The Heart of Home Read online

  The Heart of Home

  Stephenia H. McGee

  Other Books by Stephenia H. McGee

  Ironwood Plantation

  The Whistle Walk

  Heir of Hope

  Missing Mercy

  The Liberator Series

  Leveraging Lincoln

  Losing Lincoln

  Labeling Lincoln

  Stand Alone Titles

  In His Eyes

  Eternity Between Us

  Novellas

  Her Place in Time

  The Heart of Home

  The Hope of Christmas Past

  The Heart of Home

  Copyright © 2018 by Stephenia H. McGee

  www.StepheniaMcGee.com

  All Scripture quotations are taken from the King James Version of the Holy Bible.

  This novella is a work of fiction. Though some locations and certain events may be historically accurate, names, characters, incidents and dialogue are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the author’s intent.

  All rights reserved. This book is copyrighted work and no part of it may be reproduced, stored, or transmitted in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photographic, audio recording, or any information storage and retrieval system) without the author’s written permission. The scanning, uploading and distribution of this book via the Internet or any other means without the author’s permission is illegal and punishable by law. Thank you for supporting the author’s rights by purchasing only the authorized editions.

  Cover Design: Evelyne Labelle, Carpe Librum Book Design

  Cover Models: David Harper and Alayna Robinson

  1. Civil War fiction 2. Christian historical 3. Christian Romance 4. Clean Read Historical 5. Historical Romance 6. 1800s Historical Fiction 7. God’s healing love

  Copyright © 2018 Stephenia H. McGee

  All rights reserved.

  Table of Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Other Books by Stephenia H. McGee

  Copyright Page

  Epigraph

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Author’s Note

  “When thou passest through the waters, I will be with thee; and through the rivers, they shall not overflow thee…”

  Isaiah 42:2a

  Chapter One

  Riverbend Plantation

  Greenville, Mississippi

  August, 1865

  The pesky tribulations of life always seemed more stifling in the wake of departing company. Opal Martin watched her friend’s carriage roll away and continued to stare down the curve of the drive long after the dust settled. The trees rustled in the breeze as though they thought to wave as well, but merely shuttered instead. She let her hand linger on the knob a moment longer, and then let herself back into the empty foyer.

  She should be used to the sparseness by now. They’d gone for years without the finery that had once graced this pride of Daddy’s legacy. Now the Big House of Riverbend was little more than leftovers scraped from the Yankee’s fine china.

  Closing the door to keep out the bugs even though it smothered the breeze, Opal tried not to think of the summers they had once spent in Virginia or abroad to avoid the heat and the mosquitoes. At least she and Mama didn’t have to bear the unpleasantness of August alone. Others spent their summers here as well, most notably her dear friends and neighbors Westley and Ella Remington.

  Ella had been kind to bring the baby by, his childish giggles offering a few moments of glee that tended to shoo out the loneliness. Mama coveted their company, even if she acted like guests were a burden. The light in her faded eyes glimmered more when baby Lee came by than any other time.

  With a practiced glide of yellow skirts over the freshly swept floors, Opal returned to the monotony of living in an empty plantation in war-ravished lands. She found Mama in the parlor, tidying up. They kept most of their furnishings here, by way of having at least one space that felt somewhat normal. The settee didn’t match the chairs, and the worn green carpet almost clashed with the pale blue curtains. But she wouldn’t complain. Nearly half of these things were gifts from the Remingtons, and had not been easy to come by. They had plenty to be thankful for.

  Mama’s black cotton skirts shifted in the paltry breeze allowed through the lace curtains of the parlor window. “I remember a time when a lady never had to dirty her hands with cleaning up after company,” she grumbled, plucking two shortbreads from the plate and wrapping them in a napkin for later.

  And there had been a time when Mama wouldn’t have thought to save uneaten tea refreshments, but those days were long gone. “It was nice of them to come and visit.”

  “Don’t see why they do. They have plenty up at Belmont. Why lower themselves to the likes of Riverbend?”

  Opal stacked the teacups on the tray and settled it against her hip. “Ella is my dear friend, Mama. She comes for the company.”

  Mama grunted something, but Opal didn’t stick around to see what it would be this time. No doubt Mama merely voiced a variation of one of the complaints Opal had heard dozens of times. A knock sounded at the door, causing her to turn from her trek to the kitchen.

  Had Ella returned already? She balanced the tray on her hip once again and opened the door. A bespectacled man with a fine linen suit and a fashionable cap slung low over his sandy hair gave a small bow.

  “Good afternoon, Miss.”

  Opal narrowed her eyes and looked past him. Where had he come from unnoticed?

  The man followed her gaze. “My horse threw a shoe up the road.”

  “That so?”

  He doffed the hat and put it under his arm, offering a smile as slick as his oiled hair. “Yes. Mind if I come in?”

  She tightened her grip on the door. “Surely you saw the carriage, then?”

  “No,” he said, looking over her shoulder and into the house. “Didn’t see a carriage.”

  Had the man actually left his horse at the road—an incredibly foolish thing, as it would likely not be there upon his return—then he couldn’t have possibly missed Ella’s carriage as she left the drive and he entered it.

  Opal stepped back and made to close the door. “I’m sorry, sir. You’ll have to seek aid elsewhere.”

  “Wait!” He thrust out a hand.

  She hesitated, looking over her shoulder. Where had Mama gone?

  “Forgive me. I don’t mean to frighten you.” He took a step back. “I aim to help you.”

  “Help me?” Her brow furrowed. “Didn’t you just say you needed help yourself?”

  The man smiled again and straightened, giving Opal an appraising glance. She set her teeth, both offended and self-conscious. Her dress had long since become threadbare, and though Ella had insisted on giving her new cloth, her lack of skill in sewing had thus far only concocted one half-finished skirt. She ran a hand down the fabric. “Sir, I must bid you good day.”

  “You’ll not hear my offer?” He sucked a quick breath, not bothering to wait for her response. “I’ve come looking for a fine piece of property to purchase, and as I happened upon yours, it caught my fancy.”

  “Our home is not for sale. Good day to you.”

  Opal closed the door on his sputtering and made sure
the lock slid into place. She’d heard tell of Northern opportunists seeking to take advantage of the misfortunes of the South, but had not expected to find one upon her doorstep! What would a dandy like that know of planting crops?

  She carried the tray through the house and out to the kitchen, where she found Mama scrutinizing a bag of flour. “Do you suppose we will have enough to make a pie?”

  Opal set the tray down, hoping Mama wouldn’t notice it wobbled.

  Mama shook the flour sack, then her head, answering her own question. “What took you so long?” She shot Opal a sidelong glance, her eyes narrowing in on the rattle of the teakettle.

  “There was a stranger at the door.” Opal set the cups aside and wiped crumbs from the tray with a tattered rag.

  Mama dropped the flour on the table, sending up a puff of white dust. “A stranger?”

  “Yes. Said he had a horse throw a shoe at the road and came for help.”

  She smacked her hands together, and then snagged the rag to remove the last traces from her thin fingers. “Then he should have come across Mrs. Remington.”

  “Um hmm.” Opal pried open the saltbox. Only two slabs of ham remained within. “I said the same, but he claimed not to have seen the carriage. He wanted to come in the house, but I refused him.”

  Mama peered over Opal’s shoulder, and the force of her dramatic sigh stirred Opal’s hair. “We certainly don’t need any vagrants trying to take up shelter here.”

  The fellow had been dressed far too fine to be a vagrant, but there would be no reason to tell Mama that. They would never sell their home to a Northerner anyhow.

  They tidied up the kitchen in companionable silence, and when the chores were finished, Opal sliced the last of this morning’s bread while Mama set out a new loaf to rise. Wiping the pricks of sweat from her forehead, she laid the slices on the tray and plucked one of the slabs of ham from the saltbox. Her nose crinkled at the thought of another meal of salt pork, but at least they were not going without. Ella’s gift of blackberry jam would sweeten it nicely.

  Mama eyed the tray Opal assembled and pressed her lips into a line. The expression only made her look all the more pinched. Opal’s heart ached. Daddy’s death had taken too much of a toll on Mama. Perhaps she could have endured the rest of the hardships, had she the reassurance that Daddy would return to them. Mama passed through the door, leaving Opal to secure everything for the evening.

  They’d discovered a vacant-eyed man dressed in Confederate rags rummaging through their supplies two weeks ago. Opal sent him on his way with a loaf of bread and a pouch of pecans, but ever since then they’d locked the kitchen up tight well before sunset.

  Opal hummed softly to herself as she made her way back through the house, setting the tray down on the dining table that had blessedly been too much for the soldiers to carry off.

  She picked up the jam to begin readying their meal when a strange noise slid through the open window and drew her attention. Opal paused. Had that carpetbagger returned? She plunked the jam down on the table and strode through the house, pulling open the front door, only to find the porch empty. She stuck her head out and scanned the wide expanse of the porch, at least as far as she could see in either direction before it wrapped around the house, and then looked out across the yard. No sign of anyone. The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end.

  “What’s going on?” Mama’s voice, tight with worry, pricked Opal’s ears.

  Opal forced her shoulders to relax. “It’s nothing, Mama, I just heard a noise.”

  A low growl issued from the side of the house, the warning the mongrel that hung around usually gave whenever someone came to call. Mama must have heard it too, because she pushed past Opal onto the porch.

  “Hello? Who’s there?”

  “Mama!” Opal grabbed Mama’s arm. “What if it’s someone of ill intent?”

  Mama waved her hand. “The war is over.”

  As though that did a lick of good these days. It wasn’t the soldiers they had to worry about as much as the lawless miscreants who went about harassing good folks. Opal shivered. Why, they may as well have gone west out to the untamed frontier for as much as society had stayed intact.

  Opal gave Mama’s arm a tug. “Don’t you remember the fellow we found in the kitchen?”

  “Precisely. We haven’t the means to lose our goods to another one.” Opal opened her mouth to retort, but Mama held up a hand. “And before you say it, I do not want to continue to beg from the Remingtons. Our debt to them has grown far too deep.”

  At the moment, this wasn’t an argument to rehash. “Then let us not stand out on the porch as easy targets.” She tugged Mama’s sleeve. “Let’s lock ourselves inside.”

  A rustling turned the dog’s growl to a ferocious barking. Then it gave a sharp whimper and came running around the corner of the house, scurrying up the steps to cower behind Opal.

  Frowning, she reached down to remove her skirts from his muddy fur and his wide tongue slathered the back of her hand. She grimaced and instinctively wiped her hand down the fabric, further sullying it.

  “Oh, hello there!”

  Oh, no. The too friendly voice disgusted her almost as much as the dog’s lick. She almost hated to look up, knowing who she would see. A wide smile stretched across the face of the man she had already dismissed from their land as he stepped onto the lowest porch stair. She flexed her fingers into her dress and moved around Mama, who merely stood there blinking rapidly. “Sir, what are you doing lurking about our home?”

  “Why, I already told you, miss. I’m considering buying it.” He hooked his thumbs into his lapels and rocked back on his heels, his gaze traveling up the front columns. “A man should get a good look before making an investment, you see.”

  Mama made a funny sound in her throat and turned to Opal. “What’s this?”

  Opal leveled the stranger with a flat stare, answering Mama even as she didn’t take her gaze from the man. “This is the stranger who wanted to come into the house. I told you about him earlier.”

  Tossing her head, Mama smoothed her dress and clasped her hands as though she was entertaining company. “You said nothing about a fine gentleman interested in the house.”

  Opal swung her gaze from the grin on the man’s face to Mama’s assessing gaze. Had she gone mad? “That is because it is utter foolishness. The house is not for sale.”

  “Allow me to introduce myself,” the man said, bending at the waist. “I am Mr. Donald Weir.”

  “And what brings you to Riverbend, Mr. Weir?” Mama asked politely, her Southern charms as easily donned as a familiar shawl.

  Opal bit back a seething retort begging for release. Surely Mama could see precisely what kind of man stood before them and his intentions couldn’t be more obvious. He aimed to take advantage of two lone women hanging onto the ragged hem of war.

  “I was passing through the area when I noticed what a fine home you have here on the river. I simply had to come and see it.”

  “I thought you said your horse threw a shoe.” Opal truly tried to keep the derision from her voice, but the caustic burn of Mama’s glare indicated she failed.

  The side of his mouth twitched. “It did. I left it tied at the road.”

  Mama lifted her brows. “I fear that was an unwise action, Mr. Weir. Good horses are in scant supply, and you may not find it where you left it.”

  He blinked as though such a thing had never occurred to him, and Opal had to wonder if the fellow were equal parts liar and fool.

  “Perhaps I should retrieve him.” He glanced back toward the road. “But could I come back later to discuss my thoughts on the house with you?”

  “Why, I see no reason…” Opal began, but Mama stepped in front of her.

  “You may, sir.” She jabbed her elbow into Opal’s arm.

  “Thank you. Much obliged.” He gave another bow and turned on his heel, striding away as though he’d just won some great victory.

  Opal turned t
o Mama with a scowl. “What are you doing?”

  “Do not speak to me with such disrespect, child,” Mama said with a sniff. “I have my reasons.”

  She tried not to grind her teeth. “And what reasons could you possibly have for tolerating a man who clearly tried to hide his horse and sneak around our home undetected?”

  “You have eyes.” Mama lowered her voice, though the man was now out of hearing distance. “You can surely see the man is in a far better condition than the rest of us. Why, even Westley Remington hasn’t been as finely dressed as that.” She snagged a stray graying lock and pushed it back into the coil on the top of her head. “Mr. Weir may be an answer to prayer. Just what we need.”

  Opal crossed her arms. Why bring their friends into this? Mr. Remington’s connections with the occupying army had kept them from starving. “We have no need of the likes of him.”

  Mama released a heavy breath. “You are growing too thin. Your cheeks are sinking in.”

  Taken aback, Opal dropped her arms and stared at Mama. What did her looks have to do with anything?

  “The life we had is gone.” Mama’s shoulders sagged, and she appeared older beneath her widow’s blacks. “Perhaps….” She lowered her eyes and fiddled with the cuff on her sleeve. “Perhaps it is time we start thinking of a new beginning.”

  Opal’s heart somersaulted. A new beginning? As in leaving their home? She watched the stranger depart, Mama standing stiffly at her side. Opal studied the lines of Mama’s profile. Had the losses settled so heavily upon her that she could no longer bear the home Daddy had built for her? Once these columns had felt like stately guardians. Did they now feel like prison bars?

  Voice too tight for argument, Opal extracted her arm from Mama’s grasp and turned to go back into the house, feeling nearly as empty as the vacant halls.

  Chapter Two

  Tristan Stuart’s boots crunched along the river road, the toe of the left one flapping each time he took a step. He watched it with contempt as he continued the arduous trudge he’d thought would eventually take him back home. But that home no longer existed.