by Dorothy Love
“She’s all right,” Mariah said. “Terrified, of course. Sage said the Spencers might leave Hickory Ridge.”
Fear and anger jolted through Ada. How could Mariah and the others take this news so calmly? How could anyone feel safe with such criminals running about? “I hope the Spencers reported this crime to the sheriff.”
“I’m sure they did, but what good will it do?” Mariah’s dark eyes flashed. “There’s no proof of who did it. There never is. I wish that, just once, the Klan would get caught. That might make them think twice before they go around terrorizing people who are only trying to do some good around here.”
“Well, it’s too bad for the Spencers,” Bea said, “but that’s what happens when people don’t follow the rules.”
“I hope this isn’t a foretaste of what’s to come in Hickory Ridge,” Mariah went on. “Sage said there was a long discussion about Two Creeks at the mayor’s meeting last week. There’s been some talk about moving the coloreds out of there.”
Lillian picked up her scissors. “My lands, where on earth would they move them to? Leave ’em be, is what I say. They’re not bothering anybody.”
“Except the people who want that land for themselves.” Ada picked up another quilt block. “Lillian is right. Two Creeks should be left in peace.”
“For someone who’s been here for such a short time, you sure have a lot of opinions,” Bea said. “Maybe you should leave the running of Hickory Ridge to those of us who know what’s what.” She drew her needle through the cloth and snipped a few loose threads. “That bottomland could be put to greater production without the sharecroppers. Two Creeks is a den of iniquity anyway, with all that drunkenness and gambling and whatnot going on. Those people are a blight on the town, if you want to know the truth of it.”
An uneasy silence fell across the room. Finally, to break the growing tension, Mariah told a story about Robbie that made them all laugh.
“He’s one of the smartest boys I’ve ever known,” Ada said, relieved to have something else to talk about. “I like having him around. But we haven’t seen much of him lately.”
“School keeps him busy.” Mariah lowered her voice. “Too many long assignments.”
Bea snorted. “I heard that.”
They went back to work. An hour later, Mariah folded the finished quilt.
“If you don’t mind, Mariah, I’d like to go with you to the orphanage.” Ada gathered her things. “I want to speak to Mrs. Lowell.”
“You’re welcome to come along. I’d love the company.”
“Ada?” Lillian frowned and tugged at Ada’s sleeve. “Have you forgotten that you drove us here?”
“Of course not. You can come with us. I won’t be long.”
“I don’t want to muddle your plans, but I’m tired today. My head has been aching for the past two days.”
“Then we need to get you home.” Ada smiled at the older woman. “Never mind, Mariah. I’ll see Mrs. Lowell another time.”
“I can deliver a message if you like.” Mariah gathered her mirror and her quilting bag, and they all went outside.
“No message.” Since Founders Day, Ada had thought about Sophie almost every day. Despite today’s news about the Spencers, she meant to speak to Mrs. Lowell about the girl’s sketchy education and about Ada’s own hope that one of Sophie’s stories might find its way to the Gazette. But that wasn’t a conversation she was willing to delegate.
“Well, I have a message,” Lillian declared.
“Fire away.” Mariah tossed her bag and the quilt into her rig.
“The pastor thinks that we should involve the children from the orphanage in our Christmas pageant this year. I happen to agree with him.”
“Well, I don’t!” Bea snapped. “I’ve always been in charge of the pageant, and we’ve never had the orphans take part before.”
“Why not?” Ada asked. “I realize I’m only an outsider, but I am curious.”
“For one thing, it complicates the practice schedule.” Bea pulled on her gloves. “Either I must take my students down the road to Mrs. Lowell’s, or she must bring the orphans to me. It disrupts both our routines.”
“And we can’t let what’s best for the children interfere with convenience,” Ada said. “It seems to me that Christmas is the perfect time to let those children feel, if only for a little while, that they have some place to belong.”
“Well said, Ada!” Mariah beamed at her.
“Bea,” Lillian said, “what if you let the orphans sing a few carols either before or after the pageant? That way, Mrs. Lowell could conduct their practices without disturbing your schedule. Mariah is an accomplished pianist. I’m sure she wouldn’t mind serving as their accompanist.”
“What a splendid idea.” Mariah climbed into her rig. “Goodbye, all. I’ll see you at the harvest festival. I’ll be the one in the fabulous hat!”
Lillian waved as Mariah’s rig bumped down the road. “Then it’s settled.”
“I don’t know, Lillian.” Bea piled her things into her rig. “I’ll think about—”
“I’ll tell Pastor Dennis that it’s all arranged.”
“But I haven’t decided for sure!”
“The pastor will be so pleased!” Lillian nodded a dismissal to the schoolteacher. “Come along, Ada.”
They left Bea standing in the churchyard, staring after them. When they passed the mill, Wyatt was nowhere to be seen, but Josiah Dawson was bending over a broken wagon wheel in the side yard. He seemed completely absorbed in his work, an intense look on his face, the muscles in his arms straining the fabric of his sweat-stained work shirt.
Ada felt a stab of sympathy for him. Today’s news of the events at the Spencers’ place had left her with a creeping uneasiness at the bottom of her heart. With the Klansmen determined to stir up trouble, were the Dawsons safe?
Was she?
TWENTY
“A penny for your thoughts.” Lillian sat at the kitchen table watching Ada clear away a basketful of apple cores and an empty sugar sack. Apple butter simmered in the oven, filling the kitchen with the warm smells of cinnamon and anise. It was very early on harvest-festival Saturday; the sun was just rising over the rim of the mountains, suffusing the kitchen with fiery light.
Ada bent to stir the apple butter. “I’ve been thinking about Mother ever since I trimmed Mariah’s hat with her Paris rose.”
“I declare, I never have seen a woman as happy as Mariah over a hat. Your parents would be proud.”
“Mother would.” Ada took up the broom and swept the floor clean. “Father never acknowledged any of my accomplishments.”
“Sometimes men aren’t very good at saying what they feel.” Lillian sipped her tea.
“Oh, he was sufficiently vocal. He was just indifferent to whatever I did—or that’s the way it seemed.” Ada emptied the dust bin and propped the broom in the corner.
“That must have been very hard for you.”
Ada shrugged. “I finally stopped telling him anything. Now I wish I’d tried harder to understand him.”
“You were very young and grieving for your mother. No sense fretting over what might have been.” Lillian shuffled to the stove and peered inside. “Apple butter’s done.”
While the apple butter cooled, Ada changed her dress and pinned on her only other hat, a dark brown straw trimmed in brown velvet. It was so old and ratty it was downright depressing, but there was nothing she could do about it. She returned to the kitchen to spoon the apple butter into jars, then set the warm jars in a basket and helped Lillian with her hat.
Wyatt drove them to town. All of Hickory Ridge had turned out for the celebration. While their mothers laughed and chatted, children ran pell-mell through the park, playing hide-and-seek or rolling balls across the brown grass. Men brought out banjoes and fiddles, and strains of “Barbara Allen” and “My Old Kentucky Home” filled the brisk October air.
Everyone was talking about the great fire that had just cons
umed a huge portion of Chicago, spreading from shanties to the opulent mansions on Huron Avenue, destroying everything in its path and leaving behind thousands of displaced residents and many thousands of burned-out buildings. It was a wonder, Patsy Greer said, that so few people had perished. Ada nodded. Her heart ached for the families of those who hadn’t been so lucky. But now was not the time to think of it.
Wyatt helped Ada and Lillian carry the jars of apple butter to a long table beneath the trees. He smiled at her, looking more handsome than ever in a new blue shirt that brought out the color of his eyes. “I love apple butter,” he said. “Can I have a taste?”
Ada laughed. “Right now?”
“Sure, why not?” He picked up a jar and then lifted the towel covering a basket. “All I need now is some of Carrie Daly’s cinnamon bread. Hers is better than the bakery’s.”
“Stop that!” Lillian swatted his arm. “Don’t you have anything better to do than harass an old woman?”
“Yes ma’am, I surely do. I promised the sheriff I’d help him and Doc Spencer organize a horseshoe tournament.”
Lillian flapped one hand. “Get on with it, then.”
He tipped his hat and sent Ada a smile that warmed her all the way to her toes. “I’ll see you ladies at noon.”
She watched him until he disappeared into the crowd.
“Let’s go look at the exhibits.” Lillian took Ada’s arm. “I want to see the needlework.”
They strolled about the park, admiring everything from wooden toys to woven baskets and embroidery. More tables had been set up to accommodate the mountains of food the townspeople had prepared. Mariah arrived with a raisin pie and a bowl of pumpkin custard. She set them down and twirled around, grinning, showing off her new hat.
Molly Scott, the mayor’s wife, brought a basket of soft molasses tea cakes. “Try one,” she urged Ada, after admiring Mariah’s hat and inquiring about her own. “They’re my specialty. I make ’em with sody and goose fat.”
Ada bit into the sweet cake. “It’s delicious.”
Molly grinned and hurried off to join her friends. Ada, Lillian, and Mariah headed for the needlework exhibit. Despite the news from Chicago, everyone seemed in a festive mood. Even Jasper Pruitt tipped his hat to Ada as he passed.
Lillian bought a lace collar and an embroidered shawl. Ada admired a pair of delicate lace gloves, but they were one more extravagance she couldn’t afford. Reluctantly, she set them aside.
Lillian turned to speak to one of her church friends just as Carrie Daly arrived in her new blue dress and matching hat. Several loaves of bread filled the basket on her arm. “Oh, Ada,” Mariah exclaimed. “Carrie’s hat is gorgeous! She looks like an illustration in a magazine.”
Ada smiled, pleased at the compliment. “I like it too.”
“You should bring some hats for sale here next year. Nothing too elaborate, but some simple designs that would appeal to everyone.”
“Perhaps I will. If I have the time. I—”
A sudden commotion drew their attention. Mrs. Lowell had arrived with the children from the orphanage. They were scrubbed and tidied, and noisy with anticipation. Ada looked for Sophie and spied her bringing up the rear of the line.
“It’s all right, Ada,” Lillian said, taking up the conversation again. “I won’t stand in your way much longer.” She held up her hand when Ada protested. “I know the Lord, and he knows me, and frankly, I’m looking forward to our conversation. I’ve got a few questions for him.”
Mariah laughed. “Lillian Willis, you’re the only person I know who would dare question the Lord face-to-face.”
A bell clanged, calling them to the noon meal. They joined the long lines that stretched all the way across the park. Wyatt made his way to where Ada and Lillian stood, waiting to fill their plates. He smiled down at Ada. “Having a good time?”
“I am. Miss Hattie brought more fried chicken.” She indicated the restaurant owner, who was unloading a basket of food nearby. “I wonder what her secret is.”
“It’s no secret,” Lillian said. “It’s just chicken coated in flour and salt and pepper, dredged in buttermilk, and fried in hot grease. I’ve been making it that way since I was knee-high to a flea.” She looked up at Wyatt. “I never knew you liked Hattie’s chicken better than mine.”
A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “I like them both the same. Hattie’s tastes different, though.”
“Chicken is chicken. Hold my bag, please. I can’t manage it and fill my plate at the same time.”
Wyatt slipped his aunt’s drawstring bag over his arm and burst out laughing.
“Very charming,” Ada said. “It matches your shirt beautifully.”
He grinned and jiggled the bag. “This thing is heavy. What does Lil carry in here anyway?”
Ada laughed. ”I have no idea.”
“I missed you this week,” he murmured. “Save me a dance tonight?”
“I will.”
They found places to sit on a hay bale near a group that included the Whitings and the Spencers. From beneath her hat brim, Ada studied the doctor’s wife. Eugenie Spencer’s face was open and friendly, showing no evidence of the terrifying incident with the Klan. Ada buttered a piece of bread and chewed thoughtfully. What a hideous bunch of ruffians! It didn’t make sense to punish someone for trying to alleviate the suffering of another. Hadn’t Christ commanded his followers to heal the sick? And weren’t all people, regardless of their color, equal in his sight?
Mrs. Spencer said something that made Sage Whiting laugh. She looked up and caught Ada’s eye. Ada nodded and returned her gaze, feeling suddenly shy in the presence of such a brave woman. Ada couldn’t imagine ever venturing into Two Creeks. Where had Mrs. Spencer found such courage? She wondered whether the mother and baby had survived the difficult birth, but she couldn’t bring herself to ask.
Across the way Nate Chastain pulled out a book and began reading aloud to the children from the orphanage. Ada couldn’t hear his words, but the children were clearly enthralled with the story; bursts of laughter punctuated his reading. Carrie Daly looked on, her eyes shining. Maybe the rumors were right—that Nate had something to do with Carrie’s decision to come out of mourning.
When Nate finished reading, the children ran off to play, leaving Sophie alone. Ada’s heart seized. She set aside her empty plate and stood. “Would you excuse me?”
“Of course,” Mariah said. “I’m going to sit right here until the dance begins.”
Ada crossed the meadow to where Sophie sat drawing pictures in the dirt with a stick. The little girl’s eyes lit up when Ada knelt on the ground next to her.
“Hello, Sophie. Do you remember me?”
Sophie nodded. “You’re Robbie’s friend.”
“That’s right. I’m glad to see you.”
“I still got my blue ribbon. I put it in my treasure chest, under my bed.”
“I had a treasure chest, too, when I was your age.” Ada made herself comfortable on the grass. A light breeze stirred her hair. The late afternoon sun warmed her face. “I lived by the sea then. I collected shells and bits of sea glass and driftwood. Once I found a piece of wood that was shaped like a cat.”
“Mrs. Lowell got a cat. Her name is Lucy. She sleeps with me sometimes. I tell her stories.”
“I’ve been thinking about your stories. Do you ever write them down?”
“I’m no good at writing. Mrs. Lowell says I’m too slow. And too messy. She says my writin’ look like a old hen been scratchin’ in the dirt.”
“That’s only because you need more practice.”
“Maybe. But sometimes the stories in my head go faster than my fingers.”
“I know what you mean.” Ada paused. “What was the story Mr. Chastain read just now?”
“I don’t remember. I was thinking about my princess story.” Sophie fell onto her back in the thick grass and spread out her arms and legs like spokes in a wheel.
“I love prin
cess stories! Would you tell it to me?”
Behind them, the musicians began warming up. Some of the farmers had packed up and were starting for home; animals had to be fed and cows milked even on harvest-festival day. A line of buckboards and wagons moved slowly toward the road. Sophie cupped her hands to her face and looked up at the clouds. “It’s too long.”
“Maybe just a bit of it then?”
Sophie sighed and closed her eyes. “Onct they was a princess, lived all the way in Africa. One day a ship came and the princess was kidnapped. They took her to a big white house on a island. All around was a big ocean the color of a robin’s egg. The sand was white as sugar.”
Ada sat motionless. The child’s voice was mesmerizing.
“They was a big storm. The house fell into the ocean. The princess floated to a strange new place and she lived there until she died.”
“Is that the end of the story?” Ada asked.
“The man in the white house?” Sophie, a born storyteller if there ever was one, paused for dramatic effect. She sat up, her green eyes flashing. “No one heard of him again. But people say he still looking for her.”
She got to her feet and brushed the dust from her dress, breaking the spell. “That’s all I know. I been knowin’ that story since my baby days.”
Ada reached up and caught the child’s thin hand in her own. “It’s a beautiful story. Would you write it down, just the way you’ve told it to me? I’m coming soon to see Mrs. Lowell. Perhaps you could give it to me then.”
Sophie frowned. “Why do you care ’bout some dumb old story ain’t even true?”
“It’s a secret. Can you trust me, for a little while?”
“Maybe. I don’t know. Can I go now?”
“Of course,” Ada said, stung by the rejection.
Sophie ran across the grass, calling out to a slightly younger boy and girl. They waited for her to catch up, and Ada breathed a sigh. Perhaps these two, like Robbie, would accept the beautiful little outcast.
“Ada?” Carrie waved her over. “Hurry! The dance is about to start.” She looped her arm through Ada’s. “Have I told you how much I adore my hat?”
