Reaching as far as I could into the recess, I touched something dry and crackly. Carefully, I lifted it between my thumb and forefinger and drew it from its dark hiding place. A small paper package tied with a blue ribbon lay in my palm.
Mom took it from my hand and turned it over. One word was scrawled across the paper in faded blue ink: “Georgia.”
Her hand holding the package shook.
“You open it, Darcy,” she said. “I can’t.”
I slid the ribbon until it was free of the package. The old, yellowed paper was so dry it flaked off as I unfolded it.
A gold ring set with a brilliant, red ruby nestled in the paper.
For a moment, time turned backward. It was 1942 and a young soldier was going off to war. When he returned, he would offer his heart and his future to the young woman he loved. In the meantime, the ring would wait, a symbol of fresh hopes and dreams and two lives that would become one. But fate intervened. Dreams dissolved and hearts were broken and the ring lay hidden in the drawer, waiting for the day a young man would slip it on his young bride’s finger. That day never came.
A mockingbird lit on the porch, imitating a trio of bird songs. Jethro nudged my hand and with one paw, poked the spools of thread. Mom and I gazed at the ring.
“I’ve never seen anything so beautiful,” I whispered.
“It was to be Miss Georgia’s,” Mom murmured. “Jeff planned to give it to his sweetheart. To think that, all that time, he meant to marry her.”
“Yes,” I said. “He really loved her, Mom. Before he left for the war, he must have put this in here. Now we know. Jeff Thorne was a most honorable man. It’s no wonder Miss Georgia loved him.”
Chapter 46
“Do you know where Jeff Thorne is buried, Mr. Hopkins?” I asked.
The sound of Ranger barking accompanied Burke Hopkins’s voice on the other end of the telephone conversation.
“I sure do, Darcy. After he died, I made it my business to know. Felt like it was my duty to sort of look after his grave site.”
“Do you have time to take my mother and me to visit his grave? We’d both like to see where he was buried.”
“You bet. How about tomorrow morning around nine o’clock?”
I grinned at Mom, who was anxiously listening to my end of the conversation. “Nine o’clock it is.”
As I flicked off my cell phone, I felt happier than I had felt since that rainy night when Walter Harris appeared on our doorstop shortly before he was killed. It seemed that loose ends were being tied up, and maybe Mom and I could pass the rest of the summer gardening, and canning and freezing vegetables, and cutting herbs for drying.
I, of course, had my job at the newspaper if I wanted it. It might be fun to get paid for doing what I liked to do anyway, what I seemed to have a knack for falling into without even trying. Maybe now I would have time to put the finishing touches on the book I was writing. But, what better job than a newspaper reporter for sniffing out stories for a historical book?
I enjoyed spending time with Amy’s twins. Maybe I should apply as a substitute teacher in the Ventris elementary school. Any of these jobs would keep me busy and perhaps keep me out of trouble.
Once again, I was grateful for Jake’s foresight in buying the life insurance policy, and for the regular checks it provided. That substantial amount gave me the freedom to look at options for my life.
Finding the ruby ring after we returned home the previous day answered Mom’s question about Jeff’s intentions. With wood glue and a lot of patience, we got the old sewing machine back together, but what should we do with that beautiful ring? By rights, it was Miss Georgia’s. But, if we gave it to her, she would certainly need to know the story behind it and if she knew, she would realize Jeff had died only a few miles away without ever trying to contact her.
The decision, however, was Mom’s to make, not mine.
“Do you think you will ever tell Miss Georgia about the sewing machine and the ring?” I asked.
She gazed out the back door at the baby chicks running in the chicken yard and their mother, clucking them to her and scratching up worms. Jethro ambled over to the little family and stretched out in the sun, watching them.
“I don’t know,” Mom said softly. “I don’t want to upset her. I remember that old saying Mama used to repeat, ‘Least said, soonest mended.’ I think that might apply here.”
So, I left it at that.
Chapter 47
The next morning, Burke’s old truck drove across our bridge promptly at nine. We were ready and waiting.
Mom smiled. “I’m as nervous as I can be! Now, isn’t that silly?”
“Not at all, Mom,” I said. “I’m kind of nervous too.”
We climbed into the truck and bounced back across the bridge and into the wilds of Ventris County. Burke drove past Old String’s road, past the road that turned off to Pat’s house, and kept driving. I had never been in this part of the county. The hills grew steeper and the woods became dense with tall, dark trees casting the road in shadow. The paved road gave way to dirt which was more rocks than soil. I grasped the armrest on the truck’s door to keep from being bounced against it.
Glancing at us, Burke said, “Sorry my truck’s not more comfortable.”
“It’s okay,” I gasped as a wheel hit a pothole.
Burke’s truck climbed one hill after another, each steeper than the last. At last we broke through the woods into a clearing. A tall, rusty arched entry way met us. Songbird Cemetery burned into a wood sign dangled from the top of the arch
Burke drove through the gate and parked on a narrow lane.
“Well,” he said, “this is it.”
We slid out of the truck, Mom carrying a bouquet of wild daisies, and followed Burke past several headstones to a recent grave site under a tall oak.
A bronze military marker confirmed this as the final resting place of Corporal Jefferson Thorne. I was not prepared for the wave of sorrow that engulfed me. The man who lay here had been my grandfather. He was a handsome man, a brave and caring man, a man who had made wrong decisions and paid the price for those decisions. Without him and many, many others with the same courage, I would not be enjoying the freedom I took so much for granted. He had lived through the horrors of war and endured hardships I would never know. With all my heart I wished I could have known Jeff Thorne, if for no other purpose than just to say, “Thanks.”
I glanced at Mom. She smiled, although tears filled her eyes. Kneeling beside Jeff’s grave, she placed the daisies.
We both saw the single red rose touching Jeff’s headstone.
“It’s good of you to bring a flower, Burke,” Mom said, wiping her eyes.
Burke shook his head. “I didn’t bring it. I never do. But every time I come, a red rose is right there where you see that one. So, you see, somebody besides us knows where Jeff lies.”
I helped Mom to her feet. Holding hands, we bowed our heads and whispered the Lord’s Prayer. Our visit finished, we turned to go. I felt a cool, soft breeze caress my face, although the wind was perfectly still.
“Goodbye, Jeff,” I said. “I hope you found peace and love at last.”
Chapter 48
Teaching! That was it. Surely, being a substitute teacher was a nice, sane, uneventful job which would open up new vistas and keep me out of trouble. Children were as bright and sparkling as new pennies. It would be fun to see them learn and I would enjoy getting re-acquainted with their parents. Many people I had known years ago were now parents and some early bloomers were even grandparents. Yes, it would be nice to substitute teach now and then and really become a part of my hometown once more.
I saw the relief in Mom’s eyes when I mentioned my idea.
“Wonderful!” she said. “You don’t get out enough, and I think you’d be a good teacher. It would be right up your alley and still give you time to write.”
She didn’t say so, but I suspected she thought teaching would be a nice job that did not include mur
derers wielding lawn mower blades or runaway teenagers or pretend pastors. It seemed a trip to Levi’s Education Center was in order.
I stopped on my way out of the door.
“I keep thinking about the red rose on Jeff Thorne’s grave. Who do you suppose left it?”
Mom pulled on her gardening gloves. “Perhaps someone at the nursing home where he lived was fond of him. Or ...” She shook her head. “Or, maybe Miss Georgia found out he was buried there. He could have other relatives in Tahlequah, you know.”
“Relatives! That would make them kin to us too, you know. How would I find out? Maybe if I made a trip to that nursing home and talked to the people there…”
“Darcy!” Mom’s voice was stern. “You are going to apply for a substitute teaching job, remember? It may be best to let well enough alone. If you delve into the life of my father, there’s no telling what you will find. Think of Miss Georgia.”
“You are right, Mom. Have a great morning among your herbs. See you later,” I said and walked out the door to get in my Escape.
I drove with the window down, the wind fanning my face as I crossed the bridge over Lee Creek and headed toward town. The fragrance of herbs, wildflowers, and the elusive scent of the creek filled the car. It was great to be alive on such a morning!
Switching on the radio, I sang along. “I warm my heart around a memory of days gone by and dreams that used to be.”
That song! I didn’t want to warm my heart around memories any more. Memories were not enough. Memories were sad and they belonged to the past! However, I could not bring myself to switch off the radio. The song was so pretty! I was not sure if the words reminded me of Grant or Jake. I had memories of both, but Jake belonged in my past.
And Trace? What of Trace Hughes? It was funny—the flood made me realize how dear Grant was to me. Trace had been the one in danger of drowning, and I was grateful beyond measure that Mom and I reached him in time. But when I didn’t know whether Tim Johnson had killed Grant or whether Grant had drowned, or what had happened, I realized that I did not want to ever lose him. Not a second time; it would have been too much. Would he ever ask me to marry him? Would I have the courage to say Yes? Being married to a lawman would not be easy.
The red rose kept clinging to my thoughts. Someone made that trip to Jeff’s grave site often enough to leave a fresh flower; someone had cared about my grandfather. Did Burke know more than he told us? Did he know the name of the mysterious person?
Burke’s memories of early-day Ventris County and his father would be an important part of the book I was writing. Maybe there was a long-ago story behind the red rose and Burke knew it. I hoped there would be time for a trip out to his farm before going back home.
Passing by the site of Old String’s shack, I purposely looked the other way. I did not want to even glimpse the burned-out ruins. Hopefully, vines and grass would soon cover it and no one would know a house had been there. Maybe eventually we would forget that a man had been killed on the spot. But I feared I wouldn’t forget and the image of Walter Harris would always be in my mind.
Glancing into the woods, I glimpsed a movement. Braking, I rolled down the passenger window and peered into the undergrowth. Something moved there, but what? A person? An animal?
Bushes moved again and I heard a rustling as something moved in the shadows.
Could it be an injured animal? Maybe a car had hit a dog and it had crawled into the bushes. It might need help.
Opening the door, I eased around the car and bent to peer into the undergrowth. A tawny brown face with yellow eyes stared back at me. The animal growled and snarled. Underbrush crackled as it backed away and disappeared into the dense forest. Then all was quiet.
Heart pounding, I ran back around my car and jumped inside. I’d just had a close encounter with one of Ventris County’s legends. The mountain lions were alive and well in these hills.
I started the car, rolled up all windows and sat there shivering. Was this the same big cat we had heard the night of the housewarming? Or were the woods full of them? Were the wild animals of Ventris County annoyed that our new house had encroached on their territory?
“Get hold of yourself, Darcy,” I said aloud. “That was undoubtedly a cougar, but he ran! He was more afraid of you than you were of him.”
Well, no. I didn’t think he could have been more scared than I. Putting the car in gear, my tires squealed as I sped down the road toward Levi.
Rounding a blind curve, I stomped on the brake. A huge maple tree lay across the road, some of its quivering limbs brushing the hood of my car.
“What?” I gulped. Evidently it had just fallen. A few seconds sooner and I would have been under that tree, probably flattened by its weight. If I hadn’t stopped for the cougar…
The continuous rains this summer caused many trees to lose their grip on the soggy ground. The slightest wind would send them down. This tree must have been another weather victim. And I would have been too, if I had passed along the road a few seconds earlier.
“Thank You, God,” I whispered.
My hands shook so that it was hard to put the car into reverse. Slowly, I backed up until I found a place to turn around. The trip to Levi would have to wait. Would anybody believe my story about the panther that saved my life? Was his appearance at an opportune time merely a coincidence, or had the animal been a warning sent from the Lord? I remembered a preacher a long time ago saying that with God, there are no coincidences.
Feeling shaken and grateful, I drove back home. Everything happens for a reason, my mother had told me many times. Did that include what had just happened to me?
The July day seemed suddenly cold, and I could hardly wait to get my hands around a cup of Mom’s hot coffee. She would believe my story about the panther, but I doubted that anyone else would. That encounter might be one of the things she and I kept to ourselves. The longer I lived, the more secrets I kept. Ventris County was placid only on the surface. Dark currents of mysteries, both natural and man-made, swirled in its depths. How many more were there that I had yet to discover?
Chapter 49
Light spilled from every window of the Jenkins home. It was early evening; the sun had dipped below the trees in the west, but darkness had not yet settled over the town. As Grant and I climbed the steep steps to the Jenkinses’ front porch, I could not suppress a shudder at the memory of Mort lying at the bottom of those steps, the banister on the ground beside him.
“Darcy! Grant! Come join us,” called Trace.
He sat in the shadows on the porch swing with his guitar; Melanie sat beside him.
I perched on the banister. Grant stood close, his hat in his hands.
“I can’t thank you and Miss Flora enough,” Trace said. “You saved my life. You found my little sister. I’ll always be grateful. You are one of the bravest women I’ve ever known.”
“It was an adventure,” I said, glad that in the semi-darkness no one could see me blush. “How are you feeling, Melanie?”
“Wonderful! Miss Georgia and Miss Carolina are like family. They’ve made me feel so welcome!”
“Thank you too, Grant,” Trace said. “Sorry to be so much trouble.”
Grant looked down at the toe of his boot.
“Comes with the job,” he muttered.
Miss Georgia stepped onto the porch and hugged both of us.
“It’s about time you showed up,” she said. “Flora and Jackson got here twenty minutes ago.”
Her face was wreathed in smiles and she had a lilt to her voice. How would she feel if she knew about the visit Mom and I had made to a lonely grave site? What would she say if she saw the ruby ring?
Grasping my hand, she said, “Come on inside, all of you. I think everyone is here now. Carolina and I have an announcement to make.”
As we stepped into the living room, the hum of several conversations met us. Miss Carolina appeared carrying a tray of cookies. The fragrance of coffee wafted in from the kitchen.
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br /> Pat looked up from the old picture album she and Burke Hopkins had been thumbing through and waved at us.
“Come sit by us, you two,” Mom called. She patted the cushion of the sofa where she and Jackson sat.
“What is this big announcement?” I whispered to Mom.
She shook her head. “I don’t have any idea.”
Miss Carolina set her tray on the coffee table and walked to the fireplace to stand beside Miss Georgia.
“Welcome, one and all,” she said. “This gathering reminds me of other times, when Georgia and I were young. This old house knew some parties then, I can tell you. Those were good years!”
Smothering a grin, I thought about those long-ago get-togethers. I had a vision of sedate play parties and taffy pulls. The grim old judge probably had a long list of things he would not allow.
As if she read my thoughts, Miss Georgia said, “I’ll admit that most of our parties happened when Papa was out of town. He was a circuit judge, you know, and did a lot of traveling.”
“Wait!” Trace said. “Someone is on the porch.”
With two quick steps, he opened the screen door. Jasper stepped inside, his eyes wide and scared as he glanced around the crowded living room.
“My hero!” called Melanie. “Come and sit beside Miss Kitty and me, Jasper.”
His face turned red to the roots of his hair.
“No, I reckon I’m all right where I am,” he mumbled and remained standing beside the door as if he might bolt into the night at any moment.
Miss Carolina smiled at him and continued.
“We’ve talked over this matter with Trace and Melanie. Sister and I have been rattling around in this big old house for a good many years and it’s time we put a stop to it. We’ve asked Melanie to stay with us, and she and her brother have consented. She’ll have her own room upstairs and when the baby comes, he’ll have his own little nursery.”
Miss Georgia smiled, two spots of color in her cheeks. “I’m so excited I don’t think I can wait. In fact, we’re going to start fixing up that nursery tomorrow.” She paused and smiled at Mom. “I feel like maybe the Lord has given me a second chance with this little baby.”
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