Christmas Home (The Coming Home #6)

41. Ruther

forty-one

Ruther

I honestly thought I’d be building some midcentury modern structure as my home, imagining something reminiscent of Frank Lloyd Wright, but as we looked over the spot where my family would’ve once come to worship, I knew that wouldn’t be the case. I didn’t want a massive home, nothing bigger than the apartment I’d owned in New York.

If I accurately remembered my Crawford City home, the one I was slowly able to think about without panicking, I recalled the central structure as being a very traditional Federal style building. It would have been very plain, no adornments or porches even, although I’d be changing that. I wanted to build it on the other side of where I imagined a plain Quaker meeting house would stand.

The bank building across the railroad tracks was empty, but renovations cost more and were more hassle than new construction, so I didn’t even consider it. Instead, we could build matching buildings, one like an old barn. Plenty of old meeting houses in the Northeast had barns close by.

The museum and records could be kept in the old meeting house, where people could come in and learn about the town’s history. Both the good and the not so good parts. I’d sent pictures of my ancestor, who’d been hung in the town square, to the library and knew I’d like to honor him somehow too. He’d sacrificed everything for his convictions.

I’d also donated the original document showing my ancestors had purchased the land from the Cherokee who’d occupied it when we’d moved here. Quakers refused to occupy land that oppressed people, another strange custom of the time, especially with Manifest Destiny just getting going.

I could envision that document protected behind glass, where people could see it, read it, and know at least this tiny piece of Tennessee had stood on the right side of justice and equality. History hadn’t worked out to benefit that side, making it much more important to show.

I found myself holding onto Clyde as the evening progressed. Corey was so right, Clyde kept me calm and helped me process things that might have led to an attack. However, as wonderful as having him cuddled against me was, it didn’t take long for him to start yawning.

Lance and Corey were hashing out the details, including my vision of the barn and my own residence tucked into the woods, away from the public structures but built to exemplify the historical elements of the park.

And a park. That’d been Clyde’s idea, and it was a fantastic one. Kids running around the historical buildings just felt right. “I’m going to walk Clyde home,” I said, “before he turns into a pumpkin.”

“Hey,” Clyde protested but laughed. “I’m up early, and you all can lay around with your feet up all day.”

“Is that what we do?” I asked, goading him.

“How should I know? I’m at work. Who knows what y’all do all day? Sittin’ around eatin’ grapes like in those old-timey Roman movies, I suspect.” Everyone laughed at Clyde’s obvious teasing, and we bid them good night.

I walked him down the sidewalk toward his apartment above the café, his arm securely tucked into mine.

“I really enjoyed tonight,” Clyde said as we neared his building.

“As did I. Your presence makes me calmer, Clyde,” I said. I cringed inwardly, not meaning to put that into words just yet.

“Glad to help,” he said, and, stopping in front of the closed café, he kissed me. “Good night, my handsome prince.”

I almost made some retort about that, but, for some reason, being Clyde’s handsome prince felt like an honor too good to refuse.

“Good night, my handsome Clyde.”

He waved at me and disappeared around the side of the building. Yeah, I was smitten. I looked around the Southern town that was closed and deserted for the night. I wasn’t sure if the calm and contentment I felt had to do with Clyde or being in this special place or both, but I was thankful.