Dee cleared her throat. “I believe we’ve had some issues here. Things were said that shouldn’t have been and tempers flared. I think we all carry some fault here, so let’s just put this whole business behind us and—”
“I believe she is the one at fault here.” Gloria pointed a finger at me. “And as far as I know, Dee, you didn’t have anything to do with it,” she snapped.
I clenched my jaw and held my tongue.
Dee smiled sweetly. “Perhaps not, at least on my account. But I do believe this time that mouth of yours got you in trouble, Gloria.”
“Why I never—”
I stood and interrupted her. “Excuse me, Ms. McCrae, I have something to say.” I didn’t wait for her to acknowledge me. Dee willed me on with her eyes, boosting my confidence. “I am very sorry for what happened on Sunday. I apologize for losing my temper. Regardless of the heartless, vengeful things you said, I still didn’t have the right to hit you, and I have come to ask your forgiveness for that action.”
“Well, I—”
“However,” I interrupted again, drawing out the word, “you should know that the things you said to me were cruel and uncalled for. My family has a very proud history. Adela wanted that house handed down as it had been handed down to her and to those before her for generations. You should not begrudge her for that. If you were truly her friend, you would understand. She didn’t want you to have Ironwood, and as long as I’m able, I’ll make sure her wishes are upheld. Good day to you, Ma’am.” I turned and walked away, leaving her staring open-mouthed behind me.
I heard Dee wish her a good day as well, as she hurried off the porch. After we reached the safely of Main Street Dee started laughing.
“Did you see the look on her face? Priceless!”
The corners of my lips pulled up. “She did seem a little shocked.”
“That was quite the speech you gave there. I don’t think anyone has ever talked to Gloria like that.”
“Well, I did ask for forgiveness,” I said, glancing at Dee, “but that doesn’t make what she did okay.”
“Of course it doesn’t. You did the right thing on your end. You are not responsible for what she does on hers.”
I looked out the window and watched the passing scenery, wondering if I had just made things worse for my court appearance.
“You know,” Dee said, bringing me out of my thoughts, “Gloria is awfully riled about that house. She came to Buford demanding to see the will because she swore it should have been left to her.”
“Yeah, I remember seeing her the first day I came in. I didn’t know who she was, but I remember her yelling in Buford’s office. Why do you think she is so upset about it?”
“I don’t know. Adela was starting to lose her mental edge in the last days. I don’t know if she promised Gloria the house, or what she told her.”
“Does that matter if it wasn’t in the will?”
Dee clicked her blinker and turned onto her street. “No. That’s a legal document. But if Adela told her she could have it, it might explain why she’s so up in arms about it.” We pulled into the driveway. “Still, I’ve never seen her so act that crazy. It’s like she thinks there’s some kind of buried treasure in there!” Dee laughed and hopped out of the car, but her words sent chills down my spine.
What had Adela told her in those last days that drove her to be so contentious about the house? Lydia’s words came back to me. Dee might be closer to the truth than she realized.
What if there really was a buried treasure in Ironwood?
September 4, 1862
I have been consumed with the writing of Ruth’s story. Now that it is complete, at least until this point in our lives, I will write on other things. It can be avoided no longer. My attention must turn to the war. It will not be long before Charles joins them. I can see it in his eyes. There were reports the Union troops in Corinth would not leave because of where it sits on the railroad lines. They will continue to hold the city because it will cut off major supplies from Memphis to Charleston and from Mobile to Ohio. The rumors say it will not be long until the Yankees push farther south. We are all unsure when troops will sweep over us.
In order to distract myself and all of us from the depressing news about The Northern Aggression, I have decided to do the one thing I never expected of myself. I am going to throw a ball. Charles thinks it is to surround myself with proper company, but the truth is I am doing it because I wish to see my parents again. They will stay here at Ironwood for a few days, and I’m hoping Mother will want to help me ready the house for winter and that will give them good reason to spend some time here.
The girls have worked furiously today polishing, shining, and straightening, and I think we have everything looking wonderful. I am excited for Mother to see all I have done with my new home, and I hope I have made her proud. Ruth and I will travel to town tomorrow to buy apples to make Mother’s special turnovers. If nothing else pleases her, I am sure the turnovers will win her over.
That is all for today, little book. I have many preparations to see to.
September 12, 1862
Charles left this morning for Corinth. He delayed joining so many of the other men who have already abandoned Oakville for fear of leaving me here alone. Wanting to calm his distress, I told him I would be fine, he should only be gone for a little while.
I think we both know that isn’t true. Regaining Corinth is paramount now, and Charles will stay until it is done. He will do all he can to keep them out of Oakville. There are many other implications and political moves Charles tried to explain to me, but in my distress I see only his absence and the dark shadows of fear.
All I know is Charles has gone and I do not know when, or even if, he will ever return. We are left alone here now, and I do not know what the future holds. Mother has already returned home, and I cannot count on even her frigid companionship.
Ruth and I barely talk anymore unless it is in secret. People have grown suspicious of everything, and already there are rumors I sympathize with the North. It amazes me how things have changed so dramatically in such a short period of time. Was it really only this past spring I found her on the street? It seems a lifetime has passed since then.
Ruth warned me there are groups of white men who go about in secret wearing cloaks and claiming to uphold the purity of southern traditions. She told me they are hanging any Negroes they suspect are escaping and any whites who are leaning toward siding with the Union.
I do not know if her stories are rooted in truth or fear, but nonetheless, without Charles here I think we may be safer if we keep our friendship to ourselves. Though it is unlikely such men would dare trespass on the plantation, it is still prudent to be cautious.
Tensions here are rising. It may be childish, but I have decided to hide away some of my more precious objects until Ironwood is free from the shadow of war. I will soon have to put this book away as well. There is too much here that is evidence of my friendship with Ruth and evidence I have starting hiding things under the floors.
I have several of Charles’s bonds as well. I will need to find a safer place for them.
October 3, 1862
The days have grown monotonous. I try to fill my hours with as much work as possible to keep my mind from stewing over the war. Still, I have heard nothing from Charles.
The riverboats are running supplies, and for now are still making it through. I feel I need to record these things, though my understanding of them is minimal.
Harvest and the cotton storage continues as it has every year since Charles’s parents first built this place. I have not taken any more rides through the plantation. Instead, Mr. Peck comes and gives me a report. He says everything is running smoothly and things are the same as they have always been. I have suspicions he is sparing me from some truths, but I find I am grateful for it.
My musings are brief, but I have not felt a compulsion to write much more. I continue to add to Ruth’s story, putting in the b
its of information she gives me that circulate through the slaves. Much of it is wild theories I’m afraid, but I record them nonetheless.
She comes after all the others are in bed, and we work here until late into the night whenever we get the chance. I have had little time for other writings.
Every day I pray we will make it through this. I feel for certain now the Union will come through here soon. And since Lincoln passed his Confiscation Act, they take whatever they want from the towns they pass through. Ironwood will be open to their destruction and thievery. Who is there to protect us or save us from their plunder? But it is only possessions. There is so much more I could lose. I ask God for only two things. That Charles will return to me and that someday Ruth will find the freedom she deserves.
It will hurt me deeply if we lose Ironwood, but I can bare it. I cannot lose Charles. My heart constantly utters the prayer for his safety so many times it becomes a part of my sewing and knitting and anything else I find to do to occupy myself. I do not know how many times I’ve whispered my request before God as I try to fill these long, cold days.
I feel I will go mad before this winter has come to an end. And fall has only just begun. I am restless, and change must come. Soon, I shall gather the courage to birth something new. It is still but a shadow in my mind, but something tells me I will know when the time comes.
October 8, 1862
22,000 Confederate troops attacked the Union forces in Corinth. Tommy says the news in town is that they have recaptured the outlying fortified positions, but there have been heavy casualties. They were not able to push all the way into town and their small victory crumbled into massive defeat. More Union forces arrived and the ground they gained was soon lost again. As we know right now, it seems their mission has failed, and they have paid dearly for it. I have no way of knowing yet if Charles is among the survivors. I can only pray it is so.
I spend many hours trapped in the house. Perhaps God is allowing this time apart from Charles because it has caused me to draw closer to Him. It is the only good I see from this. But I beg it is only a temporary separation.
There have been Union soldiers in town. They rode through, but didn’t cause any trouble. At least not yet. But their presence cannot be good news. I no longer venture into town. Tommy runs errands for me instead. I so much want to do something other than sit in the house, but I am too afraid to leave. I fear if I leave, I will have nothing to return to. As if my presence keeps all of Ironwood together. I know these are ridiculous thoughts, yet, I cannot help them. Ever since I brought forth change, I fear if I leave for even the slightest moment, I shall return to find Ironwood abandoned.
I stood before them like a butterfly birthing from a cocoon. I gave them the freedom that flowed through me like a turbulent river, and at the time I knew it was what had to be done. But now I am afraid. What will become of us? Did I make the right choice? Will Charles return only to find his home a mere shadow of what it once was?
I closed the book and held it to my chest. The air on the balcony hung lifeless, the trees lacking the energy to flutter their leaves in the oppressing heat. Sweat beaded on my brow, but Dee’s fresh lemonade kept the worst of it at bay.
I smoothed the worn leather cover and contemplated Lydia’s words. Only the final pages remained, and I found myself torn between the burning desire to finish and slake my curiosity and savoring the last of my family connection while I still could.
I wanted to know more about Lydia and the others who lived in Ironwood. Yet, there was so much to the story I feared I would never know. An idea rolled around in my head to write a novel with Lydia as my heroine. Maybe even an entire series focusing on the women of Ironwood. Not that anyone would be interested in them.
I looked at my watch. Almost time to go. Despite my disgrace, Kristin still wanted to have lunch with me. Most likely to discuss business, but so much the better.
I wrapped the diary and placed it back into the shadows under my headboard. I rinsed the sweat from my face with cool water in the bathroom sink before going downstairs. Dee’s humming drifted through the house, and I followed the sound to where she stood dusting picture frames in the living room.
“Hi, Dee.”
She cast a glance over her shoulder and waved the rag at me before she continued her chore. I stepped closer. I’d never really spent much time in the living room and hadn’t noticed the pictures on the far wall.
I walked up behind Dee and peered over her shoulder. A simple gold frame displayed a picture of a much younger and thinner Dee standing next to a handsome man in a suit with a narrow tie. A riverboat filled the entire background.
Dee ran her rag over the picture and stared at it for a moment. “That was our honeymoon. He took me down to Natchez and we rode the Mississippi. We danced for hours under the stars that night, swaying to the rhythm of the river.” Her wistful words were laced with a deep sense of longing.
My eyes roamed to the next picture. A young boy about ten or so with a mop of brown hair and striking blue eyes. I squinted at it.
“Is that Luke?”
Dee grinned. “Yep. Fifth grade class pictures.”
I smiled, thinking Luke still had the same boyish grin. I found myself wondering what it would have been like to grow up in Oakville. Maybe Luke and I would have gone to school together.
I turned my thoughts back to the other photographs on the shelf, each displayed in a different frame while still maintaining a cohesive look. Dee’s prized possessions, lovingly displayed for all to see.
Several other pictures of Dee and Douglass at various locations, including a beautiful black and white of them on their wedding day, dotted the shelves. They both looked extremely happy. And very much in love. The same expression seemed to be in place even as the faces aged and the backgrounds changed.
On the third shelf from the top, just below my immediate eye-level, a small picture in a plain wooden frame caught and held my attention. I gently picked it up and ran my finger across the glass, trying to hold back the tears that threatened to spill over.
“Daddy.” The single word escaped my lips more like a sigh than a statement. He was young, probably in his early teens, but I would know him anywhere. No matter how many years had gone by, I would never forget that face. The face of the only good man I had ever really known.
Dee slipped an arm around my shoulder. “I took that picture right outside of Adela’s house just a few weeks before he left.” She wrapped her other hand around my fingers and drew the picture closer to me. “I think you should have it, dear.”
I closed my eyes and nodded, hoping my gratitude could be displayed in such a simple gesture. Dee squeezed me around the shoulders, and then left me alone to my thoughts.
I studied the picture, trying to decipher every emotion etched in his expression and what haunted his deep brown eyes. His face would be forever frozen in a somewhat sad, lopsided grin as he stood under a large oak tree, one shoulder leaning on the bark and one foot propped up. It was typical of the way I remembered him. He was fun and laid-back, though I always had the feeling a very heavy weight rested on his heart. I tried not to look at the large white house looming in the background.
There was much I didn’t know about him.
I shook my head to clear my thoughts, having lost track of how long I’d been standing there. There was nothing new I could learn from the picture. Nothing it could teach me about the many secrets my father had deliberately kept from me.
I cradled the treasure and ascended the stairs so I could I tuck the photo away in my room. I checked my watch again. If I didn’t hurry I’d be late for my lunch with Kristin. With the photo safely stored with the diary, I bounded back downstairs and grabbed my purse. I paused at the front door with the keys in my hand.
“Hey, Dee!” I called out through the foyer.
“Yes?” Her voice echoed from the kitchen, followed by the scraping sound of a chair against the hardwood floor.
“I’m going out,
” I said as she rounded the staircase.
“Where to?”
“Just to have lunch with Kristin. You want to come?”
Dee smiled. “That’s very nice of you, including an old lady. But, no, you girls have your fun. I’m looking forward to a nice, juicy tomato sandwich.”
“Okay. I’ll be back in a little while.” I turned to leave.
“Emily?”
“Yes?” I waited with my hand on the doorknob. I could tell she wanted to say something, but then seemed to decide against it.
“Will you be here for supper tonight?”
“Yes, Ma’am. Planning on it. You need me to pick up anything from the store?”
She tilted her head. “We could use some milk. Make sure you get the kind with the red top. I don’t want none of that two percent stuff.”
I laughed. “You got it. Be back in a bit.”
I drove through the familiar streets of Oakville and had no trouble finding a parking space. The sewing machine table by the window was open so I took the chair facing the door and waited for Kristin. When the waitress came by, I took the liberty of ordering two sweet teas.
Kristin came through the door a few seconds later, stopping to greet everyone on her way in. She spotted me and dropped her oversized purse on the floor by her chair before sliding in.
“Hey! Sorry I’m late. Lost track of time.”
“That’s okay, I just got here.”
“Okay. Good. I’m glad you could make lunch today. How’ve you been?”
I thought briefly about telling her about my father’s photo or about my encounter with Gloria, but decided against it. I smiled. “Just fine.”
She slightly lifted her eyebrows as if to say she knew I was lying but didn’t call me out on it. “Thanks for ordering me a tea.”
“No problem.”
She drummed her chewed-down nails on the table and gazed at me. She looked rather uncomfortable, and I knew she was about to bring up something unpleasant. I rummaged around in my head for some way to steer the conversation to something mundane when the waitress showed up and granted me a temporary reprieve.
Heir of Hope: Return to Ironwood Plantation (Ironwood Plantation Family Saga Book 2) Page 20