March 14, 1993
And that was you, Grandam?”
Amethyst looked up at her great-granddaughter. Since yesterday evening, off and on, she had been telling Little Am the story of Silas and Pearl. Now tears glistened in the girl’s brown eyes, and a wistful smile crept over her face.
“Yes, child. I was that baby. The day I was born, Grandpa Silas died. One was going out, while another was coming in.”
“So you never got to know him. That’s so sad.”
“I knew him, all right.” Amethyst shook her head. “Just not the way you mean. His blood runs in my veins, and his blessing influenced my life in some rather miraculous ways.”
“But where did you get all this information?” Little Am persisted. “Did you grow up hearing these stories from your grandma Pearl?”
“No,” Amethyst sighed, an old familiar regret washing over her. “My grandmother Pearl died the following year.”
“What happened to her?”
“I’m not certain. My suspicion is that, with Silas gone, she simply decided it was time to go. It’s not unusual, you know—true love has a powerful draw on people.”
Little Am’s eyes took on a faraway look. “I hope someday I find that kind of love.”
“I pray you do, too, child. Love is what makes each day special and unique. Love gives purpose and meaning to life.”
“Have you ever had that kind of love, Grandam?” The girl lifted one eyebrow. “You know, real passion?”
“It’s probably hard for you to believe, since you’ve only known me as a decrepit old woman, but yes, I’ve had my share of love. More than my share, if truth be told.”
“Well,” Little Am declared, sitting back and folding her arms, “you can bet I want to hear that story.”
Amethyst chuckled. “Why? Because you can’t imagine your old Grandam as a wild young thing?”
“You? Wild?” Little Am’s eyes wandered to the den wall, where the unloaded shotgun leaned against the fireplace. “Come to think of it, it’s not too difficult to think of you as wild, Grandam. I mean, you showed a pretty wild streak when you stood up to Grandpa Con and locked him out of the house.”
“Your grandfather would probably say that I showed an insane streak,” Amethyst corrected. “And it may get me into trouble.”
“I think we’re already in trouble,” Little Am countered. “But it sure is fun.” She sat in silence for a minute. “Silas was a real hero, wasn’t he?”
“Yes, child, he was. Not in the sense of winning the Medal of Honor or being famous, but simply by being faithful to what he was called to do.” Amethyst got up from the chair and stretched her arthritic limbs, then walked to the wall that separated the log cabin room from the dining room and took down a picture. She handed it to Little Am. “Do you know who that is?”
Am stared at the photograph. “Of course I do. I make A’s in history. It’s Abraham Lincoln.”
“Can you read the inscription?”
“It says, ‘To Silas Noble, with appreciation for your contributions to the cause. A. Lincoln.’ I suppose he means the abolition of slavery, and the help Silas gave to the wounded soldiers?”
“That’s my assumption. From what we know, Grandpa Silas was a great man, in a very quiet way.”
“That brings me back to my original question, Grandam. How do you know all these details about Silas’s life?”
“See that bookcase on the right side of the desk?”
Little Am nodded.
“Bring one of the books from the top two shelves over here.”
Little Am went to the bookcase and returned with a faded red leather volume. “What is it?”
“This,” Amethyst answered, stroking the cover lovingly, “is one of nearly fifty journals left by Pearl Noble.”
The girl’s eyes grew wide. “Really? Cool.”
“Cool doesn’t begin to describe the contents of these books,” Amethyst said. “Pearl kept records of everything—the daily events of their lives, the crises, the slaves’ experiences. And not just what happened, but her philosophy—her thoughts about the times, about the Emancipation, about the confusing and difficult struggles that followed the war. Her journals are a treasure trove of history—and they give a lot of insight into her heart and mind as well.”
“May I see it?” Little Am reached out a hand.
Amethyst smiled to herself. Clearly, the story of Silas and Pearl was working on her granddaughter. The zombie hadn’t reasserted itself since she had begun to tell the tale, and now Little Am was asking politely rather than demanding what she wanted—and in proper English, no less.
“No,” she said, pulling the book away with a teasing smile. “You may not see it. You may have it.”
“To keep? For good?” Little Am’s eyes flashed with anticipation.
“For good. And all the others as well. But if you don’t mind, I’d prefer them to stay here, in the house.”
“Oh, sure,” Am replied distantly. “Whatever.” Her attention was riveted on the pages. After a minute or two she looked up. “I just had the strangest feeling, Grandam. Like these journals are about me.”
“In a way, they are.” Amethyst nodded with satisfaction; the girl was beginning to understand. “We’re not born in a vacuum, child. We’re the product of our genetic makeup, our environment, our influences. And although I don’t quite comprehend it myself, I’m convinced that somehow we can be affected by the spiritual legacy left to us by ancestors whose names we’ve never even heard.”
“You mean like in China?” Little Am put in. “I’ve read about how people in Oriental countries worship their ancestors.”
“You did get A’s in history,” Amethyst commented. “But I’m not talking about worshiping those who have gone before us. I simply believe we can be influenced by the heritage of the people we carry inside of us. The way I was influenced by Grandpa Silas.”
“Great. So I’m going to become like Con and Mimsy?” Am twisted her mouth up in a grimace.
“Not necessarily. If you have the insight, you can choose who your spiritual mentors will be.”
Amethyst watched the wheels turning as her great-granddaughter considered this. At last Little Am closed the journal and sat up straighter. “The story doesn’t end with Silas and Pearl, Grandam. I want to hear more.”
Amethyst glanced at the clock on the mantel. “Not tonight, child. It’s nearly midnight, and tomorrow is Monday. You know what that means.”
“Yeah. Grandpa Con will be back.”
“I’m afraid so. I think we should both go to bed and try to get a good night’s sleep.”
Little Am got up and came over to Amethyst’s chair. “All right. But if it’s okay with you, I’ll take Pearl’s journal with me.”
“Just don’t stay up all night reading.”
Little Am leaned down and gave Amethyst a kiss on the cheek. “I won’t.” She turned to go, but when she reached the doorway, she looked over her shoulder. “Grandam?”
“Yes, child?”
“Thanks.”
“For what?”
“For the stories. For the journals. For everything.” She paused. “Mostly, for being my Grandam.”
Amethyst smiled. “I love you, child.”
“I love you, too.” Am muttered the words under her breath and disappeared up the stairs.
Settled in the big four-poster in the downstairs bedroom, Amethyst gathered the quilt around her shoulders and relaxed into the down pillow. She was exhausted, but it was a satisfied kind of tiredness.
Her great-granddaughter was showing more promise than she had ever dreamed possible. The girl was intelligent and insightful, and truly seemed to be captivated by the stories of her ancestors. That was a good sign. A very good sign.
Perhaps the Noble legacy wouldn’t die, after all, when Amethyst made her exit from this world.
As her eyes drifted shut, Amethyst breathed out the prayer she knew by heart, the blessing Pearl had written in her last journal. “May she draw from her heritage the faith and love of her ancestors, and may she live a life worthy of her name and her calling. . . .” But this time she prayed it for the teenage girl who slept upstairs
“Find your way to truth, Little Am,” she murmured, “no matter what it takes.”