The Homecoming Read Free

felt the power of God’s sustaining grace and would have told anyone who asked that it was only the comfort he’d received through prayer that had kept his sanity intact.
    But this was different. This was Elizabeth.
    Elizabeth was supposed to be off-limits to harm or danger. Shawn was the one they had both worried about making it through this war alive. They’d talked about it many times. What Elizabeth should do if Shawn didn’t come back, what she should do with Patrick, what she should do financially, and so on.
    There was no plan for this.
    Shawn vividly remembered the last conversation they’d had on the subject, sitting in a Horn and Hardart’s Automat in downtown Philly, an unusual restaurant that functioned more like a huge vending machine. It was all he could afford at the time. She was eating macaroni and cheese, he a chicken potpie. At least the food was fresh.
    “You most certainly are going to remarry,” Shawn had said.
    “Don’t even say it,” Elizabeth had replied. He could still see her beautiful face, lit up by the sun pouring in the big glass window. And that adorable pout she’d make with her lips. “I’m not going to remarry, because you’re coming back.”
    “Liz, we have to talk about this. We don’t know what’s up ahead. It’s a war, things could happen.”
    “But we’ve already talked about this. Why are we going over it again?”
    “Because you’ve never promised me you will remarry— after a respectable amount of time,” he said, smiling. “Maybe a year or so. I need to know you aren’t going to live alone the rest of your life. It’s not just for your sake but Patrick’s too.”
    Elizabeth looked away. He could tell she was trying not to cry. He put his hand over hers on the table. “I’m hoping and we’re both praying I make it back okay. If it means anything, I believe in my heart I really will make it back. But you’re much too young and far too beautiful to live your life alone. And if the worst did happen, I’d want Patrick to grow up with someone he could learn to love like a dad while he’s still young. So promise me you’ll think about it, at least pray about it.”
    “All right,” she said. “I can promise that. So we can stop talking about this now?”
    And now standing there in this cold dark cemetery, Shawn realized that the feeling he had about making it home alive was real. God had remarkably preserved his life through the horrors of war. But why had he abandoned Elizabeth here at home?
    He took a deep breath and walked straight to her grave. He forced himself to read the words on the headstone aloud. First her name, then the date. That’s all there was, apparently all they could afford. But Shawn would fix that. This was a woman who deserved so much more said about her.
    He tried to remember . . . what was he doing that day, the day inscribed on this stone? Was he flying his plane? Filling out reports? Sitting around playing checkers to pass the time? He couldn’t remember. All that really mattered was . . . he wasn’t here and couldn’t be here to do anything about it.
    He lifted the letter up and began to read, hands trembling, but not with cold. Barely through the first few words, he dropped to his knees, still clutching the letter. Her hands had touched this paper. When she was alive. The words written here were her words, written down with her own hand. And as she wrote, she had been thinking about him. With every word, every paragraph. He had thoughts similar to these when he’d get letters from her, when the gap between them was a mere ocean away. He looked down at the headstone, then up at the gray sky. The gap infinitely wider now.
    “Where are you, Liz?” he cried. “I know you’re not here, not in this cold ground.” He looked around to see if anyone was watching. “I know I will see you again, but I want to see you now. It was supposed to be me coming home from the war, to you . . . and Patrick. The three of us starting our