The Pilgrim Song (13 page)

“No, I’m just afraid I’ll miss something.” She smiled wanly at Clint. They had returned from their walk and were sitting in front of the fire.

Clint laughed low in his chest. “You’re not gonna miss much out here.” He leaned forward and put another chunk of wood on the fire. When he leaned back, the two were silent for a long time. It was as if silence covered the earth, and he enjoyed it—it was something he was used to.

As for Hannah, the silence troubled her. After all the years she spent hiding from the world in her room, being thrown out into uncertainty like this shocked her more than she had allowed anyone to see. They had stopped at different times on the trip, going into stores to buy bread and milk and other necessary things while Clint tinkered with the truck, and even this had disturbed her.

Clint became aware that Hannah was very quiet. He had almost forgotten her, and now he turned to see a strange expression on her face. She was staring unseeingly into the fire. “Something wrong, Hannah?”

Hannah turned to him, and without warning, tears came into her eyes. She could not speak for a moment.

“I think the trip has worn you down. You’re not used to roughing it like this.”

“I . . . I guess not.”

“It’ll be all right. It looks bad now, but things like this have a way of working themselves out. You’ll have a house, and somehow we’ll make out.”

It was his use of the word
we
that was the final straw. She felt so helpless and alone, and now as he sat beside her, he was like a tower of strength. She had felt herself leaning more and more on his strength, and the weakness that had come over her suddenly seemed to fill her. “Clint, I’m afraid.”

Without thinking, Clint put his arm around her and hugged her. “No need to be afraid.”

Hannah looked up at him. His face was only inches away, and she felt the strength of his body as he held her. His arm was comforting, and she whispered, “Clint, thank you.”

Clint had no intention of doing so, but he lowered his head and kissed her full on the lips. If he had thought about it, he never would have done it, but her face had been so close to his and she had seemed so helpless and vulnerable. He did not linger with his kiss, but he was aware that she did not pull away. When he lifted his head, her eyes were wide with astonishment.

Hannah did not know what had possessed her, except that she was weak and exhausted. It was the first time a man had kissed her in years, and she was shocked at her desire to respond, which she thought had been long dead. She drew back and got to her feet. “Good night, Clint.”

“Good night, Hannah.”

Hannah stumbled to the tent blindly and quickly lay down on her cot, pulling the blankets over her.

Why did I do that?
she cried out inside her spirit. She was confused, for she had long ago written all relationships out of her life, and now she was troubled by her own feelings. He had been merely meaning to comfort her, but even so she knew she would think about the kiss for days to come.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Fair Oaks

“Well, there it is—our new home, Summerdale, Georgia.”

Clint announced the name of the town with satisfaction. He had not revealed to anyone how worried he was about the ancient truck making the distance, but the farther south they got, the more uncertain he had become that they would ever reach their destination. The trip through the Carolinas and northern Georgia had been touch and go the whole way, but finally, after threatening to conk out completely several times, the old truck had delivered them to their destination. Clint slowed to a halt in front of the Huntington General Store.

Hannah looked eagerly out the window and scanned the main street of the small town. On the far side of the street she saw a movie theater called the Majestic, and next to it was a pool hall. The rest of the buildings comprised a furniture store, a restaurant, the Elite Café, and a bank on the corner. Down past the general store she could see Farley’s Drug Store and a barbershop. Looking still farther, she saw the sign of a blacksmith’s shop and a garage, and at the very end was a square with a church and what she supposed was the city hall.

“Not very big, is it?” Kat said, wide-eyed and twitching with anxiety. “Let’s get out and go look the town over.”

“We need to find out where your place is first,” Clint said. He got out of the truck and opened the door for Jenny. Next Kat scrambled out, and then Hannah stepped to the sidewalk. Joshua stumbled around the corner of the truck, followed
by Lewis, both of them rumpled from the long days of being cramped together in the back with all the gear.

“Is this it?” Joshua demanded. He shook his head. “We came all the way from New York for
this?
”

A man was standing with his back against the general store. Lewis approached him and said, “Good day, sir.”

“Howdy.” The man was not overly tall but thickset with a deep chest and a massive neck, which made his head look small. He had on a black fedora pulled down over his eyes, and when he moved, a star pinned to his shirt caught Lewis’s attention. “I’m Noel Beauchamp.”

“I’m glad to meet you, Sheriff,” Lewis said. “I wonder if you could give me some directions.”

“Depends on where y’all wanna go. Are you just passing through?”

“No, we’ve come here to stay.”

“You’re from up north,” Sheriff Beauchamp said, his eyes narrowing. “Where are y’all planning on settling?”

“At my wife’s old home. Her name was Deborah Laurent.”

“Oh!” Interest quickened the sheriff’s eyes, and he put his gaze fully on Lewis. “You’ve never been here?”

“No, I never have, Sheriff.”

Sheriff Beauchamp studied Lewis for a moment, then shrugged his bulky shoulders. “You take that road out of town, and you’ll come to a fork. Take the left one—that’s the old military road. Keep going until you pass a white church on your right, and just past it there’s a road that turns off. Go a mile down that road, and you come to the place. People call it Fair Oaks.”

Lewis nodded. “Thank you, Sheriff.” He would have turned away, but the sheriff’s voice stopped him.

“You may have some difficulty, Mr. Winslow.”

“Difficulty? How’s that, Sheriff?”

“Well, in the first place, the taxes ain’t been paid on the old place.”

Lewis chewed his lip nervously. “I guess I’d better take care of that, then.”

The sheriff turned and nodded. “Down that way, at the end of the street, is the city hall. Gerald Thackery will take care of you.”

“Thanks, Sheriff.”

“One more thing. Somebody’s been living in the old place.”

“It was rented out, but I’ve lost track of it.”

Sheriff Beauchamp started to speak, then shrugged his shoulders. “Folks that are in there are a little troublesome. Their name’s Cundiff. You pay your taxes, Mr. Winslow, and get that cleared. Then if Cundiff gives you any trouble, tell him I said for him to move on. Far as I know they’re just squattin’ there. You say they ain’t paid no rent?”

“No, I didn’t even know who was living there.”

“They’re a little touchy, so watch ’em.”

“Thanks, Sheriff.”

Lewis turned and said, “Hannah, we’ve got to go pay the taxes down there at the city hall.”

“All right, Father.”

“We’ll wait in the store,” Clint said. “I need to get some oil for the truck—and I’d better have the blacksmith over there cut me a piece of rod to repair the truck. We’d better get a few groceries too if we’re settin’ up housekeeping.”

Lewis and Hannah walked along the sidewalk, conscious of the stares they received from the few citizens they passed.

“I guess they’re not used to many strangers,” Lewis said. “It’s a pretty quiet town.”

“It’ll be different from New York.”

They reached the city hall, and Lewis paused beside a tall, lanky fellow who was leaning against one of the white pillars and said, “Could you tell me where the tax collector’s office is?”

The man looked at him with suspicion. He leaned over and spat a stream of tobacco juice, then turned around and walked away without even answering.

“I guess Yankees aren’t too well received here, Hannah.”

“Come on, we’ll find it.”

They did, indeed, find Gerald Thackery’s office. He was a short man of some fifty years with a round face and an inquisitive nature. After Lewis introduced himself, Thackery began tossing questions out until finally Lewis said, “We need to pay the back taxes on Fair Oaks.”

“Fair Oaks? You mean the old Laurent place?”

“That’s right. It belonged to my wife’s family.”

“Why, sure, I remember Deborah. I went to school with her. Now, ain’t that a coincidence?”

It took some doing to get Thackery down to business, and finally, after going through the books, he announced, “The taxes are a hundred and twenty-one dollars. You nearly missed out on it, Mr. Winslow. If somebody else had wanted it they could have paid that and took up the place—likely the banker, Mr. Wheeler.”

The sum troubled Lewis, and he looked at Hannah, who was digging in her purse. She was carrying the cash and turned slightly away so that Thackery could not see how thin the roll was. She counted the money out, then turned back and smiled. “Here it is, Mr. Thackery.”

Thackery grunted, took the money, and made out a receipt. “All paid up for another year,” he said. “You intend to farm the place?”

“Our plans aren’t fully made yet.”

“Watch out for them Cundiffs. They won’t take lightly to being shoved out. They come from up at Dog Town, you know. That’s a bad bunch up there. You watch yourself. By the way, be glad to have you come to church Sunday. First Baptist right across the street there.”

“Thank you,” Hannah said. “I’m sure we’ll be seeing you.”

****

Josh had separated himself from Clint and noted that Jenny and Kat were across the room. The general store was
packed with a wide assortment of items, including farming supplies, bolts of cloth, and a plentiful supply of home remedies. A tall man wearing an apron approached him and nodded. “My name’s Huntington. You’re new in town, I take it.”

“Yes, I’m Joshua Winslow. My father’s name is Lewis. We’ve come back to live in the old home place.”

“And which would that be?”

“It was my mother’s. Her maiden name was Laurent.”

“Oh yes, the old Laurent place.” He studied the young man for a moment before asking, “Can I get you something, Mr. Winslow?”

Josh shifted uncomfortably. “Well, to tell the truth, I’m looking for something to drink.”

“None of that here. It’s against the law, you know.”

“Well, of course I know that, but usually there’s a way.”

“Not in my store.” Huntington’s manner had turned cold, and he offered nothing else.

Joshua turned and walked stiffly out of the store, and as he did, Clint caught sight of him. He walked over to the man Josh had been talking to. “Howdy, my name’s Longstreet. This your place?”

“Yes, my name’s H. G. Huntington. You with these people?”

“Yes, I drove them down from New York.”

“You’d better tell that young man to be careful. Sheriff Beauchamp is rough on moonshiners and anybody that buys the stuff.”

“I’ll tell him. I wonder if you have any motor oil.”

“Sure. How much do you need?”

“A couple gallons, I guess. The truck’s got a leak in it.”

Huntington produced the motor oil, draining it out from a drum into two containers. Lewis and Hannah entered the store, and Clint introduced them. Huntington seemed friendly enough, but there was a wary look in his eyes. “Glad to have y’all in the community, Mr. Winslow. I remember your wife’s people.”

“Well, we’re new at this. We all grew up in the city except for Mr. Longstreet here. We’re pretty green.”

The confession seemed to warm Huntington. “You’ll make out fine,” he said. “Any way I can help you, you let me know.”

“Thanks, I’ll do that.”

Huntington hesitated, then said, “You might have some problems with the folks that are living in your house.”

“Yes, Mr. Thackery told me that.”

Huntington nodded but said no more. When they were outside, Lewis said, “Sounds like a pretty rough bunch has taken up in our house.”

“They’ll have to leave,” Hannah said, “but I hope we don’t have trouble over it.”

They loaded into the truck, which Clint had filled up with gasoline, and left town. They reached the old military road, and Clint nodded. “We turn just past a small white church.”

He drove carefully, and when they passed the church, he said, “There’s a road. I suppose that’s it.” He made the turn, and they passed a wagon driven by a black man, who lifted his hand in a salute. Clint waved back and kept his eye on the road. The road was not well kept, and the fields on either side looked untended. “Things are run down pretty much,” he observed to Hannah.

Hannah suddenly said, “Look, that must be it.” She pointed down a side road, and there sitting back from the road, outlined against a line of oak trees, was a house.

“Look,” Kat said, “it’s got oak trees. That must be why they call it Fair Oaks.”

Clint slowed down, and they drove between the line of huge, towering oaks. “These trees must be over a hundred years old,” he observed. “Right pretty.”

Hannah was crowded against Clint, although she had tried not to be. She had not forgotten the kiss that he had given her, although he had not spoken of it, and his manner toward her had been no different. She decided it had meant little to him, but she had been considerably shaken by it. Now she
put her attention on the house and saw that it was larger than she had anticipated.

“That’s an old-timer,” Clint observed. “Looks like it’s at least seventy or eighty years old.”

The house had two stories, with four columns in the front. The white paint was peeling, and the bare siding showed. A chimney rose from each end, rising up past the second story, and from one of them a thin curl of smoke showed against the iron gray sky. A large porch went along the front of the house, and several of the windows were broken. A picket fence surrounding the yard had fallen in on the left side and was leaning crazily on the right. A large pig wandered by, rooting in the ground, and as they pulled up in front of the house, they saw that the front yard was littered with cans and bottles.