Down to the Potter’s House. Annette Valentine

Father would roll back events and do things differently. She’s pushed everything and everybody, starting with Father, and I suspect he will never give up his—what? Obsessions? Addictions . . . if that’s what horses and betting are.”

      “I think you see it on a regular basis, in bits and pieces. But for me to come back and witness firsthand Francine’s callous regard for our brother is almost obscene. The rest of it? Yes, most anything can become an obsession.” I had to breathe deeply. “On that note, I do have to say things work out. Interesting, isn’t it? Because it was that very trip to Madison County that gave me a new beginning. Actually, it instilled in me a confidence in God’s grace and a way to climb to new heights.”

      “But who doesn’t have the family celebrate a sixtieth birthday?” Millicent gave me a sly look that said we’d covered the rough spots on the subject of our stepmother. “Maybe she’s just a teensy bit too young yet. You’d think she would enjoy having some folks around the place, and close to her age—like us!”

      We both burst into laughter. I had to cover my mouth. Millicent wiped tears. A good laugh helped everything.

      “We do have a lot of wonderful memories, Gracie, and a lot of goodness to carry us on,” she said. “Things never stay the same, do they? Enough! Tell what you think about Mr. Hagan. Simon Hagan. Might he be a very interesting topic?”

      “Get in this house, James Carver! Gracie and I have bones to pick with you. Come sit at the table and start talking. We want details. Simon Hagan. Start at the beginning.”

      “Sister, please. You’re embarrassing me.” I couldn’t fool myself. I definitely wanted to know what my brother-in-law had to say. “And I do need to apologize, Jim. I rushed out today without speaking . . . and I owe you some money, too.”

      “Ah, no worries. Millicent may put you to work washing dishes to cover for yourself.” Jim laughed and gave me hug, then peeled off his jacket and hung it on the hall tree. “Would seem,” he said, taking plenty of time to position his hat on the hook above the row of coats, “I’m getting caught right in the middle, aren’t I?”

      “Indeed! Spill the beans! Gracie told me she left him talking to you. Or starting to, anyway,” Millicent said, dragging him by the arm into the kitchen. “Fess up.”

      I caught the wink he sent in Millicent’s direction. “Stop it, Sister. There’s probably nothing to tell. Is there?”

      “So happens, young Mr. Hagan’s gonna be working for me. I offered to let him take my old truck. Don’t know how he was gonna get out to his homeplace without it, but he took it and headed out there.” He took a seat, put his elbows on the kitchen table, and laced his fingers together. Millicent and I stood over him, waiting. “Come Monday morning he’ll be back in for work. Been away from these parts for quite a while—ten years, I believe he said. Frankly, I didn’t recognize him. Geoffrey’s got six boys and a couple o’ girls. Simon’s the oldest of all of ’em.” He laughed and started to fiddle with the corner of the stack of napkins in the center of the table. “Gonna give his folks quite a surprise, from what I understand. This is his first day back in Todd County. They don’t know he’s arrived. Other than that, I’m afraid I don’t know much. Oh! Well, now, I guess I did forget this one thing, Gracie. As I mentioned, I don’t know anything about Simon Hagan past the time when he used to come into the store for supplies . . . eighteen years old, probably. But—” He paused, long enough for me to squirm.

      “Heaven’s sake, honey. What?” Millicent yanked apron strings around her waist. “What?”

      “Simon did ask if I thought it would be alright if he called on you . . . here at the house.” Jim said. “He is most interested in meeting you. Again.”

      Millicent squealed.

      “You told him I would be staying here?”

      “I did. That’s all I’m saying.”

      Millicent and I talked into the night before we finally pried ourselves apart. “Get a good night’s rest,” she said, following me to the small room, an enclosed porch that had become mine whenever I had a break from school.

      “I hope I’m not wearing out my welcome. It is so exciting to think where I’ll be this time next year. Well, really in seven months. Then you’ll be rid of me.”

      “Don’t be silly. You’re always welcome here, and you know it. Now go. Sleep tight.” Millicent closed the door. “A lot can change in seven months,” she said from the other side.

      I was too keyed up to sleep, so I sat instead by the lamp and scrawled some thoughts in my journal:

      October 18, 1930

      This is where I belong, back in Todd County, teaching the children until May when my world will broaden into a purposeful mission to places unknown. Every day that goes by, my commitment is confirmed, but I’m here at Sister’s for a time—the closest thing I have to home. And with God’s help I will overcome the loss of all I’ve held dear.

      I will rise, forgetting those things which are past and reaching forward to what lies ahead, the upward call.

      The hardest burden to bear is knowing Henry has been crippled, with no strength for living. Praying the viciousness that Father has directed toward Henry will stop—and that Henry will be embedded with hope.

      Simon Hagan is the man I met today at Jim’s. Nice gentleman. His wanting to call on me is a lovely thought. Very lovely.

      It must have been sometime after midnight before I dropped off to sleep, having kept myself awake with vivid images of my previous day at the farm. And meeting Simon Hagan. Even as I buried my head in my pillow and lay in darkness in the room Sister had prepared, I could see the dreadful events that had altered the course of our family.

      I could see, too, the tall figure of Simon Hagan.

      With morning only hours away and a big day ahead, beginning with church, I rolled over and tried to get some sleep.

      Chapter 3

      Pumpkin-colored leaves, curled and crisp, rustled in flurries as the oncoming horse and buggy scattered them from the path in a gust of wind. I purposely kept myself turned away from my brother-in-law as he guided the horse through the wooded terrain. Emotions had run the gamut this visit and could have proved exhausting were it not for the spark of interest that had kindled for Simon Hagan. Talking to myself, I dabbed at the corners of my eyes with a gloved finger, trying to think more on him than the disaster taking place at Hillbound.

      No doubt Jim has seen the emotion I’m trying to cover, I thought. My overreaction has to stop! Henry will surely pull through this sour period.

      Jim Carver rode quietly beside me in the carriage that was taking us sixteen miles away from Sister’s house to Russellville, back to the schoolhouse where I would resume teaching tomorrow. Being a well-mannered man, Jim was not about to reveal he’d noticed the tears. He looked away as I regained my composure. He respectfully said nothing of Mr. Hagan, but Millicent had pressed through Sunday lunch with her questions regarding the man—ones that shouldn’t expect answers to come out of our brief meeting. She had been satisfied to surmise that I had not seen the last of Mr. Hagan, and such was her forecast to me as part of her farewell. Jim had loaded the carriage with my bag. He and I had departed after church with a hearty meal of pot roast, potatoes, and carrots, bound for Russellville.

      Perhaps a day will come, another day, when Mr. Hagan will call on me. With that revelation, I shifted on the seat and sat straight as an arrow. “‘She’ll be coming ’round the mountain when she comes,’” I sang out, unable to stop myself from bursting into song as we