Chapter Twenty-Six
David awoke with a start. Immediately, he realized it was drizzling, and he was drenched. He quickly sat up. A dog growled nearby, startling him. The mangy mutt had torn up his knapsack and found his remaining rations. It ran off with the dried meat in its mouth. David yelled after it in vain. Pulling himself to his feet, he cursed the canine under his breath, tugged his slouch hat down tightly on his head, and marched off down the road.
Three weeks, he kept telling himself. Three weeks.
He came upon a farmer crossing the road with six head of cattle. The old man looked up as the itinerant stranger approached. He waved but kept on with his task. David felt too humiliated to ask for assistance and only wished he had kept his coat. He continued down the road. By midday, he was exhausted and soaked to the bone, so he found a makeshift shelter in the underbrush beneath a grove of trees. His stomach growled relentlessly. He tried to doze, but to no avail. Pulling the soggy Testament from his pocket, he opened it and squinted to read the fine print.
“And now abideth faith, hope, charity, these three; but the greatest of these is charity.”
He pondered on the short verse for a moment. Faith he had regained, thanks to his darling Anna. He still held out hope his life wouldn’t end in misery and he would somehow find happiness. As far as charity went, he had nearly given his life for the lost cause on more than one occasion, so he reasoned it was charity enough. He found another verse and read:
“There is no fear in love; but perfect love casteth out fear; because fear hath torment. He that feareth is not made perfect in love.”
This verse concerned him. Rising to his feet, he contemplated its meaning and started walking. He had to admit his fear tormented him, without a doubt. More than anything, he wanted to believe he and Anna had a perfect love, but how could he be sure? What if she didn’t want him back now that the war was over? What if she had only used him to prevent Stephen from obtaining her farm? What if she had decided to have their marriage annulled in the event of her uncle’s return? Could she really be so cold? He shook his head, disgusted with his ambivalence.
“She wouldn’t do that,” he said in soliloquy. “She loves me. I know she does.”
A horse neighed in the distance. David looked around, trying to locate the direction from which it came. He noticed a large, white, three-story barn sitting back from the roadside about a mile away. Deciding it was an adequate shelter from the drizzly rain, he headed toward it and slid in the muddy road as he crossed it. He struggled through a wheat field until he reached the barn. Pulling the door open, he squeezed through. Once inside, he gazed around to discover a menagerie. It seemed every animal the farmer owned was shut up inside the barn. David felt like Noah on the Ark. Closing the door behind him, he made his way to a clean pile of straw, dropped down, and buried himself in it, thankful for the slight bit of warmth it provided. He wished for a timepiece, but reasoned it must be late afternoon by now. Soon, he dozed off.
The lowing of cattle awoke him. He peered through the straw and saw another man inside the barn.
“Hey there, Molly,” the man said. He positioned himself on a milking stool and proceeded to fill a bucket.
David’s mouth watered. He hadn’t eaten in nearly twenty-four hours.
When the man finished, he set the bucket down near the door, walked across the barn floor, and climbed up a ladder to the second story.
David saw his chance, so he took it. Slithering over to the bucket, he picked it up, put the rough edge to his lips, and took in great gulps as quickly as he could. He heard the man descend. Quickly, he set the bucket down and sought refuge in the pile of straw. The man spoke to the poultry and livestock in an affectionate manner before stooping to pick up the bucket. He stared down into it for a moment.
“Well, I could’ve sworn—”
He grunted, carried the bucket out, and closed the heavy wooden door behind him.
David breathed a sigh of relief. His stomach felt better, but he knew the milk wouldn’t hold him over for very long. For a moment, he considered taking the farmer’s horse, but knew that, should he be caught, he’d hang for sure. He opted to go to the house and present himself, but decided it was too risky, for the farmer would know he had stolen the milk and would undoubtedly unload his musket into him. At a loss, he lay back and decided to wait until morning, frustrated he had already lost a day of traveling. Now it would be three weeks and a day. He glowered.
When morning came, he waited for the farmer to arrive while watching the sun come up through the windows. The man seemed to take hours to let his livestock out. When the barn was finally empty and quiet, David ventured from his hideaway and peeked out the door. Seeing no one, he quickly made his way across the field to the road. His clothes were still damp and uncomfortable, but he was thankful he had been dry throughout the night. With every step he took, he thought of Anna, and brooded over whether or not she would receive him. In three weeks’ time, he would know his destiny for certain.
He traveled for a few miles before he stopped to get a drink from a farmer’s pond. Sipping the water from his cupped hands, he heard a robin start to chirp. He straightened, looked around for it, and saw the colorful bird fly into an empty barn nearby, where it resumed its song. David remembered a premonition Jake had told him.
If a robin sings in the bushes, the weather will be coarse. If a robin sings in the barn, the weather will be warm.
He journeyed on, hoping the forecast would remain true, and recalled another prediction Jake had told him.
Always plant beans on a full moon for a good crop.
The full moon had been two days ago. He wondered if Anna’s family had planted their crops then or if it was just a Southern old wives’ tale. Again, he thought of his family and his home in Alabama. He still missed Jake, but found himself thinking of him less frequently, and the loss of his best friend didn’t hurt as much anymore.
I’ll have to find a way to bring Jake’s remains back home somehow, he reasoned to himself. If I can find him.
The terrible thought saddened him deeply, so he shook it from his mind.
Continuing on, he whistled to amuse and distract himself, speculating on how far his comrades from Elmira had traveled by now.
They’re probably in Richmond, he thought. What a sight that must be.
He’d heard of how the city was burned by the Confederate army upon its desertion, and he could only imagine the devastation that existed there. Then it hit him.
The war is really over.
He had been in a dream state for so long it took a good soaking to wake him up.
There were no other travelers on the road. With the rising sun came the increasing heat, humidity, and annoying flies. He swatted at them, cheerfully whistling a tune he made up. His exhilaration swelled up inside him.
I’m free!
The sun rose higher in the sky, and the air turned to hazy suffocation. Up ahead, the road began to quiver like water. David thought his soul might evaporate out of him to merge with the mirage. He removed his hat and fanned his face with it while he walked. Soon, he succumbed to the heat, and sat on a downed branch near the side of the road. His thirst became overwhelming. Deciding to find a farmhouse for a drink, he forced himself back up.
After another mile and a half, he saw a farmstead on the bend and trotted toward it. A dog barked upon his arrival. Rounding the corner into the yard, he heard the porch door slam.
“Can I help you?” a middle-aged woman inquired.
“Ma’am,” he replied, walking toward her. He removed his slouch hat in humble gesture. “I’m on my way to Dover and was hopin’ you could spare some water.”
The woman stood with her hands on her hips, glaring at him skeptically. “Come here, Tawny,” she called to the dog, commanding it to stop sniffing David’s trouser legs.
The Border collie obeyed, came to her, and sat by her feet.
“I’ll fetch you a cup. Wait right here.”
She went inside. Shortly, she came out with a tin receptacle.
“What are you doing, traveling without water?” she asked, and offered him the cup.
He graciously took it from her and followed her to the well. “I didn’t plan ahead,” he confessed.
“No, you most certainly did not.” She dropped the bucket into the abyss. It splashed deep down into the earth. She turned the crank to recover it.
David stepped toward her. “Here, allow me,” he offered.
Taking over the crank, he retracted the bucketful of cold water, grabbed hold of the handle, and dipped the cup in. He quickly swigged down the contents, repeating three more times before the woman placed her hand on his arm.
“You best slow down or you’ll get a headache,” she said.
He gasped for air. Glancing at her, he became aware of her mature beauty and self-consciously wiped his mouth on his shirt sleeve. “Sorry, ma’am. It’s jist that—” His voice tapered off.
Her blue eyes bore into him. “Where’d you say you were headed?” she asked quietly.
“Dover,” he responded.
“Where is it you came from?”
“Elmira.”
“Why were you up there?”
He felt obliged to answer any question she asked of him. “I was in prison. Recently released.”
“Oh, I see.” She took the bucket from his grasp and set it on the ledge. “Why are you going to Dover?”
“My wife is there.”
She smiled. Her large blue eyes sparkled.
“I was told it’s three weeks away on foot.”
The woman chuckled. “Well, closer to two weeks, perhaps. Unless you can find someone to give you a ride. My husband should be back near sundown.”
David shook his head. “No, ma’am, you’ve given me quite enough already.” He smiled modestly.
“Why don’t you come into the kitchen? I’ll fix you some food and send you on your way.”
She gestured for him to follow, so he tagged behind. Entering the kitchen, he immediately became enveloped in its warm, cheerful glow. The painted, yellow walls complimented the white stone counters. Yellow cotton curtains fluttered in the breeze.
”Sit, and I’ll make you some coffee,” she offered.
Unable to resist her kind offer, David wearily sank down onto a wooden chair.
“What’s your name?” she inquired, lighting the stove.
“David.”
She glanced over her shoulder and smiled at him. “I’m Lora. My husband is Frank Lawler. We had two sons, Ben and Kyle, but they were both killed.” She sighed. “The ground has closed over my two beautiful boys forever.”
“Dreadful sorry, ma’am,” he replied, hoping he wasn’t somehow responsible for their deaths. An awkward stillness ensued. He didn’t know what to say but wished she would hurry so he could be on his way.
Lora proceeded to remove portions of food from the icebox. “I have two daughters. They’re both married, and one’s expecting. Can you believe I’ll soon be a grandmother?” She chuckled.
“No, ma’am, reckon not,” he answered nervously.
She carried a filled cup of coffee over to the table and set it in front of him. “If you please, call me Lora,” she said and whirled back toward the counter. She returned to the table with a bundle of victuals tied in a cloth.
David’s eyes grew large. “Miss Lora, I don’t wish to take this much.”
“Nonsense. You need enough to sustain you for a fortnight, although it’s my guess it won’t take you that long.” Pouring a cup for herself, she sat down across from him. “But I am curious, is your wife a Southerner too?”
He glanced at the checkerboard floor. “No, she’s a Yankee. I mean, a Northerner.”
“And you’re from…?”
“Alabama.”
“Hmm. Interesting.” She sipped from her cup. “And they made you walk home?”
“No, ma’am, I mean, Miss Lora. They gave us train fare, but the conductor said the train wouldn’t be stoppin’ till Richmond, and I needed to git off before that.” He sipped the coffee. A soft moan uncontrollably escaped him as he tasted the lustrous flavor.
“All right,” she said, “let me see if I have this straight. You thought it would be quicker to walk from Elmira than from Richmond, correct?”
David nodded with a shy grin.
“Did it occur to you that the train would probably stop in Baltimore or Philadelphia first? Richmond’s a fair distance from Elmira, and it seems to me that it would have to stop for fuel sooner.”
He frowned. “I never thought of that,” he muttered. “It all happened so fast, I jist reacted.”
Lora shook her head and took another sip. The sunlight glistened off her golden-blonde hair, her graying temples translucent in the morning glow. “My dear boy, if you would have waited, you might have only had to walk two days instead of two weeks.” She smiled kindly.
David stared down at the tabletop. “It was mighty stupid of me,” he said, clenching his jaw.
“No it wasn’t. You were eager to leave, and you’re anxious to see your wife. I completely understand.”
Lora’s reassuring words caused him to look up at her. They smiled at each other.
He finished his coffee. “Well, Miss Lora, I’d best be on my way.”
They both stood. David picked up the bundle she had prepared for him and followed her out the door.
She handed him a water-filled flask. “Are you sure you don’t want to wait for Frank?” she asked.
“No. Thank you kindly, Miss Lora. I hope everyone I encounter on the way home is as nice as you.” He smiled, set his hat on his head, and walked off toward the road.
As afternoon turned into evening, fireflies began to flicker in the twilight. He found a suitable place along the roadside. After making himself comfortable, he consumed all of the provisions Lora had given him. Weariness soon overtook him, and he fell asleep in the tall grass.
David spent the next two days walking endlessly down the road. Every time he saw another human being, he asked if he was headed in the right direction and what day it was. Most of the people he saw were at a far-off distance, however, so he was unable to reach them before they disappeared.
He arrived at Williamsport. After passing through, he slept on the banks of a river. At dawn, he awoke to see a doe and her fawn drinking from the other side. He watched contentedly until they had gone and then slowly pulled himself up. Starting along the road that ran parallel with the river, he followed its winding path in hopes it would somehow shorten his journey.
By late afternoon, he was hungry and tired. The terrain grew increasingly difficult. A wagon rumbled behind him, so he waved it down.
“Pardon me, sir,” he said, looking up at the man perched on the driver’s seat, “but could you tell me how far it is to the next town?”
The man set his hat back on the crown of his head. “Well, it’s about a hundred miles to Harrisburg,” he replied, wiping the sweat from his brow.
David moaned. It would take him a week to get there. “How far are you goin’? he asked.
“Down the road about ten miles. Need a ride?”
Grinning widely, he exclaimed, “Much obliged.”
He ran around the wagon and climbed up onto the seat. The driver prompted his team, so the two draft horses started forward.
“You headed for Harrisburg?” the man inquired.
“No, sir. Dover.”
“Oh.” He held out his hand. “Name’s Thomas Schneider.”
David thought the man’s name sounded like “cider.” It reminded him of last Thanksgiving when he had partaken in too much apple cider with Stephen and Mr. Montgomery. The recollection made him salivate. He shook Thomas’s hand.
“David Summers. Pleased to make your acquaintance.” Releasing his grasp, he stared out at the passing countryside. “What river is this?” he asked.
“That’s the Susquehanna,” said Thomas.
“And what mountain range is this?” he inquired, gesturing to his right.
“Those are the Allegheny Mountains.” Thomas glanced at his passenger out of the corner of his eye. “So, if you don’t mind my asking, what’s in Dover?”
“My wife and her kinfolk.”
“You’re from the South, ain’tche?”
“Yessir.”
“Fightin’ for the Rebels?”
“Yessir, but that was a while back. I jist got out of prison.”
“Oh, you did, did ya?”
“Yessir.”
The two men rode for a long distance in strained silence until Thomas pulled the wagon to a halt.
“This is as far as I can take you,” he said.
David looked over at him, but the man failed to make eye contact.
“I hope I didn’t say anything to offend—”
“This is where I drop off traitors.” The man glared at him.
“Oh,” David said slowly and frowned. “Well, thank you kindly.” He jumped down.
Thomas slapped the reins. The wagon barreled off.
Standing in the middle of the road, David scowled. He looked at his surroundings and happily appreciated that Thomas Schneider had deposited him near an orchard of cherry trees. Climbing over the fence, he fervently pulled the glowing red morsels from their branches, filled his hat, and returned to the road. He stuffed his mouth full of the delectable, sour-sweet cherries as he sauntered along.
Perhaps life will have some rewards for me after all, he thought.
At nightfall, he found a grassy spot under a large black walnut tree and pulled off his boots. His feet ached tremendously. He looked at the soles to see he had nearly walked through them. After taking a long drink from the flask Lora had given him, he lay back, covered his face with his hat to prevent insects from biting, and soon escaped into slumber.
Something poked him. He swatted at it, but the poking persisted.
“Git up,” a gruff voice commanded.
Slowly, he slid his hat down from his face, opened his eyes, and squinted into the bright morning sunlight. Realizing what he was looking at, he abruptly sat up.
A large black man towered over him. He gazed down at David and held a pitchfork aimed directly at his chest.
David scurried backward, bumping into the tree trunk. Wide-eyed, he pleaded, “Please don’t spear me, mister.”
The man glared at him. He forcefully stuck the pitchfork into the soil and burst into booming laughter.
David gawked at him.
“Oh, I ain’t gonna spear you,” he roared and laughed some more. When he had finally gotten enough amusement from David’s reaction, he said, “Whatcha doin’ out here on da road by yo’self?”
Cautiously rising to his feet, David shook his hat. Placing it on his head, he said, “I’m jist passin’ through on my way to Dover.” He noticed his boots lying in the tall grass, so he quickly pulled them on.
“Oh, you is, is you?” The man’s large brown eyes bulged.
“Yessir.”
“Well, not till I take you to da wife. She Mambo, an’ fix you up real nice.”
Extracting the pitchfork, he thrust it toward David.
He reacted by jumping back.
The man hysterically laughed with a shake of his head. He walked up the road to his mule and wagon. Tossing the pitchfork into the bed, he climbed up onto the buckboard and looked down at David.
“Come on! Don’t got all day.”
Reluctantly, he climbed up next to the man. The wagon lurched forward.
“Now, yo’ tell me yo’ name.”
“David Summers,” he responded, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.
“My name Malachi. Happy to know you.”
He grinned a wide, toothy grin.
David couldn’t help but smile back.
“You looks like you been on da road fo’ a spell, ain’t dat right?”
“Yessir. I reckon. I mean, what day is this?”
“Dis be T’ursday,” came his reply.
David realized he had been free for nearly a week. He scratched his chin, feeling the stubble that had returned. “It must be the—” He counted on his fingers. “Fifteenth,” he said.
“Mus’ be. We here.”
They turned onto a narrow path and followed it along as it wound through thick forest and underbrush. A log cabin appeared. Malachi drove the wagon up to it and came to a stop in front of its slanted porch. The place was eerily quiet. A whispering breeze wafted, causing numerous wind chimes in the trees to jingle.
David shuddered.
“My wife, she inside,” Malachi stated and easily stepped down from his seat.
David jumped down. He followed the huge man into the cabin, noticing a line of crushed red brick strewn across the threshold as he entered. Once inside the dark main room, he heard a soft ticking and looked up to see a banjo clock hanging on one wall. Its pendulum lazily swung back and forth. To his amazement, it was already nine-thirty.
“She mus’ be out back wit’ da young’uns,” observed Malachi. “You wait here.” He walked through the cabin and out the back door.
David looked around at his ominous surroundings. Thick brown curtains hung over the opened windows, letting in just enough light to cast eerie shadows. The air hung heavily, thick and smoky from the previous night’s fire, but ashes in the stone fireplace had long grown cold. The heavy scent of flowers intermingled with the smell of smoke. To his right, above the fireplace, he saw a mantle, which appeared to be positioned higher than normal. A row of taxidermy creatures, perched upon the mantle, stared down at him: a screech owl with large, round eyes; a crow with its beak parted and wings expanded; a black cat with an arched back, posed like it was hissing; and a coiled snake with its fangs exposed. Their large, yellow, dead eyes glared down at him, making him feel unwelcome. The skull of an alligator hung on another wall. An adjoining room contained a long, rectangular pine table with six twisted-vine chairs tidily pushed up to it. Candles covered the tabletop, as well as various odd-shaped glass vessels in assorted colors. A box of playing cards sat beside the candles.
The back door slammed. David jumped. Malachi entered, followed by a petite black woman adorned with silver rings, bangle bracelets, and long, dangling earrings. Her nappy hair was confined in a red bandana.
“Here he be, Jemie,” Malachi announced.
The woman boldly walked up to David. “Bend down here so I can git a look atchou,” she commanded.
David did as he was told, stooping down to accommodate her height.
She stuck her face into his. Her brown eyes narrowed to slits as she stared at him.
Feeling like she could see right through him, his heart leaped. “Ma’am,” he replied, his voice quivering. He straightened back up.
“So!” she snapped. “You need some fixin’, does you?”
David glanced at Malachi, whose expression had become contorted by his ridiculous grin.
“He in a heap o’ hurt, Jemie,” the large black man remarked. “I could tell soon as I laid eyes on him.”
“You sit!” she ordered.
Stunned by her brashness, David reluctantly obeyed and sat down on one of the handmade chairs beside the table. Jemie came too close again and placed her hands on his cheeks. He thought she might swallow him whole.
Gazing into his eyes, she said, “Oh, I see you’s right, Malachi. Dis one here been hurtin’ fo’ while now.”
Becoming self-conscious, David turned his face away. “I don’t mean to intrude,” he growled, embarrassed. “I’ll be on my way.” He started to stand, but the tiny black woman pushed him back down onto his seat.
“You stayin’ till I say you can go,” she barked.
David didn’t know whether to laugh at her flagrancy, grow angry, or be intimidated, so he merely sighed in submission.
Jemie walked into the kitchen and returned with a bowl-full of corn mush. “Here,” she said, placing it on the table in front of him. “You eat dis.” She handed him a spoon.
Carefully taking it from her, he said, “Thank you, ma’am,” and shoveled the smooth concoction into his mouth.
Malachi handed him a glass of water.
“Hungry, ain’tcha?” Jemie commented. She glanced at her husband. “Where you find dis one?” she asked him.
“Sleepin’ on da road,” her husband told her.
Jemie’s expression softened. She sat down beside David, smiled, reached over, and patted his arm. “Now you tell us all ‘bout what happen to you.”
A strange feeling of relaxation came over him. He wondered if he had eaten something he shouldn’t have. Without hesitating, he proceeded to tell them all about his predicament, how he enlisted after his father’s death, lost his best friend, came to Pennsylvania with the Confederate cavalry, and had been saved by the woman who was now his wife. He explained his situation with Stephen and with his mother and her new beau. After describing his recent release from prison, he expressed his fear of finding Anna lost to him once he returned. His rant lasted all of twenty minutes. When he was done, he stared at the wooden-planked floor, questioning why he had spilled his guts to complete strangers, and darkies at that. For some reason, he felt completely safe. He didn’t care whether he had confided in them or not. It was like he was drunk, but without the slur and stammer. Looking up at them, he grinned.
Jemie nodded. She arose from her seat. “I’m fixin’ you a soak. I come back fo’ you when it ready.”
She walked out of the room. David heard the sound of children’s voices growing louder from outside.
“Oh, dat be da young’uns!” Malachi said.
The front door burst open. Four children of various ages poured in. Immediately noticing the curiosity that had entered their domain, they gathered around David in awe. He grinned at them. The two younger ones grinned back.
“Dese here are my chil’ren. Chil’ren, dis David Summas.”
The older boy cocked an eyebrow. “Where you find him at, Papa?”
“Out near da road. He run into hard times, and yo’ mama goin’ to fix him up. Now git out back and tend to da chickens.”
The children obeyed. They filed out, staring over their shoulders at David as they departed.
Unable to help himself, he started to giggle.
Malachi shook his head. He took David’s arm and helped him up.
“Missus mus’ be ready fo’ you by now.”
He walked through the kitchen and out the back door.
David absentmindedly followed. He saw Jemie pour a bucket of steaming water into a tub positioned in the middle of the yard. A crackling fire burned beside it, and a bracket for the bucket extended over the burning embers.
“It ready. Git in,” she said. Removing her mitts, she swept her hand toward the steel tub. “Malachi, you help him. I be gettin’ the chil’ren somet’in’ to eat.” She walked back into the house.
His bashfulness gone, David disrobed and stepped into the tub.
Malachi gathered up his clothing. “Dese here covered wit’ lice,” he remarked, referring to the discarded garments. From the pockets, he pulled out David’s belongings, consisting of his Testament, toothbrush, comb, the money he had saved, a bone carving he had made, and the box containing Anna’s locket. Carefully setting them aside, Malachi tossed the clothing onto the fire.
“You sit an’ soak, an’ I git you some new clothes to wear.” He walked off and went into the house.
David felt bizarrely, uncharacteristically comfortable within his strange surroundings. He slid down into the warm water fragranced with jasmine and lavender, allowing himself to be consumed with luxurious calm. The four children passed by him several yards away. He heard them enter the house. In the canopy of trees above him, birds whistled and sang. The wind chimes out front softly jingled. He noticed peonies blooming beside the cabin, their pastel blossoms soothingly calm. Closing his eyes, he felt completely at ease.
Something dug into his scalp. He bolted upright to see Jemie standing over him, so he quickly covered himself with his hands.
She hissed at his reaction. “Now hold still, an’ squeeze yo’ eyes shut tight.”
He did so, allowing her to scrub lye soap into his hair. Keeping his eyes closed, he heard her move about in the yard. A bucketful of warm water splashed down on him. Concealing himself with one hand, he wiped the water from his face with the other.
“Dere. Now you ‘s all clean.”
He carefully opened his eyes and saw Jemie standing beside the tub, holding a towel. Cautiously, he took it from her, but remained seated. “Thank you, Miss Jemie,” he shyly replied, realizing his euphoria had worn off.
“When you’s dried off, you come in da house,” she instructed and walked away.
David glanced around before quickly climbing out. He hurriedly dried himself and gathered the towel around his waist.
Malachi met him at the door. “Put dese on,” he said, handing him a pair of tan trousers, drawers, socks, and a pale blue cotton shirt.
David pulled on the drawers from under the towel.
“My, my. How you git dose whippin’s?” Malachi asked.
“In prison,” he replied.
The dark man chuckled. “Ise got you beat.”
He unbuttoned his shirt. Pulling it off, he turned to display at least fifty lash marks across his back, the shiny scars layered one on top of the other.
David grimaced.
With a smile, Malachi pulled his shirt back on and went inside.
Stunned for a moment, David quickly dressed, returned to the tub to collect his personal effects, and entered the cabin. Jemie looked up at him from her place at the table. The children gaped at him.
“A little big, but dey do,” she commented, referring to his new wardrobe. She motioned for him to take a place between the younger boy and girl.
He hesitated.
The older girl said, “Don’t fret, mista. We won’t bite you o’ anyt’ing.”
“Naw,” remarked her older brother. “None of us like white meat.”
The family burst into laughter.
David winced. He sat, glancing around while nervously smiling, happy to be afforded the opportunity to eat again. Bowls of rice, peas, shredded chicken, bread, and butter were passed around.
“I’m much obliged for your hospitality,” he said between mouthfuls.
“After dinner, I have somet’in’ I want to say to you,” Jemie told him.
She glared at him for a moment.
Set aback by her harsh countenance, he grew apprehensive, but decided to keep quiet.
When they had finished eating, the two younger children were put down for naps while the older two were sent to the pond with their father. Jemie drew the heavy curtains tight, lit several candles, and sat at the table. She motioned to David, so he timidly took his place across from her.
“Miss Jemie,” he asked. “Are you a gypsy?”
She shook her head. Her earrings tinkled.
“How long have you lived here?”
“Oh, mus’ be ten years now. I ‘scaped from New Orleans. Had help from a Miss Harriet Tubman and met up wit’ Malachi in Philadelphia. He twelve years older dan me. We was married on da plantation, and he run away first. Den we come here, where it real quiet. I like it quiet.”
He smiled at her, but she frowned back. His smile quickly faded.
Jemie sat motionless, staring right through him. Her eyes slowly rolled up into her head, exposing only the whites. She began to chant.
“N’a rémècié, n’a rémècié yo. Apré Bon Dié, n’a rémècié yo. Apré Bon Dié, nous là: n’a rémècié yo: N’a rémècii Dié douvant houn’gan.”
David’s mouth dropped open. He wanted to get up and run for his life but could only sit in frozen, mystified terror. Whatever she was reciting didn’t sound anything like the French he had learned in class, or any other language he’d ever heard, for that matter. He wondered if she was really a witch, casting an evil spell on him, but he felt helpless to resist.
Jemie came out of her trance and looked directly across at him. “Seems you have trouble in yo’ life dat won’t let you be,” she stated.
He looked away, shocked by what he had just witnessed. He wished Malachi would return to ease his anxiety.
“Give me yo’ hand.”
Looking back at her, he reluctantly held out his right hand.
She clamped onto it, gazed at his palm, and remarked, “Oh, dis not good.” Shaking her head, she glanced up at him. “Dis yo’ dominant hand?”
“No, ma’am.” He held his left hand out to her.
She opened his palm. “Oh, now, dis mo’ like it.” She ran her long index finger along a crease, which tickled. David bit his lower lip to suppress a snicker.
“Nice long lifeline. Don’t see much trouble shown here.” She released his hand. “Let me take a look at da cards.”
Pulling a deck of unusually decorated cards from the box, she shuffled them and laid one out at a time, staring at each card before setting down another one.
“Miss Jemie, I don’t mean to seem ungrateful, but why are you doin’ all this for me?”
She snorted. “You feature I hate you ‘cause you‘s white and fought wit’ da Rebels?”
“Well, I—”
“Da good Lord give me special gift, an’ I required to help wit’ the use of it. Not yo’ fault Ise a slave and dat my massa done bad t’ings, is it?”
“N—n—no, ma’am.”
“Den don’t ponder on it.” She gazed back at the cards on the table. “I see you had pain, which you told me ‘bout, and dat you lost loved ones. But dis card wit’ a star say you be comin’ out of darkness into light. Dis one say you be healt’y, and dis one, da fool, mean you have new beginnin’. I see dat you have many ‘round you who love you, an’ dat you t’reatened by danger.”
David frowned at the small soothsayer’s prediction. “What do you mean?”
“Could be someone out to hurt you or take somet’in’ away from you.”
He scowled. The candles flickered.
“Does it say anything about my wife? I need to know, Miss Jemie. Does she still love me, and is she willin’ to take me back?”
The slight woman drew another card. She placed it on the table beside the others. “Dis da lovers’ card.” She smiled at him and slowly nodded her head. “Yeah boy, she want you back. Dere no reason you be lovesick anymore, child.”
He drew a sigh of relief, and faintly smiled back at her. “Oh, good,” he said softly.
Jemie put the cards away. “Wait here. I got somet’in’ fo’ you.”
She stood and walked into the kitchen.
David sat in the darkened dining room, staring at the flickering candlelight, reassured that his beloved, beautiful Anna wouldn’t reject him after all.
But what if the cards are wrong? Or it’s all a hoax? He decided he should be on his guard around this weird woman. She jist might be plannin’ to serve me up as a sacrifice for supper!
Returning with a burlap bag, Jemie dumped the contents onto the table. Out fell various body parts from different animals, an assortment of herbs, minerals, soil, and bones.
“Feathers from an oriole,” she said, placing them into a small felt pouch. “Pulverized lizard’s egg, talcum powder, and hair from a jackass.” She placed those items into the pouch as well.
Handing the amulet to David, she said, “You wear dis gris-gris ‘round yo’ waist, and yo’ Miss Anna won’t be able to resist you.” She pulled a furry appendage from her pocket. “Dis juju you keep on you fo’ good luck.”
He took the rabbit’s foot from her.
“And dis—” From her other dress pocket, she extracted a small rag doll. “Dis represent Stephen. When you git back home, you take a piece of his hair, and put it on da doll. Den you poke it wit’ da pin, to inflict pain on him.”
She pulled a three-inch hat pin out from under her bandana and stabbed it harshly into the doll.
David jumped.
“Dis mojo protect you from his harmful ways. You and yo’ Anna.”
She handed it to him, so he slowly reached out and took the talisman from her. The black magic Jemie presented to him was ill-omened and scary. Unsure how to react, he wondered about her imprecations and the powers they possessed.
“I don’t really want to hurt him,” he remarked.
“From what you told me, I t’ink you do. Wait and see.” She walked around behind him. “Now, dere one last t’ing. Den you lie down an’ rest.”
“What’s that, Miss Jemie?”
“Take off dat shirt,” she commanded.
He gawked at her. Jemie’s sharp gaze broke his resistance, so he stood up and complied.
“Dese whippin’s. When you git dem?”
“A couple of months ago.”
She went back to the kitchen and soon returned with a porcelain bowl filled with fragranced fluid. “Sit down. Dese wounds ain’t healed up yet. Should’ve been by now.”
Dipping a rag into the potion, she rubbed it on his back. He groaned from the sting. She went into the kitchen and returned with a cup of tea.
“Drink dis,” she said.
“What’s in it?”
“Somet’in’ to calm you. Now drink.”
He took a sip and let out a sigh.
She rubbed the medicine on his back.
He flinched.
“Drink up now.”
He gulped down the tea. After a few moments, the sting went away. Once again, he felt euphoric, but his head grew heavy with weariness. Jemie escorted him into a bedroom where the two little ones were sleeping.
“You lie on yo’ stomach, an’ let dat dry,” she said.
David sank down onto a straw-filled pallet.
“I come an’ git you when supper ready.”
His eyelids grew heavy. He heard Anna call to him from across a green field, but he couldn’t move his legs to run to her. He tried to respond, but he had no voice. She faded away. Feeling a nudge on his shoulder, he startled awake.
“Missa David, supper ready.”
He rolled over, stood, attempted to shake the cobwebs from his mind, and followed Malachi to the table. Taking the seat he had occupied during dinner, he tried vainly to blink the grogginess from his head.
“Dis wake you up,” Malachi assured, handing him a bowl filled with a curious creation. The aroma was delightful.
“What is this?” he asked weakly.
“Crawfish étouffée,” replied Jemie.
The children shoveled forkfuls into their mouths.
David noted the ingredients: peppers, onions, rice, and crawfish that Malachi and the older children had most likely caught in the pond that afternoon. He placed a forkful in his mouth.
Reveling in the marvelous flavor, he said, “This is mighty good.” After piling his plate up again, and then a third time, he finally ate his fill.
“An’ now fo’ dessert, I make dis special cake,” Jemie announced.
She cut the ring-shaped cake decorated with purple sugar crystals and distributed pieces of the white confection around the table.
David took a bite, relishing the smooth, creamy texture within the heavy cake. “This is delicious,” he commented.
“Dis cake represent da gift from da Magi to da Holy Child,” explained Jemie. “I feel dat yo’ life renewed, David, and so I make dis cake fo’ you.”
“Oh,” David smiled gratefully. “Thank you very much, Miss Jemie.”
After supper, the children ran out into the front yard, and the two men walked onto the front porch. Malachi pulled a wooden crate from the corner, sat down upon it, and withdrew a harmonica from his trousers pocket. He began to blow into the instrument, producing harmonious strains.
“Say, you’re pretty good at that,” remarked David.
“T’ank you,” he replied. “You play?”
He held the harmonica out to him.
David chuckled in response. “Naw. I don’t know how to play one of those,” he said.
“Anyt’in’ you can play?”
“Guitar.”
A ridiculously wide grin spread across Malachi’s face. “You wait here.”
He sprang to his feet and went inside. The children noticed their father was gone, so they ran over to gawk at David.
“Where you come from, mista?” the younger girl asked.
“Alabama.”
“Ih dat far away?” inquired the younger boy.
He nodded.
“Is you goin’ back dere?” asked the older girl.
“Plannin’ on it. Soon as I see my wife.”
“Where she?” interrogated the older brother.
“She ain’t too far from here.”
“Do we know her?” the younger girl asked.
Their questions kept pummeling him until Malachi reappeared, carrying a battered old guitar.
“See if you kin play dis.” He grinned, holding it out to his guest.
“Well, it’s been a while.” David strummed the strings, wincing at how off tune they were. He carefully turned the pegs until he thought each string plucked the note it was intended to produce. Placing his right foot up on the crate, he balanced the instrument atop his raised thigh. To his amazement, the chords came easily to him, and he was impressed with himself in that he hadn’t forgotten.
“This old man, he played one, he played knick-knack on my thumb, with a knick-knack paddy whack, give a dog a bone, this old man came rollin’ home.”
He performed the verses up through ten, prompting the children to count with him. By the end of the song, they had learned the chorus too, and sang louder each time it repeated. When the song ended, they hollered, clapped, and jumped up and down.
“Wait!” Malachi exclaimed.
He extracted his harmonica and started playing a melancholy melody. It sounded similar to one of the spirituals David had heard slaves sing on occasion. He listened for a moment before strumming along, finding the chords to fit the tune.
Jemie came out onto the porch. Drawing a green, crocheted shawl around her shoulders, she smiled at them, closed her eyes, and slowly swayed back and forth with the music as if in a trance.
David grew ill at ease, so he stopped playing. “I should be takin’ my leave now,” he said.
Jemie snorted. “Dat crazy. You stayin’ till mornin’.”
He smiled at her and handed the guitar to Malachi, who propped it against the crate. “Miss Jemie, Mr. Malachi, I truly appreciate what y’all have done for me, but I’ve already imposed enough. I can still walk a few miles before sundown. Besides, you don’t have room for me to stay.”
“We find a place,” the older boy said.
“You kin sleep in my bed,” added the older girl.
David felt far too uncomfortable to stay through the long, dark night in such a peculiar place as this. He wanted to make sure he would live to see Anna. “I’m much obliged, but I need to git home as fast as I can.”
Jemie smiled up at him. She reached out and took hold of his upper arms. “Yo’ Anna waitin’ on you,” she said with a nod. “Bes’ be gettin’ back to her.” She gave his arms a squeeze before letting go.
Malachi went into the house and came back out with David’s flask. Handing it to him, he said, “Yo’ welcome to dis guitar.”
“What?” David asked in disbelief.
“Dat right,” he said. “Chil’ren have no interest in it. Dey all rat’er play da drums.” He reached over, picked up the mahogany instrument, and thrust it in David’s direction.
“Well,” David said softly, taking the battered guitar from him, “thank you, sir, very much.”
“Pleasure all mine,” responded Malachi with his big, morbid grin.
“Oh, one mo’ t’ing.” Jemie went into the house. She came back out with a bundle tied in cloth. “Since you like dis étouffée so much, you take some wit’ you.”
“Thanks, Miss Jemie.” He smiled widely. “Well, I’ll be headin’ off now.” He started down the path.
“Malachi kin give you ride,” Jemie hollered.
“No thanks, Miss Jemie,” he yelled back and waved.
“You hang onto dat gris-gris and mojo I give you,” she called out.
David felt the rabbit’s foot in his trouser pocket, its rigid claws scratching against his thigh. “I will, Miss Jemie!”
He strode down the wooded path with the twinkling wind chimes accompanying him. As he rounded the corner, he heard the sound of drums coming from the cabin. He stopped to look back, but the structure was obscured from view. For a moment, he thought he could see bizarre, writhing creatures far off at the end of the road, but reasoned it must be shadows. Turning back, he strode down the path as quickly as he could. He reached the road. Without stopping to catch his breath, he sauntered on for several miles until he believed Jemie’s incantations couldn’t reach him anymore. He wondered if she had stolen some of his hair and made a doll-replica of him to torture. While he walked, he felt imagined pinches and pokes.
Well after nightfall, he found an old shed off to the side of the road. He cleared his way through the undergrowth and made a makeshift bed inside. After setting the guitar down carefully, he made a pillow from a pile of dried leaves. He pulled his shirt collar tightly up around his neck to keep the spiders out. For several hours he lay there, hearing daunting moans and shrieks in the distance and shivering from apprehension. Covering himself with the guitar like it was a blanket, he held onto it tightly until he finally fell asleep.
Brightness woke him. He wriggled out of his shelter. The day was cheerfully sunny and made him unsure if the previous day had been a dream, but the guitar proved otherwise. He opened the cloth Jemie had given him and ravenously devoured the étouffée. The ceramic vessel she had sent was uniquely colorful. He considered keeping it for Anna, but reasoned it would just be one more thing he had to tote, so he reluctantly left it behind.
Making his way down the dusty road, he contemplated how much farther it was to Harrisburg. After a few hours, he saw an approaching carriage and flagged it down. Four young maidens inside allowed his entry. They referred to him as a traveling minstrel and begged him for a song, so he politely obliged. The ladies sang numerous melodies, some of which were Yankee tunes he’d never heard before. After they had ridden for nearly two hours, the young women informed him Harrisburg was some thirty miles away before depositing him on the roadside with well wishes.
David continued on his trek. After another day of weary walking, he felt thoroughly drained. He tried to fashion a bow and arrow from a stick and a piece of wire he’d found, but he couldn’t get it to work properly. Deciding he was out of practice, he gave up, and forced himself to plod on through his hunger and weariness.
He knew it was June 18, a week and a half since he had departed through the gates of Helmira. As evening set in, he felt as though he couldn’t go any farther, so he lay down on the riverbank and slept fitfully.
Waking at sunrise, he thought he had acquired a fever but pushed on, nevertheless. By mid-morning, he was exhausted and couldn’t drink enough water to quench his thirst, no matter how hard he tried. He found a quiet spot under a dogwood tree. Curling up in the dew-covered grass like a cat, he wished for his suffering to subside. If only he knew how far it was to Anna, he would make himself get up and run the remaining distance, but he had no way of judging. The more fatigued he got, the more discouraged he became. The possibility of her rejection wouldn’t leave his mind. He closed his eyes and tried hard to remember the sound of her voice.
Laughter, singing, and the voices of children entered his dreams. Cold wetness touched his cheek. He slowly became aware of his surroundings. A dog sniffed at his face. David moaned and sat up.
“Oh! It’s a man.”
He looked over to see two red-haired children staring at him from a few feet away. The little girl had wildflowers in her hand. Her older brother immediately took her other hand. Their beagle continued sniffing.
“Sir, what are you doin’ on our property?” the boy asked.
“Uh,” David moaned again. He pulled himself to his feet and picked up the guitar. “Jist lyin’ down for a rest,” he explained.
“Mama!” The girl reeled and scurried up over a hill.
“Wait! Kathleen,” her brother yelled, running after her.
David stood dumbfounded, but then decided to follow them.
The beagle wagged its tail at him and bounded ahead a few leaps before turning to see if he was still following.
Struggling up the hill, David reached the crest. He saw a fieldstone house several yards away and a woman hanging laundry on a clothesline. She looked over just as Kathleen sprinted toward her.
Seeing David approach, she picked up her daughter and roared, “Don’t come any closer, sir.”
He recognized her Irish accent. Her hair was red, like her children’s.
“I have me a gun and I won’t hesitate to use it.”
She stood her ground, but as he drew nearer, her visage changed. She set the girl down. Her son turned toward him, and all three glared at him.
“I mean you no harm, ma’am,” David said. His stomach cramped. He put his hand to it and groaned, nearly buckling over.
“What’s wrong with ye, lad?” she asked.
He couldn’t respond, but nearly dropped to his knees.
“Faith an’ Beggorah,” she said under her breath. “Are ye ill?”
He nodded, grimacing. “I reckon,” he said in agony.
Compassionately, she took him by the arm. “Come with me, sir.”
She led him over to the house.
David handed his guitar to the boy.
The woman stopped and turned to face him. “Before we go in, I’ll have yer word that ye won’t be tryin’ any shenanigans,” she said threateningly. “Because I’ll keep me musket aimed on ye.”
He nodded, which was all he could muster.
They entered the quaint dwelling. The young woman led him to a chair beside a little table in the kitchen.
“You’re as green as a shamrock,” she commented.
Her children giggled.
“Sorry, ma’am,” he said, his cramps easing. “I’ve been travelin’ for some time now, and I reckon it’s caught up to me.”
She turned to her son. “Keegan, fetch some water from the well.”
The boy obeyed and ran outside.
Sitting down next to David, she asked, “You’re a Southerner?”
“Yes’m.”
“And you’re on yer way down South?”
He smiled faintly at her. “I’m on my way to Dover.”
“Dover, Pennsylvania?”
“Yes’m.”
“Well, Dover’s not far from here. Harrisburg is ten miles away, and I believe Dover is about fifteen past that.”
Stunned by the revelation that he was closer than he had imagined, he smiled. “Then it won’t be long before I see my wife again.”
Keegan entered with a bucket of water. After being told to fetch a cup, he returned and handed it to his mother. She filled it before passing it to David. He took a long drink, but the coolness didn’t do much to relieve his fever.
“You poor fellow,” the woman sympathized. “Do ye think ye can eat?”
“I can try.”
“And I can trust ye, then?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She smiled, stood, and set her musket in the corner near the small stove.
David propped his elbows on the table to support his head in his hands. He heard the children whisper, but couldn’t decipher their words.
Within minutes, their mother fried some diced meat and potatoes, and set the plate in front of him.
Giving her a shy grin, he took the fork and scooped in a mouthful. “This is mighty good,” he remarked, his eyes lighting up. He shoveled the potatoes in so fast that the little ones giggled.
“‘Tis corned beef hash,” she said. “Oh, and by the way, me name’s Briana. Briana Gannon.”
“I’m David Summers. Pleased to meet you, ma’am.” He inhaled the remaining portion.
“Me dear sir, please call me Briana,” she insisted.
He took a gulp of water. “All right, Miss Briana. That’s a very pretty name. It sounds like my wife’s name.”
“Thank ye, Mr. Summers.” She curtsied, took his empty plate from the table, and set it on the counter. Returning to her seat, she asked, “There now, don’t ye feel a wee bit better?”
“Yes’m, I most certainly do,” he replied graciously, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
“I know it’s none of me business, but curiosity has always been me downfall. At least, that’s what me husband used to say. Is yer wife in Dover?”
He grinned at the thought of her. “Yes’m. Nearby. I ain’t seen her in six months.”
“Saints, and why not?” she exclaimed.
“Because I was in a Confederate prison. In Elmira, New York. Anna’s a Yankee.”
“Did she fight for the Federals, like my pa?” the little boy inquired.
David smiled and shook his head.
With a click of his heels, Keegan saluted before marching off.
Briana chuckled at her son, but her expression quickly turned sober. “His father was a no good,” she said. “Supposedly joined up in sixty-two, and we never heard from him again. I thought it would be just like him to show up drunk, sayin’ he’d remarried, and try to take the wee ones from me.” She sighed. “But then I received word from the government, sayin’ he’d been murdered at Petersburg.”
“Oh, my condolences,” David replied quietly.
“But I’ve told ye too much now, haven’t I?”
He smiled compassionately.
“So yer wife, Anna, which is a darlin’ name too, by the way, is she with child?”
David glared at her. “What do you mean?”
Briana burst into laughter. “Now I don’t need to be explainin’ that to ye, do I?”
His jaw dropped. She had mentioned something he hadn’t even considered before. What if Anna was expecting when he returned home? What if Stephen had noticed and convinced her to marry him to spare her reputation and to give the child a name—the Montgomery name? What if Stephen realized the unborn child was David’s and that he and Anna were married?
“Oh. I must’ve said somethin’ ye didn’t wish to hear,” she remarked.
He chuckled nervously. “I’m a fool is all. I never even thought of it.”
Briana smiled at him, her nose wrinkling slightly as she did so. The beagle came sniffing around David’s feet, searching for crumbs.
“‘Tis Shannon, our protector. It’s me hope no one will molest us, for we wouldn’t stand a chance. She’s by far the dumbest creature on the face of God’s green earth.”
He laughed and reached down to pet the multi-colored hound. Shannon wagged her tail and licked his hand. The dog lifted her nose in the air and let loose a sorrowful yowl.
“Come and defend yourself, Rebel!” a voice hollered from the front room.
Glancing at Briana, David obeyed the command. He walked into the front room to see Keegan standing behind a toy cannon, aimed directly at him.
“Keegan! Stop that this instant,” Briana insisted.
The fiery-haired boy pulled on a string attached to the toy and sent a ball flying out of the barrel. David leaped in spite of himself, causing the two children to burst into a fit of laughter.
Briana couldn’t help but giggle. “Are ye all right?” she asked, taking his arm.
He grinned at her. “I’m fine. Reckon I’m jist a mite jumpy is all.”
“His father gifted that to him for his birthday when the war began. Unfortunately, Keegan still has a likin’ for it.” She rolled her eyes.
David snickered. “Well, Miss Briana, I’d best be on my way if I’m to make Harrisburg before sundown.” He picked up the guitar by the front door where Keegan had left it and started outside.
Briana followed him. Her two children ran past them into the open field near the house. Kathleen resumed her flower picking.
“Are ye feelin’ all right now?” she asked.
“Yes’m. Much obliged for the vittles.”
She smiled and took in a deep breath. “Sure’n it’s a grand mornin’ indeed. Reminds me of when I was a wee lass back in County Donegal.”
David glared at her. “I have a friend from there,” he stated.
“Ye don’t say.”
“He lives on the next farm over from my wife’s farm.”
“Oh. Might he be married?”
“No, ma’am.”
“A bachelor, then?”
“Yes’m.”
“Does he have any wee ones?”
He looked at her questioningly, causing her to laugh.
“Any children, sir.”
Oh! No, ma’am. No young’uns.”
“And would ye know if he likes them?”
He shrugged. “I reckon so. He gits on with Anna’s sisters jist fine.”
“Well then, Mr. Summers, when ye return back home, you’ll have to be sendin’ him up this way.” She winked.
Unsure if she was joking or not, he replied, “I’ll see what I can do. Oh, and please call me David.” He smiled and started on his way.
“Slán leat, David,” Briana called after him.
He turned and waved at her. Continuing on, he wondered what the phrase meant and assumed it was Gaelic. Keegan ran along beside him for a while, teasing him by calling him “Rebel” until he finally grew bored, turned tail, and ran back home.
David ambled on throughout the afternoon. Rounding a curve in the river, he saw Harrisburg ahead. He quickened his pace and entered the city forty-five minutes later.
Walking down the thoroughfare, he recognized the mercantile where Anna had done her shopping. He noticed some of the funeral stores were closed, bearing witness to the fact that the country had stopped feeding the earth with bodies of young soldiers. He didn’t see any Chinamen this time. Mostly, the sidewalk was occupied by women, children, and old men. He saw very few males his own age, which made him realize what the war had done. Women his age were now without spouses or beaus and would have to find much younger or older partners. All that remained of his age group were fortunate ones, such as himself, or young soldiers who had been maimed by shrapnel and shell, leaving them void of limbs and spirit.
He walked out of the city and made his way down the road he and Anna had traveled over a year ago. The thought of it made him yearn for her even more. According to Briana, he had fifteen miles left. He knew he couldn’t go that far before nightfall. Still, he kept on as dusk encroached.
Finding the grove of willow trees where he and Anna had picnicked, he decided it was the most perfect spot in the entire world. He set the guitar down, lay beside it, covered his face with his hat, and closed his eyes. His weariness immediately consumed him, and he fell into a deep, undisturbed sleep.
When he awoke, it was already past dawn. He groggily rose to his feet and set out on his way but quickly grew weary. Within an hour, he knew his fever had returned. Miss Jemie’s card, the one predicting his health, had apparently been wrong. He wondered if the rabbit’s foot actually possessed good luck, like she had claimed. While he meandered down the road, his feet began to ache, and his thirst raged. He only allowed himself to stop a few times for water.
By the time the sun reached midpoint in the sky, he felt like he might pass out from exhaustion, so he concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other. He staggered and nearly fell but caught himself in time. Stopping at a creek long enough to splash cool water on his face, he continued on. He rounded a bend. Immediately, he recognized the familiar countryside, and the Meyers’ farm perched a few miles back from the road. Hastening his stride, he grasped his guitar in anxious anticipation.
He sauntered over a slope, looking down upon the abundant fields that spread out before him. There it was—the Brady farmstead, quiet and radiant in the afternoon’s hazy glow, like nothing had ever changed. David’s heart raced. He smiled and forced himself to run. The dwelling beckoned to him as if reaching out with open arms to welcome him in. There it was—his home, and everything he lived for.