Of Needles and Haystacks by Ann Fryer (interesting novels to read .TXT) 📗

God’s plain purpose and his hurtful hardness will melt away. One day, you will see the man I’ve known all along. How I’d love for you to meet him.

I do wish I could have taken the deed the day you offered it. I felt as though God Himself prevented me. But I see that you have unburdened yourself another way, and so have I. Are you happy about it? Did you really want the farm after all? I would have understood if you were meant to keep it. Helped any way I could.

Please come back to church services. I believe I know why you stay away.

Sincerely,

James

James, not Mr. Bleu.

How shy of him to send this letter and not stop by. I’m glad he did though. I pulled fresh paper and readied my pen to respond right away. Scribbled a few words I probably ought to scratch out.

I needed to wait. Think of what to say, order my thoughts, choose my words carefully. Pray, even.

I stood and stretched. A walk would help.

I saw him in the distance, riding his horse. James. He moved across the field and met another man. Charles Birch. Would’ve been silly for me to flag him down and run towards him like a half-crazed woman. Such a thought!

He never saw me, though I couldn’t help hoping he’d turn around.  Instead, they rode off. Fishing? Courting other girls? Heat rose to my cheeks. I couldn’t deny my feelings.

I shook off the thought and touched the scar he’d mended, this hand that encircles warm cups of tea. I hoped we could share more cups—ones of laughter and friendship. I hoped his fingers would pause there again, not in ministrations, but with a tender, loving touch. I reached for my locket, holding firm to one purpose: God’s will. I’ll never tell a soul my heart on this matter.

Since it was so near, I slipped into the mercantile to purchase more tea and a few more baskets. I seem to never have enough. The locals snicker at my purchases, so little I can do for myself. But I also fill their purses with coin and thank God that I can buy canned fruits and vegetables for the solitary winter ahead.

Lad and I, we don’t eat too much.

I haven’t written James back yet. Must rein in my heart when I do.

JAMES JOINED CHARLES and his family round the large harvest table. Roasted beef, boiled potatoes, steaming gravy—every bounty known to a Kentucky garden within reach. How long had it been since he’d joined another family for fellowship?

A mercy Charles had invited him. They hadn’t known he was coming, but squeezed another chair in with seeming pleasure.

Kate didn’t look happy. Wasn’t that girl always humming a song? What was wrong? Charles bent low to her ear, she nodded. Took his seat nearby.

He wasn’t prepared for what ensued. Thought most of his troubles were over. Did they really believe he’d be on their side? How foolish.

Kate left the table, taking a plate of food. Charles rolled his eyes. James could no longer savor his bites. A storm was coming.

“She ain’t up to no good.”

“That Dorothy Trafton. Like her mother, takes what isn’t hers.”

“Did you see her sneaking around our land the other day?” Heads nodded.

Charles spoke up. “She was out walking with Kate, that’s all.”

“She might get to thinking she has a right to the back section.” He could almost hear Hammond’s voice.

“Shut up, Grem.”

“Well, it says...”

Looks passed and lips clammed. James sat with his hands on his knees, slightly pushed back from the table.

“What does what say, Grem?” Charles queried.

James’ irritation welled up. “Does she have a right to the back section?” His voice sounded loud.

“Naw. Not after all these years.”

“She’ll probably burn that house down. Hate to see it go.”

“If she does, she owes us, I’ll see to that.”

James could stand it no longer. “Just what does she owe you—how much exactly, do you expect from the poor girl?” He scanned the room.

Eyes dashed to him at his unexpected speech. He stood and pulled out his wallet. “What dollar amount will satisfy this family?”

“Put your money away, we don’t have a grudge with you.”

James seethed. “No. I can’t accept that. You evidently care very much about that forgotten sliver. How much you think it’s worth?”

“Can’t put a price on a man’s land.”

James tossed a few hundred on the table. “Take this and say nothing. I don’t want to hear another word, ever. And if I do hear such talk again, I’ll find out what you’ve determined to hide. You should be ashamed.” He strode out.

Charles followed him outside. “I’m so sorry, James. I’ll talk some sense into them. The family never got over Uncle Abe’s death.” He cleared his throat. “Some of us really care about Dorothy.”

“You know, she’s all alone?” The pit of his stomach dropped. Alone, like him.

“There are ways of being alone without being alone.” Charles looked back to the home he’d been born in. “Kate and I will talk to them. Make them see...”

James mounted his horse. “If you can change another’s thinking. Some things only Jesus can cure.”

He had to find her. “Thanks, Charles.” He rode away. He had to find her now. Find her, and be her family.

He made a quick pace to her cottage. Old Becky lay contentedly in her stall. He tied his horse to a nearby post and sped to the door. No answer. He knocked louder, peered in the open window. “Dorothy?”

Why did she not come? He walked around the house, dared to walk in. What if she’s ill? He ran to her room, and a scene came rushing back. How he’d found her, bent over Ruth’s body, inconsolable. How she gripped Ruth’s slack hand. Had nearly been his undoing.

Nothing but a perfectly-made bed. He slowed, feeling as though he’d entered a sacred space. He didn’t belong. He backed into the living area and turned around at her desk. Saw his letter laying there, wide open. Beside it, a few