Daniel shrugged the strap of his tattered knapsack further up his shoulder, weight bumping his arm as he walked through along the snow covered pathway. The cold bit against his cheeks and stung against the inflamed cuts on his feet. Familiar iced over streams and patches of deep forests welcomed him home. Memories of running in between those trees and wading through the stream made him feel a degree of nostalgia inside of him. It warmed his insides to keep going regardless of the dropping temperatures he was enduring.

As he moved through the countryside, more and more reminders that he was homeward bound began to appear. Wooden fences began to come into view. The hedgerows which were planted across the front of the fences were bare of leaves and the usual roses. Fields spread from one edge of his view to the other, barren and covered in white powdered snow.

Daniel saw the roof of a sturdy, ever solid, stone farmhouse he had called home for 18 years. Now, four years since then he had finally returned.

He swallowed hard and continued on the hardened path towards the front door. The old family dog barked faithfully at the stranger but Daniel walked over undeterred and Rufus sniffed him. The tail begin to wag when Rufus put his wet and muddy paws onto Daniel's shirt, "Hey boy. Missed me?" Daniel's  hoarse voice lifted with a smile crossing his lips, "Hope the family did too."

Rufus' paws went back into the snow as Daniel stood. Even though the dog moved back and forth in excitement between his returned master and the house, Daniel stood frozen. Finally he walked onto the steps and knocked on the door. The wooden door was scratched from Rufus' scratching and chipped in places

A middle-aged woman opened the door and stared at the young man with a heavy stubble and unruly hair now on her step. His height and broad shoulders filled her doorway. The deep greenish grey colors of his eyes stirred something she hadn't felt in many years.

"Are you the lady of the house?" Daniel asked, slightly deepening his voice. She nodded silently and opened the door wider to let the young lad in. He stepped in, ducking his head slightly, then looked around. Nothing seemed to have change at all and the sense of familiarity made Daniel smile.

"What can I do to aide you, sir?"

"I am a veteran of the Northern forces ma'am. My own family were not happy when I enlisted. Could I please stay for a short spell until I get myself settled?" Daniel inquired but added quickly, "I do good farm work. Harvested fields for my own mother and father before the war." The older woman thought for a moment and watched his face. Something felt very familiar about those eyes, that nose, that jaw. She knew him somehow. Not just in fleeting passing but knew everything about him.

"You can stay until supper when my husband comes in. Then you can arrange with him what shall be your agreement." She said finally. The woman directed Daniel to remove his worn out shoes and to leave his bags by the door. A cup of bitter coffee was handed to him along with a small bowl of oatmeal to warm him up. While he ate by the kitchen stove the woman kept an eye on the young man. Daniel ate quickly but made hardly any noise, remembering the manners his mother taught him.

He handed her his bowl, thanked her profusely, and he went to the living room where another fire was stoked. Above the hard wood mantel was a small painting of the woman, a noble looking man, and two children. Two boys. One boy was a blonde blue eyed kid and the other had eyes with slight green along with a mop of blonde hair. A light laugh escaped Daniel's lips and his frostbitten finger tips ghosted over the painted face of the second boy. How long ago it felt.

Many pairs of heavy footsteps were heard in the main room and Daniel recoiled his hand away from the portrait and into his pant pockets. A broad shouldered graying man had stepped in through the front door with a few younger men following him for dinner. When the woman whispered in his ear the older gentleman's eyes met Daniel's from feet away. Steady and unwavering were the silver eyes of this older man and when she stopped whispering he strode over.

Daniel's breath caught in his throat as he mentally counted the strides the older man was taking to cross their separation. One...two...three... fou- "What's your name young man?" The gruff voice asked.

The voice that had scolded and yelled at him four years ago.

"Daniel Rake, Sir." 

 The older man nodded, "Ezra Hammond. State your business." That voice was always straight to the point, never honey-coated. Daniel wanted to smile or wince or something but his face was staid.

"I am an army soldier without a place to go. My father and mother disowned me out after I enlisted so I need somewhere to settle down because the war ended. If you'd be so kind as to take me as one of your working men I'd be much obliged, sir."

Ezra watched him intently as Daniel spoke and nodded with understanding, "I'll give you my answer after dinner. As you're here you are welcome to join me and the other farm helpers." With only that Ezra walked away and after a deep breath Daniel followed and sat across from the boy in that picture, Henry Hammond, Daniel's twin brother.

Daniel kept his head down for grace and for most of dinner. Most of the men finished quickly and got up to finish evening chores but Henry didn't move. Daniel silently wished that his brother would leave him alone but instead his attention was brought to Ezra who cleared his throat, "Daniel was it? I'll give you a trial period. Wages cut every day you are late, we don't encourage laziness on this establishment. Four weeks and we'll see if we can extend the contract."

Daniel smiled slightly and nodded, "Sounds very fair, Mr. Hammond. Glad to be employed by you." Ezra outstretched his hand and Daniel shook it firmly and after a pump Ezra looked at Henry, "Henry, show Mr. Rake to the bed house and tell him everything he needs to know."

Henry and Daniel left shortly after and were silent except for the crunching of the snow underfoot. There was a small cabin with five rooms inside to the side of the barn into which Henry led Daniel. Daniel said thank you with a nod and turned to the bed to set out his clothes for the next day, silently signaling that he wished to be alone. He heard the door shut but Henry's voice was still inside with him, "Daniel huh?"

Daniel didn't look and kept his voice deep, "Yes sir. What my mother named me."

"No she didn't. You thought you could fool us all huh, August?"

August's hands froze, and not just from the chill. His shoulders slumped slightly and he dropped the voice, "How did you figure it out?"

Henry's voice shifted when his mouth smirked cockily, "Your scar from when you scaled all those fish. When you cut yourself on the side of your hand. Never did heal correctly. Saw it a lot when you kept brushing back your bangs tonight. You need a hair cut."

August sighed, "You shouldn't know that I am home, Henry. I'm dead to my family remember?"

"You're dead to Mother and Father."

"Same thing. You've always supported them."

"Cause I'm not the stupid kid who fought Father on practically everything since we were the age of five. August, Mother would love to know you were safe."

August scoffed quietly, "My name wasn't on the deceased lists in the post office windows. That should suffice."

"You're so stubborn. What's in it for you to stay here in secret? They'll find out some day." Henry glared pointedly at August's back.

August turned to look at his brother, "You can't tell them. Father will beat me and cast me out again. I-I-I don't know why I came home." He dropped onto the cot and his hands covered his face, "I didn't feel like I fit anywhere after the war. I hoped that I'd have the courage to tell Father that I was a hero. That I stayed moral but look at these." He held out his chapped fingers as if something were dripping from them and showed Henry,

"These fingers pulled gun triggers, loaded cannons, killed people, and held dying people in them. They're blood stained and no matter how much I wash them I can't unsee the red. All the red...all the men we lost. My friends dying left and right.  The good men who were as stupid as I was and thought war was glorious. Thought that war was the answer. It's never the answer."  His hands shook and he took a deep breath, "I'm broken and then dead to my own family. Look at the fine life I made for myself."

Henry sat next to his brother, the brother who needed to be reassured but wasn't willing to listen. The brother who always had fought for justice regardless if it was right or wrong. "You were immature, August. Still are probably but you're home now. If Mother and Father were as good as we grew up believing then they should accept you back anyway. Mother would stuff you full of her famous beef and venison stew or her orange and apple rolls. You don't have to be alone, August. You never were."

August shook his head and rubbed his face and took a deep breath, "Don't say anything about this to anyone. I'll tell them when I am ready."

'Even if that is never' He thought silently.

Henry nodded silently and clapped a hand over August's shoulder, "So be it. You've had a long day and you should rest. Tomorrow at 6:30 AM we meet for breakfast at the house. August, always remember this." He paused to get August's attention, "First and foremost we're brothers. I'll always have your back, August. You don't have to be a stranger in your own home."

Henry said the final words and left, shutting the door behind him. August bit his lip and tried to ground himself, all of a sudden he felt woozy.

Sight: door, bed, bedspread, lantern, his shoes. 

Touch: his hair, a pillow, his shirt, the wood edge of the bed.

Hear: Trees bending in the wind, Rufus barking, the men finishing packing up tools.

Smell: A burning candle wick, the smell of the warm fire from the main house on his clothes.

Taste: the delicious maple.

After taking a deep breath August closed his eyes. Tomorrow was a new day. August's war on the home front wasn't over yet. He just prayed that there wouldn't be casualties in the process.

Sleep wafted over him and without changing at all he fell deeply into sleep, willing the memory of his mothers warm hold into his dreams as a mental blanket to curl into.