Tory blushed. “I do consider you a friend . . . Jack. Thank you.”
“You were saying? Before I so rudely interrupted?” He grinned, making Tory laugh.
“Yes, I was saying that I wish to make Sugar Tree into a home for my friends, a safe and beautiful place for them to live out their lives in peace and with a measure of comfort. I want for Miss Defoe, Madame Rousseau, Mademoiselle Justine, Miss Sarasses, and Sassy Brown to live in the house, and I want to provide them with an annual allowance for necessities. Do I have the money to do this, Jack?”
He was already nodding, slowly. “Yours is a modest inheritance but, with care and restraint, yes, you have the money. For some time, at least.” He looked up, admiration in his eyes. “It is a worthy gesture of your love for them, Miss Washington.”
Tory smiled. “I am glad you feel so.” She released a long breath, relieved her plan would be possible to implement.
“There is another woman at Madame’s shop—her name is Marie. I did not know she still worked there until Madame told me. Marie is an unmarried and desperately unhappy individual, but she is still young and vigorous. I wish you to offer her a position at Sugar Tree—companion to my friends. Housekeeper, if you will, for as long as she likes. If she accepts, perhaps . . . perhaps she will find happiness at Sugar Tree.”
“As you wish. Of course, the orchards do provide the estate with some income and a green garden would go a long way toward feeding six or more mouths.”
Tory laughed, remembering the long hours of canning in the summer heat. “It fed us—my mother, Sassy Brown, and me—quite well.”
“Anything else?”
“I think not. I will stay on another week to work out the minutiae. My friends must be amenable to this scheme, of course, and Madame Rousseau would need to consent to selling her shop—although I believe she actually shares joint ownership with Miss Defoe and Mademoiselle Justine. I hope the shop’s sale will also give them a bit of padding for their retirement.”
They had returned to the front of the house. Tory took a last look, fixing her eyes on the boarded drawing room window where she had, many times, waited for Henri Declouette to canter up the lane on his magnificent Victorieux.
I never called you Father or Papa, Tory thought. I despised you and swore to hate you forever. But, you gave Sugar Tree to Maman and to me and, when you were close to your death, you acknowledged me as your daughter. Today I am grateful. For both.
“I forgive you . . . Papa.”
Postscript
A week later, Jack saw her to the train.
They had spent many hours together, going over the details of how Tory wanted Sugar Tree and its grounds to be maintained. A comfortable rapport and fellowship had grown between them, and Tory wondered if it might be a seedling, the tender sprout of something more to come.
At the moment Tory was to board the train, Jack captured her hand. “May I write to you, Miss Washington?”
Tory stared into Jack’s soft hazel eyes. “I would like that.”
He fumbled in his pocket. “I almost forgot.” He held something in his hand. “I don’t know if you will recognize these or know to whom they once belonged.”
“Allllll abooooooard!”
Jack shot the conductor a frown of irritation, then opened his hand, palm up. “They are a matched pair. Quite valuable. Possibly an heirloom.”
Tory started and stared, first in astonishment, then with incredulity. Her shaking fingers touched one lustrous pearl drop on a silver hook. “Maman’s earrings? How? How!”
Jack shrugged. “After Bastiann Declouette died and the court appointed us caretakers of Sugar Tree in your absence, we removed everything of value from the house for safekeeping. As the workers were taking down your great-grandmother’s portrait hanging in the drawing room, something rattled. We removed the portrait’s backing and found the earrings.”
“But . . . but I pawned them in the city—years ago when I was only a child. To keep from starving. How could they—”
“Allllll abooooooard! Last call!”
“We may never know all the answers in this life, Tory, but I do know this: Our God delights in showing us just how much he loves us.”
Tory blinked, trying to grasp the unexpected, incomparable goodness of God in this moment.
“Miss! Are you boarding this train or not?” The conductor’s patience was at an end.
“She is coming.” Jack closed Tory’s hand around the earrings. “Go now, Tory. And God be with you.”
Tory smiled. “Goodbye . . . Jack. Until we meet again.”
“Goodbye, Tory. I pray it will not be too long.”
Jack held her arm and assisted her as she mounted the steps onto the train. Tory turned into the nearest car and found a seat where she could see Jack. He was searching for her. She leaned toward the window and waved. His face lit, and he waved back.
The train lurched and began to slowly move out of the station. Jack followed—weaving in and out among others on the platform, waving and keeping Tory’s face before him—until he reached the end of the platform and could follow no more.
Tory flushed, then smiled again. She opened her hand and caressed the glowing pearls nestled in her palm. “I cannot thank you enough, my Lord. You truly do restore all things.”
Sniffing back tears of joy, Tory fastened the earrings to her earlobes. I shall wear these in your memory, dear Maman.
“Miss?” The conductor stood by Tory’s seat.
“Ah, my ticket. One moment.” Tory found it and presented it to the waiting man.
He punched it, then hesitated.
“Yes?” Tory asked. Over his shoulder she noticed a woman staring at her. When the woman realized Tory had caught her staring, her expression hardened.
Tory returned her gaze to the conductor. “Was there something else?”
He shifted in discomfort. “I am obliged to tell you, miss, that the cars for coloreds are that way—behind us.”
“The cars for . . .”
The conductor leaned a little closer. “The woman over there complained, miss. She says you are colored and, well, it is the law. I can do nothing about it.”
“I see.”
“Thank you, miss.”
Tory began gathering her things, and the conductor moved on.
Lord? Tory stood in the aisle, indecisive. Then, instead of heading toward the cars designated for “colored,” she walked toward the woman who had complained.
The woman lurched to her feet and drew back. “Do not touch me!” she hissed, both angry and a little fearful.
“Of course not,” Tory answered. “I merely wished to say something to you.”
“W-what?” She had to look up, because Tory towered over her.
“I wished to say that I forgive you.”
“You w-what?”
“I forgive you, ma’am. Because God in Christ Jesus has forgiven me, I can forgive you.”
“Oh!”
Tory turned and began her trek toward the back of the train. She exhaled with freedom in her heart—the freedom no person, no law, and no insult could steal.
“Stand tall, Tory. Your Father is the Most High King. He is the Glory and the Lifter of your head.”
She raised her chin. “Walk like the queen you are.”
The End
(What’s Next?)
DEAR READERS,
I pray you enjoyed and benefitted from Tory, Book 2 in the Girls from the Mountain series. Healing from shame of every kind is as relevant today as it was in Tory’s time!
If you have not read the full stories of Rose and Joy Thoresen and how they rescued Tabitha, Tory, Sarah Redeemed, and the other “girls from the mountain,” check out my series, A Prairie Heritage. Rose’s particular tale begins in A Rose Blooms Twice, while her daughter’s story begins in Joy on This Mountain.
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Interested in my other books? Page ahead to see a complete list of all my books in this eBook.
Thank you. I have the best readers in the world—you.
Many hugs,
Vikki
But thou, O Lord,
art a shield for me; my glory,
and the lifter up of mine head.
Psalm 3:3
Books by Vikki Kestell
A Prairie Heritage
One family . . . steeped in the love and grace of God, indomitable in their faith, tried and tested in the fires of life, passing forward a legacy to change their world. The compelling saga of family, faith, and great courage.
Book 1: A Rose Blooms Twice
Book 2: Wild Heart on the Prairie
Book 3: Joy on This Mountain
Book 4: The Captive Within
Book 5: Stolen
Book 6: Lost Are Found
Book 7: All God’s Promises
Book 8: The Heart of Joy—A Short Story (eBook only)
ALSO, A Prairie Heritage: The Early Years: Immerse yourself in the world of the American prairie of the 1800s and witness this family as they demonstrate the courage and overcoming spirit born of faith in God. This collection contains the full editions of Books 1-3: A Rose Blooms Twice, Wild Heart on the Prairie, and Joy on This Mountain. A Prairie Heritage: The Early Years is the perfect way to introduce your friends to this series!
Girls from the Mountain
If you loved my series, A Prairie Heritage, you will love the full stories of a select group of women you met first in the little mountain village of Corinth, Colorado. Tabitha, Tory, and Sarah Redeemed are three such stories—the testimonies of fallen women, destined to become lights in this sinful world. Each book can be read as a standalone story; however, having already read A Prairie Heritage may increase your enjoyment. —Vikki Kestell
Nanostealth
“Invisibility comes with its own set of problems.” Review: “This is by far the ABSOLUTE BEST reading I’ve completed in years.”
Book 1: Stealthy Steps
Book 2: Stealth Power
Book 3: Stealth Retribution
Book 4: Deep State Stealth
About the Author
Vikki Kestell’s passion for people and their stories is evident in her readers’ affection for her characters and unusual plotlines. Two often-repeated sentiments are, “I feel like I know these people,” and “I am right there, in the book, experiencing what her characters experience.”
Vikki holds a Ph.D. in Organizational Learning and Instructional Technologies. She left a career of twenty-plus years in government, academia, and corporate life to pursue writing full time. “Writing is the best job ever,” she admits, “and the most demanding.”
Also an accomplished speaker and teacher, Vikki and her husband Conrad Smith make their home in Albuquerque, New Mexico.
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