A Homecoming Wish

Thematic content: discussions of death, disability, family separation, tragic, unfulfilled romance, a brief note of wartime amputation, and crude surgery.

An enormous, black steel vessel emerged into view from the great billow of steam, smoke, and particles it created from its funneled chimney. An exhaust congested the Hanover Junction Railroad Station's platform area.

A sharp whistle sliced through the crisp afternoon fall season air when the vessel's valve gears, rods, piston, and large metal wheels ceased. It woke late twenty-aged Connors from his slumber. 

Nonetheless, the captain feather nudged his fellow passenger as they arrived. Connors turned his face to him from against the windowpane view, smiled, and nodded his acknowledgment. The captain, a decade older than him, grabbed the wood crutches from the overhead shelf. With his other arm, the captain aided Connors to stand.

On the platform, Connors' face registered astonishment as he sought to study the rich details of the surroundings.

"Just as I remembered it." Said Connors. "Here is where my family last saw me before I left."

"I am glad you are pleased with the final renderings," said the captain. "Is it your father coming to get us?"

"Yes." Connors searched with his eyes for a familiar face and found it in a stalwart, greying man walking toward him. "I can't fantom it; his resemblance is excellent." 

"Remember, Connors, your home time visit is a short while," the captain said. "Then duty calls."

"Yes, Sir, as long as I am granted a moment to see Mable."

The tall, older man in his mid-50s was jubilantly finishing his approach, "Son, you arrived."

"Dad." Connors couldn't let go of his crutches for an embrace, for he had one leg to stand. "I introduce you, Captain Arthur Fielding."

"I'm Edward; thank you for accompanying my son," Edward said, shaking Fielding's hand. "You men look stately in your army attire."

Edward gestured to where his wagon was parked by the station's side. "Let me take you to your mother and siblings and some home cooking."

Edward's wagon was unique, with two rows of seating; the captain sat alone in the rear. The horse, well-trained, galloped the dirt road like a ballet dancer. Edward needed not to crack a whip once.

"Before you came, I received a list of your favorite activities but couldn't determine what you liked most after reading your background." Edward expressed. "A 'dad' should know those things about his offspring, right?"

Connors spoke reassuringly, "It's alright. You are making a good impression of him." 

As he saw ahead on the tree-lined road, fall leaves gracefully showered one by one, swirling to the earth. A small bunch of vibrant maple tree leaves gathered near Connor's booth. He bent to reach one. 

"Careful, don't fall off, son," cautioned Edward. "We might run against a bump."

A chime signaled inside the captain's uniform pocket. 

"I did not expect to hear from them this soon," said Arthur.

"I got it; I am sitting up safe," confirmed Connors.

From its stem, he held the leaf before him. He examined the bright, warm colors highlighted by the great light in the heavens. 

"Your son served bravely in his assigned regiment. General Meade was especially impressed by your conduct during the Battle of Gettysburg. He wanted you to know." Arthur expressed.

"Thank you," replied Connors, "I would not have known after I died."

Edward snapped the harness to gear his horse to pace faster.

"The past is gone except the memories," stated Edward. "We can move forward."

The captain removed a glowing, illuminated palm-size disc and placed it near his ear to hear a message, some utterances in an indistinct language.

"Yes, affirmative, we will be there as soon as possible," Arthur spoke into the disk and repocketed it.

Connors turned to the captain, "that sounds like my homecoming visit will end earlier."

"I'm sorry, they request you to return at the Luyten's hour to complete your processing. You have a choice." The captain asked, "do you wish to see your family or your fiancé, Mable?"

A few hundred yards from her front pouch facing the ripened, lush sorghum field, Berthe rocked in her rocker chair, knitting from a basket by her feet. By the glance upward, she noticed an increased line of dust heading forward to her homestead. It was her neighbor; Edward's wagon came forth. It was impossible not to a missed the young man seated beside his father, nor the anxiousness pictured on his face. 

The stocky woman of fifty-four years rose from her chair and set aside the unfinished woolen sweater in the basket. Berthe strode to the pouch's railing, where a metal bell hung on its yolk on the wood beam above, with a chain attached to its clipper. She yanked the chain inside the bell's mouth, causing a pealed announcement.

Edward stopped his wagon by the side of the front steps; he and the captain aided Connors off it.

"Don't come up the steps, Connors," said Berthe, "my daughter waits for you in the thicket of the field."

Connors's eyes panned the panorama of the high stalked crop's dense horizon. He saw no sign of entry at any point or a broken reed.

"Which part did she go in, Mrs. Rogers?" Connors asked.

"Oh, that's up to you," answered the lady of the house.

With his crutches under his armpits, Connors swept his remaining foot in the left direction. The perfect blue sky with scattered puffed clouds rippled from the center like a stone thrown in a pond. From the center ripple, a three-dimensional hexagon rolled down to the captain's eye view level and remained sustained mid-air. The wave in the atmosphere discontinued.

Edward admitted, "I knew this 'hourglass' timer would pop up as the clock ticks. Son, you must find your belle like an eagle and say farewell."

Connors was perplexed, staring at the translucent, floating object the size of a giant pumpkin. "What is it?"

"It is what you humans consider a pocket watch," explained Arthur. "In your earth's future history, it would be called a stopwatch or timer."

A set of bizarre alien numerals appeared on the hexagon's facing, separated by a semicolon. A tingling beep sounds from it; the digits alternated.

"Go, Connors, seek her. The clock is counting down. I'll say how much time you have left for us to depart to the station." The captain urged him.

He called her name several times; getting through a blizzard of sorghum stalks with his disability had distressed Connors after the captain shouted a second time.

"You have six minutes."

Connors stopped in place. He bent with exhaustion; his face sweated. The man in union blue tried to wipe his forehead with his fingers. A clutch slipped under his arm, he lost balance, and Connors fell backward. In an instant, his back shoulders felt like he landed on a pair of the softest, clothed breasts, and her arms wrapped around his chest. She sealed her face next to his side. 

The young lass' blonde hair pressed on his cheek like imported Japanese silk tread. He smelled her aroma like the spring blossoms in a West Virginia prairie. Slender and petite Mable lowered him to the earth and his head upon her knees. She lowered her lips to kiss his forehead, and Mable began to stroke his orange hair.

"I caught you," she said playfully.

"Mabel, darling," Connors joyously said. "My thoughts of you soothe the angst of the saw cutting through my bone. You were my last pleasant dream as my soul was released to the Lord from inside the army hospital."

"My father was afraid to tell me the bad news, but I found the telegraph in his desk about your death. It ripped my heart." Mable related, lightly twirling a few follicles of his hair in her fingers.

They paused quietly for some seconds, and Connors took total value by the fractions with his deep, relaxing breaths.

"What happened to you since then? Did you marry, start a family?" Connors inquired.

"I remained forever yours, my freckled-faced hero. I never married," Mable said. "I took over the family farm, which I gave to my nephew in 1900, shortly before my death from sickness."

Disappointment registered on Connors' face.

"Sweetheart, what's wrong?"

He answered, "I didn't want you to be stuck to me. I prayed for your happiness; you'll have a full life after me with generation after generation following you."

"Connors, it was my decision. I passed away contented." Mable confirmed.

The captain hollered, "three minutes remaining."

"Let me help you and get you back to your wagon," Mable said.

And she did. Mable convinced him to let her hold his crutches with one arm. He wrapped his arm around her shoulders. Mable's other arm came around his wrist with her hand latched to Connor's belted hip. Mable coached him along, and together they emerged from the field, stepping in unison with their trio of legs and feet.

From deep inside the chambers of his heart, Connors admitted, "you are so true to life. Everything about you is Mable as if she came back to life."

"We had a head start and prepared amply to fulfill your requests." Said Mable, "l humbly say I know Mable better than anyone else, except you, of course. Nonetheless, I want to be as genuine as her for you."

Mrs. Rogers had returned to her knitting, Edward sat with her to converse, and the captain sat on the front edge of the pouch with the hexagon floating beside him. They clapped and cheered when the young couple came out of the field.

Edward came forward, "princess, we'll take it from here. Kiss her goodbye, son."

The soldier in the blue union uniform layered his lips tenderly on her left cheek and gave her a brief embrace. Instantly a tear ran from her right eye. She bowed away and let the men assist Connors on the wagon. The hexagon rotated backward high into a disappearing sky ripple.

It was minutes ago, but it felt that Connors left much longer ago in Mable. She sat beside Berthe as the older woman finished weaving the sweater. 

"I suppose it is okay to transform back to myself from this costume." Mrs. Jones asked, "you're okay with it, Mable?"

"Yes, Madam, please be you." The young woman answered.

Berthe changed in a split second to a floating, transparent cell-like being having the invisible ability to hold up the completed sweater.

"How do you like it; I learned this earth skill for Connor's project."

"Excellent craftwomanship, my lady," said Mable.

"What do you desire to ask me, for you appear to have conscious questions on your mind."

Mable stood, walked to the pouch's railing, and peered at the sorghum field moving with the late afternoon breeze. Berthe set aside the sweater on the rocker and floated to her side.

"I understand, but I don't comprehend," Mable said as she looked down and grasped the railings with her hands in her sad voice. "Why could I not tell him I am the real Mable you resurrected from my grave DNA? Why?" Tears poured along the contours of her face to pelt and drip off the railing.

"Sugar, we granted you your wish to meet him." Berthe explained, "you two were brought back around the same time with processing to be fulfilled, including your emotional balances."

Mable regained her composure and faced Berthe.

"I'm sorry. You told me before. I am thankful to live again, so thankful." Mable continued, "You said I will be reunited with Connors after all procedures are finalized. He'll even get a new leg with a renewed body. I accept the entire arrangement." 

"I know your gratitude, but it feels like you wish to ask me about something else."

She found it uneasy about stating the request; Mable peered away, but her mouth quivered to make a sincere utterance.

"It's a harmless request. You may go; there's still a chance." Berthe encouraged her.

Mable became enthralled, laughed, and dashed from the pouch towards the barn's wide double doors.

Connors sat by the window, hoping to set himself to a desired condition of unconsciousness. "The countless stars are a wonder to behold, but after some time, it gets tedious." Said Connors, "they will help with my slumber."

"The right amount is good for you, soldier." The captain replied, "you humans require so much care for your existence."

Connors paused in thought; he felt a hunger without feeling hungry. He glanced at the unoccupied space his missing leg would have filled.

"Do you know what humans need to live?" Connors asked Arthur next to him.

The captain replied, "tell me, what is it?"

"It's love, my friend, never false, pure, and untainted."

A rushed Mable pulled in at the station in her boggy horse. A kind man sought to aid her from the carriage, but she leaped off it herself, running to the train's platform.

A conductor's voice, "all aboard," he bellowed. 

The dark vessel's valve gears, rods, pistons, and large metal wheels began to generate movement. The whistle blew its air-splitting audible. Mable hurried alongside the lengthy machine as it moved.

She hallooed, "Connors, Connors," in repetition.

One window sided opened, and the young man pushed his head out and saw his darling pursuing his window. The expression on his face was something indescribable beyond jubilance.

"Mable," he yelled.

The locomotive began to lift off the track. The female in the hand-made, flowery dress stopped her feet on the wooden platform. Mable could not fly, yet she waved with both arms with incredible joy.

"I love you, sweetheart," she broached. "I shalt see you again, Connors, forever love."

Connors waved one hand, "I love you, Mable, a love unending for my bride!" 

The gargantuan vessel with its wheeled boxes continued into the heavens entirely off the tracks. In minutes, as usual, it will convert into a sophisticated commuter transporter for space travel.

The window closed; Connors sat against his seat, inspired with eyes of hope. He couldn't yet fall asleep.

"She is Mable," he said in awe.

The captain replied, "didn't I tell you? You have something or someone to live for after your resurrection. Nonetheless, I endorse your attempt to sleep for your wellness."