I wiped my face and kept walking. After a few steps, I heard Luke follow. In a few strides, he was by my side again. Neither of us spoke.
When we finally topped the hill, a small valley unfolded with a few old chimneys in a small cluster. My breath caught. “What is this place?”
“This is where the slave quarters were. There used to be several small houses here where the field hand’s families lived.”
I put my hand to my heart, trying to slow its rapid pounding.
“What?” he asked.
I didn’t answer him. I made my way down the hill and stepped into the overgrown area. In my mind’s eye I could see the little faces staring back at me from what used to be the central yard. My stomach knotted. Never had my imagination been so clear before. Gone were the shrubs and invading vines. Instead, I saw small roughhewn cabins with handmade chairs on the front porches. Little children stood around, none of them talking or playing. They stared at me with wide, white eyes set in dark faces.
My gaze drifted up the hill and I could see Lydia and Ruth sitting in a small carriage, a gray horse bobbing its head as it waited. Lydia stared down at one of the cabins, sadness washing her delicate features.
I turned to follow her stare. On the porch of the first cabin stood a young girl with frightened eyes and her arms wrapped around her chest. Though I’d never know her name, I knew her. I knew what demons haunted those eyes.
Suddenly her dark skin faded and her hair lengthened. I watched in wonder as she shimmered and changed. Her features shifted but her eyes remained the same. They stared into my soul. Then the girl was gone, replaced by another.
The new girl was about the same age, though a little taller, wearing jeans and a pink sweater, clutching a teddy bear. Her hair hung limp to her shoulders. Dark brown eyes pleaded with me for rescue. My pulse beat in my ears, drowning out all sound.
I knew I couldn’t rescue her. I’d tried. I’d tried so many times before to save her. It couldn’t be done. I knew all about the darkness that would grow inside of her. Knew all too well the dragon that would haunt her, always desperate to escape and devour anything good that came into her life. I knew I could never save her, because I knew exactly who she was.
She was me.
I dropped to my knees, the breath gone from my lungs. I buried my face in my hands and tried to breathe. Despite the heat, chills covered my body.
Strong hands lifted me to my feet, and I found myself burying my face in Luke’s chest. He held me close. When he started to stroke my hair, I lost all control. I let myself cry into him until his shirt was soaked and I was spent. When my sobs subsided, he eased me back to arm’s length.
His blue eyes spoke a million questions. Questions I could not answer. I shook my head and pulled back. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me.”
Concern etched his features but he didn’t push. “Slavery is a terrible thing.”
I looked around the ruins. “There is such heaviness here. What do you think it was like back then?”
Luke sighed. “I don’t know. I guess we can never really know. We can only speculate.”
But I did know. I knew more than I wanted to and yet still not enough. “Is this where you wanted to take me?”
Luke looked surprised. “No. I thought you might be interested in it, but the spot is still farther down the road. But we don’t have to keep going if you don’t want to.”
“Let’s keep going. I don’t want to stay here any longer.”
Luke took my hand and I let him, enjoying the comfort of his touch. He held it until we reached the top of the hill and were back on the road, then released me.
“You must think I’m crazy.”
Luke laughed. “I think you’re a writer. That makes you imaginative, passionate and a bit unpredictable. If that’s crazy, well, then, I think I rather like crazy.”
I smiled, but kept my eyes on the road, not really sure what he meant. “Thank you, I think.”
We walked past yet another large hay field on our left and a line of woods on our right. How far back did this road go? My feet complained as if I’d demanded miles from them.
Luke pointed and I followed the line of direction he indicated. “There it is. I marked it so I would remember.”
A rock about the size of a misshapen baseball sat on the edge of the road. When we got to it, I looked around. Nothing but more trees and grass. Not exactly a must-see location. Maybe Luke lied about the slave site being his intended location. No way had he meant this bland roadside. But for once, instead of voicing my opinion, I decided to keep my mouth shut and just let him lead me.
“Here,” Luke said, pointing to a place in the trees that looked like a narrow path some type of animal had been following.
I frowned. “Are we going into the woods?”
He grabbed my hand, pulling me along behind him. The trail was too narrow for us to walk shoulder to shoulder, so I stayed close behind him as his body pushed aside the limbs and broke through vines. With him blocking the view I had no idea where we were going.
I tried to remind myself Luke had proven himself to be a decent man, and he would not have led me here for harm. A briar tugged at my pants and I reached down to pull it free. It cut into my finger, and I held back a yelp. Stupid briar. Stupid woods. I looked down at my shoes and wondered if the red dust would wash out of them and if—
Ooofff. I slammed into Luke’s back and he stumbled a half step forward. I groaned. “Oh! Sorry.”
Luke looked over his shoulder, his face filled with excitement. “This is what I wanted to show you.” He pointed ahead, obviously unconcerned with my faux pas.
I eased around in front of him. A clearing about the size of half a football field stood sheltered by an army of towering pines and shielded from the rest of the world. Near the center, a creek snaked through a blanket of wildflowers covering the ground with a bright mixture of vibrant colors.
“Wow. This is beautiful!” I said, forgetting my tired feet and snagged jeans.
Luke grinned. “I’d hoped you’d like it. I found it this morning when I drove down to survey the rest of the property and make sure there were no issues back here. I don’t know why that little path caught my eye or what made me get out and follow the trail, but I’m glad I did.”
Squirrels barked over our heads, and I watched a bird swoop down and land in the clearing. I turned and looked up at Luke. “Thank you for showing me.”
One side of his mouth curved and my heart fluttered. “You’re welcome.” He pointed ahead. “How about we go over to the creek and set up for lunch?”
I followed him through the wildflowers, enjoying the sweet scent laced in the air. They danced their greeting as we passed, their petals swaying to the silent song of the breeze.
Luke pulled a towel and my sack lunch from his bag. “Sorry. I didn’t have a blanket. This is all I’ve got.”
At least he’d thought of a picnic blanket. I hadn’t. “That’s okay. I don’t mind sitting in the grass, and we can put the food between us on the towel.”
We spread out our simple fare and enjoyed the beauty of our surroundings. Something pulled at my memory, but I dismissed the odd feeling of déjà vu. I looked at Luke, for the first time admiring the man on the inside as much as I had the man on the outside.
“Tell me about you,” I blurted.
He took a long drink of soda, and then studied me. “How much do you want to know?”
“As much as you are willing to tell me.”
He seemed to consider that for a moment, and I hoped I hadn’t been reading too much into our friendship. He ran his fingers through his hair.
“Well, I’ll just go over the highlights. I was born here in Oakville. My dad was a great mechanic, and folks from all over town brought their cars and lawnmowers for him to fix. My mom drove the school bus and tried to stay at home with us as much as she could.”
His voice tightened and he looked away. The silence stretched so long I tho
ught he might not continue, but he took a deep breath and let loose a string of hurried words. “One day she went into Tupelo to take my brother to buy some things he needed for a school project. Out of nowhere, this man grabs her and pulls her into the ally, even though it was broad daylight. The cops think he just wanted my mom’s purse, until my brother, he was ten at the time, tried to fight the man. The guy had a knife and stabbed him in the stomach. By the time the police got there, he was already dead.”
My eyes filled with tears. I reached over and took Luke’s hand, hoping that would do more than my words could.
He gently squeezed my fingers and kept going. “The man beat my mother and left her in the ally, just a few feet from my brother. It would have taken my brother awhile to die from his wounds, so he probably saw it all. A store manager found them when he came out back to throw out the trash and called the police. My mother died before my father and I could make it to the hospital.”
Luke looked out over the wildflowers and I allowed him a few moments. I didn’t know what to say.
“I was twelve. My father had a hard time raising me on his own. Adela let him cut hay here and we spent a lot of time together. When I was fifteen, I started doing odd jobs for people around town. Dee and Douglass really took me in, always finding things for me to do and treating me like family. They became like grandparents to me.
“In high school I started going to parties and driving down to the college to drink with older kids. I did plenty of things I shouldn’t have. Despite how many friends I had, I always felt alone. When I couldn’t take the weight anymore I turned to God. He forgave me, and I forgave those who had caused so much hurt in my life. The rest well, I guess you know. I surrendered to preach and was ordained by the deacons at the church. When Pastor Duncan retired last year, I was voted in.”
Luke looked at me, likely judging my reaction to his story. He seemed so vulnerable. So open, and all I could do was wish I could erase all that happened to him.
“Oh, Luke. I misjudged you.” Not at all what I meant to say. Some writer I am. I struggled with words too much to wield them properly.
He tilted his head. “What do you mean?”
I plucked slender stems of grass from under my crossed knees. I rolled them in my fingers, masking my fingerprints in a coat of green film. “When you talked about forgiveness, I thought what could you possibly know about any real pain? I thought you were just a sheltered preacher from Mayberry. I didn’t think you had any idea how awful the real world was.”
He reached up to stroke my cheek and caused my eyes to abandon their focus on my botanical distraction and stare at him instead. “The world is the same no matter where you live,” he said.
“Why?” I asked softly. “If God loves us then why does he let those things happen?”
Luke studied the azure sky before continuing. “We all ask that question at some point. For the most part, it has to do with free will and the world we live in. But if we let God work in us, a lot of unexpected good can come out of even the worst circumstances.” He lowered his hand and I felt a stirring loss come with the broken connection.
I sighed. How many times would I keep hearing the same things? My life kept going in circles. I stared at Luke. Charles and Lydia had an eerily similar conversation.
My interest in the woman bordered on obsession. Sanity was starting to become a little less rigid and a little more like an abstract concept. I skimmed the tree line to give myself a moment to reign in my galloping thoughts.
Two figures stood side by side in the shadows. I glanced back at Luke, afraid to let him know about my hallucinations. After what happened at the slave quarters he would think I’d lost it for sure.
He was looking at the ground, so I dared one glace back at the woods. They were still there. Two women in long skirts, looking out over the meadow. The same meadow they had come to for lunch so many years ago. Maybe they planned to eat in the very spot where Luke and I now sat. But they never got the chance.
“What are you looking at?”
“Huh?” I flicked my gaze back to Luke. “Oh. Sorry. Nothing. I was just thinking.”
He stood and brushed off his pants. “I think we should head in. There’s still a lot of work that needs to be done.”
I gathered the trash and put it in the plastic sack, handing it to Luke to put in his backpack. “Thank you for telling me your story,” I said softly.
“Thank you for asking. I hope someday you’ll tell me your story as well.”
Looking into his eyes was like looking into a bright clear day. They were full of life and peace. I reached up and placed my hand on his cheek. He didn’t move away. His skin was slightly rough, bits of a beard starting to come through.
I offered a sad smile, the only thing I could give. “It’s always about the story, isn’t it?”
His eyes bore into mine. “Always.”
What would it be like to kiss him? Heat rushed up my neck and I dropped my hand. Better not start down a road that led to nowhere. He stood there looking at me, a muscle in his jaw flexing. I wouldn’t allow myself to contemplate his thoughts. If only I could give him something to open a small crack in my defenses. Would he take it?
My voice sounded hollow, but my heart brimmed with sincerity. “Maybe someday, Luke. Maybe someday I will tell you my story.”
And maybe someday I would find a way to forget those ocean blues and the grip they held on my heart.
August 16, 1862
The days are unbearably hot. I have been busy with my work about Ironwood and the house is finally getting organized. Charles says he likes all of my personal touches and that he can see my love growing for his family home.
Indeed, my love has grown for Ironwood, but it has grown even more for Charles. I never knew I was capable of such love. I feared I would be broken forever, but I feel as if I have been though the smelting fire, and have come out a new creation. Every day my peace grows and my heart is overflowing. I cannot even find the words to convey the thankfulness I feel for this new life.
Last night he came to me, and I must say, I am rather surprised at the depths of desire I have come to feel for him. Should I even write such a thing? Heavens, what would Mother think? She would probably proclaim the pleasure I have come to find in my duty to my husband a sinful thing.
Armed with a new confidence in myself and safe in both my God’s and my husband’s love, I find I am willing to be bolder. Such as deciding to disregard the proper order of things and visiting my friend in her home, on her terms. Needless to say I caused quite a stir.
I stepped outside into the cool of the night and walked down the short sidewalk to the kitchen. I gathered my skirts and teetered on the narrow staircase leading to the quarters above. The lingering heat from the kitchen seemed to pour through the outer wall. I put one hand on the red bricks to brace myself and gripped the railing with the other. After reminding myself the repair would have to go on my list, I continued to the quarters above.
At the top of the stairs, soft light filtered between the planks of the doors carrying with it the sweet sounds of conversation and laughter. I lifted my hand to knock, but hesitated. Perhaps things were the way they were for a reason. They may not want me in their private space, their only refuge from the demands of everyday life.
Well, things could change. The Bible said there’s neither slave nor free, male nor female in the eyes of Christ. We were all his children. An interesting verse I had yet to hear from the pulpit. Filled with new hope, I tapped on the door.
It swung open an instant later, revealing Lucy with an amusing expression of shock.
“Good evening, Lucy.”
Lucy looked dumbfounded and it took me quite some time to convince her I had only come to see Ruth. I wonder why Lucy seems so opposed to such a thing? Regardless, after assuring her my husband did, indeed, know of my whereabouts and trying to convince her my motives were nothing more than an attempt at female companionship, she finally relented.
“Does it matter what they think?”
Both women stared at me. Lucy frowned. “Seems to me what other folk think is what makes the world turn round.”
I crossed my arms. “I don’t care what they think.”
I tried my best to show confidence in my words, but my convictions slipped and I wondered if I had been a fool to come here. I squared my shoulders and told them if I was unwanted in their presence, I would simply leave.
Ruth caught my arm. “You might not worry over it, but everyone else will. I don’t wanna sees you get hurt.”
I smiled at her. “Ruth, you are always looking out for everybody else. Don’t worry about me. Charles knows where I am. He also knows you and I are friends. He may not understand it, but he allows it. Perhaps things have to be the way they have always been if we are away from Ironwood, but here, things can be different.”
“I hope you’s right. It’s a nice dream, anyway.”
Lucy gave me a look that said I had surely lost my sensibility. “I’m going to bed.” She stomped across to the other side of the room and went into her bedroom, slamming the door behind her.
Ruth clasped and unclasped her hands, the thing she did when she was thinking something but couldn’t say it.
“What is it?”
She pressed her lips into a thin line.
“If you really don’t want me here, Ruth, I can go.”
“No, that’s not it. I know what you’s tryin’ to do. And you wantin’ to be friends with me despite everything, well…” Her eyes welled with tears.
Heir of Hope: Return to Ironwood Plantation (Ironwood Plantation Family Saga Book 2) Page 16