Even without his spyglass he could see the house clearly from that distance. Although the shutters remained closed in the middle of the day and the packed dirt road appeared virtually undisturbed, still he knew she was there.
He’d learned in the months that he’d followed her that she was several things. Mostly, she was fearfully cautious but equally predictable. He’d heard stories about her, little crumbs that kept him on her heels. Wherever she wondered, whoever she talked to the one thing she’d eventually mention was home.
How she even knew what home was, he had no clue but the farther east she moved, into the heart of the great, wide-open, nowhere, he knew where she was headed and it was truly home; their home before future’s hope was wasted like a glass of milk spilled upon thirsty ground.
From that distance, everything looked the way he’d left it thirteen years ago, doors and windows shut up like his heart had been.
He’d thought he’d lost her for good, believed she was gone in the grave but people talked, many talked too much and now he knew for certain that their story wasn’t over. He’d found her, finally.
All roads had led to home even though their old story had been changed. The finality of ‘the end’ being scrolled across the top of her mother’s, his beloved wife’s, shallow grave no longer held a period but a comma.
The end, he once believed it was the end.
There would be a new chapter, a new story for them. A broken-hearted man would face a new future with his wandering daughter who had somehow found her way home.
It was a story meant to be written. For thirteen years she had been telling him so.
~Dream. Imagine. Believe. Do. CONQUER!