The Brush of the Dove's Wings

By Melody S Deal

In the fall of 1907, Teddy Roosevelt occupied the oval office, the Cubs won the World Series, the Lusitania made her maiden voyage, and Oklahoma was admitted as the Union’s 46th state. Amidst all this, life in the rural farming community of LaFontaine, Indiana was calm and serene—until it wasn’t. Sarah, the matriarch of the Whitcome clan, leans on her faith in God and draws from her reservoir of wisdom to help her husband, Doctor Ben Adams, their children, and neighbors navigate the triple dramas of mystery, murder, and matrimony. The continuing saga of life in the close-knit small town will have you laughing at the antics of the children and quirky townsfolk while, at times, reaching for a handkerchief to commiserate as they struggle over loss and grief.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Balboa Press
• Release date: Apr 25, 2023
• ISBN: 9798765241004

Book preview

Contents

Dedication

Acknowledgements

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

10

11

12

13

14

15

16

17

18

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58

Dedication

To the townsfolk of LaFontaine, Indiana, who in the 50’s and 60’s provided a close-knit community that allowed this child to play, learn, laugh and grow in an environment that I’ll forever remember as one that was blessed.

Acknowledgements

To Maxine, who inspired the creation of the Sarah’s trilogy; to my husband Robert, whose encouragement never faltered; to Alice, Pat, and Tysa, who critiqued my writing with honesty; to my friends, who provided emotional support; to Wednesday Women who cloaked me in prayer, and most of all, to The Dove who always hovers nearby.

1

The boy lifted his face to the sky as he walked the road in front of his family’s farm. The warmth of the sun brought a measure of comfort to his troubled soul. He tried to focus his mind on baseball. He’d recently turned eleven and was eligible to play on the town of LaFontaine’s team. Although it was near the season’s end, the coach had agreed to let him join in as they finished their remaining scheduled games. He was a good runner and could catch better than most. But his passion was pitching. When he woke on that September Saturday morning, he’d felt the promise of a good day. He’d hoped to talk his brother into helping him practice by catching to his pitching.

Morning chores went smoothly. But about half an hour after he’d finished the milking, it started. He was adept at recognizing the symptoms. Pressure in his head followed by a sense of restlessness—then the dreaded urge. He hated it when the feelings came. He didn’t understand them, was embarrassed, and felt helpless to stop their overwhelming power over his body.

He’d tried to resist by slipping away from the farm to take a long walk. A mile down the road the tension and anxiety increased. He reached up and pressed the palms of his hands against his temples. Stop, stop. Why can’t these thoughts go away? No one was near to hear.

He broke into a run, his feet kicked up dust and debris. Dirt particles stung at his eyes and brought tears that ran willy-nilly down his cheeks.

Sarah walked to the kitchen window and looked out. Her four-year-old twins, Henry junior and Naomi, were under the large maple tree playing in the dirt pile with their six-year-old sister, Hathaway. The soil, accustomed to years of little hands working it, turned easily as they toiled over make-believe tasks. The girls were making mud pies while Henry shoveled dirt and loaded it into a miniature farm wagon.

Sarah dried her hands on her apron and walked outside. It was a warm fall day. The sun’s bright beams targeted her auburn crown, accentuating the golden highlights, belying her age of thirty-eight. A light breeze blowing from the east played at the errant strands of hair that had escaped her braided coiffure, forming wispy curls at her temples that complimented her fine chiseled features.

Along with the breeze came the scent of freshly turned soil. Sarah breathed it in, savoring what to her was not a smell, but a fragrance. Her love of the farm ran deep. She looked toward the barn and the nearby garden patch. Abe, her oldest, now sixteen, was plowing under stocks from the sweet corn they’d enjoyed that summer.

Sarah walked to the maple tree with far-reaching branches that monopolized the family’s front yard. For all the years she’d lived on her farm it had provided shade and shelter to their home. Being a tall woman, she didn’t have to stretch to reach and pluck a leaf. She examined its scalloped edges and saw not even a hint of color change.

The Farmer’s Almanac predicts frost the first week in October, Sarah thought as she gave the tree’s large trunk a pat. In another month, your branches will be aglow with color so bright I’ll be shielding my eyes while I take in your glory.

She released the leaf to the breeze that tugged at her fingers. As she did that, her shawl fell from her shoulders revealing her slender frame.

Sarah looked at the flowers that skirted the family’s home. Chrysanthemums in shades of yellow, burnt orange, and white provided a welcomed contrast against the house’s weathered wood plank siding. Come October, she’d cut them back in preparation for their winter’s sleep. The next summer the warm sun would beckon the perennials to wake and by August, blooms would appear and again grace the house with color and cheer. The dependable cycle of nature, and the wonder of the soil to bring forth life-sustaining sustenance as well as beauty, brought her comfort.

She surveyed the expanse of acreage that framed their farm. As she looked, she reflected on the discussion she’d had with her four oldest sons Abe, Josh, Luke, and Zeke, back in March, about that coming season’s crop planting. They were still children, but Sarah used the management of the farm as a means for teaching them responsibility and the importance of planning.

Galatians 6:7 was a scripture that Sarah had been taught as a young child. The excerpt whatsoever a man soweth, that shall he also reap had made an indelible impression on her. She understood that God was using the metaphor of the soil to reveal the deeper message—the way we treat others has a direct correlation to the way others will accept and treat us. That aside, she’d taken the literal meaning to heart and early on understood the importance that planning, and projecting crop yield played in successful farm management.

As usual, it had been Abe who brought well-thought-out plans to the discussion table. He’d been successful in garnering support from his brothers and her. Their fields of seed corn had already been picked. The yield had been good, they’d made a nice profit when they’d sold the harvest. Their acres of soybeans would begin to mature in a couple of weeks. By mid-October, the now green leaves would have passed through shades of yellow to brown. When they started falling off, the matured pods of soybeans would be exposed and ready for harvest. If all went according to plan, come the second week in November, those fields too would lay barren.

Abe had inherited the love of farming from both of his parents. It had been five years since his father’s death. As the oldest boy, he was the one who’d spent the most days working in the fields with him. Eleven-year-old Abe, nine-year-old Josh, and seven-year-old Luke had all three been at their pa’s side harvesting hay when in 1903, he had the sunstroke that eventually took his life. Zeke, at age four had begged to tag along too, but due to his young age, his request was denied. In the heat of Indiana’s unrelenting August sun and within the period of an afternoon’s labor, the family lost the muscle that tilled the farm’s soil, the father that nurtured its children, and the husband that loved the woman who knitted it all together.

In Henry’s absence the farm had fallen on hard times. Abe’s suggestion for their financial dilemma had been to diversify and add egg production and sales to their farming plan. Without the success of that venture, they would have lost the farm, their home, their only means for supporting themselves. The remembering sent a chill down Sarah’s spine.

Naomi called from the dirt pile, Ma, come have pie with us. We got us a plenty.

Her youngest daughter’s voice penetrated Sarah’s thoughts and she shook her head to clear it. I’ve too many beautiful memories of Henry to let those tough times be what fills my head. I’m still full of lunch, dear, she called out as she patted her stomach. You may have my piece.

Feeling a bit melancholy, Sarah prayed. Lord, thank you for the blessings of my family. I never cease to be amazed at how you brought us through that tragedy to become the blended family that we now are. I praise you for Ben and the courage you gave him to take that leap of faith and sign on as father to my brood of seven. His love and commitment never faltered when we adopted Joy.

Her eyes misted over remembering the battered runaway girl they had taken in. Sarah didn’t say amen. There was no need. For her, conversation with God was continuous and had spanned the whole of her adult life. Their talks had carried her through young love, the birth of seven children followed by heartbreak and shattered dreams. They had guided her through courtship and marriage to Ben Adams, a widower, long-time friend, and doctor to the town of LaFontaine. It continued to sustain her and guide her as she embraced each day in the light of God’s love.

Sarah’s reverie was broken when Luke, now eleven, came through the gate of the picket fence that secured the yard. Hi son, Sarah called out. I was hoping to find you. Where have you been? You seem out of breath; have you been running?

Luke ducked his head, I’m fine. Didn’t know you was lookin’ for me.

Yes. I need an errand run. Would you please take the horse and ride into town and pick up a couple of things for me at Parker’s?

Do I have to? Luke asked. I was hopin’ to take me a nap.

A nap? It’s early afternoon on a sunny Saturday. Why would you want to take a nap?

Luke’s shoulders slumped. I don’t know, I guess I was just needin’ me some alone time.

And that you shall have. It will be just you and the horse, two miles into town and two miles back home. Come inside and I’ll give you a list and some money.

Parker’s Dry Goods, located on Branson Street—the main thoroughfare in LaFontaine, Indiana, was integral to the quaint town. While the store still carried a modest stock of hardware items, it had long since ceased to be the community’s sole source. As the business’ name implied, its specialty was dry goods. On the main floor, shoppers could visit the millinery corner where personalized orders were accepted on Wednesdays and Saturdays, the milliner, Penelope Jones’ days in the shop. Adjacent to that area, stairs provided access to a second level balcony where boots and shoes were on display. Main floor, center store, had large tables holding stacks of men’s shirts, trousers, long johns, and bib overalls. Samuel Parker, a skilled tailor, accepted custom orders and provided alterations for gentlemen. Long tables holding various hardware items were right of center providing a separation from the lady’s area. Those shopping for fabric yardage, notions, or fashion accessories could step up to a counter managed by Laura Parker, Samuel’s wife. Unmentionables were kept under the counter and discreetly brought out upon request.

Setting on the counter was a four-drawered wooden case containing sewing notions. The top two drawers were large and shallow. The first had the brand name Clarks in black lettering embossed in gold written on the face of it. The second, with like lettering, read, Cotton Thread. Underneath it, were two half-sized drawers. One labeled Buttons and the other Needles.

The thread drawer was open displaying a palette of colors. Local farmer’s wife, Earnestine Brown, with her customary scrunched up, sour expression, held a spool next to yardage that lay on the counter. Is this the only shade of blue you have?

Yes. If you don’t think it will work, you might consider using black, Laura Parker said holding a spool of black thread next to the navy and white gingham.

The boy had been watching as the two women held their discussion. Why would anyone choose black when they could have red? The palm of his hand had started itching when he entered the store. Now the skin around his ears was hot and burning. He reached up and rubbed at his right lobe. His breathing became rapid and shallow, and he felt aroused. Why, thread? I’ve no need of thread. Why does this happen to me?

The wooden spool made a loud tap when Earnestine forcefully plunked it down. You haven’t provided me with much of a choice. I’ll take the black. The disgruntled woman followed Mrs. parker to the cash register.

After easing from behind a stack of galvanized buckets the boy went to the thread case. When he was sure that no one was watching, he reached into the open drawer, snatched up the red spool and slipped it in his pants pocket. The thrill was so intense he thought he might wet himself. He scurried back behind the bucket display where he took deep breaths. He’d stay there until he felt calm.

Laura Parker called out, You’re next young man.

The eleven-year-old boy walked up to the counter, his head down as he set a box of matches on the counter and mumbled. I need these and a pound of one penny nails.

You need to speak up, I can barely hear you.

The request was repeated. Mrs. Parker went to the hardware area, weighed out the nails then came back behind the counter and placed them next to the cash register. Will there be anything else? Getting nothing but a head shake in return, she said, That will be thirty cents.

He laid down a silver half dollar and accepted twenty cents in change then turned and scurried out the door.

That child isn’t as personable as his older brother, she mumbled while looking around the store. A customer was trying on hats in the millinery department. A nod was exchanged between Penelope Jones and Mrs. Parker before she busied herself with putting away bolts of cloth and various other items. She went to the notions case, started to close the thread drawer, then pulled it open again. After moving the spools around, pulling the drawer out completely and looking in the back of the case, she checked the button and needle drawers.

Laura Parker called up to her husband who was working in the balcony area, Samuel!

Samuel Parker leaned over the rail. I’m shelving the order of Red Goose shoes that came in this morning. You want something?

Yes. I want to know if you sold a spool of red thread today?

No.

There’s one missing from the thread drawer.

You’ve likely just misplaced it, Samuel said with a dismissive wave.

Misplaced it my foot! I’m not the one that misplaces things around here, she grumbled as she folded her arms and began tapping her pointer finger against her chin. Murmuring to herself she said, I know that spool of red thread was here just before lunch. I showed it to a customer. Last Saturday a pair of lace gloves came up missing. Now this Saturday a spool of thread has disappeared.

The boy pulled the dried leaves from the hollow in the oak tree. He reached in and placed the spool of red thread alongside a pair of lace gloves, a blackboard eraser, and a large marble. He stuffed the camouflage of leaves back into the hole then took a few steps away from the tree, bent over, and retched. Ma would be so ashamed.

After using the sleeve of his shirt to wipe his mouth and the beads of perspiration from his forehead, he resumed his trek back to his family’s farm.

2

Pass the cornbread, Zeke called out.

Manners please, Sarah said, admonishing her nine-year-old son.

Sorry, Ma, I’m starvin’, Zeke responded. When a boy’s starvin’ it don’t seem fair, he has to waste time a sayin’ words like please and thank you when it’s just family he’s a talkin’ to.

Good manners will serve you well, Son, Zeke’s stepfather, Ben said. You’re old enough to be out on your own socially at times. Your mother and I won’t always there to prompt you in conversation with others. Using good manners will bring you respect.

Zeke, Abe said, you’re always flapping your mouth about something. There might come a day when it will be important for others to listen to what you’ve got to say. If they don’t respect you, that won’t happen.

That ain’t gonna be a problem for me, Zeke responded. Ifin they be those that don’t listen to me I’ll just hike up my voice loud enough so they can’t help but listen to me. I’ve got me important things to say most of the time. If you don’t think you have to listen to me just because your older than me, then you better think again. The boy’s voice had gradually increased in volume such that by the end of his diatribe he was near shouting. Can…you…hear…me!

Zeke, that’s enough, Sarah scolded then turned to Abe. Abe, what’s said around this table, no matter who says it, is important for all of us to hear. Now let’s change the subject.

That sounds like a good idea, Ben said as he accepted the platter of cornbread that was passed to him. Luke, are you excited about playing baseball with LaFontaine’s team? Next Saturday’s game will be your first. We’ll all be there to cheer you on.

Luke’s response was a slight nod of his head. Sarah noticed and thought, Something’s troubling Luke. He hasn’t been himself for a while now. I don’t know when I last saw him smile or heard him laugh. She cut a look at Ben. As often occurred, the look was their signal to one another that the subject at hand needed their attention. While Sarah hadn’t given up her rein of authority over the children, she did respect Ben’s opinions and sought his counsel when a concerning issue arose. Sarah could tell from the expression on Ben’s face that he too, had noticed Luke’s change in demeanor.

Don’t forget me and Abe will be a playin’ too, Josh, age fourteen, interjected.

They know that Josh, Abe quipped. Ben and Ma have been at pert near every game we’ve played this season. They’ve been front row and center, the twins and Hathaway at their sides. Joy’s been there too, she didn’t miss a game until she left for Pharmacy school. This family does its part to fill the bleachers and cheer on our team.

Zeke, sitting next to Luke patted his older brother on his shoulder. I’ll be in the dugout with my bucket of water and dipper at the ready. Ifin’ you get thirsty all you got to do is give me a nod. I can’t run out on the field during the game to fetch it to you, but if you’re warmin’ the bench, I’ll be Johnny on the spot.

Luke, you’ve served as equipment manager for the team all season, Sarah said. But, sitting on the bench with the possibility of playing out on the field is a different experience. No need to be nervous, it’s just a game.

Just a game, Josh blurted. Ma, please don’t be a sayin’ that outside of this here house. The 1907 World Series is comin’ up in a few weeks. Baseball is spiritual like for some folks, don’t you know.

I take your point about enthusiasm for the game, but I draw the line at considering it anything spiritual, Sarah responded.

Abe intervened, Ma, folks are serious about this year’s World Series because it looks like the Cubs have a chance again. It was a shock to all of us when they lost in ‘06.

It ain’t gonna be a shoo-in for the Cubs, Josh said. I been a readin’ about a feller by the name of Ty Cobb who is battin’ for the Detroit Tigers. Word is that he’ll be hard to reckon with when he steps up to the plate.

"I’m a contiplankin’ on switchin’ from bein’ a Cubs fan to a Tiger’s fan, Zeke said. Their pitcher, Wild Bill Donovan, is good at strickin’ ‘em out. I was awful disappointed when the Cub’s lost last year. I’d hate to be on the losin’ side again this year."

Well, I might not be an avid baseball fan like you boys, but one thing I do know is that once you pick a team, you don’t change sides, Sarah said. Teams are like family; they stick together through good times and bad.

"Yeah, Zeke, quit your contiplankin’, Abe said good naturedly as he reached across the table and ruffled his younger brother’s hair. If you’re going to live in this house, you’d better stay a Cub’s fan. The barn can get mighty drafty come winter."

A look of motherly pride washed across Sarah’s face as she looked around the table at her children. They were beautiful in her eyes. Abe was growing up to be a handsome man. He was tall, six-foot one inch and had strong features like his father’s. He looked so much like Henry had when Sarah first met him, she was often taken aback when Abe made a turn of his head, the likeness bringing on a flood of treasured memories. The young man’s blue eyes stood out against the backdrop of a suntanned face and blond hair. He made good grades in school and was a natural leader of his peers. Abe knew others looked up to him. He seemed to take it as a responsibility rather than a source of pride.

Sarah had for years maintained a niggling concern over her children’s grammar. Their father had been a smart man, but his use of the English language was pure country. Sarah had always found it endearing. Henry, known as a local leader, had held prominence within the small community of LaFontaine. His grammar was never an issue. The children chose to model him as they learned to talk. While their father was alive, she’d chosen to leave the issue alone out of concern that in correcting grammar, Henry might see it as an admonishment to his use of local vernacular. After his death, life required her full attention, and the issue lost any standing in her list of priorities.

When Joy moved in with the family things began to change for Abe. She was sixteen at the time, two years older than him. She was well spoken, smart and clever. It was clear from the onset that Abe admired the girl. As time passed, he began to gradually emulate her use of proper grammar. Sarah was pleased. She felt hopeful that the other children would likewise, over time, adapt.

Josh at fourteen was sprouting like a weed. Sarah made a mental note to chart his height on the kitchen door frame that served as their historical marker. Her guess was a growth of an inch over the summer, maybe even more. She’d let out the hem of his trousers when he started school earlier that month. Josh’s hair was dark brown, his features mirrored more that of his grandfather, Tom Riley, Sarah’s father. He was a good-looking boy and one that caught the eye of girls. That part was nice to see, but it was the return attention that Josh gave the girls that had Sarah ‘on the watch’. Josh was maturing faster than she’d prefer.

Sarah’s eyes next fell on Luke. Tears welled and threatened to spill as she took in the countenance of her son. He’d begun the advance through puberty, which was evident by the change in his face. His cheekbones were more prominent, and he had the slight appearance of an Adam’s Apple developing. Until recently he’d been a happy, cheerful boy. His change in mood had been subtle, but clearly it had changed. He now appeared melancholy. She’d have a focused discussion about it with Ben, first chance she got.

Zeke was sitting next to Luke. From age five through nine his appearance had remained largely unchanged as had his title as the family’s loose cannon. He’d grown but remained short in comparison to the height of his brothers when they’d been age nine. His hair was still red, having darkened only slightly and his trademark cowlick remained pointed skyward. Zeke hated wearing a hat and as a result his face was a mask of freckles. The child held no pretense, never had and, Sarah suspected, never would. What you saw was what you got. A vivacious boy who took life head on. He was kind and caring being the self-appointed protector of his younger brother Henry. But, just beneath the surface lived a banty rooster that with the slightest provocation would come out scratching when he felt one of his own, or he himself had been slighted. If gumption were money, he’d be rich at age nine, Sarah thought.

Sarah reached to her side and brushed a curl from Hathaway’s forehead. At age six, she was a striking beauty. Her dark, nearly black hair against her ivory skin accentuated her large brown eyes whose lashes were so long they nearly touched her brows when she opened them wide. Like Zeke had taken four-year-old Henry under his wing, Hathaway had taken his twin, Naomi, under hers. She relished the role of big sister and the two shared a special bond that Sarah hoped would remain strong throughout their lifetime.

Hathaway sat next to Naomi. It was her ‘spot’. To find Hathaway was to find Naomi. The pair were near inseparable. Sarah had opted to hold Hathaway back from starting school that year. She’d known that the day-long separation would have been difficult for the sisters. Her reasoning was bolstered by Ben’s support. He felt another year at home under her mother’s doting attention would give Hathaway a head-start when she entered first grade. The girl knew her ABC’s, having practiced along with Zeke when he went through the memorization stage. She could count to one hundred. Hathaway had become adept at dividing, between the twins, the building blocks kept in the toy box. The equal split was needed when they embarked on a joint building project.

Sarah’s heart swelled as she looked at Naomi, her youngest. Like her twin Henry, she’d been born premature. Unlike him, she’d remained small. Sarah was concerned that her size was attributed to her not being full term, Ben didn’t think so. He felt she was just a petite child. Her paternal grandmother had been a small woman, four foot ten inches was her adult stature. By the time of her death, just a year prior, she’d shrunk by a full two inches. Naomi’s hair was thin and blond. It was prone to static and often stood out from her head giving her the appearance of wearing a halo. Her eyes were blue, and she had matching dimples that she used to her advantage when she smiled. Her disposition was sweet. It had been so as a baby and had remained consistently that way. What more could a mother ask for.

Henry, the youngest of her boys had been born mere minutes before Naomi. The exact time between the twin’s births was unknown, everyone had been too busy to take note. They’d been born in the cellar during a tornado. Henry was delivered first by Sarah’s hired hand, Sam Hartman. When Ben, their family doctor at the time arrived, he discovered there was a second baby still in the womb. Naomi was transverse lie and Ben had to turn her so she could pass through the birth canal.

Henry was big boned for a toddler. He was already a head taller than Naomi. Sarah, a tall woman herself, considered height an advantage to tackling daily chores and was pleased to see Henry growing. Henry doted on Zeke as much as Zeke doted on Henry. The bond between the brothers was precious. Sarah saw Henry copy-cat many of Zeke’s mannerisms. She prayed the four-year-old would develop his own unique personality. One loose cannon in the family was enough.

Ma, Ma, Hathaway yelled.

M o t h e r, Zeke bellowed.

Sarah snapped out of her daydreaming. What, she said as she looked at the eight, collective sets of eyes now staring at her.

With smiles on their faces and in a show of unity, Ben and the children banged their folks against their plates and chanted, Pie, we want pie.

3

Sarah rested her hand on Ben’s left shoulder as she leaned over to pour him a second cup of morning coffee. Ben patted her hand. You’re not yourself this morning, what’s on your mind?

Take a guess, she replied as she put the coffee pot back on the stove then took a seat next to Ben.

Luke, was Ben’s response. I caught ‘the look’ from you at supper last night. I had thought we’d have a talk after the children went to bed, but time just got away from us.

Sarah glanced at the kitchen clock. It’s six o’clock, the boys won’t be up for another half an hour. Are you up to talking about Luke now?

Certainly. I’ve noticed he’s been uncharacteristically quiet for the past several weeks, Ben said.

Not only quiet, but sullen. He seems to have lost his enthusiasm.

I agree. I hesitate to label it melancholy but if a family brought a child to me displaying behavior like Luke’s, I’d be giving the possibility of a mental malady some consideration.

How can a child go from being cheerful, loving and excited about each new day, to one that seems to have had the life sucked out of him? Sarah asked.

Luke just turned eleven. A boy’s body can begin to change as early as nine years old and sometimes as late as sixteen. That puts Luke on the early end of the development chart, but he might be feeling emotions that accompany growth change. I have noticed a subtle change in his facial features. His shoulders are broadening.

Yes, and I think his Adam’s apple is beginning to develop. If memory serves, Abe and Josh were both twelve when they began to show signs of growing up. Abe made the transition from childhood without any noticeable change in his moods or behavior. Josh seems to be taking it in stride.

We’re all individuals, Sarah. While most boys do make the transition without missing a beat, there are some that have trouble as their body goes through the hormonal change.

His lack of excitement about playing on the baseball team came out of left field. He’s practiced pitching a ball against the smoke house so much that I’ve been concerned he’d knock a hole in it. Now he seems disinterested. It’s breaking my heart to see him like this.

Ben reached over and took Sarah’s hand, I’m not sure I agree that he’s lost interest. I’m sensing it’s more like he’s lost his self-confidence.

Do you suppose something has happened to him that he’s just not telling us about?

I’ve always marveled at how the children are so open with you, Sarah. If something has happened, it must be significant for him to keep it to himself. Of course, it could be health related.

Sarah heard a noise from overhead and quickly glanced at the clock. I can hear the boys. They’ll be running down the stairs any minute now. I need to get breakfast going so it will be ready when they come in from chores. We’ll have to keep a move on it, so we won’t be late for church.

Ben raised Sarah’s hand and gave it a kiss. We’ll get to the bottom of our concern for Luke. Why don’t you try to get some alone time with him this afternoon, see if you can draw him into a conversation. He’s probably just going through a rough patch; it can happen to all of us. When I get to the office tomorrow morning, I’ll dig into my journals first thing. See if I can come up with anything from a medical perspective that might shed some light.

Sarah leaned over and gave Ben a kiss on his cheek, That sounds like a good plan.

Ben, Sarah, and the children pulled up to the Methodist Church with a respectable ten-minute cushion to the start of morning service. As they walked up the church steps Sarah could see Pastor Sloan greeting a family that she didn’t recognize. Do we have a new family in our area? I’ll introduce myself after service.

As was customary, parishioners gathered in the church’s side yard after the service. It was a time of catching up on what had happened in the life of the community. Sarah saw Jeb Carter, the town’s Marshall, talking to the couple that she’d noticed earlier. Sarah wandered in their direction. As she approached, she caught Jeb’s eye.

Come here Sarah, Jeb called out. I’ve got some folks I’d like you to meet.

Sarah walked over. This here is Sarah Adams. She’s married to the town’s doctor. They live a couple of miles out east of town with their brood of eight. Sarah, this here is Charles and Miranda Hardcastle. They moved to our area about a month ago.

Sarah gave her winning smile and nodded. Pleased to meet you. Welcome to our community.

Charles Hardcastle tipped his hat, Pleased to meet you, ma’am. The woman at his side gave a timid smile.

Miranda, Sarah said, We’d be pleased to have you join us at the United Methodist Women’s meeting this coming Thursday. We meet monthly at two o’clock here at the church. There will be a lesson and brief discussion about our mission projects. After, we have refreshments and conversation. Those of us who have young children bring them along. We set up an area, let them play while we’re having our meeting. Do you have children?

Charles Hardcastle was the one to respond. Yes, we’ve got three. Two boys, ages sixteen and eleven in school and a daughter that just turned three. He pointed toward a large oak tree. She’s over yonder with her brothers.

Ben who had walked up to the gathering heard the response. He reached his hand out to Hardcastle. Ben Adams, Sarah’s husband. Known as Doc to most folks. Sounds as if we have something in common. Ben put his arm around Sarah’s shoulders. We’ve got boys of various ages in school and a pair of twins, boy and girl, that recently left age three behind.

The Marshall said you live out east of town with a brood of eight, Charles Hardcastle said.

That’s right, Sarah responded. We have four in school, three at home and one away at college."

Well, that does sound like a houseful, Charles said.

Where do you folks live? Ben asked.

We’ve got a small acreage about a mile out of town on the Boundary Line road. I don’t farm, but we got us the necessary livestock, milk cow, chickens, a couple of hogs. Hardcastle said.

And goats, we’ve got five goats, Miranda blurted with a smile that brought light to her face.

Sarah made a mental note of the woman’s change. I’m guessing she’s shy around people, but comfortable with animals. If we meet again, I’ll see if we can find some common ground to build on.

What brings you folks to our neck of the woods? Ben asked.

I heard through a cousin that Clark’s Tin Shop was a hirin.’ I applied, got the job and we up and moved, Charles said. Roofin’s my trade.

John Clark is a good man to work for, Jeb interjected.

I’m not much on farming either, Mr. Hardcastle, Ben said. I leave that to Sarah and the boys. If you folks ever have need of a doctor, my shingle hangs on Branson Street, across and a couple of doors down from the Tin Shop.

Hope we don’t need to come see you, but, good to know if we do, Charles responded.

Sarah took Ben by the arm. Again, nice to meet you folks. Miranda hope to see you at UMW meeting next Thursday. Sarah made eye contact with Jeb, Marshall, thanks for the introductions, say hi to Judith from me.

Will do, Jeb said with a nod.

Enjoy your Sunday, Ben called out as he tipped his hat to all.

Likewise, was the Hardcastle’s response.

When the team, pulling a loaded wagon, left the church lot, Sarah turned and asked her sons if they’d met the two Hardcastle boys. Yes, was Abe’s response. McKinley is in my class and the one named Harley, is in Luke’s class.

Nodding toward Ben, Sarah said, We met their parents this morning. They seem like nice folks.

That’s what I thought, Abe replied.

Luke, you’ll have a chance to make a new friend, Sarah said.

I guess, was Luke’s meek reply.

I saved the best news for last, Sarah said. Your grandmother and grandfather Riley have invited us to their house for Sunday dinner. What do you think about that?

Boy, howdy, was the collective response from the wagon load, less one. Luke didn’t join in.

I can smell it now, Zeke said, Chicken, fried golden brown and heaped high on the platter.

Mashed potatoes and creamy gravy, Josh said. My mouth’s a waterin’ already.

Green beans cooked with fat back and onions, Sarah interjected.

Biscuits so fluffy they near float, Abe said. Slather them with butter and Granny’s strawberry jam and a fellow doesn’t even need dessert.

We always need dessert, Hathaway asserted, pulling Naomi close. Naomi and me hope it’s rhubarb pie, don’t we? she said looking down to her sister who was snuggled in, a sweet smile on her face.

Apple, Henry shouted. We want apple. Ain’t that right, Pa?

Isn’t that right, little buddy, and yes, apple’s my favorite. But it’s best eaten at your mother’s table. My vote is for sugar cream from your Grandmother Riley’s kitchen.

What’s your preference, Luke? Sarah asked, attempting to draw the boy into the conversation.

It don’t make me no difference, Luke replied with a sigh.

Sarah leaned in and whispered in Ben’s ear. Let’s not linger long after we eat and get the dishes done. I’d like to get on home and invite Luke for a walk. I’ve never known the boy to not get excited about eating his grandmother’s cooking.

It ain’t winter yet but it don’t seem right to ride out to Grandpa’s farm without singin’ our favorite song, Zeke said.

You’re right, Sarah agreed. You get us started.

Zeke bellowed and the family, all but Luke, joined in. "Over the river and though the woods, to grandmother’s house we go…"

4

Luke and his mother walked side by side in the late afternoon sun. Sarah shielded her eyes as she looked heavenward. Since leaving the house she’d been praying for an opening to conversation with her troubled child. Clear blue sky…not a single cloud. Lord, you’ve created a perfect canvas and I’m waiting for you to paint words I can pluck and use.

Luke kept pace with his mother’s long strides but at times needed to take a near jogging step to do so. Ma, when you asked me to walk out to the pumpkin patch with you, you didn’t say why. You’re in a hurry, what are we goin’ to see?

The boy’s comments took a couple of beats to filter through Sarah’s prayer thoughts. When they did, she stopped. I hadn’t realized I was walking so fast, she said, smiling to her son who stood shoulder height with her. When I’m anxious to get something settled, I generally don’t waste time. That’s not a very good approach when it comes to having a talk with someone.

Luke furrowed his brow. You mean we ain’t goin’ out to the patch to see somethin’?

No, were going for a talk.

With me? Why?

Sarah put her arm around Luke’s shoulders and pulled him in close before resuming their walk, now at a slower pace. Yes, with you, dear one. I thought the new porch swing hanging on the hickory tree would provide us some privacy.

What we need privacy for?

Sarah took her arm from around Luke’s shoulders and in mid stride reached down to pick a stem of sheep shire and put it in her mouth. When she bit on the stem its tangy bitter-sweet juice bathed her tongue. The taste, familiar to her since childhood, brought Sarah comfort. It seems to me that you’re troubled about something, Luke. I was hoping you’d tell me what it is. I’d like to help if you’ll let me.

Ma, you’ve always been good at fixin’ things, but there comes a time when a feller has to figure it out for his own self.

Sarah stopped, cupped her son’s face in her hands and said, I’ve no doubt that’s true but we won’t know for sure unless you tell me what’s on your mind. I’m guessing that whatever it is, you, me, and Ben, if you’ll let him, can put our heads together and figure it out.

Tears filled the boy’s eyes. His voice quivered when he said, Thank you kindly, Ma, but I just ain’t ready to talk about it with anyone.

Luke, you’re growing like a weed, that’s plain to see. But you’re eleven years old and you’re still my responsibility. It hurts me to see you sad. If you’ve got a problem, I want to know about it.

The boy’s efforts to hold back tears failed, and they ran in torrents down his cheeks. I love you with all my heart, Ma, Luke sobbed, but I just can’t tell you. Punish me if you think you need to, but it ain’t gonna change my mind.

Having reached the pumpkin patch, the pair took a seat side by side in the swing. Sarah pulled a hanky from her apron pocket and dabbed at the tears that were running down her cheeks. She passed it to Luke to use, then gave a push with her feet to start their back-and-forth sway through the autumn breeze. Sarah reached over and squeezed her son’s hand. "Luke, truth be told, you’ve grown past the time when punishment for not telling me something would do any good. I’ve done my best to teach you what’s right