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THIS UNEXPECTED DISCOVERY brought an instant wave of sorrow, as if all of the tears loved ones shed over the years had seeped into the land where Katie stood and now washed into her.
She shuddered with the same anguish that hit her when her grandmother died. That was the day Katie decided there was no pattern to the universe...no rhyme or reason to anything. Nothing about life or death made sense. Bad things happened to good people. Good people died without warning and before their time.
And here was more proof. She could not fathom a God who would close His ears to the pleas and prayers of so many families.
She blinked to clear her eyes as she gazed at the monument, an eternal reminder of the lives—and the losses—of a century and a half earlier. As Katie continued to study the names, she recognized a few. There was a Charles Ferguson, possibly a relation of the sheriff’s, and a Franklin Puckett, likely from the general store family.
Knowing that the descendants of those who were killed so tragically had somehow gone on with their lives, and remained on the land where they’d been born, brought some solace.
“Crazy kids.”
The voice from behind her was soft, but jolted Katie, nonetheless.
“They thought fighting in a war was going to be fun.”
Katie swiped a tear off her cheek before turning around. A handsome, elderly gentleman with silver hair and a twisted, gnarled hand gripping a cane, smiled back at her.
“Sorry to startle you,” he said. “It’s so seldom that people take the time to read the names.”
“It’s beautiful,” Katie said. “And so sad.”
“I feel the same way every time I see it.” He moved a step closer, his cane making a gentle tapping sound on the stone. “Many a tear has watered these stones over the years.”
Katie watched as he placed his hand on the granite and traced the engraved name of one of the fallen. “When I read these, I can almost see each hero’s grave decorated with flowers by the heartbroken family members who were left behind.”
The way his voice broke told Katie he was truly moved.
“Are you from New Hope?”
“Born and bred.” He propped himself up with his cane and held out his hand. “Joe Addison. A pleasure to meet you.”
“I’m Katie McCain.” She grasped the feeble-looking hand and was surprised by the strength of his grip. “Nice to meet you Mr. Addison.”
“Just Joe. Old Joe is what they call me.”
“You must know a good bit about the local history.” Katie could hardly believe her good fortune at this chance encounter with someone familiar with New Hope’s past.
“I know a bit,” he said. “Of course, I wasn’t around during the War Between the States.” He winked and began making his way over to a bench. “But according to my grandmother, this park was the town’s parade grounds.” He swept his hand out, as he lowered himself onto the seat. “The young men came from all over the county to get trained and to drill in front of the ladies every evening. They were in a hurry, don’t you know.”
“To go to war?”
He nodded thoughtfully. “And to die for their country.”
“There are so many,” Katie said, turning back to the statue. “And all from such a small town.”
“And so young. Wiped away before anyone could even guess their potential.” He shook his head. “Shame that kids the same age these days can’t get out of bed before noon or make it to work on time two days in a row.”
They both gazed at the Confederate flag as a sudden breeze unfurled the folds of fabric, flaunting its vibrant colors against the blue sky. “It was certainly a different time back then.” Joe watched the banner with a faraway look. “But their deeds of valor endure. Their heroic lives stand as a sacred heritage to us all.”
Trying to hide her eagerness, Katie pointed to the monument and asked casually, “What about this Colonel Wescott? Do you know anything about him?”
“Yes. He was from the Wescotts of Lacewood.”
“I thought so!” Katie realized she had shouted and tried to restrain her enthusiasm. “I bought the Lacewood house and would love to know its history.”
The man relaxed back against the bench back. “Well, that’s a tall order. How much time do you have?”
Katie sighed as she remembered the groceries in the car. “I should probably get going. I stopped on my way home from the store on a whim and have ice and milk in the car.”
“Well, I’d be willing to talk to you about it sometime. At first glance, Colonel Wescott’s life was the same as a thousand other gallant men during that terrible conflict.”
“But there’s more to the story?” Katie leaned forward.
“Oh, yes.” The man nodded with a dreamy expression. “Much more.”
“Can I give you my phone number?” Katie sat down beside him. “I’d love for you to come over—or I can meet you here, or in town somewhere.”
He chuckled. “Now who would have thought I’d be getting a young lady’s number at my age?”
The twinkle in his eye made Katie smile. She pulled a piece of paper out of her purse and jotted down the number. “Call any time.”
“I’ll do that.” He took the slip of paper and tucked it into his shirt. “Now you’d better get your milk out of the hot sun.”
* * *
MAKING HER WAY PAST the last street of houses in New Hope, Katie slowed down when she passed a large sign, impossible to miss. It read, “Have a nice day,” and was decorated top to bottom in red, white, and blue bunting. One of the attorneys at the house settlement told her about the sign, which was well-known in the area. New decorations appeared every holiday, but no one knew who adorned the landmark. People from miles around drove to New Hope to see the sign, and left with a smile on their faces.
Katie thought about the simplicity of the act—and the joy it created. This quick excursion today for supplies reinforced her conviction that this town and these people were exactly what she needed in her life. She never wanted to return to the hustle and bustle of the city where no one knew their neighbors or slowed down long enough to say hello.
When you think about it, I’m really just returning to my roots.
Katie’s mother’s family had come from money—but her father’s had sprung from the land. While her mother was driven by fame and wealth, her father was impelled by love of country and pride. He was a Virginian, he often reminded her, always saying it in a way that sounded special.
Now I know what he meant.
Recollections of her younger years in Virginia only came in brief flashes now, often sparked by something as simple as the smell of lilacs or the feel of freshly washed sheets. Then she would recall her grandmother’s face. Her laugh. Her voice. But those memories were fainter and faded faster these days.
She hoped that moving to Lacewood would help her reconnect to the land—and to her father.
Katie made the turn through the stone gates with her mind still busy. The monument in the park had aroused a wave of thoughts and feelings about her own roots, her heritage...and her destiny.
Maybe her grandmother had something to do with all this. Maybe she’d been guiding her, pointing out the way all along.
For the first time in a long time, Katie threw her head back and laughed at this whole crazy, improbable situation. But catching a glimpse of herself in the rearview mirror chased the smile away. She always received compliments on her thick blond hair, which she’d undoubtedly inherited from her mother.
But the deep brown eyes staring back at her were her father’s...who got them from his mother.
She thought about them every time she looked in the mirror.