Shannon Farrington - Handpicked Family

Either way people will starve. Peter however kept his disgust hidden. There was no point in playing his hand now, even if all he got out of his silence was an eventual story on government corruption.

So he thanked the lieutenant for his time, offered a conciliatory nod to Johnson. He filed his formal complaint with the sergeant, then mounted his horse and rode back to Forest Glade.

* * *

Once the dampness from the previous day’s rain had evaporated, the weather grew quite warm. Trudy didn’t think anywhere could be warmer than Baltimore City during the summertime, but evidently July in rural Virginia could be just as fierce. Even with the church windows thrown open wide, the sanctuary had been stifling. Still, she and everyone else soldiered on.

Today Trudy had collected names for Mr. Carpenter’s list in addition to washing cups, fetching clean, cool water and washing and bandaging blistered feet. Now that the evening sun was sinking toward its mountainous horizon, she paused to glance out the window. She was feeling worried in spite of herself. Mr. Carpenter had left early this morning and there was still no sign of him.

She told herself she simply wanted to share with him the information she had gathered today, that her eagerness was a desire to help the freedman who had found his way here this morning.

Robert Smith had walked into the church anxious to find his wife. She had been separated from him almost twenty years ago.

“The war is over and slavery’s done away with now,” he’d said hopefully. “I thought...well, I hoped...”

Reason told Trudy that the odds of locating his beloved Hannah after so much time were slim to none, but hope in God and a determined belief that true love conquered all compelled her to take down his information.

“Mr. Carpenter said you could use workers,” Robert had also said. “I can do almost anything with my hands.”

“I’m sure you can,” Trudy said. “Let me fetch you something to eat first, and afterward you can speak with Reverend Webb.”

The big man eagerly accepted the small allotment of cornbread and tea even though it would hardly be enough to assuage the hunger he must surely be feeling. “I’m sorry I haven’t more to give you,” she said. “We haven’t the supplies we had hoped.”

“That’s alright, miss. I’m much obliged.” He didn’t seem that eager to be left on his own, so Trudy continued to engage him in conversation.

“Have you walked a long way?” she asked.

“From South Carolina, Miss.”

So far... “And you are headed for...?”

“Not really sure yet, ma’am. Figured I stay here a while, see if I git word. If’n that’s alright.”

“Of course it is,” she said.

Sadly there were a few disapproving looks from some of the townsfolk, but no one dared to argue why a man of color was getting food. Apparently deep down they either sympathized with him or they knew it would do no good to argue supremacy to Reverend Webb. The preacher had welcomed the freedman heartily.

The two of them were now repairing the church roof. Despite the valley’s scorching by General Sheridan’s men, red cedar trees still abounded and apparently the ex-slave was an expert in crafting singles. Trudy could hear him singing while he worked.

“I looked over Jordan and what did I see... A band of angels comin’ after me, comin’ for to carry me home...”

Trudy listened to the unfamiliar but stirring words while she continued to stare toward Larkinsville, eyes straining for the first glimpse of an approaching rider. Realizing, though, she shouldn’t be lingering at the window, Trudy whispered a quick prayer for Mr. Carpenter’s safety, then turned from the glass. As she did, she nearly tripped over little Charlie.

He, his mother and his baby sister had remained here at the church because Dr. Mackay wanted to keep watch on Opal’s cough.

“See my shoes?” Charlie said, proudly showing off a pair of ankle boots, slightly scuffed but of proper size. “Mrs. Webb found ’um for me.”

“Very nice,” Trudy said, kneeling down to his level. “I suspect your toes are much more comfortable now.”

He grinned. His poor teeth were crooked and misshapen, but the smile was heartfelt and happy. “Yes, ma’am. I can wiggle ’um now.”

“Very good,” Trudy said. “Then they’ll have lots of room to grow.”

Charlie’s cheerful expression shifted to a somewhat uncertain one. “Were you lookin’ for that man?”

She could feel the heat rising to her cheeks. “Which man?” Trudy asked, hoping he wasn’t wise to her actions. After all, men had been coming and going for the last two days, gathering supplies and seeking treatment for their families.

“The one who makes the newspapers,” Charlie clarified.

Oh dear. When am I going to realize that—

“Will he be back?” he asked.

That question eased her guilt a little, knowing she wasn’t the only one anxiously awaiting Mr. Carpenter’s return. Obviously the newspaper publisher had made an impression on Charlie. No doubt giving up his soup and frock coat are part of it.

She offered the boy a smile. “Yes. Mr. Carpenter went over to Larkinsville today but he will be back.”

The uncertain expression only grew. Trudy didn’t know why until Charlie then said, “My pa went to Larkinsville to ’nlist.”

She could almost hear the rest of the sentence, though it remained unspoken... and he didn’t come back . Her heart ached for the little boy. Tenderly she stroked his dark hair. It was the color of coffee, just like her employer’s. “The war is over now, Charlie,” she said gently. “No one is enlisting anymore.”

The sound of approaching hoofbeats drew both their attention back to the window. “Well, here’s Mr. Carpenter now,” she said.

Charlie stretched to the glass, pressed his nose against the pane. “He looks hungry,” he said.

No , she thought, he looks frustrated . His visit to the Federal garrison must have been less than satisfactory.

“I’ll get him some tea!” Charlie proclaimed.

Trudy was touched by his eagerness but thought it wise to rein it in. “Let’s give Mr. Carpenter a moment to settle.” The last thing she wanted was for him to think they had been waiting by the door, eager for his return. The boy, however, waited just long enough for her employer to dismount. Then he tore away from the window.

“Charlie!” Trudy moved to catch him but it was no use. Mr. Carpenter hadn’t even time to step completely into the building before Charlie had commandeered a cup of hot tea, raced back and held it up to the man.

His left eye brow arched. He looked at the boy, then at her. A frown came over his face. Trudy’s heart withered inside, partly for Charlie’s sake, the rest for her own. Does he think I prompted the boy’s actions? That somehow I’m trying to soften up his stance on children?

He looked back at Charlie. “No, thank you,” he said.

Trudy noted the heartbreaking expression on the boy’s face as he lowered the cup. Even though she knew it would only increase Mr. Carpenter’s perturbation, she stepped in.

“I think what Mr. Carpenter means is that he appreciates your tea, Charlie, but would rather you give it to your mother instead.”

She looked back to her employer. His hard expression softened. Apparently he realized how his words had come across to the little lad. “Yes,” he said quickly as he leaned forward on his cane. “You see, I had a meal in Larkinsville. In fact...” He reached into his pocket, drew out a biscuit. “Here. I couldn’t finish this. You take it.” He then offered Charlie an awkward smile.