Home To You. Cheryl Wolverton

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      Chase Sandoval paused as he set the porcelain figurine over the hearth of the fireplace.

      They’d been back barely a week in Shenandoah, Texas, and he had finally started unpacking things beyond the basics they’d needed to survive.

      This was why.

      The porcelain figure was of a woman wearing a long dress. Her long, wavy hair was pulled back with a blue bow. On her lap sat a tiny child, and the mother stared down lovingly at the child, her arms protecting it carefully.

      He’d gotten the figurine for Ruthie when she’d found out she was pregnant with their child.

      With Sarah.

      Sarah was eleven and his precious Ruthie was gone.

      Chase’s heart contracted and his hands shook.

      Cancer.

      Chase and Sarah had watched Ruthie fade away before dying.

      Why hadn’t she gone for checkups more often? Why had she ignored the signs? More important, why hadn’t she told them about her secret?

      Angry at first, Chase had finally sunk into acceptance. However, as acceptance had come he’d realized their house in Fort Worth was too empty without her. His job, which had kept him gone so much, now hindered his ability to raise his daughter.

      If he’d been around more, perhaps he would have noticed the changes in his wife before it was too late.

      But he hadn’t and his wife was dead and his daughter was on the road to becoming a juvenile delinquent. She didn’t want to be around him or talk to him. She’d started hanging out with some of the bad kids and running the streets. He’d had to find some way to head it off, and quick.

      But how?

      The house was too empty, his job hours were too long, and his daughter was acting more like eighteen than eleven…

      How he had wished he could capture his own childhood and share it with her.

      And that’s when the idea had struck him.

      It’d only taken a few weeks to get a reply back from the local sheriff’s office about jobs and then a few more weeks to sell their house.

      Then, he’d come back home, to Shenandoah. This was a place where he could raise his daughter, a place to help her find good influences for her life, a place to start over and try to do things right this time. It was a place where they could heal.

      Without Ruthie.

      Chase hugged the figurine to his chest, and then, with a sigh, reluctantly released his grip on the tiny porcelain figure as he tried to release past pain, setting it upon the hearth just as he tried to set aside the grief and leave it in the past.

      The oak hearth was beautifully crafted, the intricate designs made by loving hands. A mirror stretched above the length of the hearth, reflecting Chase’s own short, dark brown hair and deep brown eyes. He looked a bit haggard—he needed to step a bit closer to the razor that morning.

      He turned his gaze from the mirror, glancing around the room. The floors and ceiling beams were also made of wood and shone as if freshly oiled. The walls were white and the windows were tall and narrow, covered by curtains left by the last owners, who’d said they fit these windows and wouldn’t go with their new house.

      He appreciated their generous gift.

      Still, at moments like this, Chase wondered why he’d bothered with such an elaborate house. There was no one here to care for it, no wife to see that those curtains found matches in furniture or knickknacks.

      But he knew.

      It was because of Sarah that he’d bought the house.

      She needed a home in a good neighborhood with good schools.

      The people who had lived here before him had built a fort out back and had a permanent swing set made of wood cemented into the ground. There was a great climbing tree with a picnic table under it. All were constructed with good craftsmanship. He should know—in his spare time he used to build things. He’d gotten some experience here in Shenandoah, working for a carpenter. He loved building and thought Sarah would love the sturdy, beautifully crafted equipment out back, as well as the large spacious room and the quiet small-town feel of Shenandoah.

      It would be a place for Sarah.

      Staring at the beautiful, though painful, reminder of his beloved wife, Sarah’s mother, he decided he’d done enough unpacking for the day. He was going into town for lunch.

      He and Sarah could unpack together later. Maybe they’d order a pizza tonight and pop in a movie.

      But being in this house, alone, with all of the memories—

      Turning away, he headed to the door, scooping up his keys on the way, and leaving the pain for later.