by Cathy Gohlke
I glanced over my shoulder, glimpsed the small group huddled in the wagon bed. We were every shade of black and brown and tan—from Henry, whose skin was the sleek black of a raven’s wing, like William Henry’s had been, to my tan, like sand at the bottom of the run—every color I knew and loved. And we were nearly home.
We turned down the lane to Laurelea. There was Pa, walking slow beside Joseph Henry as he limped, coming in from the fields. I strained my eyes to see who walked beside them. It was a man, a young man about my age, about my size, white—or nearly—with chestnut hair and oval face. When he looked up and saw me, he stopped short, studied half a second, then tipped back his head and laughed out loud. Before Pa realized who I was, Jeremiah let out a whoop and tore like a deer across the field to meet me.
It was too good. I reined in Stargazer and Gus in the middle of the lane, jumped from the wagon, and charged into my friend. We pummeled each other, beat the living daylights out of each other’s backs, and laughed till we both nearly choked. I had no idea how he got there. It must have had something to do with William Still. It didn’t matter. As soon as I could talk I pulled Jeremiah round the back of the wagon and placed Ruby’s hand in his. “Your ma” was all I said. Ruby gasped. Jeremiah gasped back. Tears flowed as Jeremiah pulled her from the wagon. We didn’t see the two of them for hours.
Pa and I couldn’t stop shaking hands, could barely hold back the dam behind our eyes. Joseph Henry slapped me on the back and picked me off the ground in a bear hug. I thought Aunt Sassy wouldn’t stop touching me, wouldn’t stop fussing over me, wouldn’t stop feeding us all till we nearly burst our buttons. But she did. The minute little Henry decided he might adopt the mother of the famous William Henry, Aunt Sassy had eyes for none but him. She fed and helped clean and bed the others, but Henry was hers. I wondered if they’d call him Henry Henry. William Henry would’ve liked that.
My long absence had aged Mr. Heath. He was frail in a way I’d never seen, and I worried for him. He took a real shine to Emily and she to him, both gentle natures with big plans. It was good to see a light come in his eyes.
Pa took the news of Ma quieter than I’d expected, at least in front of me. That puzzled me at first, but I guessed he’d lost her a long time ago and had grieved that loss all those years. He asked me for the particulars. I held nothing back, though the telling was hard.
He sat a long time after the evening read that night, staring into the darkness, and every night that followed, for months. He took long walks, sometimes stayed out all night. I’d find him sitting in the rocker on the porch at dawn, long into the fall. I remembered Ruby’s question the day we buried Nanny Sara, “Is there never any end to sadness?” For Ruby there was. I prayed that would be true for Pa.
A letter, much rejoiced over, came from Andrew and Katie Frances Goforth in early September. They were living near Katie Frances’s family outside Petersburg, expecting their first child in time for Christmas. Andrew had taken on a post of itinerant preacher with a four-church charge. Jeremiah hooted when I told him, remembering the time the O’Learys had hidden us in their coffins as we traveled the Underground Railroad. “That preaching fits in handy with the family coffin-making business! Folks can get a ‘two-for-one!’” I laughed too, glad for the Goforths’ happiness, still wondering if I’d ever know such.
Emily and I started the school within two weeks. She was a natural born teacher and a motherly sort besides. Pa and I both watched her, wondering how she’d adjust to this new life, fearful, not saying out loud what we were both thinking—Will she be like Ma?
I tried to hint at my worry, tried it in a dozen ways a dozen times. That exasperated Emily until one day she blew up at me.
“For heaven’s sake, Robert, I don’t have time for this nonsense! I’ve lived through a war. I’ve run a plantation, freed my slaves, taught them to read, cooked for an army, smuggled gold under the noses of barbarians, buried my dead, and nursed the living—sane and not. There are two dozen children in this school now and six adults all needing to learn to read and write and handle their own money in order to survive the present. You can worry all you want about the past repeating itself, but don’t pester me with it!” She kicked me out of her classroom on my ear.
I took that as the Lord’s answer to my question and stopped worrying. Emily was Emily. She had adapted time and time again, stepping up to do the thing that was needed and doing it with a grace that reminded me of Miz Laura. I think she reminded Mr. Heath of Miz Laura, too.
Once in a while Emily would talk about her father, about how she loved him, how she missed him. Pa welcomed her talk, encouraged her, shared old memories. I thought well of him for it, but knew I had a ways to go when they did that. I never told Emily what Cousin Albert had done with the Testament she’d sent him. There was no need.
Summer ripened till our crop was full and fall started with a good harvest in plain view. One late September night, after the evening read and after the children were put to bed, Emily and I walked the dusky lane, down through Mr. Heath’s orchard. A chill had set in two days before, and the air smelled of leaves, apples, and wood-burning fires. Frost was near. The russet apples had ripened. I reached up, pulled a beauty from the heavy branches, and offered it to Emily. She blushed in the early moonrise, pulling her shawl tight around her. My heart picked up a beat.
Byway of making conversation I asked if she was happy at Laurelea and marveled that she didn’t seem to overly grieve for Mitchell House.
“My family is no longer there,” she said, and sighed. Emily cradled the apple against her cheek and looked up at me. “I guess I’m in need of a new family,” she said, and waited. When I didn’t answer she turned her back on me and mused, “I wonder where I’ll find one.”
“Well, I guess there’s Henry and Jubal and Jacob and Lizzie,” I considered, keeping my face straight. “They pretty much make up a family big enough for anybody.”
Emily stood, waiting a little longer before she got fed up, turned again to face me, dug her fist into her hip, and set her mouth grim.
That was as long as I could hold. I pulled her into my arms and whispered in her ear, into her hair that smelled of cold and fall and apples just ripened, “’Course, I’m partial to families. Fact is, I’m needing a bigger family. I bet if we put our heads together we can come up with a plan that’ll suit us both.”
Her lips turned up into a half smile, just before they met mine, just before all her feistiness and prickles melted in my arms. Never again did I envy the love between Andrew and Katie Frances. Never again did I pine for a family other than the one I’d just set my feet to claim.
They told him his best friend wasn’t human. Robert’s father assisted the Underground Railroad. His mother adamantly opposed abolition. His best friend was a black boy named William Henry. As a nation neared its boiling point, Robert found himself in his own painful conflict. The one thing he couldn’t do was nothing at all. William Henry is a coming-of-age story about a 13-year-old boy—and an entire country—that comes face to face with the evils of society, even within the walls of the church. In the safety of an uplifting friendship, he discovers the hope of a brighter day.
by Cathy Gohlke
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When Marty Winslow’s daughter dies of a devastating genetic disease, she discovers the truth her child had been switched at birth. Her actual biological daughter was recently orphaned and is being raised by grandparents in a retirement community. Marty is awarded custody, but Andie refuses to fit into the family, adding one more challenge for this grieving single mom that pushes her toward the edge, and into the arms of a loving God.
For Andie, being forced to live with strangers is just one more reason not to trust God. Her soul is as tattered as the rundown Blue Moon movie drive-in the family owns. But Tuesday night is Family Night at the
Blue Moon, and as her hopes grow dim, healing comes from an unexpected source—the hurting family and nurturing birth mom she fights so hard to resist.
by Debbie Fuller Thomas
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Cori signs up to take a mission trip to Indonesia during the summer after her senior year of high school. Inspired by happy visions of building churches and seeing beautiful beaches, she gladly escapes her complicated love life back home. Five weeks after their arrival, a sectarian and religious conflict that has been simmering for years flames to life with deadly results on the nearby island of Ambon. Within days, six terrified teenagers are stranded in the mountainous jungle with only the pastor’s teenage son to guide them to safety. Ultimately, Cori’s emotional quest to rediscover hope proves just as arduous as the physical journey home.
by Lisa McKay
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