The Prodigal's Welcome

by Billerbeck, Kristin; Darty, Peggy;

  An older woman knelt beside the ashes of a campfire. She was peeling potatoes into a big pot. Grace walked up and introduced herself with the intent of learning something about her neighbors. She soon discovered that the Adam Smith family was from Perry County. They were on their way to buy land near Tupelo, Mississippi.

  “Our place was worn out before the war,” Mrs. Smith told Grace. “I got an older brother settled in Tupelo. He sent word there was land near him.”

  Grace smiled. “I’ve heard Tupelo is nice.”

  As they continued their conversation, Grace realized this family had been on the road for days, and the rumpled clothing and tired faces were more a result of their long trip than any other reason. She learned that two of the wagons belonged to the Smiths, along with several horses, a milk cow, and two yearling calves.

  In a field away from the wagons, Grace could see children playing. Mrs. Smith pointed out their two sons and a daughter who were with the group in the field. Their seventeen-year-old son, Tom, was just leaving with his father to gather firewood. A little boy was asleep in the wagon. Grace left the candy and proceeded to the next wagon.

  Mrs. Smith had told her the Joe Wheeler family was traveling with them as far as Memphis. When Grace stopped to chat with Jane Wheeler, she could see the Wheelers were quite poor, but the woman was gracious to her, and Grace regretted judging them so quickly.

  “Everyone seems nice,” Grace remarked, handing the Wheeler’s young son, Roby, a peppermint.

  “Just watch out for those folk.” Jane pointed toward a wagon parked by itself on the edge of the pasture. “That man’s brother was the one that just got run off for trying to steal something outa the first wagon down there.”

  “Thank you for telling me,” Grace said.

  As she studied the isolated wagon, she could make out a heavyset woman with red hair tied up in braids on top of her head. The woman was stomping around the back of the wagon, dragging cooking pots out of a trunk while yelling at a small redheaded girl playing in the dirt.

  “They got three more girls, all look just like their mother. And the husband—don’t know where he is now—he’s a drinker. Joe says he reckon he has to stay drunk to put up with the wife and girls. They only got one voice, and it’s loud, from daylight to dark.”

  Grace laughed at the colorful description, but she didn’t forget the warning to stay away from the man. She wanted to be certain Jonathan was warned.

  “Well, I’ll be getting back to my wagon. Jonathan is sick, and I’ve told him he shouldn’t be around other people while he’s not well.”

  “No, we don’t want our kids getting sick.”

  “I know, but it was nice meeting you,” Grace said with a smile, then hurried back to her wagon. She felt a lot better about the people who were camping around them. Now all they had to do was stay to themselves, as Jonathan had suggested.

  Staying to themselves was easy enough for the first part of the night. But when the lanterns were being extinguished and people were settling down to sleep, the first threat of trouble appeared.

  After dark, Grace had made her bed inside the wagon, and Jonathan had pitched his bedroll outside. They had been talking in low voices to each other for about a half hour when they heard a child scream.

  Grace crawled to the back of the wagon and looked out. Jonathan was already on his feet, staring toward the wagon on the edge of the pasture.

  Grace followed his gaze and saw a lantern swinging precariously from its perch as a man backed against the canvas, his fists doubled. He stared down at the woman on the ground.

  He was muttering something they couldn’t hear as the woman kicked at him, and he kicked back.

  Grace gasped, appalled by what was taking place. She had never seen a man and woman fight, but it was obvious the man was being a bully.

  “Why isn’t someone going over to stop him?” Jonathan asked, taking a few steps forward.

  Grace’s arm shot out, grabbing his sleeve. “Jonathan, we aren’t going to get into this,” she said, yanking even harder when it appeared he was about to take another step. She could see his tall profile silhouetted in the moonlight, and as she kept her grip on his arm and climbed out of the wagon, his face became more distinct. The muscle in his jaw started to clench.

  He yanked his arm loose. “I’m not going to cower over here while a man beats a woman.”

  Just then a child cried out, and Grace and Jonathan watched in horror as one of the girls came out of the wagon, screaming and yelling at her father. She pulled at his sleeve as the woman crawled around in the dirt, then the man swung around and backhanded the girl, sending her flying into the grass.

  Grace wrapped her arms around Jonathan, pleading with him as he started to move beneath her weight. “No, please, Jonathan. I’m begging you. Don’t go over there,” she sobbed, desperate to make him listen.

  “Grace, what kind of person do you think I am? I’m not going to stand here and watch that bully beat a woman and child and do nothing about it.”

  “But you’ll end up—”

  “In a fight? I don’t care.”

  He charged across the meadow. Grace stood rooted to the spot, watching in horror. Then she started running to catch up with him, hoping she could somehow intervene. But she wasn’t fast enough, for Jonathan reached the man just as his fist swung out again. He hadn’t seen Jonathan’s approach, so Jonathan was able to grab the man’s fist and haul him backward. Without saying a word, Jonathan flattened the man with two blows, while the girls screamed behind them and the lantern went flying from the wagon across the grass.

  By the time Grace got to them, Adam Smith and his oldest son were running across the meadow, yelling something to Jonathan.

  Just then the redheaded woman came up behind Jonathan, her arm swinging.

  In the eerie light of the lantern, Grace saw a silver flash as the woman struck Jonathan’s arm. His elbow swung back, knocking her away, before he even knew who was fighting him.

  “Hold it,” Adam warned, pointing a rifle at the man on the ground. “Tom, grab the woman,” he ordered his son, who towered above all the other men.

  Tom stepped forward and grasped the woman by her arms. She screamed at Jonathan while the man on the ground cursed and threatened to kill him. The girls jumped up and down, screaming at the top of their lungs.

  It was the worst scene Grace had ever witnessed, but as the other men in the camp took over, Jane Wheeler extended a piece of cloth to Jonathan. “Here, put this on your arm.”

  Jonathan pressed the cloth against his arm and turned and walked back toward their wagon.

  Grace stared after him, still sobbing and trembling. Two of the other women reached out to comfort her.

  “Go on back with him,” Jane said, standing beside Grace. “We’ll manage here. It’s not a deep cut,” she added, patting Grace’s shoulder. “I could see that when I handed him the cloth.

  Grace nodded and plodded back toward the wagon. She felt sick after what she had just witnessed. The ugly scene and the terror that had seized her when she saw the cut on Jonathan’s arm had left her weak. By the time she reached the wagon, waves of nausea rolled over her.

  As she bent over double and began to retch, she felt an arm around her waist. Then Jonathan handed her a cup of cold water.

  Drinking the water slowly, Grace felt her stomach settle. Jonathan led her back to the wagon, where he had lit the lantern. As she crawled up to the wagon bed, she realized he had released her and was stepping back. She looked over her shoulder, seeing in the glow of the lantern the dark look in his eyes.

  “Get some sleep,” he said and turned away.

  “Jonathan, your arm—”

  “I’m okay.”

  Her fear drifted away, and suddenly her numb temper came to life. He still stood in the shadows, pressing the cloth to his arm.

  “Why did you have to go over there? The other men were on their way. They didn’t need you.”

  He stepped out
of the shadows and stood with his face only inches from hers. His eyes filled with anger, and his voice was tightly controlled. “I have never tucked my tail and run, and I’m not going to now. If you think that I’m going to cower down because I’m a Yank and everybody hates me, then you don’t know me at all. I’ll get you home, then I’m leaving this country. You see—this is the way it would be if I had allowed you to talk me into staying on. I’d rather have died in the war than be only half a man, and that’s what you seem to expect of me. Well, I’m not going to do that, Grace.”

  He turned and stomped off around the side of the wagon, and Grace sat back on her heel, reeling with shock. She had never seen him so angry; the only time he had lost his temper was the day Sonny had challenged him. But now he was acting like a hotheaded soldier who couldn’t stop fighting a war or a southerner.

  “Jonathan Parker,” she yelled through the canvas. “Get on your horse and go to Kentucky. I can get home by myself.”

  Her cry of rage seemed to resonate into the distant shadows, but there was no response. She flung herself down on the quilts and began to sob. A sick feeling began to gather in the pit of her stomach, but she knew she would rather choke before going outside to throw up again. She buried her face into the feather pillow and sobbed harder. Once she had muffled her own cries, she could hear low voices in the night, and she put her hand over her mouth and strained to hear.

  Two men were talking as they approached the wagon. She sat up, terror rolling over her again.

  “They’re pulling out now,” Adam Smith was saying. “We told them if they didn’t leave now, we were sending Jeb for the sheriff in Tuscaloosa. Reckon they must have something to hide, ’cause they got real quiet then. They’re breaking camp. The woman thinks you’re hurt worse than you are, and we didn’t tell ’em different. So you just lie low till they’re gone.”

  Grace scrambled toward the back of the wagon. “Thank you,” she called out. “We appreciate it.”

  The Smith boy held a lantern, and she could see more men in the background.

  “Thank you, sir,” Jonathan said in a loud, clear voice. “I never could tolerate a man mistreating a woman.”

  She held her breath. She suspected that he had deliberately spoken up to let them know he was a Yankee. Now what would happen?

  “Nope, I never could tolerate that either,” Mr. Smith replied. “Come on, men. Let’s get back to the wagon.”

  Grace watched Jonathan turn and stride toward her. He looked angrier than before. “I’m glad not everyone is as worried about my voice as you are. I heard you tell me to leave, but I’ll see you safely home. Then I’ll be glad to go.”

  He disappeared around the side of the wagon, and she fell back on the quilt, exhausted. She was beyond tears, beyond anger. She lay in the darkness, listening to the low voices melt away in the distance. She closed her eyes, but she knew she wouldn’t sleep.

  Much later, she heard the creak of a wagon and the plod of horses, and she sat up and peered through the back of the wagon. Two men stood by the road with lanterns. One had a rifle pointed at the wagon as it rocked off down the road. For the first time, the entire family was silent, and Grace wondered if their silence was even more threatening than their menacing shouts.

  Chapter 12

  Neither Jonathan nor Grace spoke the next morning as Jonathan tied the horses onto the back of the wagon, and Grace folded her quilts and tidied up. She hadn’t slept more than two hours, and even then, her sleep had been riddled with nightmares of the redheaded woman bearing down on her with a knife, then the redheaded girls chasing her across the meadow, all screaming and lunging at her as they caught up.

  Grace knew she had made too much fuss about their wild neighbors. Still, as they lined up with the others to get on the ferry, it was obvious that Jonathan had chosen to ignore her. He was still angry at her, but she didn’t care. She was just as angry at him.

  They boarded the ferry with the other families, and Grace was immensely relieved to be able to talk with the other women. It gave her an excuse to avoid Jonathan until they reached the other side of the river.

  Once they did, she climbed up on the wagon and turned her head away from Jonathan. She was almost as angry at herself as she was with him. What had happened to her spirit? In the past, she would have called his bluff first thing in the morning. She would have told him again that she could manage on her own. Yet here she was saying nothing, and that gave the impression she was pouting, which was not her style. But she couldn’t prod her temper enough to fuss with him, nor evoke her independent spirit to the point of dismissing him, so she sulked most of the day, and he pretended that he was alone.

  Finally, after hours on the trail, Jonathan pulled the wagon into a shady grove and drew back on the horses. Pulling on the brake, he tied the reins and hopped down.

  Grace sneaked a glance toward him and saw he had the water bucket and was headed toward a line of trees that probably lined a stream. Slowly, she climbed down from the wagon. Dragging herself to the rear she petted the horses and untied Lucky. She walked the mare over to some thick grass and tethered her to a hickory sapling. Then she went back for Banjo.

  “I’m glad you two get along so well,” she murmured to the horse. It amazed her that she and Jonathan had so completely ruined the good relationship that once existed. Sinking down into a cool, shady area under the trees, she drew her knees up to her chin and put her head down. She had no idea how to remedy the situation, and she reminded herself it was probably useless to try. He was determined to see her safely home, then leave. She should be glad; it would be easier for everyone when he was gone.

  The smell of smoke caused her to jump to her feet, wincing at her sore muscles. She ran back out into the clearing so she could check the wagon. Jonathan had built a low fire and was cooking something. Fine, let him eat; she wasn’t hungry. She strolled back over to see about the horses, and as she did, her gaze met Jonathan’s, and he called out to her.

  “I’m warming some food.”

  “I’m not hungry.”

  He stood up and began to walk in her direction. She turned back to the horses, thinking he was probably coming over in the interest of the horses, rather than her.

  “Look, Grace,” he said as he stopped walking and stood regarding her from a dozen yards away. “We’ll be back at your place by dark. I think we’d better settle this and not upset your mother.”

  She looked at him, wondering what there was to settle. “Well, you will have kept your word when we get there, so feel free to leave whenever you want.”

  He turned and looked to the west, in the direction they would be traveling. “All right, I’ll do that.”

  With narrowed eyes, Grace watched him stalk back to the fire. What had she expected? Deep in her heart, she thought if she remained cool and aloof, he would give in and say something. But she had underestimated his degree of stubbornness. He was his own man, one not easily maneuvered, or maybe one who would not be maneuvered at all.

  She went back to stroke Lucky’s forehead. “I guess I wanted a man who could stand on his own feet,” she whispered. “But maybe I didn’t know that. Now it’s too late.” And she pressed her face against Lucky’s forehead.

  Jonathan had been right in his estimation of when they’d arrive at Riverwood. It had been a sunny day, but soon twilight would filter over the land. When Grace saw familiar landmarks, she felt a surge of joy. Suddenly she wanted to make peace with Jonathan.

  “Thank you for getting me there and back. And for everything else,” she said, turning her head slightly so that she barely looked at him.

  “You’re welcome.”

  She swallowed. He wasn’t going to say anything more. “How does your arm feel? The cut, I mean.”

  “It’s okay. I got into our medicine kit and bandaged it up before I went to bed.”

  Guilt tore at her conscience, and her reserve crumpled. “Jonathan, I’m so sorry. I’ve acted like a spoiled child. I should have ba
ndaged your arm, cooked for you, or just…behaved differently. I’m so sorry,” she said, and for a moment, she feared she would burst into tears.

  He looked at her and smiled. “I forgive you, Grace. And I’m sorry, too.”

  They had made their peace just in time, for Jonathan was turning the wagon up the drive to home. Grace couldn’t wait to see her mother and tell her all that had happened. As soon as they rounded the curve, she saw her mother sitting on the porch, waiting as she always did. Upon seeing them, Elizabeth stood up and walked to the edge of the porch, gripping the post with one hand.

  “Hi, Mother,” Grace called. “How do you like the new wagon?”

  Grace watched as her mother put a hand to her mouth and began to giggle like a young girl. Suddenly, Grace was laughing, too, and so was Jonathan.

  Grace jumped down from the wagon almost before Jonathan had pulled the horses to a halt, then she ran up the steps to hug her mother.

  “Come into the kitchen. I have a meal waiting for you,” Elizabeth said after the three had exchanged greetings.

  Grace watched her curiously. From the way her mother looked, Grace thought she somehow understood everything that had taken place.

  “I’ll take care of the horses and put the wagon away,” Jonathan said, smiling as Grace and her mother walked arm in arm back inside the house.

  Once they were in the kitchen, Grace sat down with her mother at the table and told her the full story. Elizabeth did not seem as surprised as Grace expected, although she smiled and hugged Grace from time to time. When Grace finished the long story, carefully omitting her fight with Jonathan and the reason for it, she studied her mother curiously.

  “Mother, you don’t seem astounded by all this. To me, this is like the most wonderful dream I could ever imagine, but it’s really happened. Can you believe it?”

  Her mother smiled, and tears began to form in her hazel eyes. “Of course. I am surprised and overjoyed. But I always knew God would work things out. I just didn’t know how He would do it.”