Embers of Love

by Tracie Peterson

  “This town doesn’t seem to overly concern itself with cleanliness. You cannot have a wound of this magnitude and not pay heed to keeping it clean.”

  The man and woman exchanged a look. The woman frowned. “Miz Foster said to keep the poultice on. She told us not to wash it at all – said the herbs would draw it until the moon was full. It was a full moon last night, and we took off the bandages.”

  “Well, apparently she was wrong,” Dr. Clayton said. He looked to Deborah. “Is this some of that superstitious nonsense you told me about?”

  She nodded as the doctor continued to clean the hand. The man was clearly in horrible pain, but though his face paled, he said nothing. She fanned away the flies that hovered and prayed that God would intercede to heal the wound.

  “I’ll need to see you first thing in the morning,” Dr. Clayton told the man.

  “Cain’t.” He barely breathed the word. “Gotta be at the mill.”

  Dr. Clayton straightened. “If you do what I tell you to, I might be able to save your hand. If you don’t, I can guarantee you that you will lose it.”

  “John, you cain’t lose your hand.” The woman’s voice was edged with hysteria. “You cain’t work without a hand.”

  Deborah reached out to touch the woman’s arm. “Dr. Clayton is a good man. He’ll do what he can, but you have to be willing to do your part. Mr. Perkins trusts him, and you should, too.” She knew that most everyone thought fondly of the sawmill owner. “He looked far and wide to find a doctor as well trained as Dr. Clayton. He wouldn’t allow your care to just anyone.”

  “She’s right, Sally.” A fine line of perspiration edged the man’s upper lip. “Doc, will you let Mr. Perkins know that you told me to come here in the morning?”

  “I will speak with him as soon as we’ve finished. Now this wound needs to drain.” He instructed Sally as to what she needed to do. “Do exactly as I’ve told you, understand?”

  She nodded. Deborah felt sorry for the woman and patted her hand. “You did the right thing in coming here. Dr. Clayton will do everything he can.”

  Once the couple was gone, Dr. Clayton turned to Deborah. “You handled that well.”

  She shrugged. “I just wanted to help.”

  “You definitely did that.”

  The train whistle sounded in the distance and Deborah realized she would need to go. She quickly washed her hands. “Things are starting to look a whole lot better in here, but I need to go. Thanks for the loan of the journals.” She gathered up the three magazines that she’d set aside to take with her. “I’ll have them back soon.”

  “Please thank your mother for the doughnuts.”

  “I’m sure there will be other offerings as people get used to the idea of having a regular doctor. You’ll find folks around here can be very friendly once they feel safe with you.”

  She wanted to tell him how much she admired his skills but held back. Instead, she just smiled and headed for the door. “Mama also wanted you to know that you’re always welcome at the house. Come anytime for supper – or any other meal, for that matter.”

  Deborah didn’t wait for an answer but headed out across the dirt road and made her way to where the little engine waited.

  “Come on up,” the fireman said, extending his hand.

  Deborah gathered her skirts, careful not to damage the journals, and made the stretch to reach the first step. She grabbed the grimy rail and pulled herself up. George steadied her as she finally made it into the engine compartment. The engineer, an older man named Jack, tipped a finger to his cap and gave the whistle another short blast.

  “I figured you’d come back with all sorts of girly geegaws,” George told her. “Told Jack we probably wouldn’t have room for it all.”

  She smiled. “I’m not much of a shopper, George.” She held up the journals. “More of a reader.”

  “Never learned myself.” He turned back to his job of loading the firebox as Jack put the train in motion. “Never saw a need. Guess you can read enough for all of us.”

  Deborah shook her head. “You ought to learn, George. You’d be surprised how much fun it can be. I could even help you if you’d like.”

  He laughed. “Won’t help in gettin’ the steam up, so I don’t reckon I need it.”

  She looked out the window and sighed. Ignorance seemed the answer to all things uncomfortable or challenging.

  Lord, she prayed, I know you brought me back here to help my family. I want to help them. I love them. But there’s so much more out there, beyond my little world in Perkinsville, Texas. . . .

  CHAPTER 6

  After church on Sunday, the congregation gathered outside under the shady box elders and hickories and held a picnic lunch. Everyone brought something to share, and soon the atmosphere was quite merry. Lizzie had never experienced anything like it. Gone were the pretenses and worries of social status. Even the Perkins family blended with the lowliest mill worker and his family.

  The contrast in clothing was evident. The members of the poorer families were dressed simply in garments that had seen a great deal of wear. Many of the outfits bore patches and stains, but it was the best they could offer. People from more affluent families wore stylish outfits that looked store-bought and new, compared to the outfits of their less wealthy neighbors. The Vandermarks fell in between, neither too fashionable nor too unkempt. Lizzie now understood why Deborah had traded most of her beautiful gowns for simpler fare at the secondhand shop in Nacogdoches. Yet even now, as Deborah approached in a lovely gown with yellow flowers set against a cream-colored background, she looked radiant – almost elegant. Everyone seemed happy to see her and stopped her frequently to bid her welcome home or to ask about her travels.

  At last Deborah managed to separate herself and closed the distance to Lizzie, who was filling her plate. “G. W. is all alone, and I want you to help me keep him from stewing and fretting.”

  Lizzie met Deborah’s determined expression. “What can I do?” She turned back to the table and took a piece of corn bread.

  “Just go talk to him. He tends to get moody at these gatherings because he doesn’t want to have to talk to anyone about anything. Just sit with him and keep him from thinking on Papa’s death.”

  Lizzie took up a piece of fried chicken and looked to her friend in confusion. “And how am I supposed to do that? I can hardly keep a man from thinking about what he chooses.”

  “If you talk to him about other things, he’ll have to keep his mind elsewhere.” Deborah took hold of Lizzie’s arm and pulled her in the direction of the creek. “He’s over here.”

  Barely keeping her plate balanced, Lizzie fought to keep up with Deborah. She didn’t think this was a good idea, but it didn’t appear she had a choice in the matter.

  “G. W., Lizzie doesn’t have anyone to talk to. I told her she could come sit with you,” Deborah said, releasing her friend as they approached G. W.

  He sat with his back to a tree, a plate of food uneaten in his lap. Lizzie could tell that he wasn’t in a mood for company, but he was too much of a gentleman to say so.

  “I can go if it’s too much of a bother,” she said softly.

  He shook his head. “That’s all right.”

  Deborah smiled. “I told you it would be fine.” She lifted her skirt and whirled off in the opposite direction. “I’ll be back after a bit.”

  “I really am sorry,” Lizzie told him.

  G. W. shrugged. “I know what she’s up to. So long as you know it, too, then we won’t be duped.”

  She looked at the ground and then to her plate, wondering how she was going to sit without dumping her food. G. W. seemed to understand her predicament and put his own plate aside. He was on his feet assisting her before Lizzie could ask for help.

  “Thank you. I was rather perplexed for the moment.” She smiled and settled the plate of food on her lap.

  They sat in silence for several minutes. Lizzie nibbled at her chicken while G. W. stared out at the mud
dy waters, lost in thought. She couldn’t help but wonder what was going through his mind. How could she possibly impose her own interests upon him? Whether Deborah liked it or not, Lizzie knew there was only one topic of conversation that would help G. W.

  “If I’m not causing you even more pain, I wonder if you might tell me about your father’s accident. Deborah tells me the anniversary of his death is coming up.”

  G. W. looked at her in surprise. For a moment, Lizzie wasn’t at all sure he would even remain at her side, much less speak. Finally, however, he exhaled a long breath.

  “Three years next month,” he said as if she’d asked for confirmation. “But it seems like just yesterday.” He started at the beginning and filled in the details that Lizzie hadn’t known.

  “The work is unpredictable,” he told her after reliving the accident in detail. “Any time you combine sharp tools, animals, and human error, you’re bound to have trouble.”

  “It sounds like logging is a very dangerous industry,” Lizzie said. “Did your father realize just how dangerous it was when he started this business?”

  G. W. gave a brief laugh. “He knew. He’d been around it in Georgia. My father and uncle had honestly planned to come here and plant cotton, but loggin’ seemed a necessary way to start.”

  “Why?”

  “The good farmin’ ground was taken by the time they arrived. The land they were able to get was all wooded. They figured they could log the forests, get the lumber to the nearby towns, and clear their land at the same time. They were fixin’ to clear out enough of the forest to plant cotton, but it never worked out that way. The loggin’ proved to be a valuable means of gainin’ an income. Pretty soon they were buyin’ more forest land, and Vandermark Logging became a permanent operation. It was actually my father’s pride and joy. He loved the work he did.”

  “So they chose their profession, even knowing the dangers. That’s true bravery, in my mind,” Lizzie said casually. “It amazes me that a man, knowing the possibility of death lingered just around the corner, would continue to put his hand to a task.”

  “It was Pa’s way of earning a livin’ for his family. He always said he got along well with the Piney Woods. I reckon he could have done something else. He was a smart enough man.”

  “Obviously. Just as you are. Look at how successful the logging industry has proven to be. Why, I heard Deborah say that eastern investors are all over the place looking for land to buy so they can be a part of this success. Your father had great insight.”

  G. W. nodded. “I suppose you could say that. He knew the yellow pine was good wood, even though a lot of folks didn’t care for it. He had a way of doin’ the right thing, at the right time. Too bad I didn’t.”

  “Why do you say that?” Lizzie watched the play of emotions in his expression.

  “If I had been like him – knowin’ what to do at the right time – Pa might be alive today.”

  “Maybe he should have trained you better,” she suggested.

  “There’s no call to say that. Pa was a good teacher. Like I said, he was smart. He taught me and Rob real good.”

  “Well, I suppose I’m confused.” She gave him an innocent smile, hoping he wouldn’t realize the trap she’d put in place. “If your father was smart and trained you well, and if he knew all of the dangers about the business, but continued to log anyway – how can his death possibly be your fault?”

  G. W. opened his mouth to speak, then closed it. He looked at her for a moment and shook his head. “You book-learned women sure have a way of confusin’ a guy.”

  “Maybe it’s not as confusing as you think. I’m just suggesting that accidents have a way of happening, no matter how smart or careful people might be. You know the risks in your job. Your uncle and brother know them, too, yet all of you go out to work every day. Your father knew the risks and even had a choice to do something else. He chose to stay with logging.” She smiled. “I think maybe it’s time to consider that his death was simply one of those risks he was willing to take.”

  “Well, here you are,” Rob declared as he joined the twosome. “I’ve been lookin’ pert-near everywhere for you.”

  Lizzie held G. W.’s gaze for a moment longer, then cast a glance toward his brother. “Your sister brought me here, and it’s so much cooler here in the shade that I couldn’t help but linger. I’m afraid I’ve been talking your brother’s ear off.”

  Rob plopped down on the ground in front of Lizzie. “You can talk my ear off anytime you like.” He grinned. “I reckon that would suit me just fine.”

  Deborah saw Rob heading over to join G. W. and Lizzie and frowned, wishing it were her instead. She’d been swarmed by people all afternoon. Most folks wanted to welcome her back, but others were would-be suitors who seemed quite bold in rekindling previous acquaintances.

  “Miss Deborah, I wonder iffen you’d like to take a walk with me,” Sam Huebner asked.

  She looked up at the tall, lanky man. She’d known Sam for just about as long as anyone. His folks had been good friends with hers. “Hello, Sam. How are you?”

  His smile broadened. “So you remember me.”

  “Of course I remember you. You’ve hung around my brothers and worked for my family nigh on forever.” She noticed his brother working to spark an interest with one of the Perkins girls and nodded in that direction. “Looks like Stephen is sweet on Annabeth Perkins.”

  Sam followed her gaze. “He’s got rocks for brains. Ain’t no chance of courtin’ her, and he knows it.”

  “Well, I suppose a man can dream.” She turned back to Sam. “What of you? Have you settled down and married?”

  He turned red and shook his head. “No, ma’am. Wouldn’t be here talkin’ to you iffen I had.”

  Deborah spied her mother approaching from behind Sam. “Well, don’t worry, Sam,” she said, moving to the side. “One of these days the right gal will come along. If you’ll excuse me now, it looks like my mother needs me.”

  She was glad to hurry away before he could say anything else. When she reached her mother, Deborah couldn’t help but grin. “You saved my life.”

  “What in the world are you talking about?”

  Linking their arms, Deborah walked with her mother toward the tables of food. “Sam just asked me to take a walk with him. I needed an excuse not to go.”

  “But why? Sam’s a nice boy. You might have enjoyed a walk.”

  Deborah shook her head. “I don’t think so. He can’t even read.”

  “You would reject a man’s love because he couldn’t read? Your father couldn’t read very well, and yet I loved him.”

  Deborah felt chastised. “I’m sorry, Mama. I didn’t mean it to sound like that.” She let go of her mother’s arm. “I just . . . well, it’s so hard sometimes.” She looked around the gathering of people. “I wish I could explain it.”

  Her mother smiled and reached out to smooth back an errant strand of hair from Deborah’s face. “Why don’t you try?”

  “I’m glad to be home – truly I am.”

  “But . . .”

  “But . . . I don’t really know. Things feel different, yet they’re the same. I feel different, yet I’m the same.”

  Mother shook her head. “Nothing stays the same. It might have some of the same appearances, but changes are always taking place. The town’s grown a bit. There are new buildings and people. The mill has expanded. You’re older and, hopefully, wiser. You’re more educated and have experienced more than you had two years ago.”

  “I know, and maybe that’s part of the problem,” she said, feeling like such a snob for even continuing. “Mama, I loved learning. I love reading and writing. I love books that teach me new things. I want to discuss those things with others, but this isn’t exactly the place to find someone of a like mind.”

  “Oh, sweetheart, I completely understand.”

  “Do you really? Because I’m not sure I do. I feel horrible for it. It sounds like I think myself better than ot
hers, but that’s not it at all.”

  “Of course not,” her mother agreed. “Just because you have one interest and someone else has another doesn’t mean either one of you is better. Zed Perkins knows how to run a sawmill. Jack knows how to engineer a train. You can’t drive a train. Does that make Jack better than you – worse than you?”

  Deborah shook her head. “But I’m afraid that when it comes to courting, it will be a problem. Not that I have time for that.” She ignored her mother’s frown. “Mama, when Sam suggested a walk all I could think about was how I could never marry someone like him. I know that’s horrible, and I’m sorry.” She looked at her mother in desperation. “Please don’t hate me, but I’m not sure I could fall in love with a man who didn’t have an education.”

  Her mother reached out to pat her cheek. “Darling, when the right man comes along all of these things will fall into place. Don’t fret over it. No one is asking you to marry Sam. The important thing to keep in mind is whether or not you’re like-minded when it comes to God. Being unequally yoked can certainly pertain to other things, but spiritually, it is a never-ending battle that no married couple should have to endure. You need a man who first and foremost loves God.”

  “A man who loves God and is intelligent,” Deborah said. “Of course, he should be thoughtful and kind, as well.”

  Her mother laughed. “And it wouldn’t hurt if he was handsome, too. Maybe even well off.”

  Deborah grinned. “Well, if we’re making a list, we might as well add it all.”

  Mother gave her a hug and released her. “I’m glad you’re home. I missed your sense of humor and open frankness. Just don’t fret over what you can’t change. Folks here are just glad to be working and have a roof over their heads. Reading and writing isn’t something they miss.”

  “Maybe not, but maybe that’s only because they never had it to begin with,” Deborah replied. “They don’t know what they’re missing.”

  Her mother nodded. “Sometimes that’s the best way to get by. I find it a lot easier to be content when I’m not pondering the things I miss.”