Free Stay a Little Longer by Dorothy Garlock Page B

shadows out into the middle of the street, he stared at his former home, then
     back down the street, returning his gaze again to the house. At that moment, he was no longer the least bit concerned whether
     he was seen or not. Questions raced through across his mind.
Who are the people now living in my and Alice’s home? Why doesn’t Alice live there anymore? Where in heaven’s name did she
     go?
    Before he could set about finding answers to his many questions, another wave of dizziness washed over him. This seizure was
     worse than the last, strong enough to drive him down to one knee in the road. Pulsing pain assaulted his senses and he had
     to squelch the urge to vomit. He touched his forehead with the back of his shaking hand; it was hot. He was sick, but he refused
     to allow his illness to keep him from the answers he so desperately needed. Gritting his teeth, he pushed to his feet and
     breathed deeply, settling his racing head.
    “Hold yourself together,” he commanded himself.
    Once he was sure that he wouldn’t pitch face first into the road on his first step, Mason set out for the only place he could
     think of to get the answers he wanted; Eliza Watkins’s home across from the train depot. While he knew he couldn’t just go
     up and pound on the door demanding answers, he could watch and hope he might learn something. Going there would be a risk—there
     was really no way to get there other than by crossing through the center of town—but it was a risk he was willing to take.
    Mason stuck to the shadows of the buildings along Main Street, taking great care not to be noticed. Still, it was hard for
     him not to stare at the way Carlson had changed in his absence; there was a new lawyer’s office next to Hamilton’s Grocery,
     a new steeple atop the Lutheran church, and even a new balcony running the length of Carlson Bank and Trust.
    Struck by all these changes, Mason was also prompted to recall old incidents from his youth: chasing after his father as he
     made his way about his business, sloshing through mud puddles with his brother, and painstakingly choosing which candy he
     would purchase from Laurson’s Mercantile with his shiny new penny. Carlson remained a part of him, no matter how many miles
     he’d traveled or how many years he’d been gone.
    He had just stepped down from the boardwalk, gawking at all of the changes, memories swirling about his dazed head, when he
     collided with a man so violently that they both nearly fell to the ground.
    “What in the name of—?” a gruff voice spat.
    Quickly straightening himself, Mason was horror-struck to find himself only inches away from Samuel Guthrie, a man he had
     known since birth. With his hawkish nose and unruly brush of a mustache, the man was unmistakable, even with the wrinkles
     that lined his face. Mason clearly remembered running into his father’s office at the bank and being greeted by Samuel’s quick
     smile.
    “Why don’t you watch where you’re going?” Samuel snarled.
    “I’m sorry Mr. Gu—” Mason caught himself, rapidly adding, “sir…”
    Watch your tongue, you fool!
    “No-good, worthless bum!” the man snapped before walking away in a huff.
    Watching the man go, Mason realized that he hadn’t been recognized. Though Samuel Guthrie had once held some hope that Mason
     would wed his own daughter, he hadn’t known who had collided with him, even at a distance of inches. In Guthrie’s eyes, he’d
     been nothing but a destitute fool, a blight upon the town.
    Catching his reflection in the nearest window, Mason had to admit that there was reason for Mr. Guthrie’s assumption: his
     coat and pants were both dirt-streaked; his satchel was a littered mess of patches and temporary stitch jobs. His unruly hair
     and beard, his skin worn by the elements, and the wildness of his eyes were all frightening.
    The realization of just how far he had fallen struck Mason like a thunderbolt from a stormy sky. Before he’d