Hunter's Prize (44 page)

Addie gulped. “Are you upset with me?”

Her likeness glanced at Addie. “Only for forcing me to accept my own mortality, dear. You see, my Thomas is ageless and handsome, forever a dapper twenty-year-old boy.” Tears glistened in her eyes. “When I’m with him in my memories, I’m forever young, too.”

Addie cringed. Mother’s meddling ways were nothing compared to this. “Please don’t cry, Priscilla. I’m a horrible toad, and I can’t believe what I’ve done to you.”

Turning, she caught Addie’s shoulders. “No, dear. Don’t be silly. It caught me off guard, that’s all.” She wiped her eyes. “You’ve given me a wonderful surprise, and I’m very, very grateful. It will be wonderful to be with Thomas again after all these years.” She smiled. “Under all the bags and wrinkles, we’re still the same people, aren’t we?” She patted Addie’s back. “Let’s you and I go greet our guests.”

Downstairs, Addie opened the parlor door, afraid of what she’d find. She needn’t have worried.

Her parents sat together on the sofa, holding hands and chatting quietly with Dr. Moony. Hope and Pearson sat across from each other in the matching chairs, attempting to talk with three little magpies sitting at their feet.

By the gleam in her eyes, Carrie had fallen under Pearson’s spell. She sat with her arms propped on his knees, drinking in every word.

Dr. Moony rose as if pulled from the top with a string. His appreciative gaze fixed on Priscilla, growing more admiring with every step he took in her direction. Evidently, he held no memories carved in stone. “Priscilla, I don’t believe these old eyes.”

She held out her hands. “Thomas, what a nice surprise. Welcome to my home.”

He caught her fingers and held on for several long minutes, studying her glowing face. “My, my. Forgive me for saying so, but you’re as pretty as ever.”

She lowered her lashes, her cheeks flushing bright pink. “Go on with you, Thomas Moony. I see you haven’t changed a bit.”

Addie smiled at Pearson. He grinned up at her and winked. Perhaps she’d inherited Mother’s flair for successful meddling after all.

A
ddie stared at herself in the looking glass, magically transformed into a bride. Unlike most girls, she hadn’t given much thought to her wedding day. She’d focused too strictly on breaking free of her overprotective parents and forging her own destiny, never dreaming how important it would one day seem. Whispering a prayer of gratitude, she thanked God for looking past her stiff-necked independence and intervening in the affairs of her life.

Mother stood behind her, fastening Grandmother’s beads around her neck. Today, as promised, they would become hers. “There’s so much history bound up in this ancestral necklace,” she said. “Someday we’ll sit together, and I’ll tell you all about it.”

Addie smoothed her fingertips over the jasper pendant. “Since you saw them last, there’s a lot of excitement bound up here, too.” She grinned. “Some of it I may never tell.”

Mother’s brows rose. “Such as?”

“Suffice it to say, if not for Ceddy, our tradition would’ve ended with you.”

“Speaking of traditions …” Holding up one finger, Mother spun to the bed. Returning with a small rawhide bag, she reached inside and held up a pair of shoes. “These are your grandmother’s wedding slippers. She got married in them, and so did I. Unless you object, I’d like you to keep with this custom as well.”

Addie touched the butter-soft leather and sighed. “They’re exquisite.”

Mother helped her slip them on. Then they both stared at Addie’s reflection in the mirror.

“You’re a vision, honey.” Sudden tears flashed in her eyes. “I got married in black, did you know that?”

Tearing up herself, Addie shook her head.

“We were still in mourning for your grandfather.” She smiled. “It sounds scandalous, I know, but at the time, it wasn’t. And it turned out to be the most wonderful day of my life.”

Addie swiped at an escaping tear.

“I remember gazing in a mirror much like this one—without the gilded edges, of course—wishing my parents were alive to see me wed.” Mother wrapped her arms around Addie’s neck. “I’m grateful to God you have a large loving family to witness your day.”

“So am I,” Addie said. “More than I can say. But I wish Miss Vee had come.”

“So does she, but she’s far too frail to travel. I promised to persuade you and Pearson to visit Canton soon.”

Addie turned to rest her head on her mother’s shoulder. “You were right, you know. About everything.”

Laughter rumbled in Mother’s chest. “Wait and say that again in your father’s hearing.”

“Oh, but it’s true. You saw Pearson’s character right from the start, despite his unusual appearance. And you said God had amazing gifts in store for me.” She smoothed her mother’s back. “I can’t imagine a more precious gift than a life shared with Pearson.”

A knock came at the door. Mother opened it to Father’s stunned face.

He scratched his temple then shook his head at Addie in wonder. “Look at you, little missy. You’re a bride.”

Addie ran into his embrace. “I love you, Daddy.”

His arms around her tightened. “You haven’t called me that since you were three.” He lifted her chin. “Are you ready? They’re waiting for us downstairs. I think your young man is getting anxious.”

“Has Reverend Stroud arrived?”

He gave her a wry grin. “I’m afraid so. And I can’t find another reason to put things off.”

Addie nudged him from one side, her mother from the other.

“Whoa there, soldiers. Hold your fire. I can tell when I’m defeated.” He held out an arm for each of them. “Shall we?”

Priscilla met them at the foot of the stairs, her eyes aglow. “Addie, you’re a lovely bride.”

Addie smiled. “All thanks to you.”

Mother wrapped her arm around Priscilla’s waist. “Addie’s right. You’ve done a wonderful job with her wedding dress and trousseau. And the garden is prepared beautifully. I owe you for my daughter’s happiness today. Thank you for stepping in when I couldn’t be present.”

Priscilla hugged her back. “It was a joy. Addie’s become the daughter I never had.”

Delilah appeared in the background, her eyes red and swollen from crying. “Excuse me, Miss Priscilla. I done pack all Little Man’s bags, like you said. And I tucked in the family Bible like you say to.” She sniffed, her dark eyes jumping to Addie. “Miss Addie, you gon’ take good care of him for me, ain’t you?” Her bottom lip trembling, she wiped her eyes on her sleeve. “Missin’ that chil’ gon’ be the death of me.”

Addie pulled her into a hug. “Don’t cry, Delilah. You’ll see him again soon.”

Laughing, Priscilla patted her arm. “Heavens, Delilah, you’re taking on worse than me. I told you I’d take you along when I visit with Addie this fall.”

Touching Addie’s shoulder, she smiled. “We’re sending his collection boxes along in his trunks, but the rest of his rocks will be shipped to you later.” She rolled her eyes. “I hope you have ample room.”

Fidgeting beside her, Father caught her eye. “Are you ready, honey?”

She grinned at him. “That’s the second time you’ve asked. Are you hoping for a different answer?”

He shrugged and took her hand. “You can’t blame a man for trying.” He ushered her outside the back door into a wonderland of muted light.

Priscilla and Delilah had fashioned hundreds of luminaries and placed them throughout the garden. Chairs lined the yard, overlooking the gazebo where they would take their vows.

Priscilla pointed across the lawn. “How do you like his hair?”

Pearson, so handsome in his suit he took her breath away, leaned against the gazebo rail talking to Reverend Stroud.

Addie gasped. “I’ve never seen it so … controlled.”

Priscilla nodded. “Delilah helped him comb it.” She patted Addie’s shoulder. “Enjoy it while you can. With all the carrying-on he did while she smoothed it out, I doubt he’ll ever submit to it again.”

Theo, who had arrived that morning from Galveston, stood in the company of a rather loud woman Addie didn’t recognize and a pretty young woman who clung to his arm.

Ceddy sat in a circle of little girls, all trying to talk to him at once.

Raising his head, Pearson spotted her. Excusing himself, he loped across the yard.

The burnt-sugar eyes she loved, as clear as a handblown demijohn, latched onto her, and she couldn’t pull away.

“You’re beautiful.”

“Thank you.” She giggled. “So is your hair.”

Bowing slightly, he offered his arm. “Are you ready to marry me?”

Addie winked over her shoulder at her father. “Yes, I am.”

Near tears, she leaned for a last hug from her mother and father as their little girl. The next time they embraced, she would be Mrs. Pearson Foster.

Winding her arm through his, she let him lead her off the porch. Through a heady haze of bliss, Addie saw joyful friends and family, bright blue Texas skies, and an endless horizon.

Reverend Stroud smiled brightly as they approached. Stepping into the gazebo ahead of them, he turned wearing his minister face. “Shall we begin?”

Standing stiffly beside her, Pearson nodded.

A bundle of happy nerves, Addie barely heard the reverend’s opening words. He awoke her from her daze by calling her name.

“Adelina Viola McRae, do you take Pearson to be your wedded husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love, cherish, and to obey, till death do you part, according to God’s holy ordinance?”

Addie bit back a mischievous smile. The truth was, she’d take Pearson any way she could get him. This time, of course, in order to make it official, she would say so.

Sift one quart of flour; add half a teaspoon of salt, a teaspoon of sugar, a tablespoon of lard, one beaten egg, two teaspoons of cream tartar, one of soda, and a pint of sweet milk. Mix to a thick batter, drop in squares on a very hot, greased griddle, and bake brown on both sides. Serve with butter and honey.

The Good Housekeeping Woman’s Home Cook Book

Arranged by Isabel Gordon Curtis (Chicago: Reilly & Britton, c. 1909)

Make from any sort of fruit in season—peaches, apples, cherries, plums, or berries. Green gooseberries are inadvisable, through being too tart and too tedious. Stone cherries, pare peaches or apples and slice thin, halve plums if big enough, and remove stones—if not, wash, drain well, and use whole. Line a skillet or deep pie pan—it must be three inches deep at least, liberally with a short crust, filled rather more than a quarter-inch thick. Fit well, then prick all over with a blunt fork. Fill with the prepared fruit, put on an upper crust a quarter-inch thick and plenty big enough, barely press the crust edges together, prick well with a fork all over the top, and cook in a hot oven half to three-quarters of an hour, according to size. Take up, remove top crust, lay it inverted upon another plate, sweeten the fruit, then dip out enough of it to make a thick layer over the top crust. Grate nutmeg over apple pies, or strew on a little powdered cinnamon. A few blades of mace baked with the fruit accent the apple flavor beautifully. Cherries take kindly to brandy, but require less butter than either peaches or apples. Give plums plenty of sugar with something over for the stones. Cook a few stones with them for flavor, even if you take away the bulk. Do the same with cherries, using say, a dozen pits to the pie. Serve cobbler hot or cold.

Dishes and Beverages of the Old South

By Martha McCulloch-Williams; decorations by Russel Crofoot (New York: McBride, Nast & Company, 1913)

1 stick butter

1½ cups sugar

1 cup flour

1½ teaspoons baking powder

²
/
³
cup (or a little less) evaporated milk

Blackberries, dewberries, or peaches

Cinnamon

Melt butter in a 9x13-inch baking dish. Mix ¾ cup of sugar, flour, and baking powder together. Stir in milk. Pour over butter. Add berries (I usually smash mine with a fork first), pouring evenly over batter. Sprinkle with rest of sugar and a little cinnamon. Bake at 350 degrees for 30 minutes or until browned. Delicious with vanilla ice cream.

Courtesy of Cooks.com

M
ARCIA
G
RUVER
is a full-time writer who hails from Southeast Texas. Inordinately enamored by the past, she delights in writing historical fiction. Marcia’s deep south-central roots lend a Southern-comfortable style and touch of humor to her writing. Through her books, she hopes to leave behind a legacy of hope and faith to the coming generations.

When she’s not plotting stories about God’s grace, Marcia spends her time reading, playing video games, or taking long drives through the Texas hill country. She and her husband, Lee, have one daughter and four sons. Collectively, this motley crew has graced them with eleven grandchildren and one great-granddaughter—so far.

1.
   After the tragic deaths of his family, Pearson Foster is angry with God, yet he carefully patterns his moral behavior after God’s commandments. Christians often go through the motions of a committed life, but their hearts are missing from the equation. Whether their posturing stems from fear, pride, or deeply ingrained habits, how do you suppose God views this behavior in His children?