me! Mr. Hagan was just being kind,” I said as we rolled up to the front of the Carvers’ house.
“What’s he doing now, anyway? Believe he had tuberculosis . . . although I could be confusing him with another of the Hagans. Geoffrey had six or seven boys and a couple or three girls.”
“Heavens, Father! I have no idea. You mustn’t go thinking poorly of him, though. And I can certainly fend for myself. I am twenty-three, not fifteen.”
He stepped down from the carriage, hitched the reins. “Big family, the Hagans.”
Millicent had not missed the sound of the approaching carriage. Oblivious to the October chill, my sister was out the door to greet us.
Father paused to serve up his customary greeting to her. I reminded myself not to compare its woodenness to the top-shelf affections he openly lavished on Francine, practically from the time of Mama’s passing. The crater in my heart caused by his attraction had stubbornly closed, but having spent last night in my stepmother’s presence, old grievances had threatened to undo family peace that time and my absence had afforded me.
Inside the short day spent in the country, I’d seen the signs that revealed my brother’s discouragement. Hardest to take was seeing how Father regarded Henry with cool detachment. Witnessing my brother falter with every attempt to make a decision was more than I could stand.
Father offered me his hand to steady me off the carriage step.
Having squelched the bitter rise of contempt for the fresh evidence of Francine’s power over Henry and the ease with which she dominated Hillbound, I rallied, grateful that Father had avoided either subject. Our arrival at Millicent’s had interrupted the discussion of the Hagans. It had stilled, too, the recurrent rusty attitude of bygones that had no place in my reshaped heart.
Chapter 2
“Happy Birthday, Father. What a handsome sixty-year-old you are, too.”
“And you’re looking well, Millicent,” Father said. “How’s that Jim? In good health and prosperous, I trust. Haven’t gotten into the store lately. I will. I will.”
“Busy there, as you might guess. Ownership has its demands. Long hours, you know, but Jim’s quite well. Do come in, both of you. Gracie, how radiant you look.”
Father and I shed our wraps in the parlor before moving to the kitchen and seating ourselves at the table. A tea kettle gurgled on the stove. It had been awhile since the three of us had been in a room together when Francine wasn’t close by. Even so, neither Millicent nor I would consider rehashing the past with our father.
“Sister! I have been dying to see you. Even in the short couple of weeks since I was here!” I was completely bursting at the seams. “You’ve been more than gracious. Jim too. I love being here.”
Father seemed to squirm at the mention of my landing place being at Millicent’s rather than my childhood home, but now was not the time to count the cost of treachery or calculate the price of greed.
“And where’s our little Louise?” I gave Millicent a look, hoping the scars we’d endured were soothed by the salve our bond had provided, that our being sisters had helped us make it through the tumultuous years.
“She’ll be along after church tomorrow. Gets to spend the night at her Granny Carver’s. I wanted you all to myself for once! So now, tell me what’s happened since I last saw you!”
“I’ll visit only a short spell,” our father said, perhaps sensing the urgency of our desire to catch up or, better yet, his need to attend his esteemed thoroughbreds. “Truly, I must be on my way soon. Gracie, however, does have a mysterious bar of chocolate . . . and, shall we say, ‘lifted’ horehound?”
He was amused. His inference that I had some explaining to do had Sister on alert.
Sheepishly, I admitted I’d come with horehound candy that I had not paid for and nothing for Louise. “But I do have a gift from a gentleman. May I emphasize ‘gentleman’? Simon Hagan.” I felt the color explode on my cheeks as I went to the parlor and retrieved the bar of chocolate I’d stashed in my pocket. I plopped back down at the kitchen table. “Happy to share this with anyone interested.”
I continued. “You know the Hagan family’s farm, Millicent. It’s north, Father said. Half dozen boys, couple of girls, I think. Geoffrey Hagan married Zack Peterson’s widow—”
“Yes, I know the connection. They’re in the store, of course. Jim thinks highly of them, I’m sure,” Millicent said.
“And there’s more. The elder Mr. Hagan is responsible for my teaching job. Don’t think the particulars of that ever came up for discussion. Otherwise you’d have known. He was on the school board, and I met him. Guess it’s been three years ago now . . . the summer of ’28. Mr. Hagan appreciated the fact that I was getting my degree from Athens College. Anyway, enough about me. I have him to thank for my first teaching job.”
“Millicent’s right, Gracie. Geoffrey Hagan’s a well-respected man. I was merely teasing you a mite about the chocolate, odd as it is for Simon to . . . Well, anyway, a piece of news was associated with his farm. Interestingly enough, the skeletal remains of a Shawnee Indian turned up on the property. Been ’bout two years ago.” Father relaxed with his account of the story. Smoke from his cigarette curled in the air between us. “My understanding’s that it was discovered very much intact.”
“That is fascinating! Had I been living here at the time instead of Alabama I would have been extremely interested! I’d love to hear more!”
“The find attracted a good deal of chatter through these parts, and—”
“Humph!” Millicent rolled her eyes indignantly. “Is there any possible chance of my getting in a word, edgewise or otherwise? Fine, fine on dead Indians. What about Simon Hagan?”
Apparently Father took the mention as his cue to leave certain discussions to the women. Draining his cup, he stood. “Listen, ladies, I’m gonna head on. Just making sure, now, your plan is for Jim to get you back to Russellville. Correct, Gracie?”
A fragment of his smile remained, clinging to the charisma that had him suited up for more important things than sticking around to talk with two of his daughters.
I shrugged and turned to my sister. “Will that work out for Jim?”
“Of course, and Father,” Millicent said, “please let Francine know that we couldn’t have come out last night even if she’d invited us to celebrate your sixtieth birthday with you.”
Father looked deliberately at her and crushed his cigarette in a nearby ashtray, perhaps deciding he had misinterpreted the inflection. He pushed his chair from the table and smoothed his tweed vest as he stood. “Good to have you back, Gracie.”
I kept my seat as if a weight held me there, simply stirring more cream into my coffee. After what seemed forever I raised my head to look up at him. “You’ll always be my father. Always. It’s just probably best if it don’t go back out to—”
“Yes, I know,” Father said, and his dark, lamenting eyes sought to pierce my thoughts with a constant
