They could hear Danny's petulant cries when they were still yards away from Maureen's house.
“Poor baby must be starving,” Maureen said.
“I know how he feels.” Gloria's stomach had been loudly rumbling for much of the walk back.
“You go straight to that baby dear, and I'll fix us a snack.”
Although it was just late afternoon, dusk had settled around the farm. Gloria looked, hoping to get a glimpse of John William, but there was no light coming from the barn, and she was certain he wasn't in the house. He hadn't stepped across the threshold since the funeral. Also, the wagon and team were gone, although it was much too early for the horses to be put up for the night.
“He's gone.”
“What's that dear?” Maureen's voice betrayed how tired she must feel.
“John. He's gone. He's taken the wagon.”
“Certainly not. He didn't say a word about it.”
Maureen and Gloria had reached the cheerful blue door and were greeted by the full-out screaming of Danny, who was being jostled on Big Phil's lap. Anne was at the stove, stirring a pot of something that smelled wonderful.
“Do something with this baby!” Big Phil said good-naturedly
“Now, Phil, stop that,” Anne said. “He's been a perfect angel until just a few minutes ago.” She turned from the simmering supper and smiled at Gloria. “He just needs his mama right now”
Gloria reached down and scooped her fussy son from Phil's grip. She brought him close for a hug and kissed his red, wet cheek. “His mama needs him, too,” she said before leaving the cozy kitchen and taking him to the rocking chair in the parlor to nurse.
“I've made soup!” Anne's cheerful voice called from the kitchen. “It'll be ready when you are.”
“Thank you,” Gloria called back.
The muffled sounds of conversation filtered from the kitchen, and though Gloria longed to hear every word, she contented herself to see to Danny and relax, rocking, staring out the window into the early evening sky. Danny's frantic sucking eased into a comfortable rhythm matched by the rocking of the chair. Soon she allowed her head to loll against the back of the rocker and shut her eyes. Bits and pieces from the voices in the kitchen floated her way
“He went to Centerville…to the mill…”
“Just after noon…he'll camp tonight…”
“…tried to tell him, but he wouldn't wait until tomorrow…”
“Saturday evening…wants to be here for church on Sunday.”
So she was right. He was gone.
But he was coming back.