A Fresh Start for Christmas

by Kimberly Grist

  “You act as though you’ve never been in the gorge before.” Memphis shook her head and grinned. “Last one in takes the other’s laundry duty.”

  The water flowed around their feet and they splashed their way to the middle. Laughing, Daisy arrived three steps behind but declared the race a tie. After relaxing in the shallow pool, they moved toward the falls to wash their hair.

  “This is freezing but much easier than hauling water.” Memphis shivered. “Why don’t we wade over to the boulder and dry off?”

  After they devoured their sandwiches, they brushed their hair and enjoyed the soothing sounds of the falls. “My mother and I used to come here, especially in the summer. I remember one year we brought all the school-aged children with us. They enjoyed splashing in the water and searching for turtles. Mama and I enjoyed it as well. Especially after we returned home, the children were so exhausted they went to bed early.”

  Daisy stretched an arm over her head. “Hiking here is fatiguing. And when you add swimming, it’s exhausting, yet worth the effort.” She reached for an apple. “Did you bring your newest letter with you?”

  “I did.” Memphis reached into the picnic basket. “He opened up more about the death of his wife this time.”

  Daisy clasped her knees and leaned forward. “Well, what did he say?”

  Memphis flipped the page over to find the appropriate paragraph.

  After my wife died, I felt empty, lifeless. I isolated myself from friends, family and quit reading my Bible or going to church. I was a dead man walking. Finally, my father intervened and brought me home, under the pretense he needed my help with his blacksmith shop and livery. It was my parents' pattern to read the Bible with the family after evening meals and then we would play our instruments. Provided there was time, we would take turns reading a work of fiction.

  “After you told me what he said about his father resembling the blacksmith in Longfellow’s poem, I have a picture in my mind what he looks like.” Daisy inclined her head. “When he says his father brought him home, did his family live close by?”

  “He lived in the next town over, which was a full day’s ride. Before the death of his wife, he would meet his family at church when the circuit preacher rode through.” Memphis tapped her finger on her mouth. “It’s hard to imagine living in a place where the land is so vast it’s a half day’s ride before you see another person.” She traced the script of the letter with her finger, then continued.

  My parents prayed for me and encouraged me. My siblings teased and provoked me. After about six months, my pa began reading from Ezekiel about his vision of the resurrection of the dry bones. It reminded me that even though God allowed the Babylonians to conquer the Israelites, He didn’t give up on them. He still loved them and had a plan to restore their hope.

  “I never understood the passage about the dry bones.” Daisy shivered.

  Memphis laughed. “I confess to looking up the passage myself. The way I understand it, God putting breath into the bones was an illustration of a promise that Israel would be restored to her land through the lineage of David.”

  “I love the idea of God’s forgiveness and restoration.” Daisy frowned. “I hope I don’t ever have a dream where I hear bones rattling and see skeletons coming together. How repulsive.”

  Memphis’s mouth twitched. “I’d better not read the rest.”

  Daisy scowled. “Don’t be silly. What else did he say?”

  “All right, if you’re certain.” Memphis continued.

  I asked God to breathe some life into me. Even though I continued to go through the motions, eventually I found comfort and hope. But it was a slow process.

  “Thank goodness his father intervened.” Daisy bit her lip.

  “You and I can relate to Mike. We’ve come through hard times and despair. If God can cover dry bones and breathe life into them, we should have the faith to believe He can make something good from our lives.” Memphis folded and placed the letter back in the envelope.

  Daisy huffed. “Mike’s family and the town where he lives sound ideal. Even though I find the reference disgusting, I’m willing to forget the mention of dry bones.”

  Memphis gave her friend a playful nudge. “Daisy, you are too much.”

  “Once I start corresponding, I hope my match has the good sense to quote Shakespeare.” Daisy wagged her finger. “I want to be compared to a summer’s day and to be assured his love for me will be as deep as the sea.”

  Memphis shook her head. “Do you think such depths of feeling can only be obtained through correspondence? Without the benefit of being in the presence of this person?”

  Daisy’s eyes twinkled. “At the risk of frustrating you further, I like the way Shakespeare put it. ‘There are no tricks in plain and simple faith.’”

  “We are a pair, you and me.” Memphis giggled. “I’m a realist and you’re a romantic.”

  “Even so, I have a peace about this matchmaking venture. I know God is going to send exactly who He has in mind for us.” Daisy patted her heart. “My future husband will be perfect.”

  Chapter 11

  “The distance is nothing, when one has a motive.”

  ― Jane Austen, Pride and Prejudice

  Mike’s brother John-Mark placed the dovetail drawer into the recently completed worktable. “That’s a fine piece of furniture.”

  “I’m glad you suggested going with pine for the legs. It made it a lot easier to move.” Mike ran his hand along the four-board maple top.

  “After you mentioned you were thinking of painting it blue, a more economical choice made sense. You did a good job treating the maple top. It’ll stand up to years of use.”

  “Uncle Mike,” Annie, John-Mark’s six-year-old sister-in-law, crawled from under the table. “Do you have to paint the legs blue?”

  Mike knelt beside the young girl. He tugged slightly on her blond braid. “What color do you think I should paint it, shortcake?”

  “Pink.” Annie clasped her hands. “Your new wife will love it.”

  Mike chuckled. “Memphis told me in her letters, the colors she likes best.” He pointed toward the kitchen cupboards recently painted green. “I wanted to surprise her and use both.”

  “I see.” Annie placed her finger along her cheek. “Hm. That makes sense. Have you made her bed yet? You should paint it pink, or maybe gold.” Annie extended her arms. “Y’all are going to need a big one.”

  Heat flooded Mike’s face. His brother’s shoulders shook. “You’re a lot of help,” he growled.

  Mike patted the young girl’s shoulder. “Haven’t started on any other furniture yet.”

  “Annie, why don’t you run next door and see if your sister has time to come see how nice the house looks?” His brother ruffled young Annie’s hair.

  “I’ll bring Andrew too.” Annie skipped out the door, then paused. “Once they look, can we go upstairs to the princess room?”

  Mike raised an eyebrow toward his younger brother.

  “As long as it’s okay with your sister.” John-Mark nodded.

  “It will be. I’ll bring my princess book, so you’ll know what to make.” Annie flashed a smile and darted out the back door.

  “She reminds me so much of our sister when she was the same age.” Mike chuckled. “Except I could generally tell what Maggie was thinking. I never know what Annie might say next.”

  “It’s true for her brother too.” John-Mark leaned against the table. “She’s convinced Memphis is a long-lost princess and will invite her and her friend, Betsy, to tea.”

  His brother pointed toward the attic. “Since the turret looks like a tower, Annie’s told me more than once that’s where Memphis will live. Remember how fixated she was last year on A Christmas Carol? She hasn’t turned loose of the story yet and she’s added ‘Rapunzel’ and ‘The Princess and the Pea’ to the mix.”

  Mike pulled the tintype from his pocket. “Almost every time I see Annie, she asks to look at the picture of M
emphis. She says she looks like Rapunzel. I’m not familiar with the ‘Princess and the Pea.’”

  John-Mark offered a sheepish grin. “When she brings her book, you’ll see the illustration of the bed she’s talking about. It’s a poster bed stacked with a bunch of mattresses.”

  “I’ll just nod. Sure not going to ask any questions.” Mike wiped the sweat from his brow.

  His brother motioned with his thumb toward the back door. “Before they return, you were going to tell me about her last letter. Did Memphis agree to come?”

  “We’ve both been skirting the issue.” Mike retrieved the pouch from his vest pocket, then pulled out the letter. “In the last few posts, we’ve talked about our faith and how grief kept us from moving forward in our lives.” Mike pointed at a paragraph and passed the letter to his brother.

  My story is similar yet different from yours. The common denominator of living in a children’s home is the estrangement of children from their parents. Over the years, death was a common occurrence. The yellow-fever epidemics added children to our orphanage on a weekly and sometimes daily basis. It was as if death came so frequently it was a common, yet unwelcomed guest. Even so, during the summer of 1878, when my mother passed away, I was crushed. My mother’s last words of encouragement and my promise to take up her position as teacher gave me the resolve to continue.

  John-Mark peered up from the letter. “She wasn’t much more than a kid herself. That’s a lot of responsibility for a young girl.”

  “She said keeping busy helped. Read the next paragraph. I’m interested in hearing your thoughts.” Mike rubbed his chin.

  His brother turned the page and continued.

  Any thoughts of having my own family one day were buried after the death of my mother. It is only recently that I’ve begun to recognize my commitment to stay at the orphanage may have had more to do with me attempting to compensate for my mother’s death.

  Now if I can only conquer my fear of the unknown and find the courage to leave. My pastor has encouraged me to review the story of Abraham and Moses.

  His brother’s eyebrows drew together. “Carol’s mentioned on more than one occasion how frightened she was to leave home and bring Annie and Andrew out here to live. Of course, I’m happy she did or else we’d never have met.” He handed the letter back. “What’s the next step? You figure on going out there to get her?”

  “I thought about making the trip. But it’s going to take me another few weeks of steady work to finish the repairs here. She seemed excited when I told her about our family traditions during Thanksgiving and Christmas. I’m hoping to convince her to come within the next few weeks.” Mike cleared his throat.

  “Thanksgiving is only a month away.” John-Mark raised one eyebrow. “Did you tell Ma and Pa?”

  “I did. They offered to let Memphis stay with them so I can court her properly.” Mike placed the correspondence back in the pouch. “I posted my response to the letter this morning. Here’s hoping she’ll answer back with a yes. Then I’ll arrange for her travel.”

  John-Mark tapped Mike on his shoulder. “I’m pleased for you, brother. It’s good to see you looking happy again.”

  Mike patted his vest pocket. “Do you think I should apologize to Moses for throwing him in the horse trough?”

  His brother shrugged. “He still says he wasn’t the one who mailed the application.”

  “Ma insists it wasn’t her either.” Mike blew out a breath. “I’m sure it wasn’t Maggie. Whoever it is, I owe them my thanks.”

  Children’s voices rang out and lively boots made light taps on the back porch. Mike inclined his head towards the sound. “I hope I can keep from blushing like a teenage girl in front of your wife when Annie shows me the princess bed.”

  Chapter 12

  “I often think," she said, "that there is nothing so bad as parting with one's friends. One seems too forlorn without them.”

  ― Jane Austen, Pride and Prejudice

  Memphis knelt beside Daisy and inserted the key into her mother’s trunk. “I’ve always been fascinated by the lock.” She moved the brass lion ornament to the right to access the keyhole.

  “This is a solid chest.” Daisy ran her finger over the studded copper nails.

  The hinge creaked when Memphis lifted the lid. Daisy laid the hexagon quilt Memphis had inherited from her mother at the bottom. “My grandmother made this for my mother as a wedding present. Mama put it aside for me.”

  “It’s beautiful.” Daisy smoothed the coverlet while Memphis retrieved a few baby items and her grandmother’s Bible and placed them on top of the quilt.

  Mrs. Shelby’s huffing sounded from the stairway. Breathless, she appeared, carrying an armful of ivory silk. “I finished the hem.” The matron placed the ball gown on the bed. Her hazel eyes sparkled with tears. “I’m pleased we were able to refashion your mother’s dress. You’re going to be a beautiful bride.”

  Memphis fingered the silky fabric. “Since I’m so much taller than my mother, I thought for certain it would be too short.”

  “Since we’ve eliminated the hoop, there was more than enough material.” Mrs. Shelby carefully folded the gown, placed it in the trunk and covered it with a sheet of muslin. “Do you have the lace shawl? We should put that in next.”

  “The only other items I need to pack are my Sunday dress, undergarments, and everyday skirts and blouses. Everything else will go in my carpetbag.” Memphis put the cover on the box containing her mother’s Irish-lace wrap, which would serve as a veil.

  “It seems unreal.” Memphis placed her hand over her neck. “Even though I’ll miss all of you terribly, I’m so excited about meeting Mike, I can hardly think.”

  “That’s the way it should be. I remember when I felt the same way about Joe.” The orphanage matron opened Memphis’s satchel. “I’d pack a change of clothes, your personal items, a book to read and your knitting needles and yarn in here. You’ll have plenty of time to work on the scarf you want to knit for Mike.” The matron sank onto the bed and stared into the distance before her face broke into a wide smile. “Did I ever tell you about the first time Joe joined my family for dinner?”

  Memphis shot Daisy a grin. When Mrs. Shelby took the time to share a story, it was always entertaining. She smoothed her skirt. The late afternoon sun streamed through the window, highlighting the beautiful combination of her blond hair mixed with white. Her eyes brightened. “It was dinner on the grounds after church. My mother and I worked for hours to prepare fried chicken, assorted vegetables, dill-pickle potato salad and pecan pies. I remember as though it were yesterday.”

  “I love your potato salad.” Daisy sat on the bed next to the matron.

  Mrs. Shelby shook her head. “Joe didn’t share your opinion. My mother noticed his reaction when she served his plate. She was so sweet and would never want a guest to eat anything they didn’t like. Mama remarked he must not like pickles.”

  “Who doesn’t like pickles?” Daisy inclined her head.

  “My Joe didn’t. He was picky. After we were married, I noticed a few more peculiar habits. He used to arrange his plate in a certain way and would only eat one food group at a time.” Mrs. Shelby’s smile widened and the worry lines around her eyes smoothed. “Anyway, the next week when he joined us again, my mother made a special container of potato salad without pickles for him.”

  “How considerate of your mother.” Memphis folded her new walking skirt.

  “Yes, she was happiest when we were all together, enjoying a meal. The problem was, Joe didn’t like potato salad either. He explained later that he didn’t want to hurt my mother’s feelings, so he pretended to like it.” Mrs. Shelby clasped the locket she wore on a silver chain.

  “He ate it?” Memphis placed her skirts in the trunk.

  “He shuffled it around his plate. It would have been fine except the next few months every time he came for dinner, my mother served what she nicknamed ‘Joe’s special dish.’”

  Me
mphis blinked. For a moment, she could picture a time when the food supply was short. Tables full of children gazing hungrily at whatever was put before them. “Did he learn to like the dish?”

  “No. But he came up with creative ways to get rid of it, often spooning some of it on my plate when no one was watching. I tried to convince him my mother would understand, but the longer it went on, the harder it was to say anything.” Mrs. Shelby clucked her tongue. “I honestly didn’t know what to do, so I remained mute on the subject.”

  “After your mother prepared a dish especially for him, I imagine it would be a difficult thing to admit. How did she find out?” Memphis’s eyes widened.

  “She never did. Joe told me the reason we relocated was to avoid a lifetime of potato salad every Sunday.” Memphis and Daisy joined Mrs. Shelby in an outbreak of laughter.

  ***

  Memphis stood on the train platform with Reverend Jackson. She shivered in spite of the mild November temperature. The sun peeked behind a cloud and cast a warm glow onto her face. Huffs of steam, hundreds of moving parts combined with the squeal of brakes announced the arrival of the train.

  She wrapped the strings of the reticule around her hand and forced a smile.

  The pastor extended his arm toward the engine. “The railroads arrange passenger cars the farthest from the engine. Luggage, mail and other freight create a safety barrier between the locomotive and the coaches.”

  Her belly knotted as the conductor exited the train and assisted several women passengers attired in stylish silk dresses with matching hats and parasols. Memphis pulled her wool cloak tighter around her two-piece calico dress. Mrs. Shelby insisted her second-best dress would be comfortable and would attract less attention should there be any seedy characters onboard. She’d worked hard over the last few months to add to her wardrobe, which now included two new walking skirts and blouses.

  She cast a sideways glance toward the baggage handler who hoisted her steamer trunk containing everything she owned onto the train.