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Date Posted: 03:29:41 03/25/03 Tue
Author: dqfan
Subject: Re: A Journey Home - ch.7 & 8
In reply to: dqfan 's message, "Re: A Journey Home - ch.6" on 03:24:47 03/25/03 Tue

CHAPTER SEVEN


Ever since she was a little girl, Charity Lawson had possessed the uncanny ability of knowing when something bad was about to happen. Folks used to say she got her "gift" from her great-grandpa, Zach. That man never said two sentences in a row but he always knew exactly what you were thinking. He just preferred to spend his time putting down on paper what he found so difficult to say in so many words. Zach's exceptional talents were displayed in the few cherished drawings Charity hung proudly in her home. All her life, whenever she looked at them, she could sense if someone needed her.

It didn't matter whether it was her Ma, or her brother, Hank, or her best friend, Rachel. Intuitively she'd arrive unexpectedly and the greeting was always the same - "Charity, I'm so glad you're here!" It got so bad that by the time she was fifteen Charity pretty much considered that to be her whole name - Charity I'm So Glad You're Here Lawson.

Ever since her unannounced arrival at the homestead this morning, Charity couldn't stop worrying about Peter and Sophie. With most of her family gone now, Peter was all Charity had left. She couldn't bear to see him hurt again. And Sophie…Charity hadn't known the girl for very long but she seemed right for Peter - good for Peter. When he'd announced at the airport that he and Sophie were engaged, Charity remembered thinking she'd never seen Peter's beautiful baby blues sparkle any brighter.

But they were adults and needed to work things out for themselves. Charity'd been reminding herself that throughout the day with at least a fair amount of success. That is, until about an hour ago. She'd been seated at her desk, going over the agenda for the next WALPOCS meeting, when she happened to glance up at the charcoal sketch of her great-great grandmother, Clarice. The picture was always a source of comfort to her. But tonight, however, for just a split second, Charity saw Sophie's face in the portrait instead of Clarice's and that old familiar chill raced up her spine.

So, understandably, Charity was now handing her keys to the valet at the Broadmoor Hotel. What on earth she intended to do upon her arrival, Charity thought best to leave to providence - and as usual, providence worked with unerring accuracy. Distractedly navigating her way into the hotel, Charity turned from the door for only a single moment, just long enough to collide forcefully with an obviously distressed Sophie, anxiously on her way out. Poor Charity couldn't help thinking that she'd have noticed Sophie even without providence's none-too-subtle intervention. Dressed in hiking gear, jacket and backpack, Sophie cut an incongruous figure amidst the glamorously dressed holiday partygoers milling about outside the hotel.

"Sophie, dear, oh I'm so sorry!" Charity exclaimed, "I wasn't watching where I was going."

Sophie looked like a caged animal ready to bolt. Her eyes were red and swollen and she was as pale as a ghost. Charity prepared for the worst, asking tentatively, "Sweetheart…is everything all right?"

In the short time Sophie had known her, she'd grown very fond of Charity. The older woman's indomitable spirit combined with her deep love for Peter had won Sophie over from the start. Unable to conceal her devastation over the evening's turn of events, Sophie bit her lip and shook her head, whispering haltingly, "Charity, I'm so glad you're here."

Placing her comforting arms tightly around Sophie, Charity quickly beckoned for the valet to bring her car around. Nodding wisely, Charity gazed at the stars and gave a silent prayer of thanks to great-grandpa Zach, wherever he was.

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

"Sure you won't take anything stronger than sarsaparilla?" Charity offered, snatching the bottle from behind the bar of the Gold Nugget saloon and pulling up a chair next to Sophie's table.

"No thanks, Charity. I've really got to be going." Sophie stood, trying to excuse herself for the third time since they'd arrived.

"Oh it never hurts to sit a spell," Charity scoffed, grabbing Sophie's arm and nudging her back into her seat.

"So what do you think of the place?" she asked, proudly surveying the family "business" as she poured their drinks.

"It's very…" Sophie searched for the right word, "authentic."

"That it is," Charity laughed, "an authentic saloon, poker parlor, and house of ill repute. Everything a man needed to be properly 'entertained.' The original owner was my great-great-grandfather, Hank Lawson. My late brother had the dubious honor of being named after him. From all accounts, Grandaddy was a good for nothing charmer with a soft spot for kids and whiskey, not necessarily in that order. Mama always said every Lawson man got a pinch of Grandpa Hank in them, for better or worse - mostly worse."

Charity was pleased to see a reluctant smile forming on Sophie's lips. Countless tall tales of generations of Lawson men never failed to do the trick.

"It's a real shame it has to end," Charity sighed.

"End?" Sophie asked.

"My brother was the last of the line - a confirmed bachelor til the day he died," Charity explained.

"Don't you have any children?" Sophie realized how little she still knew about Charity.

"No, Sam and I were never blessed," Charity answered softly.

"Blessed…" Sophie repeated ironically.

"What's the matter, dear?" Charity wondered, hearing the heartache in Sophie's voice.

"Nothing…it's just that I'll never be 'blessed' either," Sophie said sadly.

"Oh I see…" Charity nodded, adding, "well, it's a comfort, I suppose…"

"Excuse me?" Sophie snapped sharply.

"Why, knowing, dear…" Charity continued, ignoring Sophie's outburst. "You see, in my day, women didn't speak as openly about such problems and we certainly didn't have such things as fertility clinics or surrogates or sperm banks. Heavens! The only bank I knew was the Bank of Colorado Springs!"

Charity laughed at the thought but explained soberly, "It would have been such a comfort to know - right from the start - no children. Instead, Sam and I waited…months, years, of hoping, dreaming, hiding our disappointments. There were times I couldn't even look him in the eye, let alone let him touch me. We both wanted it so much. Sam came to his senses before I did, though. Sat me down one day and said firmly, 'Charity, looks like it's just gonna be you and me. Unless you don't want me?'"

Sophie hung on Charity's every word, mesmerized by her story.

"Well, I'd wanted Sam Mitchell since the sixth grade when I overheard Billy Watson betting him that Sam couldn't steal a kiss from me before I'd punch him. Poor Billy! If he'd only known," Charity chuckled. "I won Sam Billy's whole bag of penny candy that day and we ended up sharing it together over by Midnight Lake."

"Remembering that day made me realize that I had already been 'blessed' just to have Sam in my life and that was more than enough blessing for any woman." Charity let her words sink in and then asked probingly, "Maybe you've been blessed already, too, hmmm, Sophie?"

Sophie was struggling valiantly to keep her composure. Briefly, she whispered, "I was…but it's too late now."

Sophie felt Charity's hand on hers, silently urging her to continue. "It's my fault…he said it didn't matter…but then I read the letters…"

"The letters?" Charity asked confused.

"Michaela and Sully's letters," Sophie answered. "Charity, I've never read anything like them. Their love was so powerful and they shared such a deep commitment. I'm not sure I'm capable of giving that to Peter - and he deserves it."

"Yes, he does," Charity agreed, "but you know, dear, Michaela and Sully had their dark times, too. Every marriage does, Sophie."

"I know," Sophie replied, dismissing Charity's advice a little too quickly. "but it doesn't matter any more…I pushed him away…I pushed him right into her arms…"

"Her?" Charity asked, alarmed at this latest tidbit of information.

"Chloe," Sophie stated curtly.

"That creampuff!" Charity huffed in a burst of brutal Lawson honesty.

"I'm sorry, that was terribly uncalled for," Charity recanted, suitably chagrined. "I mean she can be sweet at times and they did marry young and Peter's addictions certainly tried the strongest of us…" Charity could still hear the abject panic in Rachel's late night phone call following the first of her many confrontations with Peter over his drug use.

"But the last time I checked, the marriage vows still said 'in sickness and in health,'" Charity complained, "a fact dear Chloe seemed to forget."

"I think she regrets that now," Sophie acknowledged graciously. "Choosing to be an enabler is a lot easier than trying to intervene alone…I know…Peter fought me every step of the way…"

"You?" Charity had no idea.

"Uh-huh," Sophie nodded quietly. "I nursed him through his last two overdoses," she admitted, carefully omitting Peter's latest setback with the painkillers.

"Sophie, I just don't understand," Charity sighed in exasperation. "If you didn't leave Peter then, why would you worry about leaving him in the future? You've obviously accepted him with all his failings and I'm certain he accepts your inability to have children…so what is the problem?"

"That's just it!" Sophie exclaimed in frustration, pushing away from the table and grabbing her backpack, "I'm the problem! Me and my fears…and now that I know it, it's too late!"

"Sophie, wait!" Charity insisted, blocking her path at the double doors. "Where are you going?"

"There's a mountain waiting for me, Charity." Sophie was done talking. She had too much pent up energy and if she didn't hike or climb it out of her, she felt like she'd explode. Pike's Peak fit the bill perfectly.

"Sophie, it's December, be reasonable," Charity begged.

"I'll be fine. I know my way around a mountain," Sophie stated matter-of-factly.

"But what about Peter?" Charity asked, trying not to raise her voice.

"Peter will be fine, too. I wasn't meant to be his Michaela. I hope he finds her." Sophie's mind was made up.

Suddenly Charity remembered Michaela's letters. She'd been carrying them around in her purse, ever since this morning when she'd promised Peter that she'd keep them safe for Sophie to read later.

Impulsively, she withdrew the letters and thrust them into Sophie's backpack as Sophie headed out the door.

"Maybe you'd better get to know the real Michaela before you say that!" Charity fumed, contemplating the foolishness of youth and the sense of foreboding that continued to envelop her.


CHAPTER EIGHT


Peter's patience was wearing thin…as thin as the hotel room carpet he'd been methodically wearing down with his pacing. Occasionally, when he tired of pacing, Peter would go out onto the balcony for some fresh air or reorganize the complimentary toiletries in the bathroom. Currently, he was unsuccessfully rearranging the items in his backpack, finally tossing the entire heap onto the bed in frustration.

With a sigh, he began to carefully re-pack its contents. Picking up a pink bottle, a weak smile crossed Peter's face - Sophie's favorite strawberry shampoo. She must have run out of room in her carry on and sneaked it into his at the last minute. Flipping open the cap, Peter inhaled deeply of its rich fragrance, desperately wishing he were running his fingers through Sophie's hair right now.

"Quit tormenting yourself, Scarbrow," Peter chided, snapping the cap down abruptly, before thrusting the bottle back into his pack.

Peter continued his zombie-like re-packing but it wasn't long before another item twisted at his emotions. A small box, carefully wrapped in gold leaf and a red satin bow - it was to have been Sophie's Christmas present.

"I've got to stop this…" Peter's hands raised in surrender. The reminders of Sophie were too overwhelming. Peter raised the volume on the TV and stepped back out onto the balcony, allowing the noise of the traffic and the television set to mingle and create a sound barrier to all his thoughts.

The resulting cacophony was so deafening, Peter barely heard the urgent knocking at his door. "Peter! Peter! Open up!"

Stepping back into the room, Peter recognized Charity's voice on the other side of the door.

"Aunt Charity, what's wrong?" Peter had never seen her so upset.

"Peter…Sophie…" Charity began, trying to catch her breath.

"Sophie's still in her room, Aunt C., she doesn't want to be disturbed," Peter interrupted, misunderstanding Charity's concern.

"No, she's not, Peter. She's headed off to climb Pike's Peak!" Charity explained in a frenzy.

"What?! No, she wouldn't do something that stupid," Peter retorted, hoping he was right.

From the television, where previously a telethon for the Colorado Toys for Tots Campaign had been airing, the hourly weather update could now be heard. "…And those flakes are just the beginning, folks…Looks like Colorado Springs is going to have a white Christmas this year…Heavy snowfall should make the roads impassible by morning…Expected accumulations 12-18 inches."

Nervously monitoring the few stray snowflakes beginning to fall on the balcony, Peter struggled to understand.

"Why? Why would she? Charity, are you sure?" Even as he asked, Peter began frantically tossing items into his backpack and dressing in his sturdiest mountain gear.

"I…ran into her…" Charity began, noting the irony of the statement, "coming out of the hotel. She was terribly upset, Peter. We talked for a while at the saloon and then she just took off. She's got some fool notion in her head that you're getting back together with Chloe."

Peter's face fell as he realized that Sophie must have overheard him on the phone earlier.

"Which way was she headed?" he asked, trying to control the fear welling up inside him.

"The South Trail…But Peter…you can't possibly find her by yourself…We should call the authorities…" Charity's panic was visible as Peter headed out the door.

"I'll be fine. I know my way around a mountain," Peter's voice echoed down the hallway. But, Charity found little comfort in his words as she sank, frightened out of her wits, into the closest chair. They were the same words she'd heard Sophie say not more than an hour ago.

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

The wind was howling and snowflakes swirled about her face as Sophie continued her hike up Pike's Peak. Though she tried to focus on the climb, Sophie's thoughts remained fixed on Peter - the mistakes she'd made, the chances she'd lost - and her tears flowed unchecked. Between the snow and her tears, Sophie could barely see three feet in front of her now. What's more, her throat felt tight and raw and, in spite of the bitter cold, her cheeks felt flushed and her forehead warm.

"Perfect timing as usual, Becker," she berated herself, "go and get sick on a mountaintop."

Using her flashlight, Sophie began scouting for shelter. Soon, she spotted it - a small alcove visible above her on the next ridge. "One more climb and then home, sweet, home," Sophie joked uselessly, her bravado diminishing as the storm intensified.

Droplets of sweat beaded on her face - the cold night temperatures freezing them almost immediately and sending chills throughout her body. For a moment, dizziness overtook her and Sophie lost her footing, clinging precariously to the ledge. Hoisting herself up with her last bit of strength, Sophie crawled gratefully into the tiny refuge.

It wasn't much, but for Sophie, it was, indeed, home, sweet, home. Turning her flashlight on low to conserve the batteries, Sophie wrapped herself in the thermal emergency blanket she always kept in her backpack. Confident that she need only wait until morning to climb down, Sophie settled herself in for what she expected to be an uncomfortable but manageable night in the mountains.

"If only I didn't feel so crummy on top of everything else," Sophie moaned, rubbing her throat for relief.

"I've got to have a cough drop in here somewhere…aah!" Seizing upon the discovered lozenge as if it were gold, Sophie happened upon another item in her bag. "Michaela's letters…might as well pass the time…"

What was it Charity said to her as she was leaving? "Maybe you'd better get to know the real Michaela?" As she began to read, Sophie wondered what Charity had meant. Wife, mother, doctor, councilwoman…obviously Michaela could do it all…had it all.

"My Darling Sully," the first letter read…

"Each letter I receive from you is a tonic to my soul, to my fears. I picture you in that mine and I remember how it felt when we were searching for Matthew. Sometimes my fear is so strong that I feel I can't breathe. I don't know what I would ever do without you, Sully.

I lived my life alone for so long, independent…self-sufficient. Standing in front of a charging army was nothing compared to confessing my love for you. It amazes me now to think how frightened I was by our courtship, by our marriage, by all the moments I treasure so dearly tonight as I lie in bed waiting for your return. In my head, I understand why you had to go. In my heart, a part of me is missing.

Remember when I asked you to bring me back something from Nevada?
I changed my mind. All I want is you. Come home soon. Love, M."

Sophie smiled. Maybe Michaela wasn't so composed and controlled after all. Maybe she was just a bundle of nerves and confusion, too. Maybe she was a lot like…"Me," Sophie whispered softly.

Voraciously, Sophie read each letter, learning so much of Michaela's life in the process. Snatches here, tidbits there…a mention of never feeling about David the way she felt about Sully….

"Who's David?" Sophie wondered, disappointed that there was so much information missing.

Another letter held a sentence that fascinated her… "I hope when you come home…well…I hope our orchard will bear fruit…" Was Michaela worried that she hadn't conceived? Sophie remembered Peter telling her that Michaela had married late in life and that Sully was younger than she was.

There was so much more Sophie wanted to know. She looked at her watch. She'd been stranded for almost four hours now. For the first few hours, Sophie had diligently risen and brushed away as much snow as possible from the cave's opening. But, as the night progressed and her fever rose, Sophie had begun neglecting the task, unable to muster enough energy. At least six inches had accumulated and the entrance was narrowing alarmingly.

Sophie's throat was dry as she walked unsteadily toward the opening, cupping some snow in her hands and wetting her lips with its moisture. Cooling her forehead with the leftover snow on her gloves, Sophie gazed out at the dark, moonless night, wishing she'd brought a radio to hear the weather forecast. Was the snow supposed to end soon? Should she risk leaving her shelter to avoid being trapped inside? No, in her condition she'd never make it. She was safe here, for now. Daylight was only a few hours away. If she felt better then, she'd try and leave. "Stay safe, stay dry, stay warm," she preached constantly to the kids at Horizon.

Wrapping herself tightly in her blanket, Sophie sat back down, picking up a stray letter she'd overlooked. "Funny, no postmark…" she commented. Opening the letter, Sophie was surprised to see the date, October 1872. "Must have gotten mixed in…same month…but two years later."

Sophie was curious how the Sully's marriage was faring but was totally unprepared for what lay within the pages…

"My precious son,

Pardon my mother's intuition but I know in my heart that you would have been a boy. Grace and Dorothy suggested I write to you but I don't know where to begin. To say I'm sorry seems hollow and terribly cavalier for I know your life would have held great promise. To say you will always be with me doesn't begin to fill the emptiness that I shall surely feel until my dying breath.

You were conceived in desperate times. But, that is no excuse, for the times did not fail you, your parents did. Such anger rages within me now - at your father, and at myself. Anger I have not felt since Washita. How will I ever tell him? Will I even have the chance - or am I destined to lose you both? Will he forever look at me and see the woman who lost his son? Will I look at him unable to forget that he risked his family for the Cheyenne?

Dear God, how do we recover from this? How I wish he had been with me. How I wish we were grieving your loss together. Or perhaps we would not have lost you if he'd been here? The thought sickens me. The blame terrifies me. No, I will not desecrate the love that brought you to us by allowing that love to die now in recriminations and accusations. Instead, I beg you, my sweet baby, to forgive us both, hoping that we may forgive ourselves and, most importantly, forgive each other.

We shall love you always, miss you always, and pray for you always.

…Mother"

Sophie's tears soaked the page. They were her tears, Michaela's tears, Shelby's tears. Tears for all the childhoods lost, tears for all the childhoods never begun. Sophie curled herself into a small ball under her blanket, clutching Michaela's letters snugly against her chest. Though she knew better, she lay her head upon her backpack and allowed the fever's delerium to take hold, forcing her into a sleep from which she might never recover.

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