than just “make do.” He’d decided to pull himself out of that rut, and one man in the community saw potential in him. Jacel Evans, youngest son of Tully Evans, was a tall, powerfully built man who did more than his share of work in the sawmill. On his dinner break he read books, while other boys his age lay in the shade and dipped cool water over their sweat-drenched bodies.
Pride nearly suffocated Datha when she thought about her man. Why, her Jacel could saw more logs than any two men put together. Work harder than a team of Kentucky mules.
And he was smart. Real smart. Thought about things most folks never thought about. Things like how it wasn’t fair one man should be treated more poorly than another just because he had a different color of skin. Jacel would lie for hours, looking up at the sky, and say to her, “Datha, why is it the rich get richer and the poor get poorer?”
Or he’d ponder why some folks were born with good fortune, while for others if it wasn’t for bad luck, they’d have no luck at all.
Why did some suffer with bad health and others rarely see a sick day? Why did the good die young and the evil prosper?
Why were death and senseless tragedy deemed to be the will of a loving God?
Why did some work hard, only to go to bed at night with a hungry ache in their belly, while others made gluttons of themselves?
Why were innocent children mistreated because of someone else’s rage?
All questions to which she didn’t know the answers. But Jacel worried them about, turning them over and over in his mind—a fine mind hungry to learn.
Her Jacel was going to be a lawyer someday. An upstanding lawyer who wanted to undo some of the injustice he saw in the world. Once his practice was established, they were going to get married.
Datha smiled as she flicked a cloth at a spot of dust she’d missed on the foyer table. Yes, someday she was going to be Mrs. Jacel Evans. Her heart nearly burst from the joy of it. She and Jacel, holding hands, would “jump over the broom.” What a fine day that would be!
Once Jacel had his law office, they could have their own place. But until then Datha planned to stay right here, taking care of Riley, April and Flora Lee for as long as they needed her. Jacel said that was only right, seeing how good the Ogdens had been to him and to her.
April would marry someday, and not far off, if Datha guessed right. April was bound to hook a man soon, pretty as she was. Chances were it’d be that Henry Trampas Long, the handsome, no-good swain she’d had a crush on lately.
Riley had never liked the young scamp, and he would be having a fit if he knew April was interested in Henry. It wasn’t Datha’s place to say anything, but rumor had it that April was seeing Henry more than socially.
Of course, Mr. Ogden was blind as a post when it came to April. Anytime Henry’s name was mentioned, he’d change the subject, saying he had better things to talk about. Datha didn’t have any trouble seeing that Miss April had a powerful crush on Henry Trampas Long, so why couldn’t her grandfather?
The gossip mill predicted that Henry would be asking her to marry him soon; then he’d whisk her off to some high-falutin city, and they wouldn’t see much of her after that.
Datha could either take Henry or leave him. He was too smooth for her liking, but she could see why April would be caught up by his youthful good looks. Words poured out of him like honey, words that sounded nice but didn’t make a whole lot of sense.
But Datha knew her place, and she kept it. If April wanted to waste her life on the likes of Henry Long, it was hers to waste. Datha only worried for Mr. Ogden’s sake. What with his heart acting up, she sure didn’t want him finding out that April was selling Pinkham’s Vegetable Compound with Henry Long. Law sakes, it would be like waking up a nest of snakes, and no one wanted to do that. Certainly not Datha.
Humming to herself, she dusted around a lamp.
When she heard April coming in the front door, she hurriedly stuffed the dust rag in her pocket and called out, “Supper’ll be on the table in ten minutes, April girl.”
“Thanks, Datha. I’ll tell Grandpa.”
The cloying scent of gladioli permeated the air as April passed the open parlor doors. Clarence Deeds was laid out in his best blue suit, awaiting services in the morning.
It was sure to be a big funeral.
Clarence had been town mayor, and friends and business associates from neighboring communities would turn out in droves to pay their final respects.
Proceeding to the side porch, she found Riley sitting in his rocking chair, staring off into space. He’d been sitting like that when she left the house early this morning, and she was starting to get concerned. It wasn’t like him to just sit and stare at nothing.
“Grandpa?” When he didn’t respond, she pushed open the screen door. “Are you all right?”
“Right enough,” he said.
“Supper’s ready.”
Riley got slowly to his feet and followed April to the dining room table, which was set with fresh flowers and white china. Taking his place at the head, he reached for the butter, silent as a mouse.
Shaking out her napkin, April noticed his hand was trembling as he buttered a piece of cornbread. Perusing his pale features, she frowned. He hadn’t had a spell with his heart for weeks now. Was he ill again and not telling her?
Picking up a dish of Datha’s watermelon pickles, she offered it to him. “You’re awfully quiet today. Don’t you feel well?”
He was bad about not telling her when he felt poorly, thinking to spare her unnecessary worry. But she worried anyway. Grandpa wasn’t young anymore, though the way he worked like a harvest hand around the mortuary, lifting bodies and moving heavy pine caskets, you’d never guess it.
“I feel fine, thank you.” Riley’s face flushed with color as he snapped open his napkin.
“You look odd. Is the heat bothering you?”
It was insufferably hot for fall. Muggy, as if a storm was waiting just off the coast. A good rain to settle the dust and cool dispositions would be appreciated.
“Nothing wrong that a little dinner won’t take care of. Pass the preserves, please.”
They waited in silence for Datha to bring the main course.
“Clarence looks nice. I’m sure Edith is pleased.”
“Hmm,” Riley muttered, taking a sip of coffee.
Datha carried in a large platter of roast beef, boiled potatoes and carrots. Dishes of cooked cabbage, brown beans, plump ears of corn, festive red beets and thick brown gravy followed.
April’s distraught gaze swept the heavily laden table and she sighed. Datha cooked enough to feed an army of foot soldiers, but April had given up complaining. It didn’t matter what she said. Having learned at her grandmother’s side, Datha couldn’t seem to cook meals for fewer than twelve people.
Now the two of them just let her cook to her
