The Soldier's Lady (35 page)

The days moved slowly.

They became a week, then two. Everyone went about their work more quietly than usual. With William's happy voice and laughter and running footsteps gone, all the life seemed gone from Rosewood.

Reverend Hall came out a few times to try to comfort us. But what could he say?

Poor Emma! She walked around, or sat on the porch just staring ahead, her red eyes glazed over. She didn't go to the river anymore. No doubt that place where she used to find peace was now flowing with terrible memories. William had been her whole life, everything she had lived for, and now he was gone.

In one way, I suppose, we all knew how she felt, at least Katie and Micah and Jeremiah and I all did. During those days after William's death I thought back often to the days after Katie and I had met. I had seen my whole family killed. The look on Katie's face when I walked into the Rosewood kitchen and saw her standing over her father's body was a look of horror and desolation I'll never forget.

But we'd lived through it. Somehow we'd found strength in each other. As much as we tried to love her, I wondered if Emma would be able to find that same strength from us as we had from each other. And even though we shared knowing what it was like for death to come so close, we hadn't lost a child of our own. I reckon nothing could be quite so bad as that. My heart ached for her!

One day Emma was out walking alone like she
often did these days, just walking and crying. She came to the place where the graves were. She stopped and just stood there looking down at William's grave.

Katie and Papa and I were watching from the house.

“You know,” said Papa, “I think I'll go into town and get the undertaker to make a stone for William.”

“That would be nice,” I said.

Katie smiled. “It would mean a lot to Emma, Uncle Templeton,” she said. “That's a good idea.”

“What should it say?” he asked.

We thought a minute”. “ ‘William Tolan, 1865–1869 . . .' ” said Katie slowly, then paused. “And then . . . ‘one of the first Negro sons of South Carolina who was never a slave, but was born free.' ”

“That's nice, Katie,” I said.

“I'll ride into town this afternoon and get him started on it,” said Papa.

We stood a few minutes more, then Katie walked out to where Emma still stood. She approached slowly. Emma heard her and turned. Katie put her arm around her, and they stood side by side for another several minutes.

Then I saw Katie take Emma's hand and lead her away. They walked toward the fields, still hand in hand, toward the woods, and slowly disappeared from sight.

They were gone a long time, probably an hour. Papa had already left for town and I'd gone back inside when I heard the kitchen door open and Katie
walked in. She had a sad, peaceful, quiet look on her face.

“Where did you go?” I asked.

“I took Emma to my secret place in the woods,” said Katie. “I thought she needed to know about it.”

“Is she still there?”

Katie nodded.

“What did you say to her?”

“I told her that I'd been going there since I was a little girl and that when I was young I visited with the animals and thought up silly poems—”

“They weren't silly,” I said.

“They seem a little silly now,” smiled Katie. “Then I told her that as I got older my secret place in the woods became a place where I went to let God speak to me. I told her I thought that maybe He wanted to use it now to speak to her.”

“What did she say?” I asked.

“She thanked me and smiled. Then I left.”

Katie sighed and smiled.

“She's changing, Mayme,” she said. “I don't think she'll ever be the same again.”

“Losing someone you love changes you—you and I know that.”

“I know,” nodded Katie. “But I wonder if Emma will ever recover completely. It might be different for her than it was for us.”

We hadn't heard Micah come in behind us. His voice now startled us and we turned around.

“You have nothing to worry about,” he said. “Emma will be all right.”

“Are you sure?” said Katie, still concerned. “It seems that nothing I say helps right now.”

“There are no words to help someone through their grief,” he said. “Love is what she needs, and she is getting that from all of you. Her soul is being fed by your love, even though you may not see it. It takes time to heal. Grief is a long, slow, painful process. Time is the only thing that can heal it. Everyone has to come to terms with the change death brings in their own way. You both know—you lost your families. I know—I lost my mama. Jake lost his mama, and he had to deal with guilt along with his grief. But we all grew strong from it too. It takes time. Emma just needs our love.”

“You're . . . really sure Emma will come through this?” said Katie, staring deeply into Micah's face for an answer.

Micah smiled. It was a peaceful, knowing, almost contented smile. “Yes,” he said slowly. “She will come through it. You're right in what you said before, Katie. She will never be the same. William will always be with her. The pain of his loss will always be there. But pain can be turned to good. Pain carves out deeper caverns within us for the waters of joy to flow through. Sometimes the deeper the pain, the deeper the joy. Emma will grow strong and she will again know joy, even though she will also always know pain. Have no fear, Katie—Emma will laugh again. And she will grow strong . . . even stronger than she was before.”

Micah spoke with such confidence I couldn't
help believing what he said. It was not hard to see that he really loved her.

But even more than that . . . Micah believed in Emma.

In the days following that, Emma disappeared across the fields toward the woods a lot—sometimes more than once a day. I know she was going to Katie's secret place to talk to God about William.

Every time she came back, she had a peaceful look on her face. The pain and sadness and grief were still there, but I began to see healing too. It was just like Micah said—the slow passage of time gradually did its work.

Emma would heal. And she would grow strong.

The town of Oakwood was rocked in the middle of June when suddenly word began to spread from door to door of a new tragedy—one that struck much closer to home.

Sheriff Sam Jenkins had been distracted from his duties for two days, ever since his son hadn't come home after leaving the Steeves place late one night.

It was Deke Steeves who, on the third day, made the discovery at the bottom of a gulch about a mile from town. It was Weed Jenkins lying facedown on the rocky ground with a bullet through his head.

A
NOTHER
C
ONVERSATION AT THE
R
IVER

34

M
ICAH
D
UFF WAS WATCHING
E
MMA MORE
closely than all the rest. For several weeks he kept a respectful distance, allowing the quiet and solitude of grief to do its slow healing work. He knew that right now she needed the love of friends, and a deeper love of God than she had known before, to soothe her aching heart more than the love of a man to distract and perhaps confuse her. He respected the value of time too much to interfere with it, no matter how long it took.

So he watched . . . and waited . . . until the time was right.

“I notice you haven't been going to the river much lately,” said Micah one day after several weeks when he and Emma found themselves alone.

“I been goin' ter da woods ter pray instead,” said Emma.

“Do you feel like another walk along the river?”

“I reckon dat'd be nice.”

Little more was said. Micah led the way past the barn and through fields of growing cotton, until again they stood beside the river looking out at the place where Emma had been baptized and where love had suddenly awakened in Micah's heart for her. Emma sensed a quiet peace in her heart more than at any time since William's death. She drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. The words of the song she had sung here so many times returned to her again . . .
Give me Jesus . . . Dark midnight was my cry—give me Jesus.

Her soul had been through its dark midnight of despondency and desolation. But maybe, she thought, someday the sun might rise again. Then Micah's voice intruded into her thoughts.

“Do you remember the day,” he asked softly, “when I said I had something to say to you . . . over there on the riverbank?”

“How wud I ever forgit a day like dat, Micah?” smiled Emma. “'Course I remember. You said you loved me.”

“Do you think you could stand the shock if I told you that I had something else to say that was almost as important as that?” asked Micah.

“Ain't nuthin' dat could compare wiff
dat
,” replied Emma, looking at him with a puzzled smile.

“But if I told you I did?”

“Den I reckon I'd tell you ter say it,” said Emma. “I's feared er nuthin'
you'd
say ter me, Micah. I knows you'd neber hurt me.”

“Of course I wouldn't. I am glad you know it.”

“So what does you want ter say, Micah?”

“Why don't we go over and sit down on that big rock, Emma?”

Micah led the way, helped Emma climb up one of the boulders at the water's edge, where they sat overlooking the leisurely summer's flow of green water.

“Do you ever think about the future, Emma?” Micah asked.

“I never done much ob dat,” Emma replied. “I ain't neber figgered I had much future ter think about . . . specially now.”

“I think about it, Emma. I've always been making plans and thinking of things I'd like to do.”

“You's different den me.”

“Maybe . . . or maybe you just haven't had anyone to think of the future with.”

Emma's neck began to get warm.

“That's what makes the future something to think about, Emma—having someone to share it with. And . . . that's what I wanted to say to you, to ask if you would share the future with me.”

Emma sat still, saying nothing, but trembling from head to foot.

“I would like,” Micah said. “—No,” he added, “I would be honored if you would be my wife.”

Emma found her voice again.

“You would be . . .
honored
?”

“Yes, Emma—you are a
lady,
remember? And it would honor this penniless wandering soldier to make the lady his wife.”

“You hab da most uncommon way ter say things!”

“Then let me say it like this—will you marry me, Emma?”

“Oh, Micah . . . you make me so happy,” said Emma quietly. “I don't deserve any ob dis. 'Course I'll marry you!”

P
LANS

35