Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright 2013 Kimberly B. Jackson
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
AUNT BARBARA’S ANGEL COOKIES
Preview
Thank you
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
A CHRISTMAS GIFT FOR MARY JONES
Kimberly B. Jackson
Copyright 2013 Kimberly B. Jackson
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
Cover Art by Joan Alley
This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are the product of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Published by Prism Book Group
ISBN - 978-1-940099-42-2 First Edition, 2013
Published in the United States of America
Contact info: [email protected]
http://www.prismbookgroup.com
CHAPTER ONE
Some folks called her a busybody, some called her an angel. She had a knack for knowing what a person needed, even before they knew themself. A childless widow at the age of forty-five, though most folks thought she was older, she mothered anyone who crossed her path.
Mary Jones was a down-to-earth kind of woman. With the farm to take care of, she didn’t have time to primp. Besides, she hadn’t been given much in the looks department. She worked as hard as any man tending her land, but her passion was people. She had a unique insight into others and their various problems.
Always ready to lend a helping hand, and not afraid to get her hands dirty—that was Mary Jones. Two characteristics she’d inherited from her maternal grandmother.
Only her close friends called her Mrs. Mary. But most people in the small mountain town of River Oak, Tennessee referred to her as Grandmother Jones. A title she carried proudly, since she had not been blessed with children.
The day started as the same as always for Mary Jones. Before the sun crept into view, coffee brewed and bacon fried on her woodstove. The steam from the coffee pot floated into Mary’s nostrils, intoxicating her as she deeply inhaled. Breakfast, being her favorite meal of the day, she looked forward to from the moment she hauled her old bones from bed. Morning was the only time she sat down at the hundred-year-old farmhouse table filled with scratches, nicks, and even her brother’s name. He’d carved the marking at the age of seven, always determined to leave his brand.
After Mary finished her meal, she carried her dishes to the kitchen to wash, dry, and return to the cabinet. The window above the sink revealed the sun in its pinkish orange hue hovering in the sky, ready to make an appearance. After donning her work dress and a straw hat she’d used for years, she opened the door to chilly, brisk air. Gold, red, and orange swirled around the ground like a mini-tornado. Dry leaves crunched under each step she took. Looking directly at the mountain, she wondered how anybody could deny that God existed with such a view.
Drawing in a deep breath of cool, crisp air, she exhaled. A routine she believed helped keep her lungs strong. Again, she glanced at the mountains behind her home, only to have her mind play the mean trick it’d taken to habit of late. The vision, though there and gone, struck the breath from her chest. How real it seemed her late husband, along with his loyal, white German Shepard, was strolling back to the farm after a hunting trip or perhaps a walk in the woods.
As she walked around the old farmhouse, she smiled at her prized pumpkins. What a crop. Soon, they would be making their yearly appearance for the town’s annual pumpkin festival. With a turn, she focused her attention on the cabbage and broccoli planted in the next rows. Taking her hoe, she rooted out the weeds along the two lines of winter vegetables.
A fast worker, in no time she had finished and moved on to the row of cauliflower. In an hour and a half, the whole garden had been weeded. Picking up her supplies, Mary strolled toward the back door of the house.
“Hello!” screamed an unfamiliar voice, that of a young child, causing Mary to trip on her own feet and her legs to go out from under her body. She landed on her rear with a thud. As her heart beat in triple overtime, she couldn’t help but think she could see it pulsating through her dress. Regaining her composure, she pulled herself to standing. Slowly, Mary eased into the house, thinking perhaps she’d imagined the sound. “Hello?”
“Hello,” came the voice of an angel.
Sure enough, there sat a redheaded child at the table.
“Who are you and what are doing in my house?”
“I’m Emma. Who are you?”
Precocious little thing.
“Emma! Emma! Where are you?” A woman’s voice penetrated from the front hall. Within seconds, the two ladies stood face to face, as if both were meeting at an intruder.
“Excuse me. I’m looking for William Jones. This is his home, isn’t it?” the brown-haired, cocoa-eyed female asked.
“Yes, this was his home.”
“What do you mean was?” the puzzled, young lady asked. “Did he sell it to you?”
Clearly, there was some sort of misunderstanding. Since she seemed harmless enough, Mary proceeded into the living room and motioned for the young woman to follow. “Sit, please. Now, first thing, tell me what your name is.”
“It’s Teresa and you’ve met Emma.” She stroked the girl’s hair.
“Okay, Teresa, why don’t you tell me what brought you here?”
“I’m looking for my father, William Jones.”
Mary’s stomach leapt into her throat. “Your father,” she choked out. William? How?
But Teresa had named him, specifically.
“Yes, my father. Do you know him? You must, since you are in his home.”
The information rambled through Mary’s mind. William couldn’t have a daughter and a granddaughter. He would have told her.
Although…he had mentioned needing to talk about something shortly before his passing. A sigh released some of the tension in Mary’s body. “I’m William’s wife. I’m afraid he never informed me he had a daughter.”
“Of course. I see.” A look of sadness came over Teresa’s face. “We’ve only just started to communicate with each other, after the death of my mother. Growing up, I never knew who my father was, at least not until eight months ago. I found his name on an old letter my mother kept in her dresser drawer.”
Several thoughts raced through Mary’s mind. How did this young lady know William—her William—was truly her father? If this information was accurate, why hadn’t he told her sooner? What did the letter say?
Refocusing her attention to the woman sitting in front of her, along with her little girl, she found it ironic that William secretly had the daughter she’d ached for. If only…
“How long have you and my father been married?”
“It was a good couple of decades before…before…” Mary stopped, unsure how to inform this sweet dear sitting in front of her, who looked no more than twenty at the most, th
at her father had left this world.
“Before what?” Teresa asked.
“I hate to tell you this. William passed away a few months ago.”
Teresa glanced at her daughter, then back to her. “I guess I’m the one who ended up with a surprise.”
Several awkward moments ticked by.
“How did he die?”
“Heart attack. He went fast. Didn’t suffer long.”
“I regret that I didn’t get to meet him.” Looking at Mary with sad eyes, she said, “I’m sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you,” Mary replied, still contemplating Teresa’s story.
More time stretched between them, filled with questions, the need for answers.
“This might help explain.” Teresa handed Mary a couple of letters. The first divulged who Teresa’s father was and his last known address, while the other, one William had written years ago, explained why he was leaving home and going into the army. Mary sat down and read both letters twice. Though William had never told her of his daughter, it was as if she could hear him now, his warm, husky voice confiding in her after all this time. After she finished, she handed the letters back to Teresa.
“I’m sorry for your loss too,” Mary offered.
“Mommy, please! I’m hungry,” Emma blurted.
“Emma, shhh…” Teresa admonished. “Don’t be rude.”
“I can fix the child some food, if you like.”
“No, it’s not necessary. I think I have cookies in my purse.”
Fumbling through her bag, Teresa prayed she would find something for Emma to eat. The last thing she wanted was to impose after the emotional ordeal she’d surely inflicted on this woman.
Mary stood without saying a word and disappeared outside. The creak of an old door revealed her disappearing into the root cellar, as Emma detailed from the window.
When Mary entered the house again, Teresa watched through the doorway as she placed an iron pot on the stove and poured in a large jar of homemade canned vegetable soup. The aroma of the warming meal drifted into the living room, reminding Teresa of how her grandmother’s home smelled when she was a little girl. Teresa prayed that Mary was cooking the soup for them, or at least Emma. She’d eaten sparingly since she’d been on the road, often giving Emma the majority of the food. Trying to make her money last as long as possible was of top priority.
A few minutes later, Mary set the soup on the table with bowls, and gathered Teresa and Emma into the kitchen. By the way they were eating, the two must be starving. Mary kept refilling the girl’s dishes until they could eat no more. Though there were plenty of chores to complete outside, Mary chose to ignore them. She sensed that Teresa wasn’t just here to visit her father. She was leaving something behind. Certain this young lady needed help, Mary’s mind churned a mile a minute. She would not turn her back on her. After all, if she could help a body in need, didn’t it please God?
“I know it’s early in the afternoon, but you two look like you need a break from the road. Why don’t you stay here tonight? There’s a spare room. I want you to consider this your home. Your father would have wanted it that way.”
“Oh…” The invitation energized Teresa. They had been driving for several days and sleeping in the car. A bed would be wonderful for a change. “Are you sure it won’t be too much trouble?”
“It’s fine. I’ll show you the room. Besides, your little girl looks as if she could use a nap.” Mother and daughter followed Mary into the small hallway on the other side of the kitchen. She pointed to an open door, where a queen-sized bed covered in a quilt dominated the space. “That’s your room, and this is the bathroom.”
Showing Teresa where to find fresh towels, Mary told her to feel free to use whatever she needed if she wanted to freshen up. Though Mary did not spare much on luxuries, a modern bathroom in this old farmhouse was the one thing she’d deemed worth spending money on. A decision she hadn’t regretted. Little by little, she’d scrimped and saved, adding the plumbing, the hot water heater, a nice vanity, and refinishing the large soaking tub. Her next splurge would be an electric stove for the kitchen. Yes, the hundred-year-old home was gradually becoming updated.
“Thank you so much.”
“Holler if you need me.”
Emma climbed into the old iron bed that squeaked, falling asleep almost instantly. With a deep breath, Teresa pulled off her shoes, rubbing her aching feet. She’d love a nap, but first to settle in. To start, a fresh change of clothes.
As she stood and left the room, Teresa found the house empty. Glancing out the window, she spotted Mary walking toward the barn. Desperately yearning for a long, hot bath, she saw this as her opportunity to relax in privacy and figure out her next move.
Stepping outside to her car, she gathered their two duffle bags from the trunk, slinging one over each shoulder. She beelined to the bathroom, craving hot water and soap. Throwing her duffle bag to the floor, Teresa filled the iron claw tub. The warmth immediately relaxed her. It was the first bath she’d taken in a few days. If only, as she washed away the dirt, she could wash clean all her problems. William being dead was not what she’d counted on. The only reason she had come here, unannounced, was for his help. Instead, she encountered his widow. The one letter he’d sent mentioned nothing about his being married. At least Mary seemed nice.
Teresa finished her bath and washed her hair. Then, she dried her curly tresses the best she could with a towel and wrapped it around her torso. A search through her duffle bag unearthed a comb and fresh clothes. Tiptoeing, she returned to the bedroom where Emma slept like an angel. How comfortable the bed looked. She’d just rest a moment, then she’d find Mary and offer a helping hand.
But exhaustion overcame her and soon, she dozed into a heavy slumber.
* * *
Come dusk, Mary returned, sweaty and tired from her farm work. Finding no one about the house, she eased open the spare bedroom door and discovered the girls napping. Poor things. They were exhausted. If only Mary knew what they needed…why they were here. She doubted it was simply to visit William. In her gut, she suspected they required his help in some way.
Deciding to wash up, Mary entered the bathroom and tripped over Teresa’s duffle bag, causing the contents to spill. As she gathered the odds and ends that rolled across the floor, she noticed a sheaf of papers hanging from the side pocket. Very official in appearance, and marked with a state seal. Mary’s curiosity took over. I have to look. What if she needs help? Mary pulled out the stapled papers. The first listed her name, Teresa Gilmore, and an address in Green Valley, Arkansas. Mary read further. Divorce papers for Teresa and Peter Gilmore. She returned the decree to the tote, along with the other materials. So, she was divorced. Was this the reason she came to find William?
Mary exited the bathroom wearing her zip-up housecoat. Reheating a bowl of leftover soup, she retreated to her favorite spot—the big rocker-recliner William had purchased before his death. At first, she’d thought it a waste of money, but now she found comfort in the chair. If she closed her eyes, the faint smell of his tobacco still swirled around her. After Mary finished eating, she set her bowl on the side table and picked up her Bible. Inspiration and guidance had always been her weapon. Oh, she knew some of the townspeople thought she was a presumptuous know-it-all, but truth was, she relied on one thing—the Good Book—and put complete confidence in it. Everything she needed to know she found in her Bible. She flipped opened the pages and prayed for the Lord to show her how to help Teresa and Emma. Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Matthew 11:28. Well, just like the Lord to light the way. He wanted her to take care of William’s girls for a while. I can do that.
The dimming light alerted Mary to the night overtaking the day. Exhaustion tugged at her body. She retired to her room and slipped into bed, once again praying over the lost sheep she’d been given to embrace.
CHAPTER TWO
Teresa awoke the next morning with her stomac
h growling. The clock read 6:30 a.m. Mary probably wasn’t up yet. After brushing her hair, she stepped from her room. The closer she approached the kitchen, the louder a thumping noise reverberated outside. The morning sun peeked through the windows, causing Teresa to squint when she looked out. Mary was loading her wheelbarrow with different kinds of squash.
“Amazing.” Teresa watched her newfound stepmother push the wheelbarrow up an incline to her truck and then transfer the squash into the bed.
“Looks as though she’s been up for a while now.” The smell of bacon and coffee caught Teresa’s nose. With a quick walk to the table, she pulled off the towel that covered pancakes, bacon, biscuits, grits, homemade jelly, and syrup. Emma approached behind her mom and complained, “I’m hungry, Mommy.”
“Okay, sweetie. Have a seat, and I will fix you a plate.”
A few minutes later, Mary entered, fanning herself with her straw hat. She splashed her face with water from the sink.
“Good morning.” Mary took a seat at the table. “Hope you both rested well.”
“We zonked out. I’m not even sure how many hours we slept.”
“You know, I was wondering if you would do me a favor?” Mary asked.
“Certainly, if I’m able.”
“I have to go to the town’s festival and farmer’s market and sell that truckload of squash and carrots. Would you mind helping me?”
Though they needed to get on the road, Teresa would have felt bad refusing after Mary’s hospitality.
The road was bumpy and the old truck hit every pothole on the way to town. The dust from the dirt lane caused Emma to burst into a coughing spell. Mary handed her a bottle of water. “Maybe that’ll help settle her.”
After a sip, Emma surged into a stronger fit of coughs.
“She has mild asthma,” Teresa explained, retrieving an inhaler from her purse for Emma to take a puff. Mary said nothing, only smiling in understanding.
Once at the market, Mary pulled up to her appointed selling spot. “Here we are.”
Surveying her pumpkins, Mary picked out the best one. “I’m taking this to the judge’s area. I’ll be back shortly and then we’ll set up my stand.”
A Christmas Gift for Mary Jones Page 1
