“Allow me to explain, Mrs. Cunningham,” he said, as they took their seats. “Your husband saved my life. I was a soldier in the Union army. I had been captured in north Georgia by a Confederate officer. We were on our way back to his camp on the Tennessee line. Late that evening, while he was asleep, I managed to break free of the ropes. I took his uniform.” He paused, glancing at Grace. “But I did not harm him. He had fed me and treated me decently. I tied him up and took his horse, but I knew his men would find him the next morning.”
He paused, turning his eyes toward the overgrown front lawn. “That night I had to work my way through a dense briar thicket, and I ended up with scratches on my hands and face.” A grim little smile touched his lips as he glanced back at Grace. “I looked as though I’d been in battle. My right hand was bleeding, so I cleaned my hand with a handkerchief, then tied the handkerchief about my throat. The blood-stained handkerchief appeared to serve as a bandage, supporting my hand gestures to indicate a throat injury. I knew if I were to escape enemy territory…” He broke off, glancing from Grace to her mother, as though regretting his choice of words.
“Go on,” Grace prompted, scooting to the edge of the seat as she waited to hear the rest of the story.
“It was convenient for me to point to my throat and pretend to be unable to speak. Under this guise, I rode into a Confederate camp on the outskirts of Chattanooga. Your father was the first person who befriended me. That night we were attacked by another battalion of Union soldiers, and before I could explain who I was, I was beaten senseless.” He paused and dropped his head, silent for a moment. Then he looked back at Grace. “When I regained consciousness I realized I was imprisoned with the Confederates in a Federal camp in Chattanooga. I was in the cell with your father, and he was very kind to me. In fact, he was willing to share his last piece of bread with me. I’ll never forget that,” he said quietly.
“That’s the way Fred is,” Elizabeth said, smiling through her tears. “He always considers the needs of others.”
Jonathan hesitated and glanced across at Grace. She knew he had caught the use of the present tense when her mother spoke of the man she loved with all of her heart.
“I had identification papers in my boot,” Jonathan continued. “When finally I convinced the guards who I was, they provided me with a horse and allowed me to take your father to a military hospital. By this time, of course, he knew the truth about me, but it no longer mattered.”
“I’m sure he was just so grateful that you saved him,” Grace said, fighting to hold back her tears.
Beneath her tomboy-tough exterior, she was almost as sensitive as her mother. But she was younger and hardier, and she knew she had to be strong for both of them. Yet as she sat listening to the story, the image Jonathan portrayed to them of her dear father, starving in a prison camp, had almost broken her heart.
“We had no idea what he had been through,” Grace said, feeling the quiver of her lower lip. She caught her lip between her teeth and looked quickly at her mother. She had tried for the past two years to shield her mother from more heartache. Yet this man seemed to understand exactly how much he could say and the manner in which to say it. For her mother had not dissolved in tears or cried out at the cruel fate of her husband.
Grace looked from her mother’s sweet face to the tall, dark-haired man who sat beside her, turning the rim of his hat around and around in his hands as he told the story. In the last hour, he had ridden up their drive and turned their entire world upside down. She had lost all sense of time and place; she was vaguely aware of the mourning dove in the oak overhead. Its plaintiff little cry seemed a fitting accompaniment to the words Jonathan Parker spoke.
“I appreciate your coming here, Mr. Parker.” Elizabeth’s voice filled the momentary silence. “I have prayed so many times for my husband’s safety,” she said, turning in her seat, casting her gaze toward the front drive that wound beneath the canopy of oaks and disappeared around the curve.
“I count it a privilege to be able to visit you, Mrs. Cunningham. I promised your husband that I would return and tell you what had happened to him. Oh, and I have something to give you.” He reached for the worn Bible that had been placed on the low wooden table beside his chair.
As her eyes followed his gesture, Grace realized that she had been so caught up in the story that she had completely forgotten he was returning her father’s Bible. Now all eyes were on the book that Jonathan held carefully in his hand.
Elizabeth gave a small cry. “It is my Fred’s Bible,” she said, staring at the chipped leather.
“Yes, it is,” Jonathan said, extending it to her. “Your husband gave it to me and asked that I bring it to you, that I put it in your hands. I believe those were the words he used.”
Elizabeth stood up and walked over to accept the Bible.
“I tried to be very careful with it,” Jonathan said, and as he spoke his brows drew together in a frown, as though he might have accidentally damaged the precious Bible on the long trip to Riverwood.
Elizabeth examined the Bible from front to back, then briefly flipped through the pages.
“Oh yes, it’s in good condition. Thank you so very much,” she said, hugging the Bible to her breast as one would welcome a lost child.
“I’m sure this Bible was a great comfort to my husband,” Elizabeth said, looking back at Jonathan.
“Yes, it seemed to be. Many men kept Bibles with them during the war. In fact, I heard of one incident where a soldier was carrying a Bible under his shirt, and it stopped a bullet.” He looked down, as though he had said too much.
“Thank you for bringing this to me,” Elizabeth said softly, then she turned and opened the front door and went back inside the house. Her steps echoed down the hallway, and Grace could hear her climbing the stairs to her bedroom.
Grace took a deep breath and looked at Jonathan. “It’s been very difficult for her to accept the truth that Father isn’t coming home. She still sits out here every afternoon, watching the lane, expecting him to return. I’ve tried to convince her otherwise.”
“I’m so sorry,” he said. The blue eyes seemed to deepen as he spoke to her. He tilted his head to the side and looked at her.
She shook her head and blinked, trying again to absorb everything he had told them. As the silence stretched, she felt such gratitude to him for being so kind to her father that she knew what her father would expect in return.
“Please, come inside and allow me to prepare a meal for you.” She glanced at the black stallion, nipping at the thick grass on the neglected lawn. She was glad that it was benefitting this man’s horse. “What about water for your horse? And feed?” she asked.
“Both would be welcome. Please don’t go to any trouble. I don’t want to impose on you.”
“You’re not. This is the least we can do for you. We owe you a debt of gratitude,” she said, looking at his handsome face and trying not to feel overwhelmed by a man so kind and caring, yet so handsome and appealing.
As though he felt he needed to break the spell, he stood and looked around. “Shall I take General—er, my horse—around back?”
She remembered the watering trough and the feed bucket. “Yes, the barn is in poor condition, but you are welcome to it. We lost all of our cattle and horses, although we never had a lot. Father was a small landowner compared to the others in the area. He came to this area from North Alabama with his parents, who were migrant workers. He worked hard and saved his money; eventually he was able to buy land here. With each successful cotton harvest, he bought a few more acres, or he and Mother did some work on the house.”
Grace thought back over the years. Her father had always wanted the best for his family and had done everything he could to be sure that she and Freddy went to church, attended school, and grew into responsible people.
“As you know, my father was a very good man,” she said, remembering the long hard hours her father had toiled. She stood up, thinking of her promis
e. “Make yourself at home while I prepare lunch.”
As she opened the front door and stepped inside the hall, she could see Jonathan speaking affectionately to his horse. He seemed to be a kind man, and she liked him very much. She was so grateful that her father had miraculously met a man like Jonathan Parker to take care of him and fulfill his deathbed wish. She swallowed hard and hurried on down the hall.
When she entered the kitchen, she was suddenly aware of how empty and lonely the large room seemed to her. This room had for many years been filled with people, and it was a joyous place. The echo of laughter from this room had seemed to flow through the entire house. Her mother loved entertaining neighbors and friends, and she had done it often and with exceeding grace and kindness.
Grace’s gaze wandered to the trestle table, pushed into the far corner. If a large group of children were not invited as well, she and Freddy often dined in the kitchen while their parents entertained guests. Most of the time, however, entire families came and stayed for several days. Those had been wonderful days and months and years, and all of it seemed to Grace like a wonderful and special dream to cherish for the rest of her life.
She took a deep breath and closed her eyes. All of that was gone now, and even though she was happy to have met Jonathan Parker, he had just confirmed one more sad and devastating truth: Her father was never coming back to Riverwood.
“I just can’t think about it,” she said. And she couldn’t. For a moment she wondered if at times she was running from reality as much as her mother was. She shook her head and forced her thoughts to the business of preparing a meal. Turning, she headed toward the pantry.
The pantry was a small room that reeked of green onions and pepper and spices from the floor to the ceiling. The long side walls held deep sturdy shelves which in years past had held an entire winter’s supply of preserved vegetables and fruits. The end wall had hooks and nails from top to bottom for hanging baskets and buckets of kitchen items.
But these days, the room that had held such an abundance of food looked empty and forlorn. At least they still had jars of dried beans and preserved apples and a basket with new potatoes and some green onions from the garden. Grace cheered herself with the vision of all the vegetables in her garden lining the shelves after the harvest. This winter she and her mother would have better food. She would see to that. There would be snap beans to string, potatoes to peel, and tender young corn that could be prepared half a dozen ways.
For now she would make do with what she had. And she would grease a skillet and bake up a batch of her crusty corn bread. She smiled to herself. Mr. Jonathan Parker would not leave Riverwood with an empty stomach.
Chapter 2
When Grace, her mother, and Jonathan were seated at the dining table, Grace watched with satisfaction as Jonathan ate heartily and exercised the table manners she had been taught to appreciate.
“This is a wonderful meal,” he said, looking across the table at her.
“Thank you.” Grace shifted in her chair, suddenly aware of how stiff the overalls felt against her skin. She imagined she must look quite unladylike to this man, who had obviously been well reared and was probably accustomed to dining with ladies in fine gowns.
“I enjoy cooking,” she said, trying to forget her silly idea of ladies in gowns. “I’m just grateful Ardella left behind her recipes. She was the best cook in all of the world,” she added, her eyes clouding over as she spoke of Ardella. “Ardella and William lived here with us all of their lives, but they were never slaves,” she added quickly. “Father paid them well and told them they were free to go whenever they wanted.” She shook her head. “Fortunately for us, they never wanted to leave.”
“I can hear the affection in your voice when you mention their names,” Jonathan said.
Elizabeth pressed her lace handkerchief to her eyes and dropped her head. Jonathan was quick to notice, and he quickly lifted his cup and began to inspect it. “This is a beautiful cup,” he said. “It looks as though it may have been handcrafted in England.”
“Fred ordered the set for my fortieth birthday,” Elizabeth announced, looking up with shining eyes.
“He was a very thoughtful man,” Jonathan acknowledged.
Grace cleared her throat. “Where is your home, Mr. Parker?”
“Please call me Jonathan,” he said and smiled at her. Then he looked back at her mother, as though reminding himself to include her in the conversation as well. “I was born and raised in Kentucky. Our farm was 480 acres on the edge of Louisville. We used three small fields to grow all the vegetables to eat; one large field was for growing corn for our feed for hogs, chickens, cattle, and of course for corn meal. The farm was primarily used for raising cattle. My father furnished beef for the riverboats up and down the Ohio and for passenger trains traveling through Louisville.”
“That sounds like a good life,” Elizabeth said thoughtfully.
Jonathan nodded. “It was until ′60 when my father came down with a lung disease and required a lot of medical care. To pay medical expenses, I sold most of the cattle we owned. He died a month before the war broke out.…” His voice trailed for a moment, and Grace watched him closely as she listened. She wanted to know everything about him, and she was very curious about the family he had mentioned.
“Do you have brothers and sisters?” she asked.
“I have two sisters. An older sister, Louise, is married to a furniture merchant in Louisville. They have five children. Katherine, my younger sister, was only twelve when I left for war. In my last letter from Mother, she wrote that she and Katherine had moved to Louisville to live with Louise and her husband.”
As always, Grace was thinking of the land. “Who’s taking care of your farm for you?”
He frowned. “I don’t know, and I must admit I’m quite concerned about it. I wrote my brother-in-law, asking him to hire someone to go out and take care of things, but I haven’t heard back from him in months.”
Grace watched his frown deepen, and she could imagine he must be very worried about his home. “I expect you need to get back to Kentucky,” she said.
“Thank you so much for making this long trip to bring us news,” Elizabeth added, looking at him with sincere appreciation.
“Yes, we appreciate you keeping your promise to Father.”
He smiled at her, that sad, gentle smile that was beginning to tear at Grace’s heart. “As I told you, your father saved my life. Making this trip was not much to do in return. I’m only sorry I couldn’t bring you good news.”
Grace glanced at her mother and saw her drop her gaze. Hoping to change the subject, Grace asked, “So what plans do you have for your farm when you return?”
“I’m hoping to restock the cattle,” he said. “And in time I’d like to raise horses. Kentucky is thoroughbred country, and its always been my dream to have fine horses.”
Grace stared at him. It’s been my dream, too, she thought. But of course she would never admit that to him. Still, it was nice to think that someone might be able to make such a dream come true.
Jonathan looked from Grace to her mother. “Everyone must put the past behind them and go on, although I’m certain that is a very difficult thing for you to do.”
“Yes, but you’re right,” Grace joined in. “We can’t go on living in the past.” She glanced at her mother, hoping she would take those words to heart.
Elizabeth smiled as she reached for the small jar of pear preserves they had put up last fall.
“Every woman in the South is taught to preserve the fruit on our many trees, Jonathan. Grace, how many fruit trees are left?”
“We had a bad storm last fall that damaged some of our trees,” Grace explained. “Two of our apple trees still bear fruit, and of course the pear tree down in the corner of the yard.”
“And you were able to preserve the fruit?” Jonathan inquired.
Grace smiled easily at that. “Oh yes. Apple butter, applesauce, dried apples for pies, a
nd pear preserves. Lots of pear preserves.”
“Every southern girl carries the special family recipes in her hope chest,” her mother said, looking at Grace with obvious affection.
“And do you have a hope chest?”
No, because I have no hope, she thought, giving their guest a penetrating stare.
Jonathan had laid down the linen napkin and was looking at Grace with those blue, blue eyes that had begun to make her a little bit nervous, particularly when they seemed to take in every feature on her face. She wondered what he thought about her sunburned nose and her plain face, void of pressed powder or rouge or any of the items fancy ladies wore. Then she remembered his question and delighted in her independence. It was her one claim to being her own person.
“No, I don’t. I’m afraid I defied tradition when it comes to keeping a hope chest,” she said, aware of the edge to her tone. She gave a light shrug, and the pale blue work shirt beneath her overalls scratched at her right shoulder blade. “It always seemed a bit silly to me. No offense, Mother,” she added quickly.
“You never wanted a hope chest,” Elizabeth said, looking rather sad.
“Miss Grace,” Jonathan said, startling her with the formality of his address, “do you have friends living nearby?”
Grace hesitated. She had preferred the company of Freddy’s friends, even though they were five years older, to the giddy-headed girls in the community who were closer to her own age.
“We were quite young when the war broke out,” she answered, looking him squarely in the eye. “Some of the girls accepted proposals from neighborhood boys heading off to war. It was their way of aiding the cause.”
She watched Jonathan’s head tilt slightly, and she knew he was following her line of sarcasm, while her mother merely smiled, looking pleased at the idea of aiding the cause.
“Sue Ann, my closest friend, moved to Mobile to live with her grandmother, and Rose Marie, our closest neighbor, married Charles Raymond Anderson, whose farm adjoined theirs near Whites Creek. It was a nice way to unite families and land, particularly the land,” she added, smiling sweetly as her gaze traveled from Jonathan to her mother, who smiled back.
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