Just like Justice said, Calvin couldn’t be satisfied. He grabbed up the bag and loosened the strings. “There’s the treasure I was lookin for.” He counted them stones. “Ain’t they more? I thought they was six.”
I come closer. Thought I could reason with him, but like always, there was no reasonin. “Two is all we have. Momma only had four. That’s what she wrote in her notes. They was only four. And you got the one you took from Ellie.”
“There’s more than that. You’re keepin the rest.”
And that was the last word he got outta his mouth before Justice took a swing. A bear-sized fist caught Calvin under the chin and sent his feet over his head. There was nothin I could do. Justice was on Calvin like a buzzard on a dead animal. One, two, three more whacks and Justice had tore a hole in Calvin’s cheek.
Calvin rolled to his knees and grabbed his knife from his belt. He jabbed, catchin Justice in the side. Justice groaned, then he dropped to his knees. Calvin staggered to him and kicked him in the stomach.
I felt my stomach turn. I remembered Ely talkin about when him and Bess was runnin from the plantation, and how his anger turned to fear. I felt my heart take to racin as my anger turned to fear. I couldn’t stand to lose Justice—not now. They was nothin worth my losin him.
“Stop it,” I said. “You have the stones. That’s all they was. Just go, Calvin.”
Calvin dragged hisself to me. “I ain’t got no place to go, baby sister. You took my home.” He wiped his bloody mouth on his sleeve.
“I did no sucha thing. You lied about them papers. Momma and Daddy left this place to all of us. Problem is, you can’t get along or do your part.”
He grabbed me by the throat and lifted me to my toes. His fingers dug so hard I could hardly breathe. I grabbed his wrists, tryin to pull myself up to catch a breath.
“This is my place. And I done told you it’s mine, even if I have to kill you.” His grip tightened.
I felt dizzy. Justice couldn’t move. I took in what air I could and whispered, “Calvin, just like Momma, I will always love you. Despite yourself, I will always love you.”
My eyes closed as I gasped for one last taste of night air. That’s when I heard a grunt and Calvin’s grip eased on me. My feet hit the ground and Calvin fell to his knees. An arrow jutted through his chest.
I grabbed him and twisted him to his back. “Calvin. Don’t you dare die.” Blood seeped like teardrops around the arrow.
Justice crawled to his knees and made his way to me. “Was it you? Did you shoot him?” He pressed his hand into the gash on his side.
Out of the shadows walked Ellie. A bow hung from her fingers. She looked at Calvin as he strained to get a breath.
“I’m carryin your baby.” She stared hard into his eyes.
Calvin took in a breath and went to laughin. His body went limp.
I broke into hard sobs, not just for Calvin but for Ellie.
Trigger pulled me loose from Calvin and walked me into the barn. “You alright?” he asked.
“Justice?” I screamed.
“He’s fine. Ely has him. He’s gonna be fine.”
I couldn’t find words. What I’d just seen was beyond what I could take in. “How in the name of all that is good did Ellie manage this?”
“I ain’t sure, other than we come up here to help if Calvin showed up. I was in the cabin lookin for you. I reckon Ellie come upon the fight. She wasn’t about to let you die. She picked up Calvin’s bow, aimed, and shot.”
Ellie sat on the ground, sobbin and broken. I run to her and wrapped my arms around her. “It’s alright, honey. It’s alright.”
“I couldn’t let him kill you. You are like my momma.”
Like her momma. I couldn’t think of sweeter words.
Calvin was dead. The nightmare was over. Done. I shoulda had some peace, but I didn’t. I guessed it would come.
It wasn’t long till daybreak come, and along with it was Pastor Jess and the sheriff. Ely took that same shovel he’d used to dig Daddy’s and Momma’s graves, and went to diggin Calvin’s.
There was no words. All I could do was watch from a rock by the springhouse. I took out Momma’s notes and read them from beginning to end. The very last one, Momma wrote:
From the book of Genesis, the first chapter, the twenty-seventh verse. The good Lord said this.
So God created man in his own image, in the image of God created he him; male and female created he them.
You ain’t children from my loins, but you look just like the good Father. Love one another, forgive the trespasses. Remember, you are all Momma’s children. Always Momma’s children.
Epilogue
1879—SOURWOOD MOUNTAIN, TENNESSEE
They wasn’t a soul any more surprised than me when Pastor Jess come pullin up with an elderly woman. She was dressed in fine clothes, a hat tilted to one side of her head. Her hair was so silver it glistened in the afternoon sun.
I pulled my apron up and wiped my hands. Ely climbed outta the back of the wagon and slid a box to the side for a step. He put out his hand, and between him and the pastor, they managed to ease the old woman from the wagon.
“Pastor Jess.” I nodded. “Ely.” I leaned and kissed his cheek. “Who you draggin up on the mountain?” I reached to take her hand.
The woman grasped both of her gloved hands around mine. Her voice was weak and she spoke right soft. “Is this her?” she asked.
Ely smiled.
“For a child that wasn’t birthed by my daughter, she sure is the spitting image of her.”
I shook my head. Had I heard her right? Birthed by her daughter? Was this woman my . . . grandmother?
“This is her, Miss Julietta.” Ely pulled me closer. “Worie, this here is Miss Julietta Morgan. This is your momma’s momma.”
“My grandmother?” I asked.
The woman smiled. “One and the same. It’s my pleasure to meet you. I’ve wondered for years what Louise did with you and your brothers.” Tears formed, and she dabbed them with a dainty white handkerchief.
“I don’t know what to say.”
“There’s nothing to say, dear. I just want some time with my granddaughter.”
It was awkward and bittersweet as we stood by Momma’s grave. Miss Julietta told me about how my grandfather refused to let Momma bring orphans into his home. Stragglers, he called us. And when we walked by the river, she talked about givin Momma the stones from her necklace so she could sell them if she needed anything.
It was hard to take in the things she was sayin, but I could tell she loved Momma, and I could see her sadness in havin to let Momma go.
Me and Justice spent the bigger part of the day with her until Pastor Jess said she needed her rest.
She stepped up to climb into the wagon and took my face in her hands. “You and Justice. My grandchildren.” She nodded. “My only grandchildren. Ely tells me you have taken in this passel of little ones.”
Ely helped her into the wagon.
“Yes ma’am,” I said. “They’re all children with no homes. I guess just like me and Justice was. But Momma took us and loved us. I figure it’s the best I can do for her memory.”
Miss Julietta watched as the youngins played by the barn. “There’s nothing sweeter than the laughter of little ones. How many are there?”
“Sixteen right now. But there’s always room for more if need be.” I looked over them youngins and felt a great pride. Not for what I had done, but for what Momma had taught me. And what the good Lord convinced me of.
“I’ll be sending supplies. The pastor will help assure they get here. And I’ve put money in the bank in Hartsboro in your name. You’ll not want. And those children. They’ll all be cared for.”
Pastor Jess braced me. “Miss Julietta is sending what’s needed to build a nice home for you and these children.”
“A home?”
“A home.” She smiled and pinched my cheek. “If you need anything, anything at all, you send word.”
“Yes ma’am.”
She puckered her lips and pressed them against mine. “Pastor, I’m ready.”
Pastor Jess climbed onto the bench. Miss Julietta waved to Ely and they were on their way.
She did just what she promised. It was only a matter of days until wagonloads of wood, nails, and hired hands showed up. When the building was finished, Justice come carryin a sign that he hung over the door.
All Momma’s Children
It couldn’t have been more perfect, cause them youngins all called me Momma. And they was all mine. Ever one loved. Ever one taught to read the good book. Ever one happy.
“Ain’t this something?” Justice jabbed at me with his fingers.
“It is. Ever youngin has a bed, clothes, and a blanket. It sure is something.”
Doanie stood to one side, scoldin T. J. for somethin. It seemed she had moved on despite losing Farrell, and T. J. just didn’t remember what had happened. I suppose the good Lord filled that spot in his head. But my heart . . . my heart continued to ache for that little girl. I wasn’t sure it would ever heal.
The years passed and youngins come and went. Some the pastor was able to find good homes for, others stayed until they decided to go out on their own.
It took Ellie a while to get over shootin that arrow, but Pastor Jess helped her understand what she did was outta protectin me. He married her and Trigger on the ridge at sunset. It was right pretty—the sun closing its eyes over the mountain sorty closed out the old.
When the baby come, she was a sweetheart. Abeleen took to helpin Ellie mother the youngin, and truth be knowed, I’d never seen Trigger as happy as he was holdin that little pea pod we called Izzy.
I planted proper flowers on Momma’s and Daddy’s graves . . . even Calvin’s. Me and Justice took some time to talk over Calvin’s misgivins. I can’t say we missed the chaos he caused, but we both loved him. Despite hisself. We made our peace, and I don’t recall ever mentionin Calvin no more. They was no need. The flowers on his grave was reminder enough.
I sat on that same rock where I read Momma’s notes and looked over what the years had brung. I saw how the good Lord worked in a woman who was selfish and broke.
Me and Justice hit hard places ever now and again. One that was hardest was losing Ely. I felt like they would always be an empty spot for him. Justice moved Miss Bess up the mountain with us, and she was the extra love these youngins needed.
I never married. Never felt the desire. These children was all I needed. And that was alright. I’d long since learned families ain’t always shaped the way we think they orta be.
The time come when I was a little slower and my bones ached a little more. The day I set on the porch foldin clothes and saw a beautiful young woman come walkin up to the cabin, I had to squint. Abeleen was helpin me when she stood and threw up her arms. She bolted off the porch, screamin, “Doanie! Doanie! It’s Farrell!” The pastor come behind her, lookin like a cat that just ate his mouse.
I couldn’t do nothing but bust into tears. I run off the porch, hollerin to the good Lord, “You brought her home. Oh Lord, you brought her home.” Then I cried to the pastor, “You found her!”
He seemed right proud of his surprise. He pointed to the sky, givin credit where it was due.
I grabbed that girl and squeezed her till I thought the life would pour outta her. Doanie was beside herself. Right in front of me was a prayer answered. It was like that note Momma wrote:
From the book of Luke, the fifteenth chapter and the sixth verse, the good Lord said to me, And when he cometh home, he calleth together his friends and neighbours, saying unto them, Rejoice with me; for I have found my sheep which was lost.
Good Father, bring them lost and hungry children home to me.
And He did.
Author Note
This story has bubbled in my heart for some time, and I simply wasn’t able to approach the many facets that it held. That is, until God blessed our entire family with a child we did not expect. She came to my niece and her husband when their only hope of having a child was left in the hands of God. This child changed the face of our family, and she is loved just like we love all the other children.
I also have friends who have adopted children. Some from overseas, others from right in our own backyard, and still others who are fostered until their families heal. The impact these individuals have made on me has been nothing short of amazing. What surprises me about these families is they rarely stop at one child. Their hearts and shoulders are bigger than most can imagine. What a sacrifice they have made to bring wee ones into their homes and love them with all the love they deserve.
Adoption is not for everyone. Neither is fostering. But whether you choose to do those or not, you can be supportive, loving, and faithful in your relationships with these families. Remember, they need your support. Pray for them. Encourage them. Walk by them.
We can all change the lives of another when we take time to love unconditionally. Faithfully. Fully. Just as Christ loves us.
Acknowledgments
My acknowledgments can only begin with praise and gratitude to our Father in heaven. My prayer for years has been, “Lord, will You allow me to be a writer? My work will always be Yours.” He has blessed me by answering that prayer. First and foremost, may the glory be all His.
There are many who support me in different ways. My agent for many years and for this novel, Diana Flegal. She was the first to believe in my work. I wish her joy in her retirement. I will miss you. To my current agent, Bob Hostetler, who has been a faithful prayer warrior and friend, standing in the gap long before he became my agent.
To Lonnie Hull DuPont, the editor I have anticipated working with for years. She has encouraged me, led me, and become an Appalachian convert as we worked together. Welcome to the Appalachians via this novel. This has been a dream come true and an answered prayer.
If I could say that God led me into perfect hands, then it is to Rachel McRae’s. It’s a bit unnerving when an author is introduced into a new publishing house, but to have this sweet thing bounce up to me and tell me who she is, then say, “I speak you as a second language!” . . . well, it is a God-thing. Thank you to Rachel, Lonnie, and Jessica English, and to Revell for bringing me into the fold and making me feel as though I have always been there.
There are never enough thanks for the support of my husband, Tim, and my sons, Chase and Cameron. Also Trevor, Justin, and our sweet Jamie, the best daughter-in-law ever. They are the source of encouragement that keeps me going.
To those special friends who stand behind me, pushing for the next work. Robin Mullins, my good friend and faithful prayer partner, who daily helped me meet my goal by keeping me accountable in word count. Ann Falcinelli and LaTan Murphy—who are we without those who care about us in a sweet and intimate way? Linda Bambino, my day-job boss, who excuses me over and over again to travel and teach at conferences. Thank you so much for allowing me the necessary time to develop my writing career.
And finally, to those readers who have fallen in love with the Appalachian culture. Those who read these works and feel the soft mountain breeze, smell the sweet scent of lavender and honeysuckle, and long to see the hawk soar on the wind. Without your faithfulness, my writing would simply be thoughts in a notebook instead of living words on a page. Thank you with all of my heart for keeping the Appalachian stories alive. My mountain mamaw thanks you.
Cindy K. Sproles is proud of her mountain heritage. Born and raised in the Appalachian Mountains, she has a desire for the “old ways” of the mountain people and life to never be forgotten. Cindy is the cofounder of Christian Devotions Ministries and serves as a project manager for Lighthouse Publishing of the Carolinas (LPC Books). She is the director of the Asheville Christian Writers Conference and executive editor for ChristianDevotions.us and InspireAFire.com, as well as a mentor and editor with Write Right, a private editing service.
Cindy is a storyteller, speaker, and conference tea
cher. She is also a bestselling and award-winning author. Her first novel, Mercy’s Rain, was named IndieFab Book of the Year, and Liar’s Winter was named the Golden Scrolls Book of the Year and was a Carol Award finalist. Her devotions have been published across the eastern seaboard, and she writes monthly eldercare articles for The Voice magazine.
A mother of four and nana of two, Cindy lives in the mountains of East Tennessee with her husband.
CindySproles.com
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Table of Contents
Cover
Endorsements
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Contents
Historical Note
Epigraph
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
Epilogue
Author Note
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Back Ads
Back Cover
List of Pages
1
2
3
4
5
7
8
9
11
12
13
14
15
16
What Momma Left Behind Page 22