Secret Way to the Heart

by Camille Regholec

  The next day was busy with the traditional Christmas morning visitors, men dressed in their best top hats and coats, the womenfolk with their frilly dresses covered with vibrantly colored cloaks, their hands snug inside furry muffs or knitted mittens. Each guest stayed only long enough to sip a cup of tea and eat a dainty before strolling or riding off to visit another house. Conversation was light in respect to the women being present and the fact a Southerner was in their midst. Clara barely smiled in response to the greetings, looking as if she still was unwell. When Jayne inquired, laying a gentle hand on Clara’s arm, her sister-in-law swatted Jayne’s hand away and turned to look out the window.

  In spite of Clara’s behavior, Jayne was enjoying the day. She was amazed at how many families strolled up and down the lane to the house, even though it was so out of the way. Between greeting and bidding goodbye, she felt overwhelmed at the number of hugs she’d received.

  Though her friends still sought her out, Jayne was beginning to wonder if she would ever have an opportunity to inquire about Jeremiah Bronson when William appeared at the door with his grandmother. As Jayne’s parents reminisced with Cindy, Jayne served William a plate of dainties and sat down beside him.

  “How is your law business going?”

  “Oh, it will be better when old Smythe leaves me the business.” William gave a sly wink before popping a dainty into his mouth. Wiping his lips clean with the linen napkin, he continued in a whisper, “But there is so much going on in the world right now that I could soon buy the business from him.”

  “Really?” Jayne looked at him in surprise. “Where would you get such money?”

  “There are always ways to make money. You just have to know where and when to act on the opportunities that are all around us.”

  “I don’t understand . . .” Jayne’s comment was halted by a knock on the front door. Frustrated at the interruption, she got up and went to the door. Frowning, she yanked the door open and found herself face-to-face with Reverend Jeremiah Bronson.

  “Merry Christmas.” Jeremiah held his black preacher hat in his hands as he looked down into Jayne’s burning face. Though her scowl had disappeared, clearly he had observed it, and his tone of voice was cool.

  “Merry Christmas, Reverend,” Jayne responded before asking, “Are you calling on the van Hoytons or the McTierneys?”

  “I do believe both.” He glanced over her shoulder at William, who still lounged on the hallway chair. The reverend’s eyes narrowed for a moment before he returned his attention to Jayne. “My guardian, Mr. Clyde Cudney, also sends his greetings but was unable to join me in visiting today.”

  “The McTierneys will be down in a few minutes, and the van Hoytons are in the parlor,” Jayne stated, still standing in the open doorway.

  “Well, may I enter?” he asked, one eyebrow arching. “Or is it still an inconvenient time to visit your employer on this fine Christmas Day?”

  “Of course.” Jayne didn’t think her cheeks could burn any hotter as she stepped back from the door and let Jeremiah in.

  “Employer?” William snorted. “You think Miss Jayne is a servant here? That is no way to endear yourself to the van Hoyton and the McTierney families, by insulting the youngest member of the family.”

  “You are correct, sir.” A faint blush dusted Jeremiah’s cheeks as his eyes narrowed again while he glanced at William and back to Jayne. “My apologizes for this mistake. My only excuse is that every time I’ve observed or conversed with Miss Jayne . . . oh, is it McTierney or van Hoyton?”

  “Van Hoyton,” Jayne mumbled, dragging her gaze away from the unreadable look in the man’s eyes.

  “We were never properly introduced,” he continued as if he had not heard her.

  “Introduced?” William questioned as he rose to his feet and stood at Jayne’s side. “We must rectify that oversight.”

  With a flourish, William straightened his jacket and picked up his top hat, which he flipped to land in the crook of his left arm. With a slight bow and a broad smirk on his lips, William waved toward Jayne and then the reverend. “My dear, may I introduce you to the Reverend Jeremiah Bronson, formerly from Charleston, South Carolina, and presently residing with Mr. Clyde Cudney of Mountain Dale.

  “Reverend, may I introduce Miss Jayne van Hoyton of the van Hoytons of the hamlet of Phillipsport as well as Manhattan, New York, and Charleston, South Carolina.”

  “William!” Jayne wished she could disappear. “Do not—”

  “It is a pleasure, miss, to finally make your acquaintance.” Jeremiah gave a slight nod, before focusing on the grinning young man before him. “And you, sir, are at an advantage. You appear to know all about me, and I am sorry to admit I do not believe we have met before.”

  “Oh, we met many years ago in Sunday school when you came to visit, but you are much older than I.” William continued to smile, but a muscle jumped in his suddenly clenched jaw. “I am also the local lawyer in a small town, so everything is reported to me.”

  Jeremiah extended his hand. “Then you must be William Jahn, Esquire. I do not believe there is that many years difference between us, sir, and though I do not remember you, I have heard a lot about you from Jim through the years.”

  “Interesting.” William hesitated before quickly shaking and releasing Jeremiah’s hand. “I, on the other hand, had heard nothing about you until you arrived.”

  “I have not had the opportunity to speak with you or your family as I am caring for my elderly father, Clyde Cudney, who broke his leg. It has not been healing well.”

  “Clyde Cudney?” Jayne asked in suspicion. “The only Clyde Cudney in this area has been a widower for over thirty years! Everyone knows his wife, Edna, died on their honeymoon while visiting cousins in Georgia.”

  “That is correct, Miss Jayne,” The man replied. “I am actually a son of her cousin Elizabet, whom they were visiting at the time of Cousin Edna’s demise. Clyde heard of my parents’ deaths from smallpox when I was eight years old. He adopted me at that time. So in the eyes of the law, I am considered his son.”

  “Yet you retain your parents’ surname?” William questioned as if Jeremiah Bronson was on trial. “Why is that? Was not the name Cudney good enough for you? Or was it too Northern?”

  “Neither.” The preacher looked at William with anger flashing in his eyes before he took a deep breath. Clearly restraining himself, Jeremiah answered civilly, “As I am the last of the family line of Bronsons, my cousin at the time of the adoption requested I retain the name, of which I was extremely grateful. It is hard enough losing both of one’s parents much less also losing one’s identity and the last tie to them.”

  “Yet you never visited him?”

  “That is partially correct. There was one visit soon after my parents’ deaths, but afterwards, he and I were never financially able to do so. One can thank Providence for the invention of mail delivery. When my parents died, I was away at school, which was provided for through my father’s church. When I entered seminary, Cousin Clyde paid for the tuition and I worked for the other expenses. There was never sufficient funds for traveling.”

  “And now there is?” William asked.

  “Not really, but my father needs me,” the man answered with a tight shrug of his shoulders.

  “Gentlemen . . .” Jayne interrupted, sensing the tension rising between the two men. She was silently aghast at William asking such personal questions. As the tension grew stronger, Jayne was unsure what to do. She could almost see the air quiver between the two men, and she sent up a silent prayer. Please, Lord!

  Suddenly, her prayer was answered when the room filled with laughing people. Jim and Clara came down the stairs, while simultaneously, Jayne's parents and Cindy Jahn exited the parlor. Greetings, introductions, and farewells were exchanged between them all before William and his gra
ndmother departed.

  Jayne was left to serve a very polite, but distant, Jeremiah, who laughed and talked freely with everyone but her. He stayed only a short time before leaving, but not before he accepted her father’s invitation to come back in the New Year for a Sunday supper.

  As the rest of the holiday festivities continued, Clara appeared recovered from whatever had bothered her. It was not hard for Jim to convince her to go visiting. Jayne knew they would see very little of her brother and sister-in-law as he showed off his wife to his peers. Jayne accepted her mother’s invitation to go visiting with her. It would only be her mother’s old friends they would be calling on, but Jayne found it hard to stay focused. All she could think about was how she might change Jeremiah’s opinion of her.

  A few hours later, after they returned, the usual Christmas meal of stuffed goose and baked ham, roasted root vegetables, and mashed potatoes with thick gravy was served. Looking at so many happy faces around the table filled Jayne with such joy. She pushed all thoughts of Jeremiah to the back of her mind to focus on the double celebration of the day. Even Clara seemed at peace sitting among the Freeman and the Comeback families.

  Cups of eggnog and apple cider were lifted up to commemorate her parents' anniversary as they ate portions of fruitcake along with the various pies of mince, apple, and pumpkin. Everyone crowded into the parlor before the tree and sang their favorite Christmas hymns. “Oh, Come All Ye Faithful” and Mendelssohn’s “Hark the Herald Angels Sing.” Newer hymns were tried such as “It Came Upon a Midnight Clear” and “We Thee Kings of Orient Are.”

  When Clara suggested some carols, everyone was surprised when Jayne's father, who usually frowned at any music that was not of a religious nature on Christmas, joyfully joined in. They all raised their voices in the rounding renditions of “Deck the Halls” and “Jingle Bells.” Clara did a solo of one song only she seemed to know, “Up on the Housetop,” which brought cheers and hand clapping from everyone. Clara smiled and blushed as she curtsied, and for a moment, Jayne had a glimpse of the woman that had won her brother’s heart. Jayne lifted up a silent prayer. Please, Lord, help Clara to realize she is loved and to feel at home here.

  Throughout the following week, the joy of the Christmas season continued to fill the house. Clara occasionally sulked, but she seemed in good spirits the majority of the time. She shared some of the different customs from the South, and so, even though not a regular celebration within the van Hoyton house, Jayne's father wished to hold a small New Year’s Eve party for Clara’s sake. On the day of the celebration, as soon as the morning meal was over, the women gathered together to make the bread and prepare the meal for the evening. Clara, who had not gotten up, sent a note to Mary, which she read and then slipped into her apron pocket.

  “Miss Clara wants to know if we be serving Hoppin’ John with dinner tonight,” Mary said as she returned to kneading a large mass of dough.

  Jesse turned a puzzled glance at Hannah, who sat by the fire. “Who is Hoppin’ John?”

  “Hoppin’ John is a ‘what,’ not a ‘who.’” Hannah chuckled, her eyes getting a faraway look. “My! Does that remind me of days long gone! When I was a young slave girl in the South, we ate a meal of ham, black eye peas, and collard greens. That’s Hoppin’ John. Traditionally it is served on New Year’s Day, or is it New Year’s Eve? I cannot seem to recollect which day it was now. It’s been so many years since I had to make it. I am sure Miss Clara would know if tonight be the proper time. It was supposed to bring you good luck and prosperity. Though I never saw no slave have any better luck after eatin’ any.”

  “Well, Mother Hannah, are we or are we not serving it with dinner tonight?” Mary asked.

  “Child, you must be jokin’!” Hannah struggled to her feet before shuffling out the door. Her voice, filled with scornful laughter, drifted back to them as she headed for her room. “You’re just as likely to find polyanthuses bloomin’ now than find collards. Where ya goin’ find them greens up here in snow country in the dead of winter? In this cold, if you found any, they’d be called collard browns.”

  “I guess the answer then is no.” Mary laughed softly, rolling her eyes at Jesse and Jayne, who giggled beside her as they continued to knead the soft dough of the day’s bread.

  Several hours later, the family and friends gathered for a festive occasion, but it was overshadowed by the talk of war. Though Jayne's mother and the other wives present tried to turn the dinner conversation to less distressful subjects, there was no doubt as the men gathered together after the meal that the subject of possible war was the core of their discussion. When the clock struck midnight, Jayne's father gave a blessing as the evening ended. “May God give you dreams of peace and joy on this night and may they be fulfilled in the days to come.” No one knew how that blessing would become a desperate plea to God.

  Chapter 7

  As the days grew colder, the elderly spent more time in front of the roaring fire in the living room, and Jayne had started going everywhere with her brother and Clara. Several times, the threesome had run into William, who joined them on their jaunts, and though she enjoyed the outings, Jayne knew in her heart she was hoping to run into someone else in order to make a better impression. But Jeremiah Bronson seemed to have disappeared. He did not appear in church on Sundays, and no one ever mentioned him. His adoptive father’s homestead was in Mountaindale, and there was a small church there in a family home, but she remembered the man’s comment to see her on Sunday. Clearly, he was a Methodist preacher, but it was possible he was a circuit rider filling in for other ministers in the area. She could not figure out how to ask her brother about the man.

  One morning, Jim and Clara left to visit some friends in Middletown before Jayne awoke.

  “They left without me?” Jayne grumbled. She had so hoped she could have been with them in case they ran into Jeremiah Bronson, or at the least she could have gotten up the courage to ask Jim about him.

  “Sometimes a third party is not always necessary, nor appreciated, my dear,” her mother gently pointed out. “But, possibly today you could visit with us and be the reader of the news. The small print and the dim light from the oil lanterns are hard on old eyes.”

  So, after breakfast, Jayne joined her parents and the Freemans in the parlor. Dutifully, she picked up the Ellenville Journal that her father insisted on reading. It was delivered by barge once a month, so there was a lot of news to catch up on.

  Out of curiosity, she asked, “Why this paper and not the Sullivan county newspaper?”

  “This paper was around long before the Watchman came into existence,” her father replied as he stretched his hands out before the roaring fire. Jayne and her mother sat opposite him with a small screen set up to shield them from the heat’s intensity. “The Ellenville Journal was the only local paper for years, and I believe in loyalty. Something others seem to forget nowadays.”

  “Yes, sir.” Skimming the first paper’s front page, Jayne found an article that would interest her father the most. Glancing over at her audience, Jane smiled. Never did she ever think she would be interested in such matters, but here she was discussing politics with the elders. So what began as a chore was now a pleasure. As she was about to read, the front door opened and Clara and Jim came in.

  “Is something wrong?” Jayne asked as she looked at Jim’s set features and Clara’s flashing eyes.

  “Clara began to feel a little unwell, and I decided the visit can be done at a later date,” Jim replied as he helped his wife shed her cloak. Clara was clearly angry at him, her lips a thin line as if she was forcing herself not to speak. She yanked herself free from his helping hands and walked over toward the fireplace, ignoring everyone in the room.

  “I hope you feel better soon, my dear.” Jayne's mother spoke softly as if trying to calm a skittish colt. “Do you think a cup of tea might help?”


  Clara’s response was a silent shake of her head. After a swift glance at her son’s narrowing eyes, she directed her attention back to Jayne.

  “Let us hear the latest news of the world, Jayne.”

  Once again Jayne returned her gaze to the printed page and began to read. “When, on December third, 1860, President James Buchanan gave his State of the Union address, he said, ‘The Fugitive Slave Law is based upon the express provision of the Constitution that fugitive slaves, who escape from service in one state to another, shall be delivered up to their masters. It will be the duty of the next president to act with vigor in executing this supreme law. But are we to presume in advance that he will violate his duty? Let us wait for the overt act.’ ‘He is bound by solemn oath,’ Buchanan wrote, ‘to take care that the laws be faithfully executed.’”

  “Of course, this Lincoln will have to do his duty!” Clara interjected as she sat down on a straight-backed chair. “If he does not, South Carolina will secede from the United States and become its own nation.”

  “But the Fugitive Slave Law is such a horrible law, giving no hope to those poor men and women held in bondage,” Jayne replied with horror.

  “Those ‘poor men and women,’ as you call them, are someone’s property and must be returned to their proper owners!” Clara’s voice rose, as did her anger. Jim, now standing by his wife’s side, remained silent. As he looked across at his sister, his expression held a pleading message Jayne understood. Her brother was hoping that the issue would be dropped. With difficulty, Jayne remained quiet, but not everyone in the room saw Jim’s expression.

  “No one should own another human being,” George said, his raspy voice surprising everyone. “No good comes of feeling ya have no worth other than for the free labor you perform until you die.”