The Prodigal's Welcome

by Billerbeck, Kristin; Darty, Peggy;

  Then Jonathan turned and looked at Reams. “You have a good idea about growing corn. Let’s see what we can do about that.” He looked back at Grace and smiled.

  As Grace returned his smile, she considered his offer of helping to get some corn planted. If he wanted to do them a favor, why not let him?

  “Since I haven’t finished with the gate, I’d better get back to work,” Jonathan said, standing up.

  “And I’d better get back to the garden,” Grace said.

  “And this evening I’ll prepare the meal,” Elizabeth announced, smiling at Grace.

  Grace smiled back, pleased to see her mother being active again. Jonathan whistled as he went out the back door. And as Grace returned to the garden, she felt a sense of relief that she had not experienced in a very long time.

  Chapter 6

  After supper, Elizabeth suggested they sit out on the porch. It seemed to be the place where she was happiest, and Grace and Jonathan thought it a good idea.

  They sat on the front porch for an hour, talking in generalities. Elizabeth asked Jonathan about Kentucky, and he spoke fondly of his home, giving them an interesting look at another part of the country. No reference was made to the war.

  When Elizabeth decided to go in, Jonathan looked at Grace. It was obvious he was unsure if he should stay with Grace or go inside.

  “We can sit out for a while longer, if you want,” Grace said.

  He smiled and leaned back in his chair. Neither spoke. Grace suspected he was still feeling awkward about their argument, and she decided it was time to make her peace.

  “I’m sorry about today. I…regret what I said to you.”

  He was thoughtful for a moment. “It’s okay.”

  Silence stretched between them again, and Grace felt compelled to explain her position a bit more. “I just get tired of wishing that Mother could accept reality. Father isn’t coming home, and we have to accept that and go on with our lives.”

  “I can understand how you feel about that. Yet I’m fascinated by your mother’s strength. I believe she’s in full command of her senses, Grace. I’ve had the opportunity to spend some time with her, and I sincerely believe that she needs to think about your father returning in order to cope with the…loss. She believes there is still some hope, and who’s to say she isn’t right?”

  Grace felt a tug of war starting in her heart. “But I can’t feel that way, don’t you see? It’s as though we never get out of the past, but we have to move on, even though we hate what has happened.”

  “I understand, and I think you are very brave.”

  She sighed. “Oh Jonathan, I’m not that brave. I’m just like thousands of women who are trying to survive. We go on because we have no choice. As for Mother and her faith…” She paused, thinking.

  “Mother clings to her faith, spending hours with the Bible and trying to get me to do the same. But God and I have had a falling out. He doesn’t seem to be listening to our prayers. I can understand Him not paying attention to mine, for I’ve been rebellious and sassy. But my folks have always been very religious, attending church. They even helped build a church up on Sand Mountain before we moved here. Why has God let all these terrible things happen to our family?”

  “Grace, as you said a few minutes ago, thousands of women have endured the kind of tragedy you and your mother are facing. Some women have lost their husbands and their sons. It’s happened in the North as well as here. Who can explain it? As human beings, we have no answers. To me, it seems useless to try and figure it out.”

  She looked across at him, studying his chiseled features in the moonlight. She knew what he was saying made sense, that he was probably right, but it didn’t make her feel better. Yet in another way, she did feel better.

  “Thanks for listening to me,” she said. “It helps to talk. I know that. There just hasn’t been anyone to say these things to because I sound so bitter. And you’re right; everyone has suffered from the war.”

  He turned and smiled at her. Though nothing was said, it seemed they had made their peace and learned more about each other in the process.

  This silence between them was peaceful. A light breeze stirred through the trees, and a full moon poured silver light across the landscape.

  “It’s beautiful here,” Jonathan said, staring out at the trees.

  “I do love it,” Grace replied. “Even though I do a lot of fussing, it doesn’t really mean I don’t love Riverwood. I’m as tied to the land as Father and Freddy were.”

  “When you speak of them, I can see that you remember happy times.”

  She nodded. “Good family times. I’m grateful we had that.” She looked across at him, thinking again how nice it was to have someone to talk to, someone like Jonathan, who was kind and sympathetic.

  “And you should be grateful,” he said. “During the war, I met all kinds of men. Sadly, some seemed to have no attachment to home and family; others were planning to go out West rather than return to the homes they had left before the war.”

  Grace was curious about his part in the war. She hadn’t wanted to ask earlier, for she didn’t want to think about him fighting on the opposite side. But he had shown only kindness to her family, and she was grateful he had survived.

  “When did you join the army? And where did you fight?” Even in the shadows, she could see her questions had startled him, but he did not hesitate in answering.

  “I joined the Union Army after the Battle of Bull Run.”

  There was no need to ask why. Grace knew the Confederates had won the Battle of Bull Run, or Manassas as Southerners called it.

  “I think the North was shocked by that victory,” he continued. “People realized this was going to be a difficult war. At first, I didn’t want to be a soldier.” He spoke slowly, looking out into the darkness. “I hated the idea of fighting in a war where family members actually fought each other. We had heard of this with our neighbors who had just settled in Kentucky from Georgia. They knew they would be fighting their cousins.” He leaned his head back against the chair and closed his eyes. “But I had no choice. I had to defend my beliefs.”

  As she listened to him, she began to see the war through the eyes of someone on the other side. He had not wanted to go to war, nor had he rushed in at the very beginning, as Freddy had. She shook her head and closed her eyes. “What a long, pitiful battle it was—for everyone.”

  They sat in silence. Only the distant call of a whippoorwill filled the moonlit night. Grace opened her eyes and saw that Jonathan had stood up and was reaching for her hand. “You are an amazing woman. You’ve been so strong for your mother. I know it’s been difficult.”

  “Yes,” she whispered, stepping closer to him. She was hoping he would kiss her again and they could stop talking about sad things. There had been enough sadness in their lives. She tilted her head back and looked up into his face, wondering why he didn’t kiss her.

  “Grace,” he said gently, “I like you very much, more than I want to think about. But we can’t feel this way. There is no future.”

  She caught her breath. Her mind rushed for words, but she could find none. She wished he wouldn’t try to be so sensible. Maybe there was no future, but they still had the present. And she so wanted to be happy for a change.

  “You’re much too serious,” she whispered, searching his eyes for hope. She found none.

  “I have to be serious when I know the facts. There is so much bitterness, so much hatred. We both saw it today.”

  “I don’t care,” she cried. “I just want to be happy.”

  “So do I,” he said, dropping her hand. “But we each have to find happiness in a different way. I have to return to Kentucky.”

  “Why do you keep reminding me?” she lashed out. “You seem to want to be miserable and to keep me that way. Can’t you forget for a moment all the sad terrible things out there? Can’t you look at me and pretend to care about me?”

  “I don’t have to pretend,” he sai
d huskily, staring down into her face.

  It was all the encouragement she needed. She stood on tiptoe and kissed his lips, and in a moment he was responding. His arms circled her waist and pulled her closer as the kiss deepened. He pulled away, shaking his head.

  “I can’t do this. I’m older than you, and after all I’ve witnessed the past four years, I should know better than to hope for anything between a Northern man and a Southern woman.”

  But Grace smiled. In her heart she knew she was going to change his mind about everything. She loved him, and it was only a matter of time until he admitted that he loved her, too.

  Chapter 7

  When Grace awoke the next morning, the sunlight streamed over her bed, and a bird sang sweetly outside her window. Her first thought as her eyes opened to a new day was Jonathan Parker.

  He was a wonderful man, she decided. Then she remembered the way he had kissed her. A lazy grin crossed her face, and she shivered with delight. She doubted that she would ever forget that kiss. And she would probably never enjoy another kiss as much. She nestled into the pillow, relishing the memory of standing with him in the moonlight, feeling the tingle of first love from her head to her toes.

  “So that’s what love is all about,” she said to herself, and a feeling of joy flowed through her. She had heard girls talk about being in love, but she had given up all hope of it ever happening to her. Now it had.

  She sat up in bed and peered into the mirror. Her thick blond hair was tousled about her face, but her eyes were wide open and glowing like the full moon last night. That silly little smile kept tugging her lips up. She was pleased with her reflection as she turned and tossed the covers back and padded barefoot to the washstand.

  Later, when she sauntered down the stairs to investigate the whereabouts of Jonathan Parker, she found her mother in the kitchen, puttering around the pantry.

  “Good morning, Mother.”

  Her mother peered around the pantry door. “Hello, dear,” she smiled. “He’s down there fixing the gate.”

  “Already?” she frowned, wondering if he had slept at all.

  “Dear, it’s nine o’clock. You really slept late.” Her mother smiled at her. “Are you hungry?”

  Grace spotted some leftover biscuits on the cabinet, along with the pot of coffee. “I’m so grateful for coffee,” she said, remembering how it had been rationed during the war. They still were unable to buy sugar.

  “I could smell the coffee when I came downstairs. Jonathan was sitting out on the porch, drinking coffee and eating a biscuit.” She paused, looking at Grace and smiling. “I guess he likes your biscuits.”

  Grace merely grinned as she reached down to pluck a fat brown biscuit from the plate. “I like them, too,” she said. Then she reached for a mug and poured herself a cup of coffee.

  Elizabeth had emerged from the pantry with a pan of potatoes and a paring knife. “I’m going to start lunch.”

  “Thanks,” Grace said, biting into her biscuit. She was relieved to see her mother busy. Some days all she did was read her Bible and stare out the window.

  Finishing her biscuit, Grace sipped her coffee and wandered toward the front door. Pushing it open, she stepped out onto the porch and sat down in the chair. As she did, her eyes lingered on the spot where Jonathan had kissed her. She felt as though she had swallowed all the silver light of the moon from the night before.

  She sat back in the chair and looked down the lane. She could hear the sound of the hammer pelting wood as Jonathan worked on the gate. Then Grace frowned. What would happen when the gate was fixed?

  Grace’s thoughts hung in suspension for a moment. Then his words from the evening before filled her mind. “We have to find happiness in a different way.…I have to return to Kentucky.”

  Her eyes closed with pain. She would think of something to detain him. She needed him here. His family was managing their lives without him; his father had died before the war began. And he had said his mother and his sister would want to stay in Louisville.

  She opened her eyes, feeling better. Suddenly she remembered what he had said to Reams. He had asked about finding someone to help Grace and her mother. A pleased little smile tilted her lips. Mr. Jonathan Parker might find out that obtaining farm help would not be so easy after all. She had heard Mr. Douglas complaining about how difficult it was for him to find field hands.

  She frowned. If they did find someone to work, how was she supposed to pay them?

  She stood up and began to pace the porch. For a minute she almost wished they could stay in the stalemate they were in, just to keep Jonathan with them. Yet she knew they had to get on with their lives. That meant she needed help in getting the land cleared and replanted. After all, there was a limit to how long Mr. Britton would wait on his loan, and she and her mother couldn’t depend on their little garden to feed them forever.

  Grace paced back and forth, seriously concerned. She hated having to be the head of the house, worrying about all the decisions that a man should rightfully make. She wanted to be a woman in love with a man; she wanted to think about marriage and a family. Her pacing stopped as she reached the end of the porch. Leaning against the rail, she stared out at the overgrown cotton fields. She took a long deep breath and felt herself age another year or two. She knew she would have to deal with reality, not lounge around in her daydreams, as her mother so often did. Bitterness welled up again, putting a bad taste in her mouth.

  She turned and walked inside the house. In the hall, she spotted her father’s Bible on the mahogany table. Something prompted her to reach for it and hug it gently against herself.

  She had not read her Bible in a very long time, not since she had been carrying on this personal war with God. Now, she traced her fingers on the leather cover, seeing the chipped places and wishing the Bible could talk back to her. How she longed to know what Father had experienced, where he had been, what had finally happened to him.

  Holding the Bible, she walked back outside and sat down in the chair once again. She opened the Bible to the center and began to read Psalms, always her favorite book. She had learned Psalm 23 by heart as a little girl, and she had made her parents proud by reciting it to them. As she read the chapter again, each word seemed to speak to her personally.

  She looked up from the Bible and stared blankly across the yard, thinking. If the Lord was her shepherd, truly her shepherd, then He was supposed to guide her through the valleys, beside still water, and He was to restore her soul.

  Restoring her soul would be a major task, she thought, yet the verses brought pleasant memories of childhood with her family seated together around the hearth. Her parents were deeply religious, and she had always marveled that they could be so trusting of God.

  For years, she herself had thought God had forsaken them, yet…She felt a wave of tenderness sweep through her. Yet Jonathan had come to them; her earthly father had sent him, or perhaps the heavenly Father had a hand in it as well.

  For the first time, a small glimmer of hope began to flicker within her, like a tiny delicate flame sputtering to life. If she nurtured that hope, believed in it, trusted God as her parents always had, maybe He would prepare that table of plenty before them, maybe their cup would run over again. Maybe He would somehow restore their souls.

  She turned the page and saw that her father had marked verse five; she looked at it, wondering why. Frowning, she read on.

  “Thou preparest a…” He had marked through “table” and written “treasure.” Then the text continued “before me in the…” Here he had marked through “presence” and written “New Bethany Church.”

  “You anoint my…” He had marked through “head with oil” and written “field with apple trees.”

  As Grace read on, she saw that none of the other verses were marked. At the end of the psalm, he had written the words: “October 3, 1863.”

  Staring at the date, an odd chill began at the base of her spine and slowly worked its way up her spinal
cord and settled in the nerve center at her neck. She reread the passage again. And again.

  The door opened behind her, and her mother stepped outside.

  “I’ve peeled the potatoes and covered them with water. They’re on the hearth now,” she said with a smile.

  Grace hadn’t heard a word. “Mother, did you see what Father wrote in the Bible he sent to you? Here in Psalm 23? Does this mean anything to you?” She fired the questions at her mother so fast that at first her mother seemed confused.

  Looking from Grace to the Bible in her lap, then back at Grace, her mother sat down in the nearest chair.

  “Here, Mother. Look at this again.”

  Grace watched the tiny frown of concentration slip over her mother’s forehead as her eyes moved over each verse and then lingered on the inscriptions. She looked up at Grace. “When Jonathan gave me your father’s Bible, I read Psalm 23 right away because this psalm was our favorite.”

  She looked back at the verse. “I didn’t understand why Fred had written those words in; then I finally decided he was making a reference to the apple trees we helped plant in the churchyard. You remember how he loved apples?”

  Grace reached over and gripped her mother’s hand. “Mother, I believe this is a code. Look at the date at the end of the chapter.”

  “Yes, I saw that, too. I assumed that was the last time he read it.”

  Grace jumped out of the chair and began to pace the porch, her mind jumping from one word to another, and ending up again on the date he had written at the end of the psalm.

  “Mother, why would Father be so insistent on Jonathan bringing that Bible all the way back down here to us? He told him to put the Bible in your hands, remember? Why would he ask a stranger, for he was a stranger in some ways, to personally deliver the Bible to us? That doesn’t make sense unless he had a very strong motive for…as he said, putting the Bible in your hands. He knew you would read that psalm, which had been a favorite of yours and his; and he took a chance that you would understand.”