login ] [ Contact Forum Admin ] [ Main index ] [ Post a new message ] [ Search | Check update time | Archives: 1, 2, 3, 4, [5], 6 ]

[ Next Thread | Previous Thread | Next Message | Previous Message ]

Date Posted: 18:53:07 03/24/03 Mon
Author: dqfan
Subject: Re: A Journey Home - ch.4 & 5
In reply to: dqfan 's message, "Re: A Journey Home - ch.3" on 18:49:25 03/24/03 Mon

CHAPTER FOUR

"Peter, what possible good will the plans do us?" Charity badgered, snapping at his heels as they left the church. "Peter, are you listening to me? What are you going to do?!"

"I'm going to get a picnic lunch at the café and then Sophie and I are going someplace quiet. I've got to think…" That was all he had to say at the moment.

"Here…" Charity offered with a sigh, her voice softening, "take the key to the old homestead. It's closed for the winter. You can…think…" she smiled lovingly at him.

"Thanks, Aunt C.," Peter replied, his eyes bright as he gave her a hug.

"Just mind the letters we were cataloging, they're everywhere…and don't burn the place down…" she nagged playfully, "oh and you'll need the PIN number for the security system," she continued as Peter and Sophie headed toward the café.

"It's…Byron," she waved with a wink.

Peter rolled his eyes and cut Sophie off at the pass…"I'll tell you later…"

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

"Over here, right past this tree…" Peter's motorcycle was winding the bend toward the old homestead.

"Peter, it's beautiful," Sophie admired, clutching their picnic basket in her hand.

"Just as pretty as I remember," Peter agreed, parking near the stables.

Climbing the front steps, they stopped at the security keypad. Peter inserted the key and began to punch in the code.

"Y-R-O-N," Sophie teased, eliciting a reproachful stare from Peter. "What? I'm just helping you…" she smiled innocently.

Opening the door, Peter was greeted by the sights, smells and sounds from memories 30 years past. The room was dim, with the winter's light peering through the shutters, and much of the furniture was covered with throw cloths, but the house was virtually the same as he recalled.

Sophie looked around at the old stove…the well water pump…the stone fireplace. "Peter, this is incredible. I feel like we've stepped 100 years into the past."

"I know, I love this place. So peaceful, so quiet…" Peter sighed, thankful to be away from the morning's stress. "And not a WALPOC in sight…" he chuckled.

Sophie smiled, glad to see his sense of humor returning. "They sure do love you, though," she laughed as she wandered about the room.

Suddenly Sophie's eyes alighted on a photograph sitting on an end table in the living room. A man in his '30's, ruggedly dressed in buckskins, light shirt, and a fringed suede jacket. Around his neck was what looked like Indian beads but he was definitely a white man - a very attractive white man. Even the faded sepia tones of the antique photo could not disguise his handsome features: dark hair - brown maybe, with eyes of such intense magnetism, that Sophie felt herself inexplicably drawn to him. The slight beard on his face did nothing to hide his strong chin or his full lips. He was absolutely mesmerizing.

"Who is THAT?" Sophie exclaimed, unable to hide her attraction.

"You like him, huh?" Peter joked.

"Peter, who is he?" she laughed, pressing him for details.

"That would be Mr. Sully himself, my great-great-grandfather - the original mountain man," Peter teased.

"Wow! He's really…" Sophie whistled her admiration, running her finger lightly over the portrait.

"Sure, go on, forget I'm here…" Peter lamented.

"No, no, I mean I can see the resemblance," she covered swiftly. "You have his eyes and his smile…" Sophie brought her hand lovingly to Peter's face. It then traveled slowly toward the nape of his neck…"Peter, have you ever considered letting your hair grow a little?" she giggled wickedly.

""Oh that's it, you're dead, little girl!" Peter laughed, grabbing her tightly around the waist, pulling the photo of Sully from her hand and placing it firmly face down on the table.

"No, Peter, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," she screamed, gleefully squirming from his tickles. "You're a thousand times more handsome than…what was his name?" she asked feigning forgetfulness.

Peter's arms encircled her back and drew her close. With his lips almost touching hers, he whispered with a twinkle in his eye, "Byron…"

"Ohhh," Sophie grinned, finally understanding, as she yielded willingly to his kiss, "their…Byron…."

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

"Coffee's almost ready…Soph?"

"Hmm, what?" Sophie was totally preoccupied. In each of the upstairs bedrooms she'd found mementos and artifacts from days gone by. There had been Brian Cooper's reporter's notepad, an anatomy textbook inscribed "To Colleen, with all my love, Ma," and a tattered, graying, but no doubt much-loved, stuffed rabbit tagged "Katie's bunny."

Now as she wandered into the master bedroom, and even though the fireplace was stone cold, Sophie could almost feel the love and warmth emanating from the room. The child's cradle, the rocking chair, the nightstand set with silver hairbrush and perfume, the cheval mirror…each item beckoned for a woman's touch and the chance to be of use again.

Against the wall, cordoned off by gold-plated pedestals and cords of red velvet, was a bed so magnificent, it engulfed the entire room with its presence. A string of Indian beads, just like the strand Sully wore in the photograph downstairs, hung casually from one post. Lying on the bed was a leather belt that sheathed a large tomahawk, the blade glistening against the hand-stitched quilt. A first-edition Walt Whitman anthology rested on the nightstand beside the bed. Gingerly, Sophie reached over the ropes, lifting the book into her hands. With sincere reverence, she lifted the cover. Inside were written only three words: "You're my heartsong."

Sophie quickly closed the cover and replaced the volume on the table. It was simply all too personal, too intimate. She felt like an intruder.

"This is my favorite room in the house." Peter sighed appreciatively. "When I was a kid, I'd pester Mom to let me try on Sully's belt and tomahawk but it was always the same…'It won't fit you, Peter…It's not a toy, Peter…'" Sophie smiled, imagining that the pout currently present on Peter's face hadn't changed much in 30 years.

"It's an incredible room," Sophie agreed, admiring every piece. "The headboard must have been done by hand."

"Sully carved it himself - as a wedding present for Michaela," Peter explained proudly.

"Well, I can see where you get your carving talents," Sophie complimented.

Mischievously, Peter's hand bounced against the mattress. "Wanna see where I get my other talents?"

"Peter!" Sophie exclaimed, appearing to be shocked as she turned and headed for the door, "It's an antique!"

Glancing back over her shoulder, her eyes wide with equal mischief, she asked innocently, "What if we break it?"

"I'll fix it…Really…I promise…" Peter's banter followed her merrily down the stairs.


CHAPTER FIVE

"Coffee smells good." Sophie jumped playfully off the last staircase step, escaping Peter's grasp. "I can't believe the kitchen still works."

"Aunt Charity stocks it with a few things. The ladies spend a lot of time out here and they need their nourishment," Peter laughed.

"Charity said they were cataloging some letters?" Sophie asked curiously.

"They're over there on one of the wingback chairs, by the fireplace."

Sophie walked over towards the chairs, stopping to warm herself by the glowing fire Peter had started along with the coffee.

As Peter brought over the steaming cups, Sophie lifted two stacks of letters and curled herself comfortably in the chair. "The Virginia City Letters, October 1870," she announced, reading aloud from the 3 X 5 notecard beneath the satin ribbon.

"Should we?" Sophie questioned, feeling guilty as she began untying the ribbon on the stack marked "Michaela."

"Who's gonna know?" Peter whispered conspiratorially, sitting down in the chair next to her, a lush vase of purple flowers on the small pedestal between them.

Sophie opened the first letter and began hesitantly, "My darling Sully." Having second thoughts, she stopped. "Maybe we shouldn't…"

Snatching the stack marked "Sully" from her lap, Peter smiled and suggested with a chuckle, "What if I go first…?"

"Dear Michaela," he read…

"Arrived safely yesterday. Daniel was there to meet my train and we were at his mine by nightfall. Shouldn't take more than a month to set up the workings. I'll write as often as I can. Camp-life is just as miserable as I remember and one night sleeping apart from you already feels like a month. All my love, Sully."

"They hadn't even been married six months," Peter realized.

"How could he leave her?" Sophie wondered. Unsettled by the thought, she opened the first of her letters.

"My darling Sully,

It has been over a week since you left and missing you is my unbearable routine. So much so that I find absurd consolation in pretending that time has reversed and I am again unmarried, with just the children for company. Was it only six months ago that I had no knowledge of your touch? How that knowledge haunts me now…I feel your hand caress my face, I feel your whisper on my neck…Awake or asleep, I feel you next to me. I bury myself in my work but wherever I am, you are with me. I am with you always, Michaela."

Again, Sophie felt the gnawing in her stomach, the same uneasiness she'd experienced in the master bedroom. Why did seeing, hearing, re-living a love so strong make her feel so…restless? The cynic in her dismissed such a love as impossible, the romantic in her longed for its truth. How two such differing emotions could exist in one woman was undoubtedly what made her, what Peter laughingly called, "so Sophie…"

"I don't think we should read any more," Sophie said abruptly, walking over to another photograph on the mantle. "Who are they?" she asked, quickly changing the subject.

The photo was of an Indian couple, imposing not only in stature, but also for the wisdom and almost serene resolve etched on their faces. Sophie's movements had caused a delicate feather amulet, hung gently by the photo, to begin swaying in the breeze.

Peter shook his head, troubled by Sophie's avoidance of the letters and the powerful love and commitment expressed within them. Sophie had nursed him through two drug overdoses and again during his last setback with painkillers. She knew all his torment, all his secrets. He trusted her with his life. But there was so much of Sophie's life he knew nothing about. Her pain, her secrets were still locked inside. What was she running from?

Peter remembered joking with her that they'd skipped the awkward getting-to-know-you stage and gone straight to the good stuff. Defiantly, Sophie had asked him, "What's the good stuff, really?" With every day that passed, Peter realized how right she was. How were they ever going to make their marriage work if she didn't share her feelings with him?

Foolishly, he thought they had turned a corner when Sophie revealed that she couldn't have children. But now, he knew - knew there was so much more she needed to confront. Maybe this was just the place to do it.

Sensing Sophie's fragility edging close to the surface, Peter answered softly, "Sully's Cheyenne brother, Cloud Dancing, and his wife, Snowbird."

"Snowbird?" Sophie whispered rather incredulously.

"Uh-huh," Peter wasn't sure where this was leading.

"What is it about this place?" she wondered aloud.

"What, Sophie? Tell me," Peter urged.

"Remember I told you I moved around a lot as a kid?" Sophie began slowly.

"You grew up in Newfoundland." Peter proudly reiterated one of the few morsels of Sophie's past he actually knew.

Sophie nodded. "9 Wing Gander Air Force Base. My father was a Lieutenant Commander in the Royal Canadian Air Force. I made my first parachute jump with him when I was only ten."

The pride in her voice was unmistakable and Peter could just picture a blonde haired little girl gleefully shouting "Geronimo" as she jumped.

"We moved around a lot," she repeated.

"Just you and your parents?" Peter asked gently.

"For a while…until…" Sophie hesitated but seeing the look of encouragement on Peter's face she found the strength to continue.

"My Dad got promoted to the 431," she explained.

"The 431?" Peter was confused.

"The 431 Air Demonstration Squadron…The…Snowbirds," she repeated, amazed at the coincidence.

"They're like your Blue Angels," she explained. "They tour all over Canada, putting on aerial exhibitions. I thought it was spectacular. I was so proud of him. My mother, on the other hand, thought it was…'unconscionably reckless'."

"I spent hours with him at the base, learning how to fold a parachute, helping him suit up. And every day my mother became more and more intolerant of my 'obsession'. All I ever heard was how 'unseemly' it was for a young lady. How I could never expect to become a 'real' woman until I gave up such nonsense…" Sophie's tone of voice was sounding more harsh by the minute.

"The irony was, my mother was growing increasingly intolerant of my father, too," Sophie continued critically. "Found that out on my 11th birthday."

"It'd been such an incredible spectacular day. We made two perfect jumps, but before we could go for three, the weather changed. Dad and I decided to go home early, pick Mom up and go out for dinner to celebrate. But, when we got there, we found her already 'celebrating' - in bed with another man. The next day, she left. Told me it'd be better for everyone if I stayed with Dad."

Peter's heart was breaking as he watched Sophie pace the parameters of the homestead living room like a caged tiger. He wanted to go to her and comfort her; but, more than anything, he wanted her to finish, finally get it all out, every last hurt.

"So I stayed…but my Dad was never the same after that. He'd lived his whole life by his squadron motto: 'Fidelitas.' The betrayal was just more than he could handle. Plus, I think he saw her every time he looked at me. He tried to be there for me, really he did, but by the time I was 15…a girl needs a mother…"

Staring vacantly out the homestead window at the approaching nightfall, Sophie finished her story, purposefully avoiding Peter's eyes.

"I'd been having terrible cramping for almost six months…I tried to tell him I thought something was wrong…but he just kept reassuring me, "Every girl has 'em, hon, you'll be fine."

"Two days into my period the following month, he found me passed out on the bed, the sheets soaked with blood. They almost lost me in the ambulance. When I woke up, the specialists told me that the scarring on my Fallopian tubes was irreversible. 'But, otherwise, dear, you'll be just fine.'"

"Funny thing was, I couldn't even hear them. All I could hear was my mother warning me that I'd never be a 'real' woman…and now she was right."

"Sophie…" Peter could no longer control his impulse and gathered Sophie tightly into his arms, tears streaming down both of their faces as they dropped to the floor.

"I'm so sorry, Peter," she sobbed.

"Ssshh, it's okay," he soothed, stroking her hair. "I told you, it's okay. You're the only woman I want, Sophie Becker - all the woman that I want - and I promise, I'll never betray you and I'll never, ever leave you."

"Peter, you don't understand." Sophie struggled, trying to make herself clear amidst the tears. "I'm not afraid of you…you're my rock. I'm afraid of me. I've spent most of my life riding rapids, climbing mountains, jumping off cliffs - doing everything I could to prove that I'm nothing like my mother. But what if I am, Peter? What if I'm not capable of giving you the kind of commitment Michaela and Sully shared? The kind of commitment you deserve."

Instantly offering all the reassurance he possessed, Peter drew her close, wrapping them both with a blanket in front of the fire. Exhausted, Sophie drifted into a restless sleep. Peter, on the other hand, lay awake for quite a while, his thoughts dominated by Sophie's last question and by the overshadowing presence of the century-old love letters on the chair beside him.

[ Next Thread | Previous Thread | Next Message | Previous Message ]

Replies:

Post a message:
This forum requires an account to post.
[ Create Account ]
[ Login ]
[ Contact Forum Admin ]

Forum timezone: GMT-8
VF Version: 3.00b, ConfDB:
Before posting please read our privacy policy.
VoyForums(tm) is a Free Service from Voyager Info-Systems.
Copyright © 1998-2019 Voyager Info-Systems. All Rights Reserved.