The oak trees had grown up.
That was Tom’s first thought as he shuffled around the last bend leading him home. When he set out twenty years before, the grove of saplings stood just chest-high. Now they towered to forty feet.
In their shadows stood a strapping young man, musket held across his chest. He stared at Tom with hawk-like eyes.
Tom knew those eyes from his own mirror.
“Can I help you with something, mister?”
When Tom read the notice of Molly’s death, he thought it was time to come home. To make amends for running out on the family when Mike was just a few months old.
Hell, back then Tom was too young to be a daddy, and probably not cut out for the job, anyway.
Now …
Well, he didn’t know if he was up to the job or not, but he had money. Pockets full of the gold he’d spent years mining, panning -- stealing.
That would make everything alright.
Only, he could see his boy had grown up without him. Hadn’t needed a two-bit daddy.
Didn’t need him now.
“Um, nope.” Tom curled his lips into a rueful smile. “Just passing through. Didn’t know no one was on this land. Sorry to bother you. Jake’s the name.”
Mike gave a slow nod but kept his gaze on the old man.
Tom headed for the open range to the west, gold straining his back and regret stabbing at his heart. At a fencepost that marked the edge of the property, he glanced toward the stand of oaks.
Mike was gone.
Tom hollowed out a spot at the base of the pale with his boot heel and stooped to empty his pockets.
He turned toward the horizon and scraped along as best he could. Heavier than ever.
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