The Prodigal's Welcome

by Billerbeck, Kristin; Darty, Peggy;

  “I want to. But…”

  “But what?” She searched his face, longing to read his mind, to know exactly what he was thinking.

  Without looking at her, he stood up and gazed at something in the distance. “It wouldn’t be a good idea for me to stay any longer. You see the hostility people feel toward me.”

  She thought about that. “But it would probably be the same if I were visiting in your area.”

  He reached out a hand to help her up. A wry grin touched the corners of his mouth. “You’re too pretty to pick on.”

  “You know what I mean.” She grinned, still holding his hand.

  “I’m not sure of anything anymore,” he said, squeezing her hand. “I do know that you and I live in different worlds. Still…” He turned, leading the way back to her horse as they held hands. “Still, I’m glad we met,” he said as she leaned against him to place her foot in the stirrup.

  Because she was a bundle of nerves, her boot slipped out of the stirrup, and she lunged even closer to him. The arms that had steadied her pulled her closer. She tilted her head back to look into his face. His blue eyes captured her, and she felt her senses whirling. She moved closer to him, wanting him to kiss her, hoping he would.

  He hesitated for a moment, as though reluctant, but then he lowered his head, and his lips brushed hers, gently, sweetly. The kiss lasted only a moment, yet time seemed to stand still for Grace. She had never before felt such sweet longing. But Jonathan’s blue eyes deepened, and he turned toward the stirrup, holding it firmly.

  Taking the hint, she placed her boot firmly in the stirrup and swung herself into the saddle. He gathered up the reins, stroked his horse’s neck for a second, then mounted.

  Nothing was said as they rode back to Riverwood. Grace stared at the barren fields bordering the road, but she was no longer thinking of the doe and the little one, or the landscape, or the war, or anything else. Something was happening between Jonathan and her, and she was afraid to think about it. She told herself not to get serious about him, but her heart refused to listen. She was falling in love with him, and she knew it; worse, she couldn’t seem to help herself.

  “Your mother is sitting out on the porch,” Jonathan said as they rode up the lane.

  “Yes, I suppose she’ll go on sitting out there every afternoon, reading the Bible and hoping Father will magically appear.”

  She studied her mother, sitting very still in the cane-backed rocker, her little face tilted toward them. Grace was amazed at how peaceful her mother looked. Grace rarely felt at peace, and she certainly could not sit still long enough to loiter on the porch.

  “Maybe she’s only waiting for us,” she said, hoping that at last her mother had decided to accept the sad truth.

  Jonathan pulled the reins back on his horse and alighted from the saddle, and again she let him help her down. Might as well enjoy it while I can, she thought, stealing a look at him. Their eyes met and held, and she remembered the kiss and looked nervously at her mother.

  Once Jonathan had helped her down and she’d brushed off her skirt, she stole another glance at her mother, whose smile was still in place.

  “Mother, we got what we needed,” Grace called, walking up the steps to the porch. She glanced over her shoulder, watching Jonathan remove their package from his saddlebag. “And Jonathan bought some jars of pickles and relish that the Confederate widows are selling.”

  He approached the steps, looking a bit embarrassed by her compliments.

  “That was a very nice thing to do, by the way,” Grace added.

  “Would you two like to sit on the porch for a while? Grace, you could make some lemonade.” The older woman looked from Grace back to Jonathan. “I sit here every day, waiting—”

  “Mother…you know what Jonathan came to tell us,” Grace said, beginning to feel exasperated by her mother’s behavior. “You have to accept the truth. Father is not coming home.”

  Elizabeth shook her head, her eyes still focused on the lane. “God has assured me Fred will come home.”

  “Mother, stop it!” Grace cried out. “Please don’t do this. You’re only hurting yourself. And you’re hurting me.”

  Her mother acted as though she had not heard her daughter’s anguished words. She said nothing, yet she never stopped scanning the lane.

  Grace fought back tears of frustration. She whirled to Jonathan, who had climbed the porch steps and stood at a distance, looking slightly embarrassed.

  “Jonathan, tell her Father is dead, that he isn’t coming home.”

  His blue eyes darkened as he looked from Grace to her mother. For a moment, he seemed to be locked in an inner conflict over what to say. Then he looked back at Grace. “I can’t say for sure that he is never coming back, Grace.”

  Grace glared at him. “What do you mean? You came all this way to bring the Bible, to tell us he was dying.”

  “Yes, he was dying. But he was alive when I left, and even though I doubt he could have lasted long, I can’t say for sure that your father is dead.”

  “Don’t do this!” she lashed out at him. “Of course he is dead. If not, we would have heard from him. Father had an iron will; I know that. If he had any hope of living, he would not have sent you here.” Tears were streaming down her cheeks, tears of anger and hopelessness borne from having to endure so much heartache.

  “Fred will come back to me,” her mother said softly from behind them. “In the meantime, I will cling to my faith, and I will wait for him.”

  “Oh Mother,” Grace sobbed, turning back to her. “I guess you can believe whatever you want. But I’m sick and tired of hoping and trusting and praying and trying to do the right thing and still ending up miserable and unhappy. I keep thinking every day will get better, but it doesn’t.”

  “Grace, the war is over,” Jonathan said. “Don’t you consider that an answer to prayer?”

  She lowered her head, ashamed that she was whimpering like a child. Dashing her hand across her cheek, she sniffed and shrugged. “Other folks’ prayers have been answered, I guess.” She blinked back the tears and looked into his face, feeling a rush of anger when she thought about how he would go back to Kentucky to a family. “Your family’s prayers.”

  “Yes, He has answered our prayers. And I pray that in time God can heal your anger. I think you are a very brave young woman.”

  She blinked. This was not the response she had expected, but before she could frame a reply, he had turned back to her mother.

  “Mrs. Cunningham, I don’t think I have ever known anyone as strong in their faith as you. I see why your husband spoke so fondly of you. And his last words reflected his faith and yours. He spoke of the church.”

  “Oh yes,” Elizabeth sighed. “We loved our little church. When he returns we will start services there again.”

  “Mother—” Grace bit her lip. How could she keep on living in the past, hoping and believing and never once considering how they were going to eat, how they were going to pay taxes. And Jonathan Parker was making her worse.

  A cardinal had sailed down from the live oak to perch on the porch rail. It chirped peacefully, which seemed an odd background for the conflict raging on the porch.

  “Come inside, please,” Grace said through gritted teeth, glaring up at Jonathan.

  Leading the way into the house, she charged down the hall to the dim kitchen. Once she had stepped inside, she whirled, waiting until he crossed the threshold.

  “How dare you encourage her in this. Mother is losing her mind, can’t you tell? I had hoped you could convince her to accept the truth so that she would stop escaping reality. But now you’ve made things worse. You’ve given her encouragement to keep on playing this silly game. You have no right to come here and do this to us.”

  He leaned against the doorway, narrowing his eyes at her. “Come here and do what? Return your father’s Bible? Say a few kind words? Whether you like it or not, you aren’t going to change your mother’s feelings. Nor will I. I
’m not going to be cruel to that dear woman, and you’re being cruel to take all hope from her.”

  While he had not raised his voice, his blue eyes were cold, slashing her up and down.

  Grace took a deep breath and met Jonathan Parker’s gaze. She was in the throes of a good fight, and she was not about to back down.

  “Then if you don’t approve of my manner of handling things, I suggest you be on your way. You’ve done your good deed—you’ve fulfilled your obligation. Don’t let us detain you.” She practically spat the words at him as she rushed past him, brushing against his shoulder on her way to the stairs.

  “Grace,” her mother’s voice caught her on the second stair. “I’m ashamed of you.”

  She whirled, seeing her mother standing in the hall, her hands clasped before her. Her hazel eyes were sad, yet no anger showed in her face or voice. She had merely stated a fact. Elizabeth turned to Jonathan, who was trying to pass her in the hall without being obtrusive.

  “Jonathan.” She laid a hand on his arm, “I want you to come back and have a bite to eat before you leave. Fred would not want you to leave our home without a gracious good-bye. I’ll expect to see you back.” Her voice was firm, and Grace could only stare at her. It was as though her mother had suddenly emerged as the woman she had once been. For a moment Grace believed that she was as sane as ever, that she only escaped to her world of fantasy to hide from her heartbreak.

  “Thank you, Mrs. Cunningham. I’ll do that.”

  Without a glance toward the stairs, Jonathan hurried up the hall.

  Grace turned and flew up the stairs. She had to get to her room fast. Her mother’s words had drained the anger from Grace’s soul, and she was stung by the reprimand. In the depths of her conscience, she regretted the words she had spoken to Jonathan. Even more, she was sorry her mother had heard what she had said about her. Her mother was like a fragile little bird with a broken wing; Grace had no right to be cruel to her. For all of Mother’s talk about faith, God hadn’t changed things after all. He had merely shown her someone she could never have for her own.

  Grace trudged into her room to change clothes. She still had time to work in the garden, and it always calmed her down to put her hands in the soil. She would stay busy out back, avoiding Jonathan Parker. After he repaired the gate and came back for his horse, she wouldn’t have to speak to him again. And she would be glad when he was gone.

  She grabbed up some clean work clothes and changed out of her riding habit. As she dressed, her mother’s words continued to haunt her.

  “Just forget it,” Grace snapped to herself. She took a deep breath and made her way outside to the row of beans. At least there was plenty to keep her busy.

  An hour later, she heard a familiar voice. “Miss Grace?”

  She turned to see Reams standing at the corner of the house, holding a small brown sack. He wore faded overalls and a clean gray shirt, and below his felt hat, silver hair framed his dark face and highlighted large dark eyes. He grinned, warming Grace’s heart.

  “Hi, Reams.” She dusted her hands on her overalls and walked up to the backyard. “How’s Chloe?”

  “She’s her usual cantankerous self,” he said chuckling. He and his wife adored one another even though they constantly teased. “Sent you some fresh eggs. You know, Mr. Douglas bought more hens.”

  “How thoughtful of you. Come on inside. It’s time for me to take a break.”

  “Yes’m. I was just talking with that fella down there fixing your fence. He seems mighty nice.”

  Grace lowered her eyes as her conscience indicted her once again. “He saved Father’s life,” she said, leading the way to the house.

  “Yes’m. I spoke to Miss ‘Lizbeth on the front porch. She told me about it. Said she was about to make him some lunch.”

  Grace could hear the clatter of dishes from the kitchen and guessed her mother was already preparing the food. “Why don’t you stay and eat with us?”

  “I reckon Mr. Douglas won’t mind.”

  “Of course not,” she called over her shoulder. Reams and Chloe had been at Oak Grove for over twenty years. They were treated like family and had no desire to leave.

  As she scraped her boots on the back doorstep, she heard her mother talking, then she heard Jonathan’s deep voice. She hesitated. Reams was coming up the steps behind her, and she remembered she had invited him to lunch. She wasn’t going to hide down in the garden as though she were afraid to face him, so squaring her shoulders she led the way into the kitchen.

  Her mother was pouring coffee for Jonathan. He sat at the trestle table with a plate of biscuits and preserves.

  “Reams is going to join us.” Grace spoke quickly, trying to cover her embarrassment about her treatment of Jonathan.

  “Good. Have a seat, Reams.” Jonathan said, avoiding Grace’s eyes as well.

  Reams settled down on the bench beside Jonathan.

  “I was just relating a story that Mr. Cunningham told me about crossing the Warrior River back during flood days. He was a very brave man,” Jonathan said, looking at Reams.

  “Yes sir, he was,” Reams said. “And Mr. Fred was a good man. I feel sorry for you, Miss Elizabeth. And for you, Miss Grace.”

  Grace turned and smiled at Reams. “We’re managing.” Then she turned to finish washing her hands, wishing she hadn’t sounded so defensive.

  “We are grateful to Jonathan for traveling a long way on a mission from Fred,” Elizabeth said. She had not poured coffee for herself, nor was she eating anything.

  “Yes’m,” Reams said quietly.

  A moment of silence hung over them as everyone suddenly seemed at a loss for words. Then Reams cleared his throat and nodded. “Sir, could I ask you something?”

  “Sure.”

  Grace poured herself half a cup of coffee. After rationing themselves on coffee for so long, it still seemed wasteful to have more than one cup a day. But this was a special occasion, she told herself, sneaking a glance toward the table where the men sat.

  “Well,” Reams continued slowly, “we being admirers of President Lincoln, we been grieving about the assassination. What do you know of the man who shot him?”

  “Oh, you mean John Wilkes Booth.” For the second time since she had known him, Grace watched Jonathan’s jaw clench in anger. “Booth was a madman who professed loyalty to the South, although he was never loyal enough to join the Confederate Army. He had a burning hatred of slavery and of Abraham Lincoln. I’ve heard that he had concocted some wild scheme to kidnap President Lincoln and take him to Richmond with the intention of exchanging him for prisoners. But then he decided to kill the president instead.”

  Silence settled over the kitchen as everyone listened to Jonathan. Grace found herself admiring his intelligence and his strong, yet gentle spirit. She had never met anyone like this man, and she was feeling terrible about what she’d said to him. She didn’t want him to leave. Not yet. But how could she keep him here? What could she possibly say or do to change his mind when he was determined to go?

  “Reams, Mr. Cunningham told me he had never owned slaves, that he never would. He said he employed Irishmen to work the fields. Where did these men go?”

  Reams sat back and shook his head. “I don’t rightly know.”

  Grace spoke up. “Once Father left, they scattered. I think some joined the army; others went to seek relatives. None are in the county. I wish they were,” she said, taking her seat on the bench opposite the men.

  No one spoke for a few minutes, as they drank their coffee and pondered the nation’s plight. Then Jonathan spoke up again. “I know there are men who need work. If we could get a few good men to clear some of your fields and plant cotton—”

  “But we have no money to pay them,” Grace said.

  Reams sighed and looked from Grace to Elizabeth. “I’d better be going.” He stood up slowly and Jonathan extended his hand.

  “It was nice meeting you,” he said to Reams.

  “Will
you be staying a few days?” Reams asked.

  “I’ve asked him to please stay another day,” Elizabeth spoke up, her voice soft and gentle.

  Grace stole a glance at Jonathan and saw that he was watching her reaction to the news. She realized that her mother and even Reams were looking at her as well. She fiddled with a strand of hair brushing her cheek. She didn’t know how to backtrack on her order for him to leave. Then Reams spoke up, saving her from an awkward situation.

  “You were asking about help here. I’d been thinking of riding over to see two of my cousins at Jina. Mr. Douglas could use two more hands, and maybe they could kind of help out.”

  “Good idea,” Jonathan said. “Reams, what do you think could be grown here on a small scale?”

  Reams hesitated, looking from Jonathan to Grace and back again. “Lots of folks is planting corn. It don’t bring what cotton did, but it’s cheap enough to plant and tend. And I could help out. Mr. Douglas would let me do that, I reckon.”

  “How kind of both of you.” Elizabeth turned to them, a new light shining in the hazel eyes that had so often looked weary and distracted.

  “Corn,” Jonathan said, grinning as though he remembered something.

  “What are you thinking?” Grace asked.

  “I was just thinking of all the times as a soldier I would go into a cornfield and get half-ripened corn and eat it to keep going.”

  “Half-ripened corn?” Grace stared at him.

  He nodded. “Believe me, if you’re hungry enough, it isn’t bad. In fact, I preferred it over flour and water fried in lard. That was our meal many nights. I watched one soldier eat a bullfrog,” he said, making a face.

  “Ain’t bad,” Reams said, chuckling. “I’ve eaten a few frog legs in my day. Quite tasty.”

  Suddenly they were all smiling and laughing with Reams. Grace felt the tension from their argument slipping away as she met Jonathan’s gaze, and he smiled at her.