Secret Promise

By Mary Lou Cheatham

It is 1907 as Caroline Clemons watches her towns newest bachelor, Jake MacGregor, tie his horses to a post outside her window. Moments later as he enters her home to meet her eligible sisters, he mistakenly believes Caroline is a servant instead of one of Senator Chad Clemons daughters. Immediately mesmerized by Carolines beauty, Jake has no idea she is committed to fulfilling a promise she made years ago, even if it means living a Cinderella existence.

Caroline, who derives her only satisfaction in life from her teaching job in Taylorsburg, Mississippi, cannot help but be attracted to Jake who just inherited a store in town. As an internal battle rages within her, Caroline busies herself with serving her family and the Lord, even as Jake haunts her dreams and she fastidiously guards her familys secrets. But as fate intervenes, a romance develops that leads both Caroline and Jake to rely on prayer and laughter to survive. Will they ever be able to overcome their obstacles to find their happily ever after?

A young woman must rely on faith as she struggles between honoring a long-held promise to her family or following her heart.

• Language: English
• Publisher: WestBow Press
• Release date: Jan 16, 2012
• ISBN: 9781449734022

Mary Lou Cheatham

Mary Lou Cheatham (Mary Cooke) spent her childhood on a farm in south Mississippi between Taylorsville and Hot Coffee. Now she lives in Shreveport, Louisiana, with her husband, two talking cats, and three chiming antique clocks. Long ago she taught English, and not so long ago, she retired from her career as a registered nurse. She loves to write fiction.

Book preview

Secret Promise is a love story you don’t want to miss.

Secret Promise—this historical romance takes place in a world of hate, deprivation, and peril. Its thrilling message of tender love conquering all will continue to play in your mind long after you’ve finished reading it.

Patsy Rae Dawson

Author of the Marriage: A Taste of Heaven series

Against a backdrop of prohibition, inadequate school systems, racial tension, and domestic abuse, a compelling romance emerges. Having walked along life’s treacherous paths, Mary depicts realistic characters trying to resolve their conflicts.

Paul Elliott, M. D.

Marketer

Mary demonstrates her deep personal understanding of the dreams and dramas of the Southern way of life. She leads the reader into the deepest recesses of her characters’ lives as they struggle to overcome the fears that stand between them and their heart’s desires.

Paula Taylor

Author

Also by Mary Lou Cheatham

Solomon’s Porch: The Story of Ben and Rose (pen name: Jane Riley)

Flavored with Love: Mary Lou’s Family and Friends Can Cook (pen name: Jane Riley)

The Collard Patch (Co-author: Paul Elliott)

Do You Know How God Loves You? Successful Daily Living

A Prayer of Nehemiah, The Birth of Leadership

I’m Choking… But Life Moves On Along the Path of Grief: Insights about Grieving

Secret Promise

MARY LOU CHEATHAM

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Copyright © 2012 Mary Lou Cheatham.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

All scripture quotations are taken from the King James Version of the Bible.

WestBow Press

A Division of Thomas Nelson

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Bloomington, IN 47403

www.westbowpress.com

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Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

ISBN: 978-1-4497-3401-5 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4497-3402-2 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2011962126

WestBow Press rev. date: 2/27/2017

CONTENTS

Chapter One The Clemons Household

Chapter Two Dreams of Love

Chapter Three The Revue

Chapter Four The Sweet Life

Chapter Five Tender Mercy

Chapter Six Goody Two-Shoes

Chapter Seven Mose Jefferson

Chapter Eight New Love’s Agony

Chapter Nine A Fork in the Road

Chapter Ten Home

Chapter Eleven Max

Chapter Twelve Unopened Letters

Chapter Thirteen Courage

Chapter Fourteen Papa

Chapter Fifteen Christmas Coming

Chapter Sixteen Promise

About the Author

Book One: Secret Promise A Village Love Story

Book Two: The Courtship of Miss Loretta Larson

Book Three: The Dream Bucket

For Christie

Covington Chronicles

Book One

*     *     *

The LORD liveth; and blessed be my rock; and let the God of my salvation be exalted.

Psalm 18:46

What begins as a romance develops into an exposé of social conditions in Mississippi, the epitome of the deep South, in the early twentieth century. Prohibition, inadequate schools, racial tension, domestic abuse, and old-fashioned snobbery are issues.

Chapter One

The Clemons Household

Spring 1907

The thought occurred to Caroline that no one would believe what went on inside the Clemons household. She slipped out of Millicent’s bedroom. Glancing over her shoulder, she rushed through the dining room back to the warm kitchen, leaned by an open window, and drew the breeze into her lungs.

Land’s sakes… you done got too hot. Rachel brushed the thick soft back of her brown hand against Caroline’s cheek. Sit a minute. I’ll fetch you some cool water.

Caroline swigged it down and set the empty glass on the worktable. Thank you, Madear. Got to go.

You can’t let Miss Horsey catch you back here when you supposed to be at the front door.

In the parlor Caroline plumped the needlepoint-covered pillows on the sofa. A burst of wind blew a filmy curtain into her moist face. Reaching to straighten it, she looked through the window in time to see two Tennessee walking horses pull an elaborate surrey with fringe trim into the circle drive.

A dark-haired man perhaps in his early twenties stopped the team next to a hitching post. He jumped out to tie the horses and bounded up the steps to the high front porch.

*     *     *

Jacob MacGregor thought he was at the right place—the corner of East Main Street and Old Town Road. The steps led him onto a porch, which wrapped around the north and east sides of the pristine white house. When he raised his hand to knock, a young woman with sparkling blue eyes swung open the door with its etched glass panel to welcome him into the Clemons house. Smiling without speaking, she motioned him inside and then floated away through the dining room and toward the swinging kitchen door. Even though the door had a wide crack on the hinged side, he lost sight of her.

High hat in both hands, he stepped into the Victorian parlor of Mrs. Hortense Smith Clemons. She had sent him a formal invitation to come for tea. Delectable smells of baking food wafted from the kitchen to the front of the house.

Oh, do come in. Place your hat on the table or hang it on the rack, whichever you prefer. Hortense, bustled in from a bedroom opening into the dining room on the left side. She tripped and almost fell.

Having plastered a solicitous smile across her face, Hortense stretched one hand toward him. She teetered in her high-heeled shoes to her wing-backed chair, where she sat too hard. Caroline should have taken your hat.

It’s all right, he said.

Girls, we have a guest. She turned her head and shouted, Come here now. She looked back at Jake and forced a laugh. "How are you? The left of her mouth turned up and the right side curved downward. Do be seated on the sofa or the love seat." When she talked her voice went up and down two octaves.

Caroline, she scolded. Bring the tea. She clapped her hands. Make haste. Almost losing her balance, she leaned toward Jake. As she recovered her composure, she daubed her flushed face with a dainty handkerchief.

Jake sat on the sofa. Mrs. Clemons was not at all as he had expected her to be.

She folded her hands in her lap. Ah, here we are. This darling girl is Lydia. Hortense beamed with pride as she pointed toward the tall thin young woman. This precious one is Millicent.

Jake arose and stood until the young women entered, curtsied, and seated themselves. Pleased to make your acquaintance, ladies. He nodded his head in a polite gesture.

The server, whom he supposed was the person Mrs. Clemons called Caroline, entered with the tea.

He thought: it isn’t supposed to happen this way.

In all of God’s creation, he had never seen anyone so lovely. She was graceful but unassuming. He forced himself to focus on Mrs. Clemons and her daughters. What could be more uncouth than feasting his eyes on a servant in the home of the Senator’s wife?

Caroline moved with fluid grace as she served. Her intriguing eyes remained focused on her task. Her facial expression was pleasant, but it seldom changed from a sad half smile. He leaned forward to take the teacup and saucer from her hands. The smell of her perfume—ah, what was it? A blend of roses, peaches, and sandalwood, all floating above the exotic black tea.

No one bothered to introduce her. Come here, Caroline, Hortense tapped her spoon on her saucer. Bring me my medication so I can add a spoonful to my tea.

At the mention of the medication, Jake thought he saw the slightest hint of a sparkle in Caroline’s eyes accompanied by a covert grin.

Here it is, ma’am. Caroline had anticipated the woman’s needs. Mrs. Clemons doctored her tea.

For my lumbago, she explained to Jacob. Caroline walked through the opened French doors with glass panels. She placed the bottle somewhere in the dining room.

Now bring us some teacakes. Be quick about it, Hortense said.

Did he see her looking back? She gazed over her shoulder at Hortense Clemons. What was behind the expressive glance of her cornflower eyes?

Jake, despite his sensibility of etiquette, found himself admiring Caroline as she walked away. He noticed the way her skirt swished.

I was saying, Mr. MacGregor, it is hard to get decent help nowadays.

Oh, really? he replied, as she jerked his attention back into the proper focus.

Yes, I have Rachel, my cook. Jim is my flunky. He drives us. We have a serviceable buggy for every day and a surrey we use on special occasions. He takes care of the horses and yard. He goes to the Mercantile with our list and brings home our groceries. If the Senator would require Caroline to take boarding elsewhere, I’d have room to place someone more reliable.

Jake, not the least interested in her domestic affairs, gave the woman a blank look. She had rare grace and elegance for a serving girl. She hardly acknowledged his presence. Try as he might, he couldn’t bring her into eye contact. Except for the look she gave Hortense, she looked away or down.

A braided cord held her hair away from her delicate face. Blonde waves flowed in rivulets down her back. At the neck of her navy dress, she wore a plain collar and a large locket hanging from a crimson satin ribbon. In her pierced ears she wore sparkling diamonds, out of character for a serving maid.

He noticed the sisters’ elaborate hairstyles with pompadours crowning their heads and shiny curls streaming over their shoulders. He was amazed to see such professionally arranged hairstyles in Taylorsburg, Mississippi, in the middle of the week.

He gazed at Caroline… he was losing control. He admired the gentle pleasantness of her expression. Her apparent concern was to make everyone comfortable.

He blurted out the words on the tip of his tongue: Beautiful hair.

What? Hortense demanded.

Uh… . He thought fast. Excuse me, if I’m forward, but your daughters have their hair arranged beautifully.

Oh, thanks. We do our best, Hortense said.

You do it yourselves?

The sisters do. She spoke a half-truth.

Caroline appeared with a tray of crisp molasses teacakes, smelling of cinnamon and nutmeg. She placed them on the coffee table and retreated to the kitchen. Jake devoured more than half of them. As Millicent reached for her fourth, Lydia hissed, Millicent, stop.

The three of them turned to smile at Jake. He wondered whether Caroline was watching from behind the kitchen door.

*     *     *

Caroline tried to watch the front room through the crack where the hinges supported the kitchen door. She felt a strong attraction toward the handsome young man.

Her father, Senator Chad Clemons, devoted his life to noble causes. Her precious friend Rachel was passing through life with all her dreams for her grandchildren deferred. Caroline’s students lacked the textbooks, supplies, and creature comforts needed to develop their minds.

Helping others move a few steps along life’s road to a better existence—a greater good—mattered more than whatever pleasures for which she could hope. Years ago she gave her word, she made a promise she had not failed to keep. She would honor her commitment at any cost. No amount of understanding and forgiveness, however, could reverse the damage she received last winter; as a result, she would never marry.

*     *     *

When Jacob left a few minutes later, his mind was hazy. He would need to return to the Senator’s home soon. He was sure Mrs. Clemons would invite him to see her two eligible daughters, since he was the newest bachelor in town. He could gain business in his mercantile from them, also from their friends. But what about Caroline? Having entered his mind uninvited, she lingered.

If she arranged her hair the way Lydia and Millicent had fixed theirs and if she didn’t keep her eyes aimed at the floor, she would look like a Gibson Girl. She had the height—about five feet seven. The severely plain dress she wore drew attention away from her elegant proportions and tiny waist.

She obviously knew the finer points of etiquette, but why was she serving? Was she Hortense’s personal maid?

She seemed ashamed. Had she done something in the past or was she afraid of someone? He couldn’t help wondering what her story was. Where did she fit?

Hortense Clemens was the woman he came to see… the town’s most prominent citizen. He didn’t know how he could make the Mercantile succeed without her support. He wondered whether he could ever engage Caroline in conversation or if he would have the opportunity to become acquainted with her.

*     *     *

After the visitor left, Caroline started cleaning. Lydia went to her room on the west side of the parlor with Millicent following.

Get me a dining chair, Hortense said.

Yes, ma’am, Caroline said.

Straddling it backwards, Hortense pulled her skirt between her legs and mounted the chair. You know what to do.

Caroline kneaded the loose grainy flesh on Hortense’s neck. The color of the skin on the back of her neck resembled a pumpkin. The woman’s face had a newly acquired sallow appearance. Something wasn’t right.

Sing to me, Hortense said.

But Caroline didn’t feel like it. She cleared her throat in hesitation.

I said, ‘Sing.’ Can’t you see my nerves are frayed? Hortense pointed toward her low back. And keep massaging.

Hush, little baby, don’t say a word… Caroline’s voice, pure and sweet, floated across the parlor. She could feel Hortense relaxing.

Lydia’s door flew open. Give that back to me, she yelled. She and Millicent scuffed over a book.

Millicent scurried across the parlor to her room with Lydia chasing her. Blowing hard, Millicent ran as she held a tiny key. In the meantime, Caroline’s percussion of the back of Hortense’s chest provoked spasms of coughing.

Give Lydia her diary, Hortense ordered in a wavy voice with gasps, but Millicent, ignoring her mother, ran through the dining room and into the sewing room. Lydia was not far behind. The sounds of furniture being knocked around made it evident that the fight continued.

Take your hands out of my hair, Lydia’s voice sounded from the sewing room.

You pulled mine first. Millicent was breathless.

Lydia emerged with the diary and key, but Millicent followed. Dress ripped and hair disheveled, Millicent giggled. Lydia ran back to her room and slammed the door.

Look at you, Hortense said. You’ll never catch a man the way you act. You’re nothing but a fat little pig.

Listen to this, y’all, Millicent ignored her mother’s rebuke. She smoothed out a crumpled page from Lydia’s diary. Mrs. Lydia Suzanne Smith MacGregor—that’s what she wrote. She thinks she’s going to marry him, but he’s mine. Did you see the way he looked at me?

Rachel peeked through the kitchen doorway. Time for me to go, Miss Horsey.

You come here, Hortense scolded between coughs.

With hesitation Rachel walked toward Hortense. I done stayed later than usual ’cause you had that man over here.

Yeah. Be here bright and early in the morning.

Yes’m.

Tomorrow I’ll unlock the Senator’s room so you can freshen it up.

Caroline didn’t tell Hortense she had already cleaned it. She saw no reason to let her stepmother know she possessed her own key to the Senator’s room.

Is he coming home? Rachel asked.

That’s an impertinent question, which is none of your business. You and Caroline have cleaned all the rooms on the east side and Lydia’s room fairly well. You need to keep working down the west side. The library needs airing out.

Yes, ma’am, Rachel said.

What’s in the sack? Hortense asked.

My own stuff. You can see I ain’t toting nothing off. Rachel held up her flour sack, which contained only her personal items.

Caroline carried the dishes to the kitchen. Rachel followed and closed the door. Go home. Get some rest. Caroline hugged Rachel.

Okay, sweet baby. I’ll see you in the morning.

Bye.

God watch over you… I can’t stay no longer.

Do you need a ride home? Caroline asked.

No, my preacher man, he’s done out here waiting in the wagon, Rachel said.

You’ve got Brother George trained.

He knows how my legs has been bothering me, and he wants cornbread.

I bet he’s done made you some cornbread to have with buttermilk for supper, Caroline said.

Maybe. Rachel’s eyes flashed as a smile illuminated her face.

Go with God. She hated to see Rachel leave. They needed to talk.

In the corner of the big kitchen was the laundry area. A pile of starched and ironed curtains lay spread across the ironing board.

Oh, Lord, Rachel said.

What’s the matter? Caroline asked.

I didn’t get back up the stairs to hang them curtains today. If Miss Horsey sees them here, she’ll have my hide.

Don’t worry, Madear. As soon as she goes to sleep—and it won’t take long the way she’s been nipping from her medicine bottle today—I’ll go hang them.

You’s tired already, Rachel said.

No, I’m fine. I’ll do it.

Caroline returned to the parlor with a polishing cloth to remove the crumbs and smudges from the oval coffee table. Seeing Hortense still sitting backwards in the dining chair, Caroline jumped back.

Okay, Car-o-line. The name Caroline sounded ugly spoken by Hortense’s mouth. What did you do?

Caroline backed out of reach of her menacing stepmother. Nothing, ma’am.

Don’t give me that. I saw how Mr. MacGregor was ogling you.

I didn’t do anything, ma’am.

When Hortense stood and took one step forward, Caroline placed her left hand behind her.

Don’t start your pitiful act. It won’t do you no good. Nobody here’s going to pay you any attention.

Caroline guarded her left lower back with the top of her hand touching her dress and the palm turned outward. Backing away, she continued to straighten the chairs in the room.

As Hortense loomed closer, she could feel her skin tighten in pain. The portly matron raised her hand and made a fist. Caroline danced out of reach.

Hortense, losing her balance, fell onto the sofa. You’ve got to stop wearing your hair down. Put it up in a bun or something not so showy. She pointed her finger to emphasize what she was saying.

I’m sorry. I didn’t want to take the time to fix it. Caroline offered a hand to help Hortense stand.

Don’t give me none of your backtalk. Just do as I say.

Caroline reached for the dust mop and started pushing it across the wooden floor. She watched Hortense wobble to her bedroom and slam the door.

I would have helped her walk to her room, but she would have slapped me.

A second later Hortense returned and went to the dining room cabinet to get the brown bottle of medication. I’ll expect a sandwich on a tray in my room at six.

As soon as Caroline finished cleaning the parlor, she took the pile of curtains up the staircase next to Millicent’s room. She was glad the Senator had included three landings; otherwise, she could have tripped with the cumbersome load. Hortense had furnished the spacious upstairs room with couches, chairs, and tables, but the family seldom used it. She loved to entertain and the Senator built the room according to her specifications.

Caroline enjoyed the view from the west windows as she hung the curtains. She could see all the way down the low hill to MacGregor’s Mercantile. Her thoughts drifted to Jacob’s dark blue eyes with gray flecks in them. They had a piercing quality—clear but brooding. She thought it would be easy to tell when he had something on his mind but difficult to guess what it was. When he smiled, his eyes squinched along the outer edges. She could imagine he was aiming his sincere eyes at some customer that very moment.

Upon finishing the curtains, she walked over to the south side of the room. Double doors enclosed a suite consisting of an elegant bedroom and a private parlor. The Senator had built these rooms for her. She tried the doors just in case she might find them unlocked. As always, the secure locks kept her out.

Making as little noise as possible, she walked back across the vast party room and descended. Before she could step off the stairs, Lydia moved in front of her and extended her long arms