“I’m ready, Clyde,” she said quietly, and he spoke to the horses, sending them out of the yard at a fast clip. They rode without speaking for half an hour, and finally Prudence asked, “What will Daniel say when he finds you’ve taken his team and buggy?”
“I don’t care what he says!”
“We’ll—have to come back,” Prudence said, shaking her head. “There’s no place else for us to go.”
A hot answer rose to Clyde’s lips, but the bitter truth of her words silenced him. As they moved along down the rutted road, he wondered how he’d ever gotten himself into such a predicament. Truth was, he thought about little else these days, but the more he considered it, the less he understood.
I could have had an easy life, he thought bitterly. Grace may not look like much—but that doesn’t seem to matter now. He wanted to blame Prudence, but there was enough honesty left in him to know she had not been at fault—not completely. We were both crazy, he concluded. She’s a pretty, lively woman, and I wanted her, just like she wanted me. But if we had it to do over—!
When they were within sight of the house, Prudence said, “Oh, Clyde, how can we face them?”
Shaking his head, Clyde said doggedly, “They sent for us. Maybe it won’t be so bad.” He halted the buggy, then got down and went around to help Prudence step to the ground. They turned, and when they reached the porch, the door opened.
Grace came outside and met them, her expression calm. She walked right up to Prudence and embraced her, and Prudence gave a small cry and clung to her fiercely. Grace’s lips were broad and maternal as she held the sobbing girl. She turned to meet Clyde’s eyes, but he dropped his head to stare at the ground.
“I’m glad you’ve come,” Grace said, including both of them in her welcome. “Come inside. The others should be here soon.”
“How is Father?” Prudence asked as they entered the foyer.
“Very weak, I’m afraid. He’s been asking for thee.”
When the two women turned to go to the sick man’s room, Clyde remained where he was. When Grace turned to him with an inquiring look, he said tersely, “He won’t want to see me.”
“Yes, he’s been asking for thee, too,” Grace said.
Clyde stared at her for a moment, then nodded. “All right, then, if he wants me.”
When they entered the room, Amos looked up and smiled faintly. He whispered, “My children…come to me!” Sarah and her husband quietly left the room to give the newcomers some time alone with the dying man.
Prudence ran, weeping wildly, to fall on her knees and into the arms of her father. Swenson held her, patted her with one hand, then looked up and held out his other hand to Clyde, who took it awkwardly.
Quietly Grace returned to the kitchen. She was putting a roast in the oven when she heard the bedroom door close, and she turned to face Prudence and Clyde as they entered. Prudence’s face was swollen, and Clyde looked terrible. He said hoarsely, “He…forgave us both, Grace.” He swallowed, and his voice dropped to a whisper. “Got no right to ask, but we treated you shamefully, Grace. How thee must hate us!”
Grace went to them at once, shaking her head. “No, Clyde. I don’t hate thee. It would have been easy to fall into that, but God has delivered me from it. He’s given me a love for you both. Please, let us speak of it no more.”
Prudence began to weep again, and Clyde’s face was pale as paste. It took some time for Grace to convince them that she harbored no malice toward them, but before too long, the pair had gained some control.
Dove and Martha arrived later, and the house grew busy with the activity of the three girls’ small children. Grace thought it well that there was so much to do, for it gave Prudence no time to linger in embarrassment. Grace was certain that her sisters had talked with their husbands, for all three of Clyde’s brothers-in-law said nothing of the circumstances of his marriage. There was, to be sure, some distance between the newlyweds and the others, but Grace did all she could to show affection for them. This did much to assure the others, and by evening when they sat down for dinner, Clyde and Prudence were able to join in the conversation to some extent.
Afterward, Martha helped Grace with the dishes. With the closeness that sisters share, she felt able to ask cautiously, “Thee feels no anger toward Prudence and Clyde?”
“I did, Martha, but God has taken it from me.”
Martha smiled and gave Grace a sudden hug. “Only thee could forgive so completely!”
Grace shook off the praise, saying, “They’ve had a very hard time, Martha. Prudence is miserable, and so is Clyde.”
Martha nodded. “I think living with Daniel Dortch could have that effect. He’s a hard man.”
The two women talked quietly, and it did Grace good to share a little of what was in her heart with her sister. Afterward, she found beds for everyone, but when they retired, she went to sit beside her father. He seemed quiet enough, but about one o’clock, Grace woke up from where she’d been dozing to find him seeming to gasp for air.
At once she knew that it was the end and ran to knock on the door of a bedroom, calling out, “Martha, Father’s very bad! Get the others and come quickly!”
She ran back to her father and did what she could to relieve his discomfort. When Martha and her husband, Lige, rushed in, Grace said, “Lige, would thee send Jed for Dr. Wells?”
“Right away!”
But even as her brother-in-law rushed away, Grace knew that the doctor would be too late. By the time the others had gathered and Lige returned to report that Jed was on his way, Amos Swenson was almost gone.
“Can’t we do something, Grace?” Dove whispered.
“He’s in God’s hands, Dove.”
The room was silent except for the harsh gasping breaths of the dying man. As Grace gently wiped the clammy sweat from her father’s brow, he opened his eyes and looked at her.
“Father…does thee know me?”
“Yes.” Amos seemed to grow stronger. His eyes went around the room, and his breathing grew easier. “I’ve asked the Lord…for time to say a farewell to you—”
None of the family ever forgot the next half hour. Amos spoke to every one of them, telling how each one had blessed him in his life, assuring them all of his love for them. As he spoke to Prudence and Clyde, both were ashen-faced, but he smiled and held their hands, saying, “You two have had a bad beginning, but God is merciful. Obey Him and submit to His love, and He will keep you in His care.”
Then, finally, after he had spoken to all the others, he looked at Grace. Fighting her tears, she went to him. “Come closer,” he whispered, and when Grace put her head very close to his face, he laid his hands upon her head. “Thee has been the delight of my life, daughter,” he whispered. “The Lord has chosen thee to serve Him in a special manner. Thee will be alone, but not alone, for the good Lord will be at thy side always. Thee will have great sorrow, but God will turn thy mourning into joy.”
Hot tears filled Grace’s eyes and flowed down her face, and he finally said, so faintly that only she heard his words, “Thee has been my crown and my joy on this earth, Grace. I will tell thy mother…how like…thee are…to her—”
He smiled faintly, drew a deep breath, and looked around the room, saying clearly, “God watch over you!” And then he closed his eyes—and how well he endured his going forth!
When Lawyer Simms read the will to the family, there were no surprises. Swenson had talked to all his daughters prior to his passing, explaining that he was dividing his cash assets equally among the four married sisters. The farm was left to Grace, and Martha spoke for all of them when she said, “It’s a fair settlement. Father was wise.”
After the reading of the will, Martha, Sarah, and Dove all left with their families. Grace asked Prudence to stay and help her clean the house. As they worked, Grace drew her sister out skillfully, listening carefully as she talked about their life at the Dortch house. Prudence tried to be cheerful, but Grace knew she was miserable.
Finally, when the house was cleaned, Clyde came in to say that the buggy was hitched up. His mouth was tight, and Prudence knew he was dreading the return to his father’s farm. “Can’t we take our share of the money and go away, Clyde?” she asked timidly.
“I think we’d better,” he said grimly.
Grace said suddenly, “I want to talk to you both. Come and sit down.” She fixed coffee, and when they were seated, she said simply, “I want you to stay here.”
Clyde blinked with astonishment. “Stay here? On the farm?”
“Yes.” Grace nodded. “I know thee is unhappy working for thy brother, Clyde.”
“That’s true enough,” Clyde acknowledged. He glanced at Prudence, whose eyes were suddenly alive with hope.
“Oh, Clyde, could we?”
Clyde licked his lips, seeming to struggle with a thought. Finally he said in a halting fashion, “Why, Grace, I can’t deny that would be good for us, but what about for thee? People would talk.”
Grace shook her head. “No, they won’t talk.”
Clyde said stubbornly, “Thee has a better opinion of people than I have. Why, I can hear Mrs. Gatz babbling now about how strange it is that thee would take in the people who betrayed thee—”
“We’ve agreed to forget that, Clyde,” Grace said, breaking in. “I spoke with Father about this, and he was pleased. A bride needs her own house”—Grace smiled at Prudence—“and I would like to have you both here.”
Clyde swallowed hard, then glanced at Prudence. He knew she was miserable at his father’s house, as much as he was himself. With a sigh that was both from relief and apprehension, he finally said, “If thee will have us, we’ll be grateful, Grace.”
“Good, that’s settled!” Grace nodded. “Now, Clyde, thee go tell thy people and bring thy things back.”
It was a happy day for Prudence, and for the next month she radiated joy. Clyde, too, was so relieved to be out from under the iron control of Daniel that he threw himself into the work on the farm with all his might.
The three of them got along well after the strangeness of the situation wore off. Grace stayed alone much of the time, riding her mare through the solitude of the woods. Watching her, Prudence thought she seemed withdrawn. “Why is Grace so—so distant?” she finally asked Clyde.
“Got to be a little uncomfortable for her, Prue.” He shrugged. “I know she’s forgiven us, but she can’t have forgotten what we did.”
“I don’t think she’s angry with us,” Prudence disagreed. “She’s unhappy about something.”
“Don’t go pestering her, Prue,” Clyde said quickly. “Likely she misses thy father. They were very close.”
Clyde was right in that respect. The loss of her father had left Grace with little intimate companionship. She rode often to visit Martha, but even spending time with her sister could not fill the gap left by Amos’s death. Grace was regular in her church duties, even more devoted to good works, but still everyone noticed that she was not as lively as she had been.
Then, to make matters worse, a problem arose about the management of the farm. Clyde wanted to do more than simple chores. For the first time in his life, he was ready to take hold of something, but he had nothing of his own to take hold of. Jed and Benny quickly discovered that Clyde had no authority, and both of them felt they knew the farm better than he, which was true enough. This resulted in Clyde’s feeling useless and out of place.
Prudence saw Clyde’s restlessness and spoke of it to Grace. “It’s just that he needs some responsibility, Grace. Can’t thee let him do more?”
Grace agreed to think about it, and in less than a week she came in from a long ride. She found Clyde putting up a fence and called out, “Clyde, come to the house!”
Clyde followed her, and when Prudence met them, Grace said, “I’ve been seeking guidance from the Lord.” She smiled at Prudence. “I fear thee has noticed I’ve been a little distant lately. Well, my answer just came.” She removed her bonnet and shook her hair loose, her blue eyes bright. “It came suddenly,” she said in wonder.
“What is it, Grace?” Prudence asked.
Grace hung her bonnet on a peg, then turned to face them. “I’m leaving the farm for a while.”
“Leaving here?” Prudence asked, giving Clyde a glance of surprise. “Why—where will thee go, Grace?”
“I’m going to Washington,” Grace said.
“The capital?” Clyde asked. “What in the world for?”
“The papers are full of stories about the wounded soldiers,” Grace said. “The hospitals are filled with them—and there are not enough nurses.” When she saw the astonishment in their faces, she nodded. “I am against war—but it’s God’s commandment to take care of the sick and helpless. Now sit down and I’ll tell you the rest.…”
When they had sat at the table, she went on. “Clyde, thee will be manager of the farm. Thee must make all the decisions as if it were thy farm. I may be gone for years, until the war is over, I suppose. Whatever profits come from the farm we will share equally. Does this suit thee?”
Clyde stared at Grace, wonder in his face. “Suit me? Why, I’d be a fool if such a thing didn’t please me!”
The conference lasted long, and Grace was happy to see what a difference the new situation made to her sister and brother-in-law. They were ecstatic, and she was hopeful that Clyde would throw off his old careless ways and find satisfaction and fulfillment in his new responsibilities.
She herself was anxious to leave. Now that she felt she knew God’s direction, she longed to be gone. “I want to leave as soon as possible,” she said finally. “We’ll draw up the agreement and take it to the lawyer tomorrow. Then I’ll leave.”
“So soon?” Prudence exclaimed in surprise.
“I must be about my Father’s business.” Grace smiled.
Two days later Clyde and Prudence drove her to the train station. She kissed them both, boarded, and, as the train pulled out, waved at them through the window.
As the train wound its way along the narrow gauge tracks, she felt a burden lift from her heart.
I won’t have a husband, she thought, but I’ll be serving God!
CHAPTER 5
THE RETURN OF BURKE ROCKLIN
July 1862
The black walnut of Ellen Rocklin’s casket had been sanded and polished until it glowed with a rich warmth. The two oil lamps—one stationed at the head of the coffin and the other at the foot—shed their amber glow over the room, somewhat dispelling the predawn darkness.
The gleam of the yellow lamplight highlighted Clay Rocklin’s face as he sat loosely in a leather-covered sofa across the room. He was a big man, darkly handsome with black hair and strong features. He wore the uniform of a sergeant in the Confederate Army.
As the silence of the house seemed to close around him, he let his dark eyes gaze at the casket, thinking of the woman who lay within. She had been his wife for over twenty years—every single one of which had been stormy. He thought of the early years of their marriage, but even those had not been happy. Ellen had known that Clay had married her while loving her cousin Melanie. This knowledge had embittered her, creating a hardness in her heart that only grew worse as the years went by—a hardness that inspired sarcasm, resentment, and criticism; a hardness that left no room for real love.
Shaking his head, Clay rose and went to stand over the casket, pain evident on the sharp planes of his face. If I hadn’t abandoned her and the children, he thought bitterly, she might have been different.
Tormented by his love for Melanie, who was married to his cousin Gideon, Clay had left Ellen after only a few years of marriage. He thought of his years of wandering, of the time he spent working and living on a slave ship. Those had been bitter and hard years for him, but he knew they had been even harder on his family. While he had been running from one empty endeavor to another, Ellen had stayed at Gracefield with their children—and before long had become a promiscuous woman. When Clay
had finally returned to his home and his family, he found little welcome. Now, looking at Ellen’s still face, Clay admitted to himself that Ellen’s lifestyle had been, at least in part, his fault. Should have stayed here for Ellen…for us and for the children!
The pain in Clay’s eyes deepened at the thought of his children. They were all grown now, or almost so. Dent and David, the twins, and Lowell, their younger brother, were men. Clay and Ellen’s only daughter, Rena, was on the verge of young womanhood. At the thought of Rena, Clay’s stern face relaxed into smoother lines. Although the boys had not forgiven him upon his return—though he had had hopes that they would do so someday—Rena had received him almost at once. She had been so starved for love, especially for a father’s love, that it had been simple to win her confidence.
Clay pulled his eyes away from the casket, thinking of his return from the years of wandering. It had been difficult, asking his family to forgive him. Dent had been the hardest of all, but now the two of them had come closer together and Clay’s hopes had been realized. David and Lowell had been much readier to accept him, as had his father and mother.
But Ellen—!
Bitter memories came to Clay as he stood there in the gloomy room, memories of how Ellen had changed so greatly during his absence that he scarcely knew her when he returned. She’d become a hard woman and had lost most of her prettiness in her pursuit of pleasure. Even when Clay had become a Christian and begun to live a life of sincere faith, Ellen had not softened at all—and she’d had affair after affair since he’d returned home. Then came the accident that had made her a hopeless invalid, bound to a wheelchair.…
Clay desperately tried to convince himself that he’d done all he could to make her life as comfortable as possible, but he’d been gone—serving with the Richmond Grays—most of the time. He’d known that Ellen’s mind, as well as her body, had been affected by her injury, but none of them, he thought bitterly, had known how seriously her mind had warped.
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