Long Distance Love Letters

A Matter of Practicality

One night at the Blythe home turned into a fortnight for Thomas Walton. This wasn't, however, done on purpose. Every day after school, Anne would walk with him to his house, and every day, the house was empty.

Anne truly believed Thomas could take care of himself, but the idea of willfully sending him to a place where he would be alone made her growing stomach churn. And so home with her he went.

Gilbert came home at 5:00 sharp every night. He would pick up Joyce who would run into his arms, see Thomas working on his homework at the dining room table, shoot Anne a worried look, before cheerfully going over and asking him how his day went.

There would be times at night when Anne would ask her husband what was on his mind regarding Thomas.

"We're getting attached," was his reply every time.

Anne would then lie awake long after everyone had fallen asleep, wondering what Gilbert knew that she did not.

•••

This mystery knowledge was revealed one sunny Sunday afternoon. Gilbert was at work and Thomas was reading Joyce a book on the back porch, giving Anne a moment of silence to read her beloved Pride and Prejudice.

Just as she was coming to her favorite chapter when she was shaken out of the mind of Elizabeth Bennet by a violent knocking on the door.

Her heart pounding out of her chest, she grabbed a knife from the kitchen and stuffed it in her pocket before cautiously opening the door.

Standing at the door was a tall, broad man with a vexed look on his face.

"Hello," she greeted, trying to sound polite but unable to keep a slight shake out of her voice. "Can I help you?"

"Are you Anne Blythe?" the stranger asked, his tone matching his expression. A whiskey flask protruded from his coat pocket.

"I am," she confirmed. Acting like she was smoothing out her dress, she felt to make sure the knife was still there.

"Then I believe you have my son," he accused.

Realization flooding over her, she couldn't say the epiphany made the situation less dreadful. "Mr. Walton. Yes, Thomas is out back. I apologize if this vexed you, it just didn't feel right for me to send him home when-"

"I don't care for your life story," he interrupted, trying to get inside. "I am just getting my son."

Thankfully, she managed to block him before he entered. "Don't worry yourself. You can stay right there; I will retrieve him."

She shut the door and turned, burying her face in her hands, more conflicted than she has ever been. She was thankful she didn't allow him in for Joyce's sake, but she wished she had the confidence and physical strength to knock that drunk into next week.

Each step an almost insurmountable obstacle, she made it out onto the back deck, Thomas and Joyce looking up from their book.

The sweet sight breaking her heart, she cleared her throat.

"Tommy, your father is here to pick you up."

He furrowed his eyebrows. "He is?"

Anne nodded. "Yes."

Seemingly disappointed, he nodded before hugging Joyce and standing up, walking over to Anne.

Anne put her hand on his back and slowly walked him to the front door.

Before she opened it, however, she turned and enveloped Thomas in a hug.

"You know my door is always open, okay?" she mumbled.

"I know," he replied. "Tell Dr. Blythe I said goodbye. I'll see you tomorrow."

Anne smiled and nodded. She opened the door and Mr. Walton took Thomas away immediately.

She watched them walk off until she could no longer see them, a tear occasionally falling from her face.

•••

Gilbert strolled in an hour later, having taken a half day at work to do some apple picking with his girls and Thomas.

He was surprised to find Anne still sitting at the kitchen window, watching out intently with a mournful expression.

"Anne?" he asked nervously. "Are you alright?"

She shook her head. "No, Gil. I fear I'm in the depths of despair."

He looked around. "Where's Thomas?"

Her face scrunched up in a sob. "His father came. He took him."

Gilbert sighed, knowing this was going to happen, but his heart hurting nonetheless.

"He's not good to him, Gilbert," she cried, walking over to him. "He's abusive, I know he is. I lived with my fair share of abusive individuals when I was his age, and if Mr. Walton doesn't remind me of Mr. Hammond, I don't know who would! You should have seen the way he spoke to me; or the way he grabbed poor Thomas's arm and dragged him out of the house."

Gilbert drew her into his arms, cradling her head as she sobbed into his chest.

"I'm sorry you had to go through that alone," he whispered.

"We need to adopt him, Gil. We need to."

"Anne-" he began doubtfully.

"No," she cut him off, pulling back. "I know that tone, and I know you are going to try and talk me out of this."

"Anne, what are we going to do?" Gilbert retorted. "Go to court?"

"Yes!"

"They will take one look at our case, see that Thomas's father is still alive, and completely write us off."

"Would you stop being so practical?" she begged. "Nothing about my life has been practical. I was orphaned at three months, lived with a slew of families that treated me as a servant, was finally adopted by a brother and sister who never married, graduated tied for first in my class, married the man whom I had previously sworn was my arch enemy, and had a daughter after being told I would never bear children. What about that sounds practical to you?!"

Gilbert sighed. "Nothing. But unlike you, my life, besides you, has been overly practical?"

"What are you talking about?" she argued. "You traveled the world for a year and met your brother who looks nothing like you!"

Gilbert remained silent, seeing her point.

Her gaze softened as she looked at him. "You love Thomas. I know you do."

Gilbert felt the pain of a small dagger in his heart. "You're right. I do. And that is why we...I mean I cannot do this."

"Alright," she spat angrily. "Elaborate. Please."

Gilbert's voice followed suit in anger. "Because if we go through with this, we will lose. I have lost too much in my life to have my heart shattered again."

Without another word, he went out back to see his daughter, whom he would hold tightly until sunset.