Amanda slipped into her blouse, riding skirt and boots. She twisted her hair into a long braid to hang down her back, then skipped down the narrow staircase, which widened at the bottom. The smooth ridged mahogany railing connected to the treads with carved balusters slid beneath her hand as she descended. The large printed carpet cushioned her steps.
Sunlight crept across the floor of the double parlors, sending shadows to various parts of the rooms where the furniture sat. Embers crackled in the marble framed fireplaces refusing to let the winter air from outside reside within the walls of the large house. Her father’s limp and use of his cane didn’t hinder the progress of his plantation. Amanda marveled at his ability to forego his disability and let her thoughts wander back to the day she’d first met him when he returned from war. She’d been three years old.
It was Thanksgiving Day, November 22, 1865 at her grandparent’s plantation, Sanders Cross when a loud thud in the foyer snapped Amanda’s head around. Frozen to her seat, her heart pounded in her chest. The clump mixed with thuds coming from the other room sent her body into spasms. She covered her mouth with both hands.
The doors to the dining room swung wide and in stepped five men. Gazes fixed on the women, tears streamed down tired and dirty cheeks. For a second, the room stood silent, heavy and penetrating as if the world had stopped. She slid from her chair to hide under the table.
She shook her head and giggled. It was the first time she fully understood what fear was. Something she prayed for now was her own children would never have to experience the life she had during that time. Recalling the rest of the event, she played the scene over in her mind.
The men were weather beaten and bandaged. Their clothes soaked in blood. Torn uniforms and battered hats moved closer. Amanda’s breath caught in her throat.
In a flurry of motion, the crutches crashed to the floor. Her mama and grandmother along with her aunts scuffled from the chairs. As their feet disappeared from under the table, Amanda peered at the strangers with hairy faces. Her heart set to racing faster with each step bringing the men and women closer together. Tears stung her eyes, and she screamed until her voice cracked.
She smiled to herself. The memory seemed as if it were only yesterday when it had really been fifteen years. In two days she would be Mrs. Nicolas Tandy Harper and live with him at his plantation. The thuds in her chest hastened. His brown eyes interjected her thoughts. She stopped and stoked the fire before continuing to the kitchen.
Leaning against the frame where one of the large doors secreted into the wall, she gazed at her mother and father for a moment. They sat next to each other at the tiny table in the mid-sized room talking, laughing and occasionally placing a light hand on the other’s arm. She watched in silence and marveled at the shine in their eyes when they peered at each other. She took a deep breath and entered the room.
The fresh scent of baked biscuits and fried bacon sizzling in the pan mixed with the brewing coffee filtered in the air. She strolled to where her parents sipped on their cups of coffee. Her mouth watered for a taste of the fluffy bread slathered with fresh-churned butter with a piece of bacon slipped in the middle of the biscuit. Closing her eyes, she swiveled the bite in her mouth as she chewed and let it linger on her tongue before she swallowed.
“I’m riding to Grandmother’s to help in the kitchen. Do you need me to take anything to her or send anything back? I’m going to stay there until the wedding if you have nothing for me here.” She glanced at her mother. Throughout the years, Amanda made the ride almost daily to help and learn different domestic chores from her grandmother. To her, it was like going home since she was born at Sanders Cross. She had heard the story of her birth so many times from her aunts, she almost believed she could remember the Yanks barging into the room.
“Mother has always been a good cook. I’m glad you’re helping out and learning from her. She taught me, as well as your aunts, all the things to prepare us for marriage.” Maggie pushed her dark brown hair behind her shoulder. Gray highlights glistened in the early morning sun.
“I’m worried about her, Mother, she’s not well.” The last week, Izella Sanders wasn’t as zippy about getting things done and usually took a nap after Amanda arrived, leaving her to explore different ways to complete tasks on her own.
“Grandmother is not one to be sick, Amanda. She’s just feeling her age. There’s the annual veterans celebration she insists on having to toss into the mix. Along with your wedding and Christmas, she has a lot on her mind.”
“No, Mother. This is more than age, Christmas and my wedding. Whatever is wrong with her is serious. Neither she nor Grandfather will talk about it. It’s still three days before Christmas, and she needs help preparing for the guests. Since many will be there for the veterans celebration, I’m doing most of the work.”
“She was well at Thanksgiving. She probably has some sort of infection.” Maggie waved her arm in dismissal.
“Didn’t you see the dullness in her eyes at Thanksgiving? She’s your mother and you should have noticed.” Amanda’s soft voice broke, and she lowered her eyes to her food. She crossed a boundary she knew she shouldn’t have.
“Amanda! I will not tolerate…”
“I’m sorry, Mother. We’re canning the vegetables from the kitchen garden, and she wants to finish a dress she is making. She’s adamant in what all she wants done in a few days’ time.” How could her mother not see her grandmother was in poor health? Grandmother laid down for a nap before the dishes were washed. Something wasn’t right, and she knew it.
Grandmother herself had said she wasn’t feeling well. Amanda’s aunts and uncles discarded her words with ‘she’s getting old.’ Her Uncle Sam was the only other one besides her grandfather who showed any concern for Izella’s failing health. She would like to visit with Sam and get his view of what was going on inside the tiny dwindling body of her grandmother.
Sam was attending the university when the war broke. While he was in the military he honed skills he only mentioned once or twice and then refused to discuss further. After the war, he opened his own office and married Miss Victoria Lyons not long afterwards. Amanda smiled as she reminisced over the way Sam doted on Victoria. One would have thought she was the only other person on earth besides Sam.
Uncle Sam’s office was two stores down from the mercantile. She could sneak away and visit him without any questions from Izella. When they made the trips, she always visited him and his wife, Victoria. If Grandmother wasn’t well enough to make the trip, she would offer to take the wagon in for supplies.
Amanda hoped Izella would want to make a trip into Courtview. Nick would be working at his mercantile. She longed to see her soon-to-be husband. He always gave her good advice when she was troubled. Nick was the neutral party she could count on to keep things to himself. Most of the other people her age had either left the area or got married and didn’t pay much attention to the two of them. Nick made her laugh and treated her as if he understood things in her life.
“I’m on my way to Sanders Cross.” She grabbed another biscuit and rushed for the door, snatching her heavy coat and gloves on the way out. The crisp morning air greeted her on her short jog to the barn. Once inside, she leaned against the stall gate and stuffed the last bite in her mouth. She slipped her arms in the coat and pulled it tight around her neck. Even the sun was having a hard time keeping warm this time of year. Her muscular dun mare nudged her shoulder. Amanda laughed and slipped the bridle on the horse’s head.
“Give me a second or two and we’ll be on our way, Sandy. Sorry, I didn’t bring you a carrot. I’ll get you a fresh one when we get to Grandmother’s.” She rubbed the mare between the ears. Her saddle perched on a rack close to the wall. With ease, she lifted it to the horses back and cinched it. Reins in her hand, she led the mare from the barn and then mounted.
Nudging the mare with her knees, they set out in a lope down the trail to her grandparents’ plantation. A few wild turkeys flew to distant trees at the sight of her approach. She marveled at the ugly but delicious tasting creatures. Small rabbits chased each other around and jumped in the air when another scampered near. A giggle escaped her lips. The trail across the backside of the pair of plantations beat traveling the long road.
She stopped Sandy short of the barn and opened a stall door, then removed the saddle and bridle. It was a short trip to the back door where her grandfather waited with the basket of vegetables he picked from the garden.
“Morning, Grandfather. Where’s Grandmother? She’s usually the one with the basket. Is she feeling worse?” She gazed into the misty blue eyes of her grandfather and held her breath.
He shook his bowed head. His smile didn’t reach his eyes. “She said she needed to rest a while longer.”
“Grandfather, what’s going on with her? I know she’s been ill for a while. She didn’t feel well this whole week, and I want to know what’s wrong.”
Lewis shook his head again and turned to the door. The two of them slipped in. Amanda caught his wrinkled hand and took the basket. “I don’t know, Amanda. I suppose its old age. You know we’re not spring chickens anymore.” His voice trickled from his mouth. There was an eerie sense he knew more than he was letting on.
The burning sensation in her eyes blurred her vision. She tossed the basket aside and hastened to her grandmother’s room. She inhaled a deep breath before she tapped lightly on the door. Her grandmother’s frail voice called for her to enter.
The grayish hue of her grandmother’s skin appeared deeper than usual. Her face wrinkled and withered across her sharp features. Her gray eyes sunk into their sockets. Amanda choked back a sob as she slowly approached Izella. Yesterday she was up and working despite her weakness. Bile rose in Amanda’s throat as the nausea twirled in her stomach. She stiffened and took hold of the frail hand resting on the quilt covering the petite body.
“Grandfather says you’re not feeling well today. What would you like me to do? He brought a basket of vegetables from the garden. I can make you a nice soup and work on the dress if you would like.” The rise and fall of her grandmother’s chest labored as she struggled to catch another breath. The quilt barely rose above the mattress and the sight ate at Amanda.
“No honey, I would like for you to fetch some supplies for me. Take the wagon. You won’t be able to carry it all on horseback. Now get your paper handy.” Izella rattled off a list for her to pick up. When Amanda protested at items on the list, her grandmother raised her hand a few inches from the bed to still her arguments.
Through blurry eyes, Amanda hitched the team to the wagon and set the horses into motion. Dust rose from the horse hooves as she slapped the reins against their backs. A horrid scene of returning and her grandmother’s body, lying in the bed, still and lifeless haunted her mind. Her heart clenched in a tight ball as she bounced around on the wooden seat. The quilt covering her legs slunk in a heap at her feet.
Her dreaded mission ripped her core. She no more wanted to pick up the coffin her grandmother requested than she would have welcomed a stab to the heart, which at this point, it was about the same thing. She had to get to Courtview to speak with Sam and urge him to heal Izella.
****
Nick opened shop early to finish placing the supplies on the shelves. His memories of Amanda’s last visit still fresh in his mind, he walked over to the case where the locket was displayed and pulled it from view. For Christmas and as a wedding gift he would present it to her.
The way her eyes lit up when she observed things of beauty warmed his insides. Her innocent approach to new and wonderful events electrified every inch of his being. He expelled a long sigh as he reminisced about the effect she held on him.
He shivered from the early morning air. The fire within the wood burning stove had died down to glowing hot embers. Strolling to the pile of firewood, he chose a couple of logs and carried them back to the heater. Jingles of the bell drew his attention to door and his first customer of the day.
Cody and the sheriff stepped in. Nick tossed the firewood into the stove’s belly and turned to his visitors. He tried to act in a civilized manner to Cody.
“Good morning, gentlemen. What can I get for you today?” Indifference in his tone radiated within the room.
“You can fetch me that pretty little gal of yours.” Cody’s eyes narrowed.
Nick tried to ignore the implausible request of the disrespectful man. The way he treated Amanda as if she were some trump card in a game of poker irritated him.
“Sheriff, did you come to pick up your order? I have it ready in the back. Your family is going to be surprised at the presents you got for them. I wrapped them up for you and put a label on each one so you would know what was inside.”
“You’re a good man, Nick. Thank you. Can you deliver them the day before Christmas Eve? Bring them to the office and I’ll carry them home.” The sheriff lowered his head and scanned the table of items where he was standing.
“You can wrap that little angel of yours and deliver her to my house the same day.” Cody hooked his thumbs in his gun belt.
Nick’s blood heated. He balled his fist, but didn’t move. “Would you care to step outside?”
The sheriff sauntered over to Nick. “Now son, he isn’t worth banging up your fist for. I understand his ignorance is one that needs reckoned with. Cody, you keep your mouth shut. If you continue to provoke Nick, I cannot stop his actions.”
Nick nodded his head to the sheriff.
“Yes, she might even back out of the arrangement and marry me instead,” the deputy said.
The sheriff whirled around. His voice sent shivers down Nick’s spine. “One more remark about Miss Gentry and I will let this man give you what you deserve.”
“When you get done with her Harper, send her my way. I’ll teach her what a real man is like.” Nick couldn’t stand anymore. He leapt forward and punched Cody square in the jaw. Cody stumbled backward, tripped over a crate near a table and landed on his backside looking up at Nick.
Jumping down on Cody, he thrashed him several more times in the face. Cody lay in the floor, tossing his arms to fend off the punches. The pounding in Nick’s chest was wild and furious. His mind whirled with locked up anger. All sounds muffled to blend into a low roar. The rancid odor of blood mixed with the cedar logs he had thrown on the fire.
The sheriff rested his hand on Nick’s shoulder. “Calm yourself, Nicolas. I know how you feel. I’m glad you weren’t wearing a gun or we would have a mess to clean up. As for you Lansing, give me your badge. Your services are no longer required in my town. I won’t defend you against a whipping you brought on yourself.”
Nick raised himself from the floor, his fist covered in the blood from his opponent. Adrenaline rushed his veins. He marched to the back room where a washbowl stood and immersed his hands in the refreshing water. When he returned to the front of the store, the sheriff and Lansing were gone. He pulled in a deep breath and set back to work straightening and stocking the shelves, but his anger still burned deep within.