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When he'd imagined his homecoming from the war, Siegfried saw it in bright tones: a proud fatherly handshake, a joyous motherly embrace, Siegfried himself over the moon to finally be home. The reality, as it often did, scoffed at his imaginings. If anything, Siegfried felt empty. He used all of himself up in the aftermath of the armistice, first “taking care” of the horses, then taking care of his men, finally taking care of his own travel arrangements. The homeland Siegfried returned to was as worn and hollow as he himself felt. He realised now that letters from home had been hiding as much as his letters from the front, both sides of the correspondence doing their utmost to quell the worries and to project the can-do attitude.
With millions of soldiers on the move, the travel times were unpredictable. In an unexpected stroke of luck, Siegfried had found himself alighting from his train days sooner than planned. Taking a lungful of the blessed Yorkshire air and shouldering his pack, he strolled towards his family home. The closer he got, the more reluctant he became. He was no longer the same Siegfried who’d left. How would he fit in the home he grew up in? He touched the breast pocket of his uniform, where Evelyn's letters were nestled. He would soon make a new home with his bride. Gathering his nerve, Siegfried lengthened his stride.
He stood in front of the Farnon family home, uncertain whether to knock or simply enter. Shaking his head at his own foolishness, Siegfried opened the door and called out in the booming voice trained on the battlefield. “Mother? Father? The train schedules were kinder than expected!” There was a gasp, a cry, and his mother flew to embrace him, her face torn between joy and tears. Siegfried gently returned the embrace and breathed in her perfume, melted into her softness. He was home, after all. His mother released him only to take his face into her hands, studying him through tears.
“Oh! You’re all skin and bones! We’ll have to feed you up again! Oh, my boy…” And she was hugging him again, running her hands over his back and sides, looking him all over, babbling with worry and relief. Siegfried finally clasped her hands to still her and gave her a filial kiss on her cheek.
“I am well enough, Mother. Just lost the baby fat, ‘tis all,” he smiled gently at her and then looked around. There was an unfamiliar charwoman gawping at him from the hallway leading to the scullery, but otherwise the house appeared empty. “Where is Father?”
“He’s out on a call, should be home by supper. Oh, he will be so glad to see you.” Now his mother started to turn around, also looking for someone. “But where is… ah, Tristan!”
Siegfried followed her gaze and spotted the boy, crouched and hiding behind the top floor bannisters. Last he had seen him, Tristan was a babbly, wobbly toddler, the apple of their parents’ eye, the unexpected gift of their later years after so many shattered hopes for another child after Siegfried. Now he was a silent, shy lad, hiding from a stranger.
“Tristan, come down! Don't you know your brother?” their mother called the boy. Well, Siegfried didn't really recognise Tristan, it was hardly a wonder the boy couldn't recognise him. Siegfried smiled at him and said “It must be the beard, eh, Tristan? Don't you think it looks distinguished?” Exaggeratedly, he posed both the profiles towards the boy and was rewarded with a giggle. Tristan cautiously dragged himself downstairs and uttered a shy hello from the shelter of Mother's skirts. Siegfried crouched as he would in front of a wary dog and continued in a cheery tone. “My, how have you grown! Last I saw you, you were just this tall!”
Siegfried marked a far too low a height and elicited a laughing scolding from Mother and some more smiles from Tristan. Several more attempts at the correct height later, he had Tristan standing next to him, laughing and trying to reposition his hand. Siegfried found himself laughing back, while Mother beamed at her two precious boys.
By the time Father returned home, Tristan was hanging onto his big brother like a burr, enchanted by his uniform and his (heavily redacted) war adventures. Siegfried stood when his father entered the living room and politely called a good evening. His father replied tersely with “Siegfried.” and offered his hand for a firm handshake. “You came sooner than we expected.”
Siegfried nodded and explained his good fortune with the trains.
“And have you been to see Miss Walker yet?”
Siegfried reigned in his temper. It wouldn't do to raise to the bait like an untried boy. “She's Mrs. Evelyn Farnon, Father. The wedding was over half a year ago.”
“If you say so. It's not as if you had invited us.”
Siegfried could sense Mother getting agitated and it was to her he turned now.
“I do apologise for not being able to advise you of it in advance. It was rather a spontaneous decision, once I learned I would be redeploying to Belgium.” At this, he turned his eyes to his Father. A stern man, an exacting man. A man who has not seen war firsthand, his father could not hold Siegfried’s gaze. They all knew what being deployed to Belgium meant in late spring of 1918.
Siegfried recaptured the thread of conversation. “Actually, I came here first. Evelyn is living with her parents now, but we both would be grateful if we could move in here until I get my situation settled. I know it is an imposition.” At this, Siegfried looked back at Mother. Tristan had sidled to her side, disturbed by the tension between men, and she was caressing his hair.
Father cleared his throat. “Well.” He turned to his wife, exchanged a wordless conversation with her, and grimaced at Siegfried. “The supper will be waiting. We can continue this conversation after the meal.” With that, Father went upstairs to change, Tristan trailing him. Siegfried exhaled a sigh through his nose and relaxed his posture. He wasn’t even aware when he’d slipped into the military stance. Mother stepped next to him, caressing his arm. “He is glad to have you home, Siegfried.” Siegfried leaned into her with a sigh. “I know, Mother.”
The supper passed pleasantly enough, and afterwards Mother took Tristan away to bed, despite his whiny protests. It only took one look from Father to quell the boy, and he hopped sullenly to the stairs and up to his room, Mother following him with a fond headshake. Father poured drinks for himself and Siegfried, and they sat down in the living room for a conversation between men.
“You mentioned settling your situation. So you still plan on taking over that practice in the Dales, where you worked as a student trainee?”
Siegfried took a sip and grimaced appreciatively. It was good stuff. “They need me there. Mr. Latham is getting too old to run the practice and his assistant has moved to Edinburgh. He would be willing to sell the house and the practice for a lump sum, provided I work for him for several years without pay in lieu, as a down payment.”
“Not really a situation in which to bring a young bride, is it?” Father lifted an eyebrow at Siegfried.
“Evelyn does not mind.” At the eyebrow arching even higher, Siegfried amended. “Says she does not mind.”
“Women in love” Father shook his head in resignation and took a sip. “You could remain and work for me, Siegfried. Keep it a family practice”, he added with a gentle look at his firstborn.
Siegfried smiled sadly. “We tried, Father. It did not work then. It will certainly not work now.” He motioned at his epaulettes “I’ve gotten used to command and would chafe at taking instruction from you.”
Father saluted him with his drink “Captain Farnon.” Siegfried raised his drink in return, and they both drained their glasses. At Father’s motion for another, Siegfried nodded grateful acceptance.
“Of course you can bring your bride here, your mother would have my hide if I caused you to leave home before you had to.” Father said. Siegfried smiled in honest gratitude, and then laughed as his father spread his hands and mused aloud “Although how will the two of you fit in your room, Heaven only knows, boy.” Siegfried nodded as he sipped his drink. “We’ll manage.”
“It will be only the two of you?” his father prodded after a sip of his own. Siegfried looked at him, puzzled, until the implication became clear. With a flare of temper, Siegfried retorted “I knew better than to leave her with child as I went to the front!”
“Pity. Wouldn’t have minded a grandchild.” Father grinned at him.
“I’d think Tristan was enough.” Siegfried replied sullenly. He choked on his drink as Father unexpectedly slapped his back with a merry “Well, glad to have you home anyhow, son!”
Eyes tearing from the drink that went up his nose (and not from anything else, thank-you), Siegfried nodded. “Glad to be home, Father.”