The Prodigal's Brother - A Short Story

Part Two

Part Two

Carson stood before the Old Homestead with pride swelling his chest. It had been an year of saving, but by this time next month, he would finally have enough to buy the property fair and square. He and Elizabeth could finally marry and have the life of their dreams. Everything was finally starting to come together.

The Wyatt Ranch was just beginning to get back on its feet. After selling some assets and going without for over a year, Pa was finally ready to make an offer to Lou Simms and try to buy their property back. Things were finally looking up, and Flynn was nowhere around to ruin it for them again. Carson and his father had worked tirelessly to restore their heritage to its former glory, and the pride in their work left little else to be desired. It was almost time for supper at the main house, and since the herd was close enough to the outbuildings for him to join his father, Carson mounted his old swayback mare and began making his way slowly back to his childhood home after a long day of work. Of course, slow was the only pace Bessie had left in her.

As he neared the familiar outbuildings of the ranch, Carson's eyes were drawn to the commotion around the front of the main ranch house. His eyes narrowed when he saw the strange crumpled heap in his father's arms. It appeared to be a man of some sort, though his thin, emaciated frame made him look more like a boy. Carson pushed Bessie as fast as she could go, which brought him up to the ranch house at a stiff gallop.

When he dismounted, Carson caught a better look at his father. Tears mixed with the remnants of a smile lingered on the man's aging face... a smile Carson had not seen for years.

Then, as his eyes wandered to the crumpled heap relying purely on his father's arms to keep him upright, Carson recognized the structure of his brother's face.

Flynn had come home.

Tears carved trails in the dust caked on his face. He had become nothing more than skin stretched loosely over the sharp skeletal structure of his body. Carson's heart softened toward him. Never had his brother been broken enough to cry, and definitely not in his father's arms. As Carson neared the pair, he caught his father's eye. The light had returned to their brown depths, dancing back and forth between his sons.

"Carson! My son has come home!" He cried.

"I'm so sorry," Flynn wept. "I... I don't want nothin', Pa. I just want to work. I'll be a stock keeper. I'll muck the stalls. I don't care. I just want to be home."

"Nonsense," Pa said, clutching Flynn tighter to his chest, "You're my son. You'll have everything you had before. As a matter of fact, you'll have more. You can have your pick of my horses and saddles. The best, the fastest, whatever you want. Here, let's take you inside for some clean clothes."

Carson followed his family into the main ranch house, noting how Flynn barely moved his own feet and how Pa drug him into the house and to an overstuffed chair. Once the youngest Wyatt was settled into the chair, Pa left the room to gather him a fresh change of clothes. Carson sat across from Flynn, staring intently at his brother's face. Flynn shifted uncomfortably, peering at the furnishings of the room that he once regarded with such disdain. He appeared out of place, and judging by the look on his face, he felt it as well.

Finally, Flynn's faded, tired eyes met Carson's.

"Carson, I..."

Carson held up a hand. "Don't. Everything is forgiven. We're just proud you're home."

"I'm sorry, Carson. For what I said..."

Carson shrugged. "Water under the bridge."

Pa came back into the room then, his arms laden with clothes and a pair of boots. "Here are some new boots. I just bought them a few months ago, and my old ones aren't too bad. You're welcome to them."