Eleven

Aden untied Jake and Jolly from the gray trunk of a stout hickory tree and began to saddle them for their trip into town. Rebekah enjoyed the reflection of his movements in the stream as she washed their bowls.

“That hickory tree is the exact same color as goldenrods, but it looks a lot crisper,” she called out.

Aden chuckled. “As if you’d eat either one. Actually, the hickory will be feeding us soon, won’t it?” He tightened saddle straps on Jolly and squinted up through the leafy golden foliage. “Nuts will fall soon. Maybe we can have a nut pie for Thanksgiving.”

“If the squirrels don’t eat them all first,” said Rebekah, turning bowls upside down on her flat stone and wiping her hands on her apron.

As they rode to town, they were silent for the most part. But Rebekah felt encouraged that perhaps things were better between them. At least they could enjoy simple conversations about hickory leaves!

They had varying dental cases that day. A Mr. Jenkins had a mouth full of rotten teeth, and he wanted them fixed now that he, a widower, was planning to marry Miss Sophia Jordan. But Mr. Jenkins hated pain, too. Working on him was a trial for the dentist and his assistant. Several other people had simple tooth drawings, and one gentleman wanted Aden to make him a partial device so he could speak without a lisp since he’d lost three front teeth. Aden had to argue with him for awhile before they settled on a plan.

As Rebekah boiled instruments on the Moffatts’ back room stove getting ready for the next day, she leaned her forehead against a little, yellow cupboard. Today, as every day, her prayer was that God would show her how to tell Isaac Aden about her theft. She knew now that she must. But how?

Should she boldly bring out the sock full of money and face him with it head on? Or should she cook him a real delicious cake at the Mayfields’ and then lead up to the dreaded subject while they sat picnicking by their stream? Or should she ask a mediator, like Betsy, to help her? But that would entail telling Betsy, too, and she couldn’t do that!

She was so deep in thought as they rode home that Aden had to speak to her several times before she realized he was talking to her.

“I’m sorry,” she said, turning pink with confusion. “I was—trying to figure something out.”

He grinned, almost as he used to do at the beginning. “Must be a pretty big project,” he said. “If there’d been a snake in your path or anything else to spook Jolly, he’d have dumped you easily.”

“So—what did I miss?” she asked.

“Oh. It wasn’t that important. I was just saying the Mayfields are about to finish their barn—think they’ll be done tomorrow drying in. And—I guess you know about the party tomorrow night.”

“Oh—yes! Yes, I do.” Her heart gave a leap. “Cerise said there would be dancing.”

“That’s what David said. He’s invited Jess Porter—remember the fellow who ended up on the floor with both of us manhandling him to get his teeth out? He’s asked him to bring his fiddle. But that’s not all. They’re going to have horseshoes to play and some competitions, and of course, plenty of food. I thought—maybe you’d make one of those caramel cakes again. I’m sure Betsy would let you use her oven.”

“But—tomorrow’s Friday. We don’t have appointments?”

“No. I want to help finish that barn,” said Aden. “Will you make a cake?”

“Yes! Yes, I will!” She was inordinately pleased. He liked the caramel cake she’d made. He was asking her to do something—for pleasure!

As they rode into camp and she saw the little wagon huddled like a large sitting hen under the trees, a feeling of despair gripped her heart. She could almost see that sock leaping out of its hiding place all on its own. How could she go on with this horrible, despicable deed unconfessed, hanging about her like a horrible shroud? Yet—what could she do about it? She’d have to wait now until after the party. She couldn’t ruin the nice workday tomorrow and the party. After that she’d tell him, maybe before they even got back to the wagon.

❧

“Rebekah, you’re so very quiet today,” observed Rosemary as she peeled and chopped fresh turnip roots.

“No need for her to talk when we’re jabbering like so many magpies,” said Lucy, coming to Rebekah’s defense at the same time she glanced at their friend. “But you do look a little pale. Don’t you feel well? It’s going to be such fun tonight, dancing and all!”

“Oh, I’m perfectly fine,” said Rebekah as, for the third time, she sifted flour for her cake. This cake had to turn out scrumptiously light. She wouldn’t think about that horrible money. She’d concentrate on this cake. She tossed her braid over her shoulder, hoping at the same time to rid herself of nagging thoughts.

She’d lain awake for miserable hours plotting how she would tell Aden, then had fallen asleep just before dawn. When she awoke, Aden had already gone to work on the barn, so she hadn’t seen him alone today—had only come by the merry builders on her way to the house. And merry they were. All signs of that horrific fire were gone except for a dead limb or two on nearby hickory trees and a pile of charred debris removed to the edge of the yard. What one noticed now was the fine new barn smelling of fresh pine lumber. Today the framework was thick with workmen whistling, calling out jokes, mainly working on the roof, which was to be done by nightfall. Even the family’s dogs, the whole hassling pack of them, looked happy as if they, too, were part of this energetic project.

A tame fire, so different from that of a few weeks ago, crackled cheerfully between the barn and the house, handy for warming hands on this chilly morning and for burning bits of refuse. Rebekah asked Lawrence why they needed a fire, and he gave those reasons then added one more. “It’s just the way we do things,” he said, scratching his head as if he himself didn’t completely understand. “Unless it’s dead heat of summer, we always have a fire when we’re building.”

“Get Rebekah an iron pan for caramelizing sugar, Cerise,” Betsy said. “And all of you stop pestering her about being quiet. No reason, I guess, for her to be as excited about today as we are. And, Cerise, you need to run see if there’s any more eggs. I’ll be so glad when we have a barn again so those poor hens can figure out where to lay. I declare, we can’t keep up with the odd places they find for their nests.”

“I know!” laughed Lucy, trimming the edges of a third piecrust. “I found a nest yesterday under the house.”

“You did not find it! I did!” declared Cerise.

“I knew it was under there—you were just my envoy to collect the eggs.”

“Girls! Who cares who found it as long as we get the eggs? Now scoot, Cerise. We’re going to need every egg we can get today, what with pies, Rebekah’s cake, potato salad, and whatever else comes up.”

“Like maybe some plain boiled eggs for hungry characters like Lawrence,” said Lucy. Rolling out leftover piecrust scraps, she cut them into strips and pricked them with a fork. “If that boy comes in this kitchen and sees these homemade crackers before I hide them, they’ll be gone before I can draw breath.”

“You mean before you can eat them yourself,” said Rosemary.

Rebekah let the lively, friendly bantering wash over her. How lovely it would have been to grow up in a family like this. Responsibilities were shared, criticisms were shared, and laughter at everyone and oneself was warmly shared. Immediately she felt guilty for having wished for any childhood other than the one she’d had. Father and Mother had been so good to her. If she’d had six brothers and sisters instead of only one, life would have been considerably different. But what if they’d all been lazy and troublesome like Josh? Oh, my! She quickly turned that thought into a prayer for her brother, wherever he might be.

She closed the oven door on her cake and went to work helping Betsy salt and flour pieces of three chickens. Betsy had cut her thumb in the process of dressing and cutting up the chickens, so her progress was impeded. “Stupid thing to do,” she fussed now, her right thumb wound up in a piece of flour sacking and sticking up at an awkward angle. “That last bird, crazy thing, was tougher than I expected.”

Lawrence and a neighbor, Ben Carey, set up some boards on sawhorses outside the new barn for spreading the feast. Mrs. Carey brought a kettle of chicken and dumplings. Betsy confided in Lucy that if she’d known those dumplings were coming, she wouldn’t have cooked that third chicken and could have avoided cutting her thumb. Mrs. Banks brought a great boiler almost full of turnip greens, which was a wonderful addition, and she brought a big pan of cornbread, too.

“I didn’t bring any butter since you always seem to have plenty,” said Mrs. Banks cheerfully. “Our milk’s not very rich about now, for some reason, so we’re short of butter.”

Betsy nodded and smiled. “Cerise, run and get the butter and bring that big jar of buttermilk, too. Oh, Lucy, go with her. We need those pickles, too. And a few more glasses. Carol, see how many blocks of wood you can roll over for seats. Freddie, you help your sister. Sure do miss the hay about now. But if the barn hadn’t burned, we wouldn’t be having this workday anyway, would we, so’s to need the seats.”

They ate so much at noonday, the women had to start all over again cooking for that night. Betsy insisted that Rebekah save her cake for supper. “Tonight’s the real party,” she said, “an’ everything’ll be a bit dressier—at least we will. You are going to fix yourself up for tonight, aren’t you?”

Rebekah blushed. She hadn’t realized she was unkempt, but Betsy’s look said she was downright rumpled. “Sure. I’ll change,” she said.

“Wear that dress that spins, the blue one with a little ruffle around the neck,” said Cerise, sucking her finger after taking a pinch of cookie dough.

“But it has short sleeves,” said Rebekah.

“Wear a sweater.”

“Lucy needs to put your hair up in braids, Cerise. You look a mess yourself,” said Carol. Cerise stuck her tongue out at her sister but then grinned, glad she’d have her hair braided.

Rebekah had washed in the stream and was slipping the blue cotton “spin around” dress over her head when she heard Aden’s footsteps outside. She jerked the dress down and smoothed it quickly, looked at herself in a small, cracked mirror, and proceeded to undo her braid. It looked as if she’d slept in it about a week. Her fingers felt fumbly as she hurried to get ready. It suddenly seemed so important that he see her looking good.

She heard him washing in the stream and bit a corner of her lower lip. If only, oh, if only that sock full of money would disappear. Maybe she could bury it!

“’Ebekah!” he called at the wagon opening, using her old Molly Sharp nickname. She spun so quickly, she bumped her head then had to laugh at her clumsiness. “Hey!” he said, leaning into the wagon, amusement twinkling in his eyes. “Come here!”

It was amazing how long it took her to cover the distance between that back corner and the flap opening of Aden’s tiny wagon. She didn’t know what he would do when she got there, but she knew more than anything she wanted to find out.

He put up his hands to help her as she jumped lightly to the ground. His warm hands held her firmly, then, at the waist as he gazed into her face with an insistent light in his blue eyes. Her heart thudded erratically as slowly she placed her own hands on his shoulders. His kiss was so sweet, so tender—and so urgent. “Rebekah!” he whispered against her ear. “I really do love you!”

She pulled away, still keeping her hands on his shoulders. “You—you said—”

“That I love you,” he finished for her, moving one hand from her waist to tilt her chin upward with one finger.

“But you can’t—I mean, you don’t know—” Oh, what should I do?

“I’m sorry. I’m being too pushy. You just look so ravishing in that dress. Tell you what—you go on up to the Mayfields’ and let me spruce up some. And don’t you dare give the first dance away,” he ended as he turned her toward the path.

She turned back, determined to tell him all. But the look in his twinkling eyes arrested her. Later. She’d tell him later. They’d have the party first.

“Hi, Rebekah! Don’t look so solemn!” said Lawrence as she walked into the barnyard. “My! Don’t you look nice! Say, think I could sneak one little piece of that cake before supper? It looks so delicious, and they said you made it.”

She laughed, relieved to have her dread and fear dispelled by Lawrence’s greed. “No, Lawrence, you may not have even one slice of that cake until you clean up and eat your dinner!” she declared, trying to sound fierce.

“Oh, well!” he said with a shrug. “It was worth a try. All right, I’m going to make myself presentable, as Mama says.” He threw a grin over his shoulder as he sauntered off, totally unembarrassed at his failed attempt.

Rebekah had never seen horseshoes played, much less tried the game herself. It was Cerise who demanded, insisted, and pleaded with her until she agreed to play. She fought against disappointment that Aden himself hadn’t asked her to play, but then what could she expect? They had hardly been talking to each other for so long, and just because he felt suddenly romantic and kissed her didn’t mean he would continue to pay her attention. She wondered if he would remember he’d told her to save him the first dance. Probably not. When she realized partners played from opposite stakes and thus she was to stand near Aden, she tried her best to back out, but Cerise held her to her promise.

“Here goes a ringer!” cried Lawrence and sent a horseshoe spinning so wildly that everyone ducked.

None of Lawrence’s shoes made it even close to the stake. Cerise laughed jubilantly as she poised for throwing a shoe. Her attempts were even wilder than Lawrence’s. Rebekah held her breath as Aden stepped back from the stake and aimed before throwing the iron horseshoe. She clapped wildly when his horseshoe slid into the stake, then let her hands hang limp as he gave her a solemn, sideways look. Why didn’t he look happy at making such a good shot? Cerise was jumping up and down in sheer pleasure at this success for anyone, partner or not.

“Bet you can’t do it again!” Cerise called to him.

“Probably not. But here goes.” This time the shoe landed neatly within a width of the stake.

David and Betsy and others began to gather around to watch them.

“Your turn, Rebekah! Your turn!” exclaimed Cerise, jumping up and down, her bright pigtails bobbing.

Rebekah groaned. She’d tried to watch each one for tips but hadn’t many clues yet as to how to do this tricky thing. Her first horseshoe went into a crazy spin when it left her hand. Aden put up his arms to protect himself and quickly gave her more space. The next one rolled a “fur piece,” as David described it. Her last throw landed a shoe in decent range but was definitely not in scoring range. Well, at least it was over, for now.

Of course Aden won the game easily, though others, even Cerise, finally made a few points. As the game ended, Rebekah suddenly became aware of Rosemary appearing in a blue and white calico sewn in a particularly enchanting design with a pinched-in waist and flowing skirt. She fairly floated through groups of neighbors to Aden’s side. As Rosemary faced Aden with one hand on her hip, the other fiddling with a loose curl by her ear, Rebekah saw that the dress had a huge drifting bow in the back. She was inclined to giggle but was able to hold it back. As she turned away to go watch Lawrence in a corn-husking competition, she distinctly heard Rosemary ask in her sweetest voice if Aden would please show her how to throw horseshoes since he was so very, very good at it.

Later, around the crowded board, Rebekah followed Cerise but placed only half as much food on her plate as did her small partner. She looked around for Aden and saw that he was talking, not to Rosemary, but to Jess Porter, the fiddler. They were leaning against one of the barn’s finished walls while they ate and talked. Jess was so jovial today, very different from the day he’d started out in the chair to have two teeth taken and had ended up on the floor. They were probably talking about how he’d made his own fiddle, what kind of wood he’d used, how long it had taken. Aden had been very interested in that, had asked the man lots of questions after his teeth were out, making his answers all mumbled.

David Mayfield made a fine speech following supper. He stood on an upturned barrel and got quite red in the face trying to hold back emotions as he thanked his neighbors for their help. “And you children, too,” he added. “A man couldn’t be more blessed than to have God seeing him through hard times. My wife, Betsy. What would I have done without her?” He sought her round, merry face among the women hovering near the table in case they were needed. “And my special new friends, Aden and Rebekah Robards,” he said, readily finding Aden, having to look some for Rebekah. “Ah, there you are, Rebekah. This lady’s been picking apples day after day. And Aden, Isaac Aden, did you people know that’s his whole given name? Well, Aden’s the one saved my horses so he’s—you know how I feel, Son! Leastways, I hope you do. Well—” David lifted his hands palms up in a gesture of helplessness as he picked out good loving faces of the Moffatts, Sheriff Bozeman, and all the rest. There was no way he could thank everyone adequately. “It’s been a tough year for us—and for our country—but we’ll keep trusting Him,” he said, lifting a hand skyward, “and helping each other out.” He cleared his throat and shuffled his feet before ending with, “And now, before we make pigs of ourselves over at that loaded dessert table, let’s dance and sing. Jess, where are you? Come on over, Friend!”

Jess Porter knew how to make a fiddle cry and laugh and sing. He was a small, wiry man with bright blue eyes twinkling above wrinkled, weathered cheeks. His chin was sharp and jutting, perfect for clamping his fiddle in place as his fingers twinkled along the strings, and his bow rhythmically pulled the music out. A hank of gray hair persisted in falling across his left eye, but he was adept at slinging it back without missing a beat. Frequently he’d stop to add rosin to his bow or to take a sip of apple cider placed nearby for him.

The new storage room and a room for Betsy’s quilting frame had been floored in bright white pine boards, and though neither room was very large, they became popular places for a few to dance. The rest happily capered on the dirt floor, either down the wide middle or in the stalls, already studded, but not partitioned as yet.

Rebekah again looked around for Aden. She saw him talking to Lawrence, then David Mayfield, then being pulled onto that storage room floor by Rosemary in her blue and white dress, which now, in lantern light, looked more white. Why hadn’t he remembered he was to dance with Rebekah? How could he forget when it had seemed so important at the time? If he had forgotten that promise, then he must also have forgotten the other words he’d said that had warmed her so at the time: I really do love you. In disappointment and feeling somewhat lost, she hugged herself, realizing for the first time she never had put on her sweater. Quietly she edged farther into the shadows.

Betsy found her and slid an arm around her waist. “If you’re feeling jealous of my Rosemary, I apologize for her,” she said quietly. “She’s a born flirt. I don’t know what I’m going to do with her. But you know, Rebekah, that’s all it is. Just as I’m beginning to see you two warm to each other, please don’t let my girl throw you off.”

Rebekah shrugged and smiled down at her friend. “Of course not,” she said with as much nonchalance as possible, though for some reason a hard lump had formed in her throat. Somehow she knew there was more to Aden’s behavior than responding to Rosemary’s flirtatiousness. Aden didn’t flirt. In all the places they’d been and with clients who did sometimes try to win a wink when they asked for appointments, he’d never given in to them that Rebekah had seen. Of course at one time she’d almost wished he would. Then it would have made it easier for her to leave. Now she didn’t want to leave. She realized sharply on this cool October night how very much she wanted to stay—and not as a washerwoman and cook, but as Isaac Aden’s wife.

“Come on, Rebekah! You have to dance with me!” cried Cerise, grabbing her hand.

“Oh, no, Cerise, no!” She pulled back, though the child was strong. Rebekah looked to Betsy for help, but Betsy only smiled and turned her palms up.

Cerise, it turned out, was not so much interested in dancing with Rebekah herself as in pairing her with Isaac Aden Robards. Once she’d placed Rebekah’s hand in Aden’s, she giggled and scooted away. Rebekah tried to withdraw her hand, not wanting to be in a position of begging for a dance. Isaac Aden tightened his grip. She looked up and was overwhelmed with the sadness in his eyes. What could be wrong? He smiled tensely and began to lead her to the tune of “Beautiful Dreamer,” which Jess was whining out in style. Rebekah could see that the smile didn’t reach his eyes.

Something stopped her from asking what was wrong. Maybe she didn’t want to know. She clung to his hand and pretended all was well, said something about Jess’s fiddling, listened to Aden talk about things that seemed utterly unimportant right now, such as whether or not President Arthur would come to Atlanta for the exposition. Who cares? What mattered was why all the time he was talking, he was studying her face in the oddest way, as if maybe she were wearing a mask. Wasn’t it only a few hours ago that he had kissed her beside their wagon and his smile had been so admiring? What had happened since then?

The party was breaking up. Rebekah was eager to leave the misery of a happy party that had turned out to be so awful. At the same time, she dreaded being alone with Aden. She’d never seen him in such a mood, not even months ago when she’d sold Banner. Never had he been quite so glum in a hard sort of way. She went inside to return the empty cake plate she’d borrowed. Mayfield girls giggled with hilarity as they bombarded each other with wet dishcloths while supposedly cleaning the kitchen. Betsy Mayfield bumbled in the door behind Rebekah, who turned to help her hostess relieve herself of an armload of dishes and baskets.

“Whew, it was a good party, don’t you think, Dear?” puffed Betsy, swiping the back of one hand across her brow. Without noticing Rebekah’s slowness to reply, Betsy reached in her apron pocket and pulled out an envelope. “I almost forgot you had this piece of mail. It’s been such an exciting day! Thank you for all your help. Without you and Aden—well, we just wouldn’t make it, I’m sure. Now you run on. I saw Aden out there looking sort of somber and displaced. He’s probably tired to the very bone. You take him home and treat him tenderly, you hear?”

Rebekah smiled the best she could. “You’re sure you don’t want me to help in here?” she asked almost hopefully. But Betsy shook her head and gave her a little shove toward the door.

“’Night, Rebekah!” sang out all the girls. All the girls, that is, except Rosemary, who, Rebekah discovered, was still outside resweeping the storage room floor for something like the third time. Some other time maybe she could smile at Rosemary’s ploys, but right now nothing was very funny.

Contrary to her fears of his silence, Aden seemed bent on making conversation as they walked to their wagon after the party. Mr. Banks had told him about the marvelous success of the Knights of Labor, who were pushing for an eight-hour working day and trying to end child labor. “We haven’t either one had to experience the horrors of child labor so really have no idea how bad it is,” he said. “But up north there’s lots of that, in the industrial areas. I’m not sure I like this big union trying to tell everyone whether they can strike or not, sort of taking over some of the freedoms of the workers. But they are fighting for the workers’ rights and especially children—and women—who can’t take up for themselves.”

He talked much more than usual after having avoided her all evening. Then finally, when they reached the wagon, he looked down at his feet, grunted, and turned away abruptly. “I’ll see about the horses,” he said.

“Aden, I don’t know what’s wrong—”

“We’ll talk in the morning,” he said heavily and disappeared into the darkness, not even helping her climb into the wagon. Certainly was no fairy-tale ending to the nice party.

With bitter disappointment, she realized he’d never even commented on her caramel cake. Had he not liked it? Had he not even eaten any? Well, at least somebody liked it. The plate had been empty.

As she prepared for bed, she remembered suddenly that she’d promised herself—and God—that she’d tell Aden about the money before she slept tonight. Oh, no, I can’t! Not now! Things are bad enough without adding that. In the morning, Lord, in the morning.

She hardly slept all night and felt her prayers were helpless, totally ineffective. After knowing the joy of talking to God, she missed it so much. Why was God not listening any longer?

As soon as she was dressed the next morning, she went to her hiding place to pull out the now-hated sock. It wasn’t there! She dug frantically, dumped a whole box of personal belongings, breaking out in a sweat as she realized it simply was not there. In her characteristic way, when things became too frantic or ominous, she spoke out loud to herself: “Oh, now, where can it be? How could I have lost it? What will I do now?”

She had not an inkling of his approach. But now Aden was at the wagon’s flap opening. “Is this what you’re looking for?” he asked in a voice of steel. She whirled so quickly that her dress upset odds and ends, which went clattering to the board floor. In his hand was the dreaded sock, bulging with its stolen contents.

All the speeches she’d rehearsed, all the requests for forgiveness, pleas for understanding, seemed of no good whatsoever. She gripped the folds of her skirt as she attempted to stand in the tiny space. What was there to say?

“I suppose you were about to tell me,” he said, stepping back.

She clambered down, missing sharply his offered hand, which would have been there a few hours ago. “I–I meant to, yes.”

“You just hadn’t gotten around to it.” His voice was too calm, too steady.

“That’s right. I wanted to. I’ve prayed God would—”

“Rebekah!” He grated out her name as if it hurt to say it. “Don’t blame God for any of this. I could use some of your own words from a few months back. Don’t bring God into this. This was your doing, entirely your own doing.”

“I know. I didn’t mean—”

He was so close to her now, she could see his nostrils flare, a nerve in his tensed jaw quivering. Then he was towering over her, waving that awful sock right in her face. “I’ve known all along you kept some of Banner’s money. I’ve known all along you were cheating! Only I tried not to believe it. I didn’t want to believe it. But when I found this, there was no escaping the truth. Just what were you going to do with this money? I’d have given you money for your parents if you’d asked. I’d have given you money for clothes or books or whatever you wanted. Oh, Rebekah, I wanted you to trust me, and instead you’ve totally dishonored every pact we made with each other! Here. This is yours. I didn’t even get through counting it. It doesn’t matter. However much is here, you take it. And be satisfied,” he finished with a break in his voice.

“No. No, I don’t want it!” She shoved it back at him, but he refused to hold it. He turned away, looked around camp almost as if he were hunting for something, then suddenly leaped on Jake, whom he’d already saddled, and rode away without another word.

She watched him disappear, riding toward town. Even at a distance there was no mistaking Isaac Aden Robards’s fury. She looked down at her shaking hands still holding that sock full of money that felt now like—like thirty pieces of silver, nonreturnable.

She slumped to the ground on her knees and crumpled forward. Silver dollars fell out of the sock, and she didn’t care.

Through the agony of her sobs, she heard a voice clearly prodding her, Have patience, My child. Don’t give up yet. He had patience with you, remember? But she also heard her own flesh crying, “How dare he give me no chance to explain! How dare he jump on me so hard as if I’m the first person ever to make a mistake! He wouldn’t listen, he who’s preached and preached to me about every sinner’s having a second chance!” When finally she stood up, she left the money lying there as she prepared breakfast, not knowing whether or not he was coming back. He’d already built a fire and fetched a bucket of water, but he’d had nothing to eat.

An hour, then two hours, went by with no splattering of hooves approaching. Should she ride Jolly into town and arrive at work as usual? But, then, of course not. This was Saturday. So where had Aden gone? What was to become of them? She felt a churning sensation in her stomach. She climbed back in the wagon and dropped to her knees to pray. Lord, I have sinned against You, and I have no excuses. Oh, Father, how I crave Your forgiveness. Sir—please—could I begin again?

As her tears flowed, so came peace into her heart. Aden would never forgive her; she’d hurt him too badly. She saw no way to convince him she was a different person from the silly, selfish girl he’d married on Thornapple’s porch. But—God would forgive her, had already. God had forgiven her!

When she at last tried to stand, her legs were so cramped that she ended up sitting down instead. Numbly, she began setting to rights the confusion she’d caused earlier when she searched for the sock of money. Then she straightened out the dress she’d worn to the party. Might as well pack it away, for there was no telling when she’d wear it again. But what was this crackling in one pocket? Oh, yes, the letter Betsy had given her as she left last night.

It was a letter from Father! Maybe he’d have something to say that would lift her spirits! She ripped open the flap with a tiny wave of excitement, anything to distract her for a moment from the awful truth that she’d shattered her and Aden’s chances for happiness. Several dollar bills fluttered down the front of her dress as she unfolded Father’s letter. What in the world—?

Father had decided Mother really had to go back to Thorn-apple, even if it meant he grew cotton on shares for Mr. Jones. He was probably even now trying to get them settled there, having very little with which to settle. Yet, somehow, he’d sent her money in case she and Aden needed it in order to come “home.” Aden could practice dentistry in the house, Father said. And there would be ample work for all!

This was what she’d wanted more than anything: to return to Thornapple—that is, to return to Thornapple without Aden. But now it is different! Oh, God, do I have to go—without him?

Finally, she wiped tears away with both hands, set her teeth firmly, and began preparations. What she had to do, she would do. At least she could help Father and Mother, even if she’d messed up everything else.

It took her an amazingly short time to set the camp to rights, leave the fire extinguished, and lay Aden’s sock with every dollar of its contents intact just inside the wagon opening where he’d find it easily. She stuffed the barest necessities into a small cloth bag and looked once more at the tiny cubicle, which had been home for the past few months. There was the little table with its legs in the air, the funny little elegant table that had been part of that memorable, sweet evening. There, cradled inside it, on top of other things was her cloth bag full of colorful squares she’d woven. She picked it up and pulled out a square made of scraps from one of Betsy’s dresses. Should she take her weaving? But, no, she couldn’t carry everything. As she turned away, she glimpsed something white. Tugging material from underneath other things, she discovered the dress length of white lawn given her by a friend in Forsyth. Rosemary would be able to make something beautiful of it, she thought wistfully. She couldn’t very well take it, and there seemed no point. She smoothed it and placed it carefully back in the stack. What she did make sure to put in her bag was the Bible Betsy Mayfield had given her. That she wanted always with her.

She jumped to the ground and looked around the camp, more worn than any other they’d occupied, more like home to her than any. Maybe because it was here that she became a true child of God. And it was here she realized how much she loved her husband. In a strange state of numbness, yet with sharpened senses, she walked along the stream until she found Jolly and, walking up to him easily, patted him on one shoulder, speaking gently to him. A frown creased her forehead. She laid her bag beside a hickory tree and went for a rope to tether Jolly securely but with plenty of room to get to some nibbles until Aden returned. When she tied him, he nuzzled his head into her chest, and her tears spattered on his nose; but she didn’t notice. Retrieving her bag, she walked determinedly out of camp, heading toward the road and Cornelia.