“I returned here because… No idea. They may visit, I thought. Maybe I’d see them pass by. Dumb, huh?
I shook my head, throat tight. It’s not dumb.”
He raised his glazed eyes. “Your twins remind me of them.”
I sobbed at home that night. I just told the youngsters that Mr. Daniels had been through a lot and missed his loved ones.
He appeared more in the following weeks. He repaired our mailbox. He taught students to whittle. He helped them paint wooden owls on rainy afternoons.
He grinned more. Even laughed.
Not everyone loved it.
Sandra, my neighbor, saw me gardening one morning. She added, “I’d be careful,” quietly. “That man’s wrong. Gives me goosebumps since he moved in.”
I inquired about his actions toward her.
After sniffing, she continued, “You know what they say about people with military issues.”
This wrath burned in my chest that night. People judged quickly. I witnessed his patience and gentleness with my kids, but they didn’t.
Still, murmurs became louder.
Social workers visited me one afternoon.
She stated a caller expressed worry. “About Mr. Daniels,” she said. We’re doing our due diligence.”
I directly inquired, “Is he under investigation?”
Shaking her head. “No. Just communal anxiety.”
She looked drained. A glass of water was provided.
Before leaving, she said, “From what I’ve seen, he’s doing more good than harm.”
But it shook me.
That night, I contacted him to ask if he could step back until everything calmed down. He remained silent. He said, “Of course. I get it.”
I hung up feeling like I’d kicked a dog.
Twins devastated. They pleaded, “But WHY?” “We did nothing!”
I didn’t have the heart to tell them some people dread the unknown.
Weeks passed. No one saw him. The porch light was off. Dust gathered on his fence birdhouses.
On Sunday, my daughter remarked, “I think he’s gone. He no longer answers the door.”
I approached and knocked. Nothing.
Then I saw something behind the railing. An envelope.
My name was on it.
A wobbly handwritten message was inside:
“Thank you for making me smile again. I felt like family for a while. I’ll remember your compassion. Moving to Montana to work at a wildlife rescue facility. New beginnings. Tell the youngsters they revived me. Love, Charlie Daniels.”
Read twice. Words distorted by tears.
Next morning, I showed the twins the message. They were silent, reverent.
My kid said, “
