Heir of Hope: Return to Ironwood Plantation (Ironwood Plantation Family Saga Book 2)

by Stephenia H. McGee

  Kristin walked over to the large window facing the street and chose a two-person table. Someone had taken the base of an old foot-peddle sewing machine and added a rectangle of polished wood to create an interesting dining space. Two wing-back upholstered chairs sat on both sides of the fashioned table.

  “This is a neat place,” I said, sinking into my plush chair and glancing down at the single-page menu on the table.

  “Yep. And they have awesome food, too.”

  I pursued the simple menu. “What’s good?”

  “The homemade chicken salad sandwich is my favorite.” Kristin didn’t even look at the menu.

  “That sounds good to me.”

  “And the loaded potato salad is good, too.”

  I wasn’t sure what that was, but I was starving and decided to trust her judgment. A heavyset middle-aged lady with gray hair walked up to our table. The bells jingled as the small place started to fill with a lunch crowd. She glanced at the door and pulled a pad and pencil from her apron pocket.

  Kristin smiled at the woman. “Hey, Jill. I didn’t know you worked here. I thought you were still down at William’s Construction.”

  Jill put her hand on her hip. “This is just to get a little extra cash. I’m filling in while Sandra’s on vacation. Saints are going to make it to the Super Bowl this year, but I won’t ever be able to make that. But I am going to treat myself to a week in New Orleans, see a game in the Super Dome.”

  Kristin tilted her head. “But the season hasn’t even started yet. Isn’t it a little early to be making Super Bowl predictions?”

  She pointed her pencil at us. “Not for a real fan. Now, what do you want to eat?”

  “Chicken salad on wheat, lightly toasted, side of loaded potato salad,” Kristin said.

  “You got it. Drink?”

  “Sweet tea.”

  The waitress scribbled on the pad and then looked at me expectantly. I looked at the menu a second longer. “You know what? I think I’ll have exactly what she’s having.”

  “Easy enough. Make it two.” She turned to leave.

  “Oh, hey, Jill, is that bowling tournament still next Saturday?”

  She turned to us. “Yeah, it’s at The Lanes. Your dad’s still coming, right?”

  Kristin smiled. “He wouldn’t miss it. He asked me to drive him, but he couldn’t remember what time it started.”

  “At six, but you need to get him there early. We have to discuss team business, and I don’t want anyone to be late. Don’t you dawdle and make him miss anything.”

  Kristin laughed. “Don’t worry. He’ll be there.”

  Jill disappeared into the kitchen and Kristin returned her attention to me.

  “So,” I said, drawing the word out. “You know everyone in this town, don’t you?”

  She shrugged. “It happens. Especially when you’ve been in the same place all your life.”

  “Can’t imagine.”

  “I could tell you something about pretty much everyone here. Jill, she’s a bit of a fireball, but she loves her family, and she’s not as prickly as she wants you to believe.” She gestured to an older couple across the restaurant. “That’s the Crouches. Good folks. They lost their only son in a farming accident. We’ve been trying to get them back in church. The girl over there by the counter,” she said, pointing, and I turned to look. “That’s Avery. She was valedictorian and had a full ride to Ole Miss. Plans on being a lawyer. But her mom got sick and she’s taking a year off to run things here to help her family out.”

  “Seems like some nice people.”

  She looked at me a little funny. I started to feel uncomfortable, so I changed the subject. “So… I guess we should get down to business. I’ve never owned a house before, and I have no idea what goes into selling one.”

  Kristin smiled. “Well, I’ll handle most of it, really. We will put it on the market and I’ll start showing it as soon as you are ready for me to. You’ll need to do the repairs we discussed, and while it isn’t mandatory, you may want to think about moving everything out before we start taking viewings.”

  I hadn’t even considered that. The house was full of Adela’s furniture and belongings. What was I going to do with all of that?

  “The other thing you may want to consider is having an estate sale.”

  “That makes sense. Just sell it all as a lot?”

  The waitress returned with two tall, plastic glasses of tea and two straws. I took a long gulp from mine, starting to savor the sweet flavor. It might actually be hard to go back to regular tea when I got home.

  “You can sell everything as a lot if you want to, but you don’t have to. Just advertise for the estate sale or an auction and they will tag everything with an item number. I know a good auction house that can handle that for you, and they are known for being extremely fast and efficient. At an estate auction, people can look things over and then you have a live bid that afternoon. I think an estate auction would go well for you, since there are some really great antiques in that house. With some good advertisement, you’re liable to get people to come from all over the state. It might be a good way to drum up a wider circle of interest in the house, too.”

  Jill returned with our lunches. “Oh! Kristin, I’ve been meaning to tell you, I just got the third book. It came this morning,” she said as she placed the food in front of us.

  Kristin’s eyebrows shot up. “How? It just came out yesterday and when I checked the book store in West Point they didn’t have any in yet.”

  Jill smiled and crossed her arms over her purple tee shirt. “Ordered it off the computer, then got overnight shipping. You can borrow it when I’m done.”

  Kristin beamed. “Thanks. I’ve been waiting months to finish that series.”

  Kristin looked at me. “We’re in a book club together.”

  “Oh, how nice.”

  “Maybe you’d like to come to one of our meetings. We have a great time,” she prodded.

  I gave a polite smile. “Sure. Maybe sometime.” A reading club did actually seem like a fun thing to do, except for the fact that I didn’t want anyone telling me what I had to read and how long I had to finish the book. I kept my opinion to myself, taking a bite of the potato salad and thus excusing myself from the conversation about a book I’d never heard of.

  My mind wandered to the books Adela had in the foyer cabinets. No telling what they were actually worth. Some of them were really old. I contemplated whether or not they would be one of the things I would want to keep or if I would want to put them in with the rest of the things going to auction.

  When Kristin and I were alone again, I shoveled another bite into my mouth and sighed. “One thing’s for sure, I’m going to miss the food down here.”

  Kristin laughed. “I’m glad you like it.”

  We ate for a moment in silence, and I thought over what she’d said earlier. “Would they auction the house off as well?”

  “You can, or you can only auction the contents. It’s up to you.” She dabbed the corner of her lip with her napkin.

  “I’m afraid of how low people might bid.”

  “You just put a reserve on it. If no one bids more than that, it doesn’t sell.”

  “Oh. I’ll think about it. I want to get a chance to go through everything in the house first. Decide if there is anything I’d like to keep.”

  We finished our lunch, paid what I thought was an extremely cheap bill considering the quality of the food, and rode back to Ironwood.

  “Well, I’ll get the information together for you from the auction house so you can go over that,” Kristin said as we came to a stop in front of the house.

  “Thanks.” I opened the door and stepped out, but hesitated before closing the door. “Hey, thanks for lunch. I really liked that place.”

  She smiled. “Sure, no problem.”

  I swallowed my awkwardness and took a chance. “You think, maybe we could do it again? Get coffee or something while I’m still in town?” />
  Her face lit up. “Yeah. That’d be great. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

  I shut the door and watched the dust follow her down the driveway. I sat on the front steps of the house and let the breeze sweep over me. In a matter of days I’d gone from barely making rent to owning a mansion. It was like finding a winning lotto ticket. All I had to do was liquidate the assets. I could start a whole new life with that kind of money. My life was finally looking up.

  So why, then, did I feel so miserable about it? I pulled the diary from my bag and ran my finger over the cover. Thinking it might hold the answers, I flipped it open and began to read.

  June 14, 1862

  Ruth has settled into her life here, and I have grown accustomed to her help. These last weeks have been rather quiet, and I haven’t had much to write about. Plantation life continues as usual, as much as can be expected under these circumstances, and the crops are growing.

  Despite all of that, I have a gnawing feeling sitting in my stomach insisting something is coming. I’ve felt it ever since, well, since Ruth came to Ironwood.

  She seems to love it here. I cannot blame her. I have to come to love this place as well. There is a peace here. A purpose. I find that I would never want to be anywhere else. I have even dreamed of passing Ironwood down to my children, and their children. These private thoughts have not been shared. It would only hurt Charles, I’m afraid. I know he longs for a child. But, I am starting to wonder if I am even able. I have had other strange dreams as well, but I will not write of them. Not yet. They are much too difficult to explain.

  Regardless on my dreams, I have embraced my love for Ironwood, and I’ve decided to step into my role as Lady of the House. New curtains, rugs and linens arrived yesterday, and Ruth and I started the task of redoing the house earlier this morning. I intended on working in the parlor, only to be upended by shocked expressions and the reminder that I once again failed to act the proper lady.

  Charles came to tell me he would once again be leaving, this time for business in Natchez, by surprising me in the parlor and disregarding propriety by capturing me in an embrace. When I gathered myself, he asked me if I liked the new shipment. I suspect with this war it was something rather difficult for him to come by, and I greatly appreciated the lengths he went through to keep everything as normal as he could.

  “I am most pleased,” I said. “What are your thoughts?”

  “I think the look on your face is more beautiful than any decoration, and I shall buy you anything your heart desires if it will produce such a glimmer.”

  “Oh, Charles,” I said. “You are so very good to me.”

  “That is because I love you, my dear Lydia.”

  I will try not to think on those words overmuch. I find myself longing for them and at the same time frightened by them. Then all too soon he was gone, and I was left with a feeling of emptiness upon me where his hands had once rested. I do fear for his safety. He tries to hide his worry from me, but I know the war presses ever closer. When we go to town or attend church, the men have talked of little else. To be honest, when Mississippi seceded, I didn’t think it would come to war. If the North doesn’t understand us, shouldn’t they just be glad we are gone and leave us be?

  Ever since that attack on Fort Sumter, war has become more and more unavoidable. Many of the young men from our church have already signed up to fight. I fear Charles will soon be among them. I don’t know what I shall do if he joins the militia. He assures me that if such a thing were to occur, it would be short lived. Once the South shows it can hold its own, the North will surely let us alone. He says I needn’t worry.

  My fear of losing Charles tells me I am growing ever more fond of him. Could this heart of brick turn to clay? Could I truly love Charles? Am I able to love the way I can see he loves me? I suppose only time will tell. But, I do have hope.

  Charles says the Northern Aggression is mostly about cotton prices and the demand they have for it in the northern factories, but I’m not so sure. It seems to be turning more and more to an issue over slavery.

  I would never speak of this aloud, but I am torn on the issue. A part of me knows owning a human being for no other reason than the color of his skin is not right. The Bible speaks many times of slaves and masters, as reverend Henderson often points out, but I don’t ever remember seeing anywhere in the Bible that says its right. The other part of me knows the slaves are treated well. They have plenty to eat, they are properly clothed, and their work schedules are nothing extreme. They may not be paid with money, but they are given everything they would need to buy. The field workers have family homes and their own section of land. The house girls seem happy enough. I hear them laughing often while they work.

  It is the only way of life I have ever known. I’ve never questioned it. I’ve wondered at times if its right, but my father had always said such things are for men to worry with. A lady has other concerns. And he always seemed right. My father and Charles both take good care of all the people under them, so I have never had reason to worry.

  Until I saw Ruth. I saw the cruelty in that man’s eyes as he whipped her. I saw the cuts and bruises on her arms. And I saw a depth of pain in her eyes I cannot even describe. She continues to surprise me with her bold manner and her sincerity.

  Her confidence has bolstered my own, and I shall take my role as lady of Ironwood to heart. I will take Charles’ rounds and prove to him I am capable of being the companion at his side. I will show him I can handle responsibility and can perhaps lighten some of the burdens that hang upon him. It will be a long time until he returns, but when he does, I shall present him with a new Ironwood.

  The day grew hot, the sun eating away at the shade on the front porch. I wrapped the diary and slid it into my bag and checked my watch. Almost time to go meet Buford. I stood and leaned against the pillar by the front steps and looked down the driveway. A large hazy image retreated away from me. I squinted to get a better look, but it disappeared. Just the heat playing tricks on me.

  I fingered the zipper on my shoulder bag. There’d be time for more reading later, but right now I had to handle business. Stepping over to my car, I looked up at the house again before getting in. What secrets and history did it hold? At least I knew the woman’s name now. Lydia. A beautiful name. And it seemed she did have a conscience, after all. So maybe this wasn’t the unrealistic fairytale plantation from the literary South, but maybe at the same time the slaves of Ironwood fared better than most. That gave me hope for the morality gene of my ancestors.

  Lydia must have had children, even if she thought she couldn’t. I was proof enough. And her wish had come true. Ironwood had stayed in the family, passed from generation to generation. What would she think if she saw me now? Ready to hand away her legacy for a few dollars?

  I shook my head. No sense in being sentimental. The woman was dead. She’d been gone a long time. I couldn’t live my life based on her dreams. I had to follow my own.

  I slammed the car door and turned the AC fan on high. I barely noticed the trees passing or the people wandering the streets as I drove through town. I pulled into the parking lot at Buford’s office, determined to separate myself from these strange emotions.

  Dee’s smile greeted me as I opened the door. “Hey, honey. He’s waiting for you, just go on in.”

  Buford sat at his desk, flipping through some papers. He looked up when I entered. “Hey. I have all your final paperwork ready.”

  “Oh. Okay. Thanks. Faster than we thought, huh?”

  He dipped his chin. “I’m sure you’ll be glad to get everything moving as soon as possible.”

  He gestured to the chairs in front of his desk, and I settled into one of the cushioned seats. He pushed the papers across the desk, indicating the “sign here” stickers on each page. I scrawled my name in my not-so-pretty handwriting, thinking for the thousandth time if I ever did book signings I’d have to come up with something better.

  “Well, that should about cover
it. The house is free and clear, and this is the deed to the property. Everything’s been turned over to your name.”

  I held the paper in my hand for a moment, marveling over the truth of it. I looked up at Buford. He smiled at me. “It’s a wonderful thing, to own a home. Few people your age actually have anything in their name.”

  I nodded, unable to do anything more.

  “Well, I’ve done my part. Adela wanted that house to be passed down to her family. She said that was her duty – to hand it down.” There was a look of sadness in his eyes.

  The lump in my throat grew. I knew what needed to be done. “Mr. Buford, may I borrow your phone?”

  “Of course.” Something passed over his features but disappeared before I could name it. “I’ve been wanting some coffee anyway. Help yourself.” He turned the desk phone around to face me.

  When the door softly clicked behind me, I picked up the receiver and dialed the familiar number.

  “Emily! Had enough of the woods yet?”

  I laughed. “No, Mr. Howard. Not exactly.”

  “Ah, well. I thought you were calling to tell me you’d realized you were wasting your time and are coming back. We sure could use you around here, you know.”

  “Yes, sir. I know. But the thing is, well, some things have come up, and I am going to need a little longer off.”

  Silence. I could hear him breathing on the other line, so I knew we hadn’t been disconnected. I waited.

  “You only get two weeks of vacation. When that time’s up, you’ll need to return to work.”

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Howard, but I can’t. I have some, uh, family issues I need to deal with.”

  “So… do like everyone else and handle them over the phone. I haven’t seen my family in years. They get over it.”

  “It’s a bit more complicated than that. I have some property here in Mississippi, and it would be better to take care of the necessities in person than trying to manage things over the phone.”

  “Mississippi?”

  “Yes, Mr. Howard. Mississippi.” I pinched the bridge of my nose.