Promise of Yesterday (13 page)

Now his knees felt the cool dampness of the spongy soil as it seeped through his trousers where he knelt. Only now did he understand those things his immature mind couldn’t grasp then. Deeper truths that only life can teach. Bitter lessons that his mother had hoped to spare him but his youthful insistence had dragged him into.

He raised his face. In the dark of the night, he saw a slight mound of dirt to the right of his father’s grave. His heart bunched in his throat. A new grave. To be expected. A cross marked the head of the mound. No flowers.

His eyes scanned the cemetery. Not a lot of room left in the row. The grave could be one of his sisters or maybe even a brother. A child. He swallowed and pushed a fist against his lips. His gaze fastened, again, on the mound beside his father.

Oh, Sweet Jesus, no
.

He inhaled a shuttering breath. He had no way of knowing who had been recently buried. No use fretting. He unclenched his fist and forced himself to relax. He took the first step away from the mound and stopped. When he turned, it was as if he was watching someone else. His heart ached for the poor man who knelt at the pile of smooth, fresh dirt. Whose knees became caked with the mud and whose eyes couldn’t help but see that the grass had only just begun to gain a foothold.

So near his father. He couldn’t shake the thought. His fist closed around a clump of earth and squeezed.

“Mama.”

It came out clear, the strained sound having little to do with his tongue and everything to do with the tightness in his throat. His world shifted, and a strange peace covered him with the certainty that his mama now rested. He would not see her again down here. Ever. And with that came the certainty that he would not see her in heaven.

Murder. Stealing. Running.

His fragile peace shattered into a war of fear and self-retribution. He’d been afraid to come home sooner, and that fear had cost him the opportunity to feel her arms around him one more time.

His shoulders shook beneath the burden of guilt. The boy who had left with so much hope and promise returned with nothing more than a coward’s heart and blood on his hands. Shattered beneath his insistence to leave home was the swollen promise of yesterday’s dreams. Those dreams were all the things his mama wanted for him. For all her children. To rest. To be happy. To work hard and be kind. To help others and be respectful. To love her Lord.

But how? How could he know how to be all that with all the other terrible deeds?

He didn’t know how long he knelt there and allowed himself to grieve, but when he went to rise, he was forced to stand for long minutes and rub the numbness from his legs.

When he could finally stumble along, he picked his way down the path from the cemetery to the section of Mercersburg referred to as Africa. His childhood home would be there. Someone, he hoped, that knew him or his family.

Marylu knew before she ever went to bed that lying down would not in itself promise sleep. If not for the fact that she’d just checked on Cooper and found him doing logging duty in a thick forest, she would have sat down next to him and talked herself into a stupor in hopes of getting things straight in her head.

At least Cooper seemed to be making a remarkable recovery, enough so that he insisted on getting back to his little cabin for the night. When she’d come home to get the wagon from Zedikiah, she’d caught Cooper helping the boy, and seeming no worse for the work. It had made her proud to see Cooper taking such a shine to the boy.

She turned over in bed and debated on heading into the kitchen, but her knees ached too much to get up. She sighed and fidgeted. The frame released a sharp crack that set her heart to pounding. When her heart slowed its pace, the face of Aaron Walck pierced her conscience. She’d been so sure of visiting him and telling him, straight out, about Jenny. In hindsight, though, she worried. If Jenny ever found out about her little visit … If only Aaron weren’t so shy and resigned. If Sally Worth wasn’t so forward and pretty.

Marylu sighed and rolled to her side. That’s when she heard a board creak overhead. Apparently she wasn’t the only one struggling to sleep. Energized at the prospect of talking, she whisked back the blanket and padded out of her room. At the foot of the steps, she stared upward and debated the climb, but her knees throbbed a protest, so she let out a long, low whistle.

Sure enough, she heard Jenny’s soft steps shuffle across the floor. The bedroom door creaked open, and Jenny poked out her head. “You can’t sleep either?”

“My knees won’t let me make that climb,” Marylu whispered.

Jenny disappeared for a full minute then reappeared in a dressing gown. When she came level with Marylu, she mouthed the word, “Kitchen?”

Marylu shook her head and they headed back to her room. She shut the door and sat on the edge of the bed.

Jenny took the lone chair and tucked her legs beneath her. “I saw Zedikiah with Cooper. He staying there for the night?”

“Cooper even suggested it. Zedikiah worked hard this afternoon.”

“He sure ate more than I’ve seen any man eat before.”

“He’s young. No mama to cook for him. No daddy to care. Why, a good wind off the mountains would knock him flat.” Marylu paused. “Better to see him eat than to drink so much.”

Jenny’s gaze met hers then flickered away.

Marylu’s senses came alert. It was the same feeling she’d gotten the night Jenny and Cooper acted so strange. A secret brewed between those two, she was sure.

“I’ve been thinking,” Jenny said, her words slow, her face averted. “With Cooper so sick, maybe it’s not a bad idea if we take in Zedikiah. He could help out and it would give him some structure.”

“A family, you mean.”

Jenny’s eyes snapped to her face, tension in her expression. Marylu recognized the minute her friend made a decision, for the stress in her features eased. “Tell me about Chester.” Jenny asked, “Did you find him?”

For a moment, Marylu hesitated, not sure if she should let the subject go that quickly. If Jenny knew something and didn’t want to share, it would be unfair of her to push. But her curiosity had deepened all the more as she had watched the two share guilty glances and flash warnings at each other over the last few weeks. She’d had about enough of it.

“Marylu?” Jenny’s smile was tenuous. “I asked about Chester.”

She raised her chin and met Jenny’s gaze head-on. If her friend didn’t want to share, then the decision was made, and she would not push. Yet. “I couldn’t find him. I went every place I could think after our talk and … nothing.”

“Did he hop a train? Wasn’t that the way he got here?”

There it was. Her deepest fear laid bare. If Chester left Greencastle to avoid further questions, it would be the ultimate defeat to her heart. It was too much like Walter’s good-bye. A simple, “I love you,” then gone the next day.

All thoughts of Cooper and Zedikiah, of the unspoken secret Jenny held so closely, faded beneath the wrench of her frustration. Her anger. She closed her eyes, not realizing she was crying until Jenny moved to sit beside her on the bed.

“Don’t cry, Marylu. Please don’t cry.”

“It’s like Walter all over again.”

“Shh. I’m sure he’s around here somewhere.”

But the ring of conviction was not in that statement. Marylu buried her head in her hands and choked on a sob. “What is wrong with me that I can’t have no man love me enough to stay?”

“Mama knew you’d come back when you were ready.” Chester’s youngest sister sat across from him on the rough wooden bench he remembered so well from his childhood, in the kitchen that had changed little over the years. Ruth, now a grown woman, held out her hands. He settled his, palms up, into hers.

She turned up the lantern and pulled it closer, then squinted hard at the swollen part on his index finger. “It’s deep.”

He nodded and continued to study his sister’s calm demeanor.

No hysterics or tears when she had discovered him in a corner of the porch before the sun came up. She merely led him inside and set about slicing salt pork and tearing off a hunk of cornbread. “Don’t need to know your story. You’re home. That’s all that matters to me, and all that would have mattered to Mama,” had been the first words out of her mouth as she slid the plate in front of him.

In his halting voice, he had explained a bit of his journey and the part about the tongue, leaving out the part about Samuel and the murder, but she’d already heard the rumors.

“Broke Mama’s heart, but she insisted until she breathed her last that her boy couldn’t do such a thing unless riled up.”

Shame washed through him. Why had he thought staying away would keep the news from her ears? In morbid fascination, Chester watched as his sister lowered the needle to his finger and started to poke around.

Her talk filled the uncomfortable space between them. “She died about four months ago. In the cold of winter. Snowed the day we put her in the ground.”

Snow. How his mama loved her snow. More than anything he suspected she loved the blessing of a warm home and her family close.

His sister pulled out the splinter and held it up. Their gazes held. Guilt pressed a heavy mist in his eyes that blurred her image. The next thing he knew, her arms wrapped around him, and she cradled his head against her shoulder. Sorrow poured through him and spilled out on Ruth’s shoulder. A grown man, crying on the slim shoulders of his little sister, he tried to chide himself. But Ruth’s arms encouraged him to grieve harder. He stayed there until the distinct sound of small feet brought him upright.

Ruth rose and skirted about with the efficiency of a woman in command of her kitchen.

Two small bodies appeared. When the smallest laid eyes on him, her eyes went wide. The older, taller boy put a hand to the girl’s arm and tensed as if ready to defend.

“Get on over here and eat. Your Uncle Chester has come back after a long time. You can talk his ears off for a change.”

Chester wondered if a father would appear, but the way Ruth sat down and the little heads immediately joined her in bowing to give thanks told him this was a normal routine.

“Your uncle is a little slow in his speech, so listen close,” Ruth admonished her children as she broke off a corner of cornbread. She popped the morsel into her mouth, caught the gaze of the boy, and nodded at him to indicate he should talk.

The boy’s hands stilled, and his eyes sunk to his lap. “My name is Daniel,” came the small voice. “I’m eleven.”

Chester reached out and rubbed his hand over the boy’s head. He turned to the little girl and tried his voice. “You five?” His tongue felt thicker than it did in Marylu’s presence.

The two children stared at him.

Embarrassed at the sound of his words, he sent a pleading look to Ruth. Her attention was focused on the little girl. “You understand?”

The girl nodded. Her eyes flicked to him then at her mama, who nodded encouragement.

“I’m seven, and I’m Esther.”

Conversation picked up around the table as the children began to share more and more, shedding their shyness and waiting patiently as he tried to work his tongue.

Ruth dismissed them to their chores, and Esther’s little groan of protest brought a swift reprimand.

Chester asked the question that begged an answer and watched his sister’s expression sag into grief.

“Eddy.” She wiped at the lone tear on her cheek. “He got real sick. Never the same after that. He died within a month.”

So much sadness and grief. As Chester moved to touch his sister’s hand, he felt the burden of her hardship shift to his shoulders and wondered if this was why God had brought him home again.

Through the long night, Jenny had offered what comfort she could, but the words stopped penetrating Marylu’s discouragement.

She berated herself over and again as she cleaned rooms at Antrim House for asking the question to Chester in the way she had. She’d known the rumors, and she’d known the man. Nothing else mattered.

Or nothing else
should
matter.

But it did matter. To her. And that was what tied her up in knots. Cooper’s explanation justified Chester’s deeds but didn’t excuse it. Or did it?

But what about those gentle eyes? They told another story. Except the shadows she sometimes saw deep in the depths of Chester’s gaze, she might never have guessed his past held such violence or that he was capable of anything more than tender touches and teasing mischief.

A streak of brightness came in the form of Zedikiah. At breakfast, his bright, clear eyes had provided the sliver of encouragement Marylu needed. The boy had eaten like a starving man, and she’d been more than happy to see it. At Antrim House, he had seemed intent on his work and content in his skin.

When she finally left the hotel, her thoughts were no more settled than they had been since she had asked Chester the fateful question. She crossed Baltimore Street to Jenny’s shop and skirted around to the back door. Jenny greeted her with a preoccupied smile and returned to her sewing machine. Too restless to sit and sew, Marylu decided to tackle cleaning the floors in the back room. There, in a modicum of silence, she gave voice to song after song. Old hymns from church. It helped keep her mind on something other than Chester.