Chapter 2

Chapter 2

With a brown knapsack slung over his shoulder, Mike started walking and did so with earnest. He didn’t know or care where he was headed. He only knew he couldn’t shake the dust of the town fast enough. This was figuratively speaking of course. This time of year in Michigan, Mike was in reality shaking the snow off. It was early November, and the wind that now blew was bitter and cold. He had very little money, and couldn’t afford to waste any on train fair. His feet would have to carry him to his next destination.

He pointed himself southward. After all, he might as well head where it would be warmer.

He covered many miles that day, only stopping twice for a rest and once to pull a sandwich from his knapsack. Though the ache of his loss was still strong, he felt some of the gloom lifting the further away he got from the town. It was as if being out from under the scrutinizing gaze of the town lifted an invisible burden off of his back. He felt freer right now than he had ever felt in his life, and it gave him some hope for starting over somewhere.

The sun was disappearing behind a mountain, and the temperature was dropping quickly. It was a great relief when up ahead he saw a farm. He was tired, but he quickened his pace, hoping the people who lived there would be willing to put him up for the night. As he approached, he admired what a well-kept farm it was. Nothing like the small, run-down property he had worked back home. The farmhouse was a white-washed, two-story cottage style with a large, wrap-around porch. There was a porch swing to the left of the front door, and two rockers with a table in between to the right. A large barn stood off about fifty-feet to the south of the house. Mike could see the chicken coop built onto the side, but no chickens in sight.

It’s a sad day, he thought with a smile, when the chickens show more sense than you do and take shelter.

He blew in his hands a few times to warm them as he approached the door. He knocked, and a half-minute later a kindly looking man answered the door with a smile and a greeting. Mike didn’t get the chance to say anything before the man was inviting him inside. Indeed, did Mike have to say anything? A man knocks on your door late at night with a snow storm on its way, it is fairly obvious he is looking for shelter.
To his left was the living room with an inviting fire roaring in the large, stone fireplace. Mike felt drawn to it, but instead the man grabbed him by the arm and led him to the right.

“We were just setting down to supper.” He explained. “You’re welcome to join us.”

Mike was led into the dining room, and was met by several pairs of curious eyes. At one end of the table was an empty chair with a half-filled plate in front of it. Mike assumed that was this man’s seat. At the opposite end of the table sat a woman who was about the same age as the man escorting Mike, and both sides of the table had an assortment of children. As the man made introductions, the woman’s expression went from worried to kindness as she realized this guest didn’t bring bad news, but was only seeking shelter.

“I’m Tom Callaway.” The man said, “This is my wife, Grace, and these are our children.” He named each child off, but both he and Mike knew it would probably take a lot longer to learn each child’s name than Mike would be staying. All-in-all there four boys and three girls, ranging in ages from 4 to 18. Mike politely nodded to each one, then made his own introduction.

He was seated between Gabe, who looked to be the oldest boy in his later teens, and Mary, who was the baby seated next to her mother.

Grace brought another plate and silverware to the table. Tom filled the plate as Grace brought a cup of coffee to their guest.

“It’s a bitter night to be caught out in.” Tom was saying, “Certainly not the best time of year to be caught travelling a-foot.”

Mike had no desire to go into his own story or to give any kind of an explanation. Instead, he changed the subject.

“It’s a nice farm you have here.”

“God’s blessed us.” Tom said with a gleam in his eye, “We’ve been working this land for twenty years. Grace and I settled here after we were married. Of course, it didn’t look like this when we first settled. We started out with a one room cabin. Then as each child came along, it seemed we kept adding and adding until finally this is what we ended up with.” He ended with a chuckle and a proud glance at each of his children.

“If you all could put me up for the night, I’d be glad to repay you by helping out around the farm tomorrow.” Mike said.

“Had experience on a farm, have you?”

“Yes, sir! I was a farm hand for the last two years.” Mike said, then added, “Nothing as grand as this though.”

“We’ll be glad to put you up for the night.” Tom said, “No need to repay though. Wouldn’t turn anyone out on a night like this!”

The warm meal and hot coffee worked like a tonic on him. Grace refilled his plate once, and his cup twice. Then the family and their guest was treated to a warm, sweet potato pie. Grace flushed at her husband’s and children’s praises. Mike smiled at the scene, but tried not to look at her for fear it would make her even more embarrassed.

After dinner, the men moved to the living room. Gabe went outside to finish some last minute chore. Grace and her older daughters cleaned up the dining room and kitchen, while Tom entertained the younger children with stories. It wasn’t long before the whole family gathered in the living room, and the friendly chatter began.

Mike watched silently and with interest. This was his first opportunity to really see a family – a happy family – gathered together in their house. He had always tried to imagine what a whole family was like. He had seen them plenty of times in town back home, but it was different. There, they were usually scurrying about the stores. At some town events, he would see families sit together, but he could never get close enough to see how they interacted with each other. As soon as he would come around, people would become quiet. They’d give him the polite smiles, and “How are you today?” type phrases, but it wasn’t until he walked away that they would start talking again – and usually in hurried whispers.

Grace sat in a rocker near the fire with some sewing in her hand. She would keep up with her conversation, only looking up at times to smile at someone in the room. Mike liked her smiles, and was pleased to see she never seemed to run out of them. Tom was in a stuffed chair on the other side of the fire. He had a youngster on each knee, while working on a fishing line and talking over a future fishing trip with the children. The boys were most excited about making the plans along with the middle girl who was obviously a tom-boy. The oldest girl, about sixteen, commented on how smelly fish were and how she was happy to just stay home and help tend the house. Mike didn’t miss the sideways glance she shot him when she said this. He redirected his gaze to Tom and the smaller children.

He couldn’t help but wish that he and his mother had had his kind of life. He could see his mother sitting where Grace was sitting now, smiling contentedly at her family. Not that his mother never smiled, but she was usually so tired at the end of the day that she would fall asleep in the chair. As he watched Tom, he wished his mother could have had a good man in her life. She deserved better than what she got. Mike had never desired a father up to this point. He was bitter at his own father, whom he had never met, and there was no one in that town that he could even come close to wishing as a father. But Tom was different. Never having had a man to look up to before, Mike felt a new longing stirring inside of him. Tom was a good man, a good provider, and loving husband and father. Mike found himself thinking he wanted to be just like him.

The family tried including him in their conversations, and not to seem rude, Mike would comment from time to time. But at the moment he was content to sit quietly and observe a family in action.