Sadie Preview

September 1917

Pendleton, Oregon

Harley John Hobbs rested on the warm grass with the sun caressing his face as he stretched out on his back, hands folded beneath his head, staring up at the blue sky dotted with cottony clouds. Reverently, he watched a golden eagle soar far above, feathers curled slightly on the ends as it glided on a gentle breeze.

He'd long ago lost track of the times he'd wished he could be a bird and just fly away. He'd been making that wish and coming out here to the hill at the back of the land his father owned for as long as he could remember.

When his father was in a drunken rage, Harley John had often retreated to the safety of the hilltop where he'd constructed his own little haven out of scavenged pieces of wood and discarded furniture he'd dragged there from town. In truth, the shack his childish hands had built was in better condition than the derelict house his father had nearly destroyed in his blind fits of alcohol-induced fury.

Through the years, Harley John had waited for the day to arrive when his father would sell the land, but he hadn't. Not entirely, although he'd sold off pieces of it here and there over the years. There were still forty acres left and it included the hill Harley John thought of as his.

At one time, his parents had owned a half section of land, and they'd grown wheat like so many of the farmers in the area. After his mother had died when Harley John was four, his father had given up on everything and turned to drinking.

Even the county voting in prohibition hadn't slowed his proclivity for consuming alcohol. He had no idea where his father continued to find booze, but he did. Once a year, on the third of April, in honor of his wife's birthday, Howard Hobbs remained sober.

Harley John had a hard time understanding how his father could not only remember the day, but manage not to touch a drop of liquor for twenty-four hours. For that one day out of the year, his father would be halfway decent to him. Sometimes, they went into town and shopped at Johnson's Mercantile, where his father would buy Harley John the clothes or shoes he desperately needed, and they'd eat a good meal at a restaurant before returning home. Then, everything would return to normal with his father drunk and abusive.

Harley John could have hated his father, but he didn't. His father was the way he was, and he was never going to change. Years of drinking hadn't done him any favors, though. Lately, his skin had taken on a horrible pallor, and he'd lost at least thirty pounds since spring. No one needed to suggest his father was dying. Harley John knew that by looking at him. Then again, Howard Hobbs had been killing himself one drink at a time since his wife had died nineteen years ago.

Quickly swiping a hand over his face, as though he could wipe away all his somber thoughts, Harley John watched the eagle circling overhead, his golden head and white-tipped feathers so regal and majestic.

"You're a lucky one, ol' boy," he whispered to the bird, then drew in a lungful of clean country air. He had no idea when, or if, he'd again rest on this hill staring up at the sky, watching the birds and clouds pass by.

Sadie Thorsen, the girl who owned his heart, used to tease him mercilessly about his odd interest in birds. In the midst of needling him about birds one day, it was as though a light clicked on, and she understood the freedom the birds represented to him. She never teased him again. Instead, she gave him books about birds and collected feathers to share with him. Two years ago, her parents had given him a fine pair of binoculars, and he'd used them many times here on this very hill to watch the birds.

The eagle above him was one Harley John had observed many times before. Enough times to give him a name.

"Reckon you'll still be here when I come back, Edgar?" he asked, voicing his question although no one was around to answer.

Harley John thought about what tomorrow would bring—a new chapter in his life, one he hadn't anticipated but felt the need to step into with courage and steadfastness.

Back in April when President Wilson had officially entered the United States into the war in Europe, Harley John knew it was only a matter of time before he'd have to go do his part. He'd registered with the U.S. Army and been conscripted into service.

When the train left Pendleton this afternoon heading toward Portland, he'd be on it, making his way to Camp Lewis near American Lake in Washington, between Tacoma and Olympia. Last he heard, the camp wouldn't officially open until tomorrow. Maybe he'd be one of the first men to walk through the gate.

A month ago, he'd taken the train to La Grande to meet with the district draft board. He'd received a letter that said he'd been drafted and to report there on a specific date. So, he'd followed the directions, arrived early, and answered what seemed like a million questions. He'd been given a test similar to some he'd taken in school, covering everything from math to spelling and deductive reasoning. He almost laughed aloud when he got to a question that asked if a telephone or a telegraph was more useful. Since the telephone was so much faster, he'd assumed it was the correct answer.

No one had told him how well he'd scored on the test, but he must have passed because the draft board members smiled at him in approval and told him to report to Camp Lewis on the fifth day of September.

The day had arrived to make the journey there and he wasn't ready to go. Doubts and fears assailed him, but he knew what he had to do.

Harley John hadn't yet told his father he was leaving. In fact, he couldn't bear to think of saying goodbye to all the people in Pendleton he cared about, particularly those he considered family although they weren't related to him. Sadie's parents had been so good to him when Sadie had left for Boston four years ago and continued to treat him like a son.

Thanks to Lars, Harley John had a decent job working for a blacksmith shop. He'd learned not only blacksmithing skills, but also how to repair motors and engines on the new automobiles and equipment that more and more residents of Pendleton were purchasing. The work fascinated him, and he enjoyed tinkering with engines. A year and a half ago, he'd even built his own automobile from parts and pieces left around the blacksmith shop. Lance Ashby, his employer, had encouraged Harley John to use the discarded pieces to make whatever he liked. He'd found an outlet for his creativity and had fun thinking up ways to repurpose broken, otherwise unusable pieces.

The men in Sadie's family had taught Harley John everything he knew about anything. They'd taken him hunting and taught him farming skills. He'd learned about horses from Garrett and Aundy, Sadie's aunt and uncle. Her uncle Tony Campanelli had taught him the basics of photography, and he'd even given him a foldable pocket camera. Harley planned to take it with him to document life as a soldier. At least he hoped he'd be able to take it with him. It was small enough it wouldn't take up much space in a pack. Grant Hill had given Harley John lessons in investing his money. He'd taken the advice to heart. Thanks to Grant, the small savings Harley John had accumulated was growing faster than he would have imagined possible.

He'd made a promise to himself when Sadie left four years ago that he'd have more to offer her than just himself if she ever returned to Pendleton. With every intention of keeping that vow, he'd worked every job he could find, sometimes juggling three at a time. Now that he worked for Mr. Ashby, he kept steadily busy, but he still managed to pick up odd jobs in the evenings and on his days off. The only day he gave himself to rest was on Sunday.

Sunday mornings found him seated with the Thorsen family at Pastor Whitting's church. Often, he accompanied them after services to Dogwood Corners and enjoyed lunch with their boisterous group. Other times, he accepted invitations to the homes of other friends. Once in a great while, he made a sandwich and took it up to the hill on his father's rundown farm to enjoy a peaceful afternoon in silence.

Harley John checked the time on the watch fastened to his wrist. It had been a gift last Christmas that Sadie had sent to him from New York. He'd much rather she'd have come home than sent an expensive gift, but she'd been busy with school and classes and didn't want to be away from the hospital where she was working.

She'd amazed them all by challenging and passing her first year of classes within a few weeks. By the end of the school year, she'd transferred from Boston to a school in New York and moved in with Tony Campanelli's parents.

Harley John had pondered when she'd left Pendleton if she might not end up there since that was where her cousin Nik had stayed while he attended medical school. Sadie had sailed through her classes and excelled in her coursework. In December, she would graduate with her medical degree as a full-fledged doctor.

In the past four years, he'd only seen Sadie once, when she'd come home for two weeks the summer before last. She'd been there for a brief visit one other time, but Harley John had been in Baker City, temporarily working for the Jordan family for a few months when they needed extra hired hands on their ranch.

Despite the challenges that kept them apart, Harley John had faithfully written a letter to Sadie every week, and she replied as often as she could. Sometimes, it was every week, other times, it was once a month. Regardless, she'd stayed in touch like she'd promised, and he loved her more now than he had the day she'd left town.

Nonetheless, he knew she wasn't finished having her adventures. Prepared to give her all the time she needed before he pursued her, he hoped when he did, she'd be ready to settle down and start a family with him. He intended to build a beautiful home for them there on the hill that overlooked the town in the distance and the fields of wheat around them.

In the meantime, Harley John had a war to fight that had nothing to do with the battle that would burst forth if anyone knew he intended to leave town without a word of goodbye. He wasn't one for big shows of sentiment and preferred to quietly board the train without a bunch of fanfare.

Two weeks ago, he'd let Mr. Ashby know he'd be leaving, then sworn the man to secrecy. Harley John hadn't said a word about heading to Camp Lewis to anyone but his employer. Yesterday, when Harley John had gathered his tools and packed his personal belongings he kept at work, Mr. Ashby had come over, shaken his hand, and thanked him for all his hard work over the years. Then he'd given him an envelope with his pay and a month's worth of additional funds as a bonus. When he tried to give it back, Mr. Ashby had shaken his head.

"You'll be hard to replace, Harley John, and I know you've saved me a bundle with your unique way of approaching repairs. Think of it as a little extra for a job well done," Mr. Ashby had said.

Harley John had thanked him and started to leave, surprised when the man gave him a fatherly hug. "Be safe out there, son, and make it back in one piece."

"I'll sure try to do that, sir." Harley John had stopped by the bank and left part of the money in his account, then packed the tools to his little shack on the hill along with anything he wanted to keep from the apartment he'd occupied in town above Caterina's restaurant. Rather than sleep there, he'd spent the night on the cot he'd set up years ago in his shack, listening to the birds and crickets as they serenaded him to sleep. He'd risen early and sat on a rock, observing the sun rise, then spent a while studying the sky.

Now, though, he knew he needed to get moving. He wanted to make sure his little shack was secure against the wind and weather. Once he was settled at Camp Lewis, he might ask Noah, Sadie's brother, to come check on it for him from time to time. He hoped Noah wouldn't be called to serve. It would purely destroy Sadie with worry if she knew Noah was in the war.

Harley John took a moment to pray for his loved ones, for his friends, for the girl who held his heart. When he opened his eyes, he watched the eagle circle above him again. Something fell from the sky, lazily heading toward him. He sat up and watched as a feather drifted down to him, as though Edgar had given him a parting gift.

With a smile, Harley John picked up the feather, rubbing it gently between his fingers before he once again gazed upward.

"Thanks, Edgar!" he called, then rose to his feet and went to his shack. After making sure it was tidy and everything was secure, he gathered the traveling bag he'd packed, checked to make sure he hadn't forgotten anything, then closed the door. He walked down the hill and stood at what had once been the end of the walk in a well-tended yard. Nora Nash had told him his mother had loved tulips and they'd bloomed in colorful profusion throughout the flowerbeds in front of the house each spring.

As he stared at the house with the boarded up, broken windows, the porch that had collapsed on the right side, the weathered boards with streaks of what was left of yellow paint, and the crumbling remnants of the sidewalk, he tried to envision how the house might have appeared years ago. A home for a happy family? He liked to think of it that way. And he liked to think that he took after his mother and inherited nothing from his father, except he knew he looked like him, or at least what he must have once looked like.

One night, when his father had been sleeping off a drunk, Harley John had sneaked into Howard's bedroom and borrowed the slightly blurry framed photograph of a smiling woman standing next to his father, holding a round-cheeked baby he assumed was him. He'd taken it to Tony Campanelli, who'd managed to take a photo of the photograph, and made Harley John a copy of it.

He had that photograph tucked away in his bag, safe in a small watertight tin along with a photo of Sadie.

With a sigh, Harley John set his bag by what had once been the gate and was now a half-rotten post. Cautiously, he made his way through the dry weeds of what had been the yard. Harley John used to try to keep the weeds pulled, but gave up the day his father stood on the porch and shot at him.

The rickety steps, or what was left of them, creaked as he walked up them and stood at the front door. It hung on one rusty hinge. The last time he'd been there, the door had still been functioning. With a sigh, he stepped off the porch and walked around the house to where a big barn had once stood. His father had been burning the boards for heat the past winter, and the barn looked like it was one good windstorm away from collapse.

Inside, on a splintered bench, he found a box of rusty tools. He picked it up and carried it back to the front door. It didn't take long to fix the broken hinge and oil the other one. He tested the door a few times to make sure it worked properly. After placing the tools in the barn, he returned to the house, stepping inside through the back door that opened into the kitchen.

The room reeked of booze, and empty bottles covered the table. Something burnt and malodorous had dried into a crusty unidentifiable mess in a pot on the now-cold stove. Dirt that had blown in covered every surface, while garbage littered the floor.

Harley John wondered if his father had always been a drunk or had dived into the bottle because of his mother's sudden death. He'd asked Doc Reed a few years ago what she'd died of, and the man had told him her heart had stopped. Harley John couldn't help but wonder if his father had somehow broken it.

Quietly, Harley John walked down the hall to his bedroom. A small broken bed with a stained, ripped mattress was pushed against one wall. No other furniture filled the room. No curtains hung at the windows. Nothing in it gave any hint of the terrified little boy he'd once been, cowering beneath his bed, praying his drunken father would go away and never come back.

He stepped out of the room and continued down the hall to his father's bedroom. Sprawled across the bed, his father slept on his belly, his face half hanging off the lumpy mattress, an empty bottle clutched in his fingers.

It would have been easy to just walk away and never look back, but Harley John had things he needed to say to his father in case he never saw him again.

"Pa!" Harley John said from the doorway. "Pa! Wake up!"

His father didn't stir. For a moment he wondered if the man was dead, but the rise and fall of his back assured him that wasn't the case.

"Pa!" Harley John shouted, not wanting to set foot inside the room. Finally, he moved forward just far enough to lift his foot and jostle the bed. His father grunted but didn't awaken.

"Pa, I need to talk to you. Would you please get up?"

"Don't bother me, boy," his father mumbled. "Go milk the cow."

His father had sold the last milk cow when Harley John had been eight. Concerned his father was suffering from more than the effects of alcohol, he took a step closer and caught a whiff of something that smelled putrid.

"Pa! You need to wake up." Harley John thought about fetching a bucket of water and dumping it on his father, but that wouldn't exactly get their conversation off to a good start. Instead, he reached down and grabbed ahold of the overall straps on his father's shoulders and lifted upward.

Weakly, his father batted a hand at him. "Leave me be, boy."

"I will, Pa, but you need to listen to me first. For just once in your life, would you give me a moment of your time?"

His father opened one eye and sneered at him. "Oh, ain't you sounding all hoity-toity now? That's from spendin' your time with them fancy folks who fill your head full of nonsense."

Harley John tamped down the urge to shake his father and instead continued pulling on the overall straps until Howard Hobbs sat upright, leaning against the bent iron of the headboard for support.

"Whatcha want?" his father wiped his bleary eyes on the filthy sleeve of his shirt, then fixed them on Harley John.

He hadn't checked on his father for a month, and the man looked even worse now than he had then. Harley John had stopped by with a box of food supplies and brought his father a plate of food from Caterina Rawling's Italian restaurant. It had still been warm when he'd carried it inside, but his father was already deep into a bottle of whiskey and had no interest in the spice-laden lasagna. He'd cussed and ranted at Harley John for treating him like a charity case and thrown two empty bottles at him before he left.

Harley John sometimes considered why his father wasn't rotting in jail for being in the possession of alcohol. Kade and Lars had both told him they'd arrested his father many times for being drunk, but he'd gone right back to it when he was free. The only one he was hurting, besides Harley John, was himself, so they let him be. No one seemed to know where he got the booze, and Harley John knew for a fact his father didn't make his own. Either Pa had hidden a lifetime supply before prohibition had been voted in, or he had a supplier somewhere who kept him well-stocked. Either way, it was no longer going to be a problem Harley John wasted time thinking about.

His father's skin was a sickly shade of yellow, his skin hung on his bones like an ill-fitting costume, and there were scabby sores on his arms as though he'd scratched them. When his father looked at him, Harley John was shocked to see even the whites of his eyes looked yellow.

Uncertain if he could or should leave his father, Harley John knew there was nothing he could say or do to get the man to change. If he died in this bed with a bottle in his hand, it would be what Howard wanted.

"I'm leaving, Pa."

"Leaving? For the day? A week? Are you goin' back to Baker City?"

Harley John had no idea his father had been coherent enough to recall the months he'd spent south of Pendleton at the Jordan Ranch. "No, Pa. I'm not leaving for a new job. I've been drafted into the Army. I leave today to go to training camp."

"What?" His father sat up straighter and, for the first time in a long while, looked almost sober. "Army? Whatcha doin' that for?"

"Because we're at war, Pa. There's a big war in Europe taking place in France. President Wilson is sending troops over to help, and I'll be among them."

"No. No, son. You can't do that. War ain't a good place for a boy to be, especially not one like you."

Harley John had no idea what kind of boy his father thought he was and really didn't want to hear what he might say about him. "I just wanted you to know I was going. I don't know when I'll be back, or if …" Harley John didn't like to think of being one more casualty of the war. "Listen, Pa, I need you to know I'm not angry or upset with you about anything. I forgive you, and I love you." It cost him to say those words. To extend forgiveness to a man who certainly hadn't earned it. To tell his father he loved him when he'd spent most of his life despising him. But Harley John knew if he died in France, he wouldn't have regrets when it came to his father. He loved him, not with affection, but simply because he was his father and his mother had once loved him too.

Howard gaped at him, as if he couldn't fully grasp what he was saying. Harley John cleared his throat and nervously shifted from one foot to the other. "That's all I had to say, Pa. If you need help while I'm gone, go see Deputy Kade Rawlings or Deputy Lars Thorsen. They'll help you."

His father somehow managed to get to his feet and stood before him, a hunched over, broken shell of the man he once had been. "Harley John, I don't like the idea of you being somewhere people are shootin' at you. Don't go."

Harley John didn't remind his father he'd shot at him any number of times over the years. "I don't have a choice, Pa. I've been called to duty, and I'm leaving today. In fact, I need to go if I'm going to catch my train, but I didn't want to leave without saying goodbye. So, bye, Pa. Take good care of yourself."

He held a hand out to his father. Howard stared at it for a long moment before he clasped it with both of his hands and gave it a shake, then pulled Harley John to him in an awkward hug.

The stench emanating from his father was enough to make him gag, but Harley John couldn't recall his father ever hugging him before and wasn't certain what to make of it now.

His father stepped back, moisture filling his eyes, and gave him a studying glance, as though he was seeing him for the first time. "You done growed up, Harley John. I don't know when that happened. Seems like just yesterday you were a little sprout. Your Ma would be so proud of you, son. So proud. She loved you more than anything."

Unable to tamp down his welling emotion, Harley John nodded, wishing his father had been different, willing to talk about his mother years ago.

"And I love you too, son. I know I ain't showed it or acted like it, but I do. You be careful out there and come home."

"I'll do my best, Pa."

His father didn't bother to hide his tears as they rolled down his cheeks. "You always have done your best, Harley John. Always."

Torn between staying with this father, who he didn't know but thought he might like to, and heading into town so he could see to a few details before he left town, he knew he had to go.

"Take care, Pa. I do love you." He backed toward the doorway, leaving his father hanging onto the headboard for support.

He made it all the way to the door before his father called to him. "Wait, son! Wait!" Harley John turned around and watched as his father shuffled toward him, holding something wrapped in an old piece of cloth. "Take this with you. It belonged to my pa."

Harley John accepted the gift from his father's hand and folded back the cloth, revealing a pocket knife. It had a large and small blade, a hoof pick, a pair of tweezers, a saw blade, a leather punch, and a corkscrew.

"What a knife, Pa. You say it belonged to my grandfather?"

"Sure did, son. He fought in the Civil War and carried this with him. It was a gift from my mama to him before he left, and I'm givin' it to you in hopes it will bring you back home again."

Harley John folded his hand around the knife and looked at his father. The man had always seemed so big, angry, and formidable. He used to eagerly await the day when he'd be big enough to wallop his father the way the man had beaten him. Only, when that day arrived back when Harley John was fourteen, he no longer wanted to return the violence his father had visited upon him. It wasn't in his nature to seek to do harm to another.

As he gazed at the man who'd been such a horrible parent, who'd given him nightmares, and left him to raise himself, he felt a surge of affection for Howard Hobbs. Unless a miracle happened, he knew he'd never see him again, and the thought made him want to weep. Rather than allow his emotions to drag him into a turbulent undercurrent, he took a deep breath and smiled at his father.

"Pa, this is great. Thank you. I appreciate it and will carry it with me wherever I go."

"You do that, son. And you take this too." His father handed him a Bible covered in dust. It was small enough he could tuck it into his pocket, though. "This belonged to your ma, God rest her sweet soul. She'd want you to have it. I should'a let you take it a long time ago. I don't deserve it, Harley John, but hearin' you say you forgive me means more than you can ever know."

"I do forgive you, Pa. I wish …" Harley John cut himself off and swallowed hard. "You remember what I said about Kade and Lars, Pa. And Pastor Whitting would be happy to help you if you need it. There are good folks in town."

"I know there are, son. I know, but I ain't exactly deservin' of any kindness."

Harley John didn't know what to say, so he tucked the knife and Bible into his pockets, shook his father's hand again, then opened the door. "Take care of yourself, Pa. I'm not the only one who forgives you. God will too, if you ask."

"I'll think on that, son. I love you, Harley John. Be safe and be well."

Throat thick and eyes burning, Harley John jogged away from the house, grabbed his bag, and looked back once. His father stood in the doorway, watching him go. Harley John lifted a hand in farewell, then ran the rest of the way to town. He let himself in through the back door of Caterina's restaurant. Several people bustled around the kitchen, getting ready for that evening's meal even though they didn't usually arrive until after lunch. Caterina had to be expecting a big crowd to have that many people there.

His stomach rumbled with hunger at the mouth-watering aromas of baking bread, simmering spices, and something sweet, but he hurried up the steps to the apartment where he'd lived since Sadie had left town, shutting the door behind him. The place looked bare without his personal belongings there to make it seem more like home.

He hurried to dust the furniture, wipe off the shelves, and make sure he'd left the kitchen clean before he went to the bathroom, filled the tub with water, and slipped in for one last soak. He had a good idea he wouldn't have the time or opportunity to enjoy a bathroom all to himself for a good long while, nor a big tub he could actually fit in since he was upward of six feet with broad shoulders.

After he'd soaked long enough to wrinkle the skin on his fingers, he got out, dried off, and shaved. Only when he was satisfied the bathroom was spotless did he dress in an old pair of jeans and a faded chambray shirt. He'd been told to wear clothes he didn't mind throwing away as all civilian attire would be discarded once he reached Camp Lewis. He combed his hair and gathered the last of his things, tucking them into his small travel bag. He found a spot for the Bible his father had given him, but he dropped the knife into the pocket of his jeans. With nothing else left to do, he slipped on his watch, glanced at the time, and decided he'd head to the depot early. He would run by the bank and ask Grant Hill to keep an eye on his investments. And he ought to leave a note for Noah to make use of his automobile. There were so many things he should have done but had avoided because he couldn't bring himself to say goodbye.

Rather than pace the floor in the apartment for the next hour, he opened the door and looked back at the place he'd lived the past four years.

He picked up the bag, considered dropping it out the window and climbing out along the roof of the porch so he wouldn't chance seeing Caterina, but he forced himself to walk down the stairs.

As much as he didn't want to say anything to her, he knew he had to tell her goodbye and return the key to the apartment. He was certain she and Kade could have rented the space for twice what they charged him, but it had been wonderful to have a warm, comfortable place of his own to live with meals included. Even after he moved in, he still went out to check on his father from time to time, often taking along food. His father never thanked him. Often yelled and hollered at him, or tried to cuff him upside the head, but he always seemed to use whatever Harley John brought him. Or maybe he'd traded it for more alcohol.

Conflicted by the way his father had treated him today, by finally hearing that he loved him, he wanted to spend more time with his pa, but it wasn't meant to be. He knew Howard could read and write, so maybe, if Harley John wrote to him, his father would respond, although he didn't hold out any great hope for it.

Harley John set his bag by the door and walked over to where Caterina cut a large chocolate cake into square pieces.

"Harley John! You're just the person I wanted to see," she said, smiling at him as she finished cutting the cake and handed him the knife to lick.

He hurried to catch a bite of cake and frosting with his tongue before it fell off the knife, then licked the blade clean, offering her an impish grin.

"What can I do for you, Aunt Cat?" he asked, calling her by the name she'd suggested he use when he moved into the apartment.

She glanced at him and tipped her head toward the dining area of the restaurant. "Would you be a dear boy and carry in that big tray I keep by the door?"

He thought nothing of her request. He often did things around the restaurant to help, especially first thing of a morning or late in the evening after they'd closed for the night. "Of course, Auntie, but then there's something I need to tell you."

She nudged him toward the door and winked. Her eagerness to shove him into the other room left him contemplating what made her act so strangely, but the moment he stepped inside the dining room, he knew. People shouted and clapped, yelling, "Surprise! Surprise!"

Harley John gaped at the room full of people he considered family and friends. Even Mr. Ashby was there, joining in the cheers.

"What's all this?" he asked, turning to face Caterina when she stepped into the room behind him.

"A farewell party, Harley John. Did you really think you'd be able to sneak out of town without telling us goodbye?" she asked, giving him a warm hug.

"Well, I kinda thought it might work. I only told Mr. Ashby I was leaving."

"And he knows you well enough to realize you'd try to slip away without any fanfare," Lars said, coming up to Harley John and clapping him on the shoulder. "We all wanted a chance to tell you goodbye, son."

"I … I don't …" For the second time that day, emotion clogged his throat until he found himself unable to speak. He cleared his throat and looked around the crowd. Garrett and Aundy were there, along with J.B. and Nora. Ilsa and Tony stood beside Gideon and Millie McBride. Grant and Lacy Hill were next to Quinn and Walker Williams. Bertie and Riley Walsh were in attendance along with Pastor and Mrs. Whitting, Doc Reed and his wife, Nik and Dally Nash, and Flynn and Evie Elliott. Kade walked in with the sheriff, and Clarice and Mitch Lawry were right behind them. And everyone from the orphanage, including the children, was there even though it was a school day.

Overwhelmed and uncertain what to say, Harley John looked at the faces of people he admired, respected, and loved. "Thank you," he said, clearing his throat, then saying it louder. "Thank you all for being here, for everything you've done over the years. Thank you."

"Come on, Harley John. You sit right here, and we'll feed you before you leave. We thought you'd probably catch the afternoon train." Caterina motioned for him to take a chair at the table nearest the kitchen.

He pulled out the chair, then looked around. When his eyes caught Marnie's, she grabbed Lars' hand and the two of them came over, sitting on either side of Harley John. All these years they'd filled the roles of mother and father to him, whether they knew it or not. Lars was the one who had encouraged Harley John to learn more about mechanics when he'd seemed interested in the way things worked. He'd taught him about being a good man, a good husband, and a good father just by the example he led. He'd shown Harley John how to sharpen a knife, fillet a fish, and set a rabbit snare. He and Kade had taught him how to not only clean a gun but take it apart and put it back together blindfolded in case he ever had to do it in the dark.

From Marnie, he'd learned about kindness and gratitude. She was one of the nicest people he'd ever met, and she never seemed to take anything about her life for granted. She loved without any reserve, welcoming anyone who showed up on her doorstep with warmth and grace. From what he'd observed, she always acted like one more person only enriched a gathering and there was plenty of food to go around. Marnie was giving and thoughtful and everything he imagined his mother might have been if she hadn't died so young.

Harley John turned his focus to Pastor Whitting when he tapped a spoon on a water glass, drawing everyone's attention.

"Let's ask a blessing on this meal before we dig into Caterina's wonderful food," the pastor said, then bowed his head and asked a brief, sincere prayer. Before he finished, he added, "and please, Lord, we pray that thou wouldst keep thy hand upon Harley John. Guide him safely in his journeys and return him safely home, if it is thy will."

Nearly undone by the prayer on his behalf, Harley John tamped down the strong desire to grab his bag and escape. If Sadie had been there, she would have known just what teasing thing to say to put him at ease. But she wasn't, and he felt uncomfortable with all the attention tossed in his direction.

Thankfully, Caterina and her staff began carrying out the food. She set a plate heaped with all his favorites in front of him. Ravioli, meatballs made with spicy sausage, succulent pork roasted to perfection, and potato dumplings covered in cream sauce were joined by a serving of the olives she got from her family's store in New York City, as well as fresh vegetables drizzled with a dressing that enhanced their flavor. She filled a glass with lemonade and ice, setting it in front of him with a smile. Caterina patted his shoulder, then motioned for one of the servers to bring a basket of warm bread to the table.

Harley John ate until he thought his stomach might burst. In addition to chocolate cake, Caterina had made the cream-stuffed pastries he liked so well. He ate three of them and a slice of cake with ice cream before he couldn't hold one more bite.

By then, people began handing him gifts. A packet of stationery with a fountain pen. Stamps for mailing letters. Postcards already stamped and ready for him to write a message and drop into the mail. A journal for him to keep his thoughts. A warm scarf. Woolen socks. Leather gloves. A new book by Edgar Rice Burroughs. A pair of wire cutters. Harley John had heard wire cutters were hard to come by overseas and sorely needed by troops.

He looked around the group of people who'd come to mean so much to him, at a loss for adequate words to express his deep gratitude.

"Come back home, Harley John." Marnie wrapped him in a motherly embrace, and he held her close, breathing in her clean scent and treasuring what it felt like to be loved by a parent. Lars hugged them both; then, in a flurry of goodbyes, Harley John found himself at the depot.

Only Aundy and Garrett, Ilsa and Tony, and Caterina and Kade had accompanied the Thorsen family there.

Kade carried a basket of food Caterina had packed for Harley John. Noah Thorsen held Harley John's bag, while Tony carried a smaller bag in which he and Ilsa had packed all of Harley John's gifts.

About to drown in a sea of emotions that were unfamiliar to him, Harley John looked at each face, memorizing it for the days ahead when he knew he'd be lonesome and homesick. He hugged the women, kissing their cheeks, then shook hands with the men. He hugged all the children from the orphanage who'd joined them. Then he asked Noah to drive his automobile so it wouldn't rust while he was gone. Tony offered to check on his shack and move his belongings somewhere dry and safe until he returned. Lars and Kade would keep an eye on his father for him and let him know if anything happened to Howard.

His feet felt like they'd been glued to the platform when the conductor called for everyone to board. Harley John didn't want to leave these people who were so dear to him. The past four years, being around them had made him feel closer to Sadie when he'd missed her so badly he could hardly stand it.

Without time to think of what to say, he looked over the group and spoke from his heart. "Thank you, all, for everything you've done for me, not just today, but since I started hanging around with Sadie. You've always welcomed me and made me feel like part of your family, and I'll never forget that. You've taught me more than I'll ever remember and supported me in ways I'll never forget. Thank you for always being here for me. I'll miss you all, so much."

Marnie burst into sobs and buried her face in a handkerchief. Lars placed one arm around her, then pulled Harley John to him, giving him a tight squeeze. Marnie dabbed at her tears and hugged Harley John, kissing both of his cheeks as the conductor gave a final call to board.

Harley John grabbed the bags and basket of food, bounded up the steps onto the train car, then waved to the people he would forever cherish as his family.