by Jane Shoup
Lizzie saw the Welcome to the Martin-Medlin Farm sign, warmed by the happy ending. The Martin-Medlin farm was impressive, too. There was a neat farmhouse, barns, and a long building that Fiona explained was the bunkhouse and dining hall. The fields were deep green and thriving. A woman in her early twenties walked out of the house and waved. She was lovely from a distance and the closer they got, the lovelier she became.
“Hey, Emmy,” Fiona called.
Lizzie felt a twinge of nerves. She hadn’t had many friends in her life. What if these women didn’t like her? What if they sensed there was something different about her, something unlikable?
Fiona stopped the wagon. “Emeline, meet Lizzie and vice versa.”
“Hello,” Em said as she reached up and took RJ. “And welcome. I’m so pleased to meet you.”
“It’s nice to meet you, too,” Lizzie returned, rising. By the time Lizzie had climbed down, Fiona had already jumped down and helped Jake and Rebecca from the wagon. It felt extraordinary to be with women her own age, mothers who looked out for one another’s children. She’d never experienced the like.
“This is Rebecca and Jake,” Fiona said to Emeline.
“Nice to meet you,” Em said to the children.
“Very nice to meet you, ma’am,” Rebecca replied politely. Jake ducked his head and halfway hid behind his sister.
“Where’s Caty-bug?” Fiona asked as they started toward the bunkhouse.
“Where do you think?”
“You mean if I had three guesses and the first two didn’t count? I’d probably say she’s in the arms of a lady I know, name of Doll.”
Em looked at Lizzie. “Doll complains that Caty is going to be spoiled because she’s held all the time, but I’ve no sooner put her down than she picks her up. Before Caty even fusses, by the way.”
Lizzie grinned.
“May we go see the cat?” Rebecca asked.
“Of course you can,” Em replied.
Lizzie looked and saw a gray cat sunning herself on the verandah of the bunkhouse.
“Her name is Queen Pritoria,” Em added.
The name delighted Rebecca, who giggled. “Queen Pritoria?”
“Or Pritty, for short,” Em replied. “It’s silly, I know.”
“Wood named her,” Fiona stated as she took RJ from Em. “And he is silly.”
Rebecca and Jake went one way to see the cat, and the ladies continued around the back of the bunkhouse.
“You gotta go potty?” Fiona asked her son, who shook his head.
“Best not be having no accidents,” Fiona said. “You tell Mama when you have to go. Hear me?”
“How do you like it in Green Valley so far?” Em asked Lizzie.
“Very much.”
They rounded the back of the longhouse and Em pulled open the screen door for the others. Lizzie stepped into a kitchen and dining hall. A short, stout lady with a reddened but pleasant face stood at a table, salting a platter of sliced tomatoes as she held a dark-haired infant in her arms. There was a savory scent in the air, and a good deal of food had been prepared.
“Hey, Doll,” Fiona said. “Meet Lizzie.”
Doll set the salt down and came closer. “Nice to meet you, honey,” she said, extending her hand. “Welcome to town.”
“Thank you. It’s nice to meet you, Doll.” She looked at the blue-eyed babe, the prettiest she’d ever seen. “She’s beautiful. How old?”
“Almost eleven months,” Em replied.
“Not quite walking yet,” Doll said, “but trying hard. Pulling up on everything.”
“On those rare occasions we put her down,” Em added wryly.
Doll reached out and popped Em on the behind, which made Em jump and all of them laugh.
“That was a little dig at me,” Doll told Lizzie. “Where’s your young’uns?”
“Around front. They saw the cat.”
“The queen, you mean,” Doll said with a nod. “She thinks she’s a queen, too,” she said, handing the baby to Lizzie.
Em looked apologetic. “I’ll take her.”
“I’d love to hold her,” Lizzie admitted.
“Her name is Catherine,” Em said with a proud smile.
“But you call her Caty,” Lizzie said lightly. “Hello, Caty.”
Doll scooped up RJ, who squealed with displeasure. “Well, at least give your old aunt Doll a kiss.”
RJ resisted, so Doll set him down. “Be that way, then. But don’t forget, you owe me one.”
“What’s for lunch?” Fiona asked. “It smells good.”
“Bubble and squeak with onion gravy and the last of the tomatoes. Have a seat. Y’all want something to drink? We’ve got apple cider, buttermilk—”
“No, I’m good for now,” Fiona said as she walked to one of the many tables and sat on the accompanying bench.
“I’m fine, as well,” Lizzie replied. “Thank you.” She followed Em around the table and they both sat. It was a pleasant, well-lit room thanks to the many windows. A few were open and provided a flow of air.
“We’ll get you set up before the men come in,” Doll said. “Every day they come in like a swarm of locusts, convinced they’re about to perish from starvation, despite the hearty breakfast they ate not even five hours past.”
“On second thought,” Fiona said, getting back up, “I will have some cider. Does it have a kick to it?”
“The cider with a kick is over there. Can’t be letting the men have that at noontime,” Doll said as she went back to the stove.
Fiona went to the right pitcher, poured a glass, and tasted it. “Mmm, that is good.”
“Pour the girls one, too,” Doll said.
Fiona did and carried them back to the table.
“So, tell us everything about you,” Doll said to Lizzie.
“Doll,” Em laughingly scolded.
“Oh, Pauline,” Doll said, “it’s not like we won’t find out anyway. Right?”
The use of her real name startled Lizzie. A moment later, she realized the others were staring at her, taken aback by her reaction. She hadn’t just imagined that, had she? Doll had called her Pauline. “D-did you just call me Pauline?”
“No, honey,” Doll said apologetically, setting her spoon aside. “I said please in a silly way.”
“You all right?” Fiona asked worriedly.
Lizzie nodded but she had no voice. She felt so foolish and so exposed. These women were nothing but friendly and hospitable, and now they would think she was strange. “I’m sorry, I—”
“It’s all right,” Em quickly assured her.
“It is,” Fiona seconded. “Really. No matter what you’re running from.”
Lizzie didn’t know what to say. Doll sat next to Fiona and looked sympathetic.
“I don’t know if I mentioned it,” Fiona said with a discreet wink, “but it was about two years past when Em walked into the boarding house looking for a room. Even though this was her home.”
Em nodded to confirm the truth of it.
“She seemed jumpy and exhausted, like she’d been running for her life.”
“And I was,” Em said quietly. “From a terrible man.”
How well Lizzie understood that. Although she couldn’t say so.
“The day you come in, I got the exact same feeling about you. I guess it’s one of the reasons I wanted you to meet Em. I feel like we’ll all be good friends, but also it’s just nice to see that sometimes people do get to live happily ever after, and Em here is living, breathing proof of it.”
Lizzie felt tears prick the backs of her eyes because it felt like they knew. Knew and accepted her anyway.
“We probably will find out everything about you,” Doll said, “’cause we are a nosy bunch, but in your time is just fine. We won’t push. But just know we’re here and we’ll be on your side. I can promise you that.”
Lizzie was grateful and touched, but she couldn’t say so. Even if she’d had the words, her children were coming in. “Th
is is Rebecca and Jake,” she said thickly.
“Hello, Rebecca and Jake,” Doll said cheerfully, turning to them.
“Hello. There are a bunch of men coming this way,” Rebecca reported.
Doll nodded. “They’ll be wanting their dinner, but I’ll get y’all’s first.”
“I can help,” Rebecca volunteered.
“Well, now that’s an offer I’ll accept,” Doll said enthusiastically.
Two hours later, they headed back home, each with a small crate of fresh vegetables and a ball of goat cheese. It had been a wonderful day, and Lizzie felt light and happy. When the men had come in, the banter started and never stopped, despite the fact that they were hungry and went right to filling their plates and eating. They were priming the tobacco crop, which meant pulling the leaves at the bottom of the plants. It was the first step of the harvest.
Even though they had big appetites, they took the time to spar and laugh, and Doll could hold her own among them. Lizzie had never experienced anything like that easy camaraderie. Neither had her children, who watched with unabashed delight.
Wood, the foreman, was a man in his fifties and he was kind and witty. He’d known just the right amount to tease with Jake and Rebecca. Another of the men, Hawk, was part Indian, and proudly owned it, even amidst ribbing from one of the others, named Malcolm. They’d all been discussing the merits of a cigarette-rolling machine; apparently one had been invented.
“It could go and change the whole industry,” Wood said. He looked at Lizzie. “Right now, companies can’t keep up with demand ’cause hand rolling is slow. A person can do, like, less than ten an hour by hand rolling. But this fella, Bonsack, went and made this machine that can roll two hundred a minute.” This caused a general scoffing, which didn’t bother Wood in the least. “It’s what I read. I recommend you fellas try it sometime.”
“How—” Jeffrey started.
“How do you read?” Malcolm interrupted. “Well, first you pick up a book.”
“Ha, ha,” Jeffrey said with a sour look.
“Usually,” Malcolm said, “it’s Hawk here who says how, only he means hi,” he finished with a big wave.
“That joke never gets old,” Hawk said with a bored lift of his brow.
“Just no way a machine can roll two hundred cigarettes a minute,” Jeffrey said, getting back to the point.
“Not only can it,” Wood stated, “but the man who invented it won that contest put on by a cigarette company out of Richmond, and he won seventy-five thousand dollars.”
The conversation went on and on, and it was entertaining to observe. So were the Medlins. Baby Catherine favored her father, who was breathtakingly handsome, but the truly beautiful thing to witness was Tommy and Emeline. The love between them filled the room. The way they looked at one another, the way he touched her. He took the baby and held her the entire time he was there, and it was clear how much he adored her. Never had Ethan looked at his children that way. It was also clear that there was no other woman in the world for Tommy. Em was his world and he was hers. Never, ever had she felt that for Ethan. She hadn’t experienced even a fraction of that emotion. But could she? With the right man? With Jeremy?
She tried to push the thought away, but another took its place. After a day of glorious weather, with such gregarious people, who clearly cared for one another and worked hard together, it made the contrast of Jeremy’s existence—in a dark, cold mine—hurtful to think about. Why did he do it? When there was work on a farm or a ranch in the fresh air and sunshine, why would anyone subject himself to working in a mine?
“Today was fun, Mama,” Rebecca said from the back. “Can we go back again?”
“Oh, we’ll go back lots,” Fiona answered.
“Thank you for taking us under your wing,” Lizzie said.
Fiona smiled and jutted her crooked arms out. “I got big wings. Happy to have you.”
Chapter Nineteen
It was on a cloudy Thursday afternoon that Jeremy trudged out of the mine’s lift behind a half dozen men. Liam had managed to position himself to get off the lift first, which was why he saw his eldest nephew, Errol, waiting right away. Jeremy knew what the news was by the boy’s stance and drawn face. The others knew too, and murmured words of sympathy as they passed. William’s death had been inevitable; it was only a question of when.
Liam looked at Jeremy and gave a grim nod.
“I’m sorry,” Jeremy said. He looked at Errol. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
The boy nodded in acknowledgment but didn’t meet Jeremy’s gaze.
“We’ll bury him tomorrow,” Liam said.
“What time?”
“Afternoon,” Liam said.
“Three,” Errol said with downcast eyes. “Mama said three.”
Liam walked away with his nephew. Several paces away, he put a protective arm around the boy’s shoulders and they conferred quietly. Jeremy watched, saddened by the inevitable end of a life spent in the mines. It was a bleak legacy.
When he got back to his house, he sat heavily at his table. For a while, he was too tired and depressed to move. When he did, it was to reach for a bottle of whiskey and the glass he’d used the day before. He poured a drink and downed it. He poured another and downed it. Then he sat back and watched the daylight growing fainter.
The following day, Jeremy stood in the back of the group gathered for William Baskerville’s funeral. It was a dour-looking crowd of a few dozen people. What could anyone say other than it had been a hard life and an even harder death? A wife and children were left behind, and their lives were hard. They weren’t going to get any easier, either.
When the service ended, mourners headed back to their homes in the mining camp, a place known as the patch, but Jeremy stayed behind. He stood with his head slightly lowered, hands clasped together in front of him, lost in a mire of thoughts. It occurred to him that he didn’t recall one thing that had been said at the service. Not one single word. He hated funerals. At Jenny’s funeral, he and his father had anchored his mother between them. The pastor had spoken of a light being extinguished too soon, but he’d been more focused on keeping his mother upright than listening to the words of supposed consolation.
At his mother’s funeral, he stood shoulder to shoulder with his father. He remembered the looks of sorrow and softly spoken murmurings of sympathy over what they’d had to endure. The pastor had spoken carefully, mentioning a mother’s love often. It was true, she had been a loving mother, but Jeremy hadn’t felt love from her at the end; he’d felt a void. He’d felt emptiness. Jenny’s death had shattered her mind, body, and spirit.
At his father’s funeral, he’d stood alone and numb. At least, he’d started out alone. By the end of the service, he realized he was flanked by Miss McCarthy, his old schoolteacher, on one side, and T. Emmett Rice on the other. Miss McCarthy had taken hold of his arm and Emmett had a hand on his shoulder.
Jeremy turned and made his way through the cemetery to the row where his parents and sister were buried, because what he needed was a reckoning. He needed to be finished with the past, if that was possible.
He stopped before his mother’s gravestone first. “Sorry it’s been so long,” he said quietly, although he was alone in the cemetery. The pastor kept the cemetery in good condition, mostly using the labor of adolescents who’d gotten into mischief and had a debt to pay to society, but Jeremy wished he had flowers to lay before her grave.
He stepped past Jenny’s grave to his father’s, wondering if he’d paid enough for his sins, but he still heard his father’s voice in his head. A life for a life, Son. What a mistake telling him had been. Jeremy had thought the knowledge that he’d exacted justice for Jenny would bring his father some sort of satisfaction. Instead, it had torn them apart. That’s the way of it! A life for a life.
Jeremy had argued that it was their fault, Ted Landreth’s and Stan Thomas’s. That Jenny was dead because of them, but his father wouldn’t listen.
&nb
sp; “I’ve lost a daughter and a wife,” Rodney Sheffield had ranted. “You think I can bear to see my son hanged for exacting revenge? Revenge for a crime that can’t even be proved? Must never be proved. Would you have us drag your sister’s name through the mud? For the love of God, Son. A Landreth. They won’t stop looking for him until he’s found. Until they know. And then the law will say what it’s always said. A life for a life!”
“They won’t be found,” Jeremy stated, but his father was through listening. He turned his back on his son and walked away. Soon, he’d crawl back into a bottle. And why not? In a short time, he’d lost pretty much everything. His only daughter and then his wife, and the farm would probably have to be sold, too. It was only the two of them left, and their relationship was crumbling.
It was later that night when his father didn’t come in to dinner that Jeremy went in search and found him in the barn.
Hanging.
Dead.
It wasn’t a sight that would ever leave him, however much he wished it.
Maybe that’s what he deserved, because if he hadn’t admitted killing Ted Landreth, his father wouldn’t have snapped. Jeremy had accepted his punishment and sentenced himself to a life of hard labor in Six. His question now was, did he owe the rest of his life? Was eight years long enough, or did he owe dying there? The quick death of a cave-in or the hard death of black lung.
He closed his eyes and sighed heavily. He’d been foolish to think he’d arrive at any sort of reckoning. All that was here was a reminder of the deaths of his family. At least his father’s death had been quick. He’d wrapped a noose around his neck and stepped off the loft. His neck had snapped, his death instant.
His mother, on the other hand, had lingered and suffered, using more and more laudanum to help with the pain of grief, growing thinner and weaker until her heart gave out. Or so the doctor had said. It would have been bad enough to lose Jenny to an accident, but in washing her body for burial, the truth of what she’d been through became apparent.
