biology and botany. Portia
gave Jonathan the privilege of picking corresponding books that
interested him. He picked five, and three of them were books about
horse husbandry. The Horse: With a
Treatise on Draught , The Complete Farrier, and On Horsemanship , an
English translation of an ancient Greek historian. Though
horse-related books were in abundance, they were not the only
choices. Portia had already scanned every title on the
shelves.
“ What made you pick these
three?” Portia asked.
He shrugged and turned his head toward
the front window. Toward the horse barn.
“ I bet your father read
these to you.”
With a sad sigh, he nodded and
scratched at a spot on the desk top.
She sat down at the big
desk. The windows into Jonathan’s soul had opened a little more. He
loved his father and looked up to him. They should be able to connect through
all those things fathers and sons did together — reading, hunting,
fishing, and the family business. Maybe she could encourage that
somehow.
The door opened, and Bessie announced
lunch before she could form any solid plans. Jonathan sped out as
usual.
“ How’s things goin’
today?” Bessie asked.
“ Not bad.” Portia
closed The Complete Farrier and propped her chin on her hand. “Do you know
when Mr. Stanford and Jonathan last did something together, just
the two of them?”
Bessie lifted one shoulder and shook
her head. “There’s church, but… no, I don’t remember when just the
two of them did anything. They used to fish down at Barton Creek
all the time, and they’d go ridin’ almost every evenin’ when the
weather was good. Things is different now, and it’s a
shame.”
“ That it is.” Rubbing the
tense muscles in her neck, Portia dared to broach another subject
that weighed on her heavily. “May I ask you something?”
“ You may.”
“ My husband, Jake…” She
swallowed past the sudden dryness in her throat. “…you know which
side he fought for, and—”
“ I know what you’re
askin’,” she said, holding her palm out to stop the conversation.
“I understand you never owned slaves?”
“ That’s right.”
“ Had you the means, would
you have?”
Heat filled Portia’s cheeks. She
fidgeted with the corner of a letter to Ellen she had begun writing
that morning. She knew then that the only way to gain Bessie’s
trust, if she ever could, was to offer complete honesty.
Portia finally answered, her voice
timid and shaky, “Jake always believed that men should work for
their keep. But if we had been wealthy enough… I don’t know. Maybe
we would have.”
Bessie walked to the bookcase and,
finger on her chin, scanned some of the books. She chose one and
brought it to where Portia sat, placing it in front of
her.
Portia read the title on
the cover. “ Narrative of the Life of
Frederick Douglass, an American Slave.” Unsure what else to say, she raised her eyes to Bessie and
waited.
The older woman tapped the
book with one long, brown finger. “We got this book when Beau was a
young man, not much older than Jonny. We read it together, and
though Isaac and me was never slaves, Beau finally understood what
others had to endure. I’ve seen it with my own eyes, and I’ve felt
it, too.” She pointed to the jagged scar that crossed over her
right eye. “I want you to read this, so you’ll understand.”
“ I will.” Rubbing her
fingers along the frayed edges of the cover, Portia swallowed hard
and forced herself to speak. “I’d very much like to be friends, if
you could find it in your heart to accept me.”
“ It’s your heart what matters, and I ain’t
too sure about it yet. Time will tell. Now, come eat lunch. We got
plenty of work to do this evenin’.”
~~~~
When she went to the dining room, only Jonathan sat there,
munching hard boiled eggs, salt pork, and collard greens. Bessie
had already prepared her a plate at her newly claimed spot at the
table, so she sat down across from him.
He
gave Jonathan the privilege of picking corresponding books that
interested him. He picked five, and three of them were books about
horse husbandry. The Horse: With a
Treatise on Draught , The Complete Farrier, and On Horsemanship , an
English translation of an ancient Greek historian. Though
horse-related books were in abundance, they were not the only
choices. Portia had already scanned every title on the
shelves.
“ What made you pick these
three?” Portia asked.
He shrugged and turned his head toward
the front window. Toward the horse barn.
“ I bet your father read
these to you.”
With a sad sigh, he nodded and
scratched at a spot on the desk top.
She sat down at the big
desk. The windows into Jonathan’s soul had opened a little more. He
loved his father and looked up to him. They should be able to connect through
all those things fathers and sons did together — reading, hunting,
fishing, and the family business. Maybe she could encourage that
somehow.
The door opened, and Bessie announced
lunch before she could form any solid plans. Jonathan sped out as
usual.
“ How’s things goin’
today?” Bessie asked.
“ Not bad.” Portia
closed The Complete Farrier and propped her chin on her hand. “Do you know
when Mr. Stanford and Jonathan last did something together, just
the two of them?”
Bessie lifted one shoulder and shook
her head. “There’s church, but… no, I don’t remember when just the
two of them did anything. They used to fish down at Barton Creek
all the time, and they’d go ridin’ almost every evenin’ when the
weather was good. Things is different now, and it’s a
shame.”
“ That it is.” Rubbing the
tense muscles in her neck, Portia dared to broach another subject
that weighed on her heavily. “May I ask you something?”
“ You may.”
“ My husband, Jake…” She
swallowed past the sudden dryness in her throat. “…you know which
side he fought for, and—”
“ I know what you’re
askin’,” she said, holding her palm out to stop the conversation.
“I understand you never owned slaves?”
“ That’s right.”
“ Had you the means, would
you have?”
Heat filled Portia’s cheeks. She
fidgeted with the corner of a letter to Ellen she had begun writing
that morning. She knew then that the only way to gain Bessie’s
trust, if she ever could, was to offer complete honesty.
Portia finally answered, her voice
timid and shaky, “Jake always believed that men should work for
their keep. But if we had been wealthy enough… I don’t know. Maybe
we would have.”
Bessie walked to the bookcase and,
finger on her chin, scanned some of the books. She chose one and
brought it to where Portia sat, placing it in front of
her.
Portia read the title on
the cover. “ Narrative of the Life of
Frederick Douglass, an American Slave.” Unsure what else to say, she raised her eyes to Bessie and
waited.
The older woman tapped the
book with one long, brown finger. “We got this book when Beau was a
young man, not much older than Jonny. We read it together, and
though Isaac and me was never slaves, Beau finally understood what
others had to endure. I’ve seen it with my own eyes, and I’ve felt
it, too.” She pointed to the jagged scar that crossed over her
right eye. “I want you to read this, so you’ll understand.”
“ I will.” Rubbing her
fingers along the frayed edges of the cover, Portia swallowed hard
and forced herself to speak. “I’d very much like to be friends, if
you could find it in your heart to accept me.”
“ It’s your heart what matters, and I ain’t
too sure about it yet. Time will tell. Now, come eat lunch. We got
plenty of work to do this evenin’.”
~~~~
When she went to the dining room, only Jonathan sat there,
munching hard boiled eggs, salt pork, and collard greens. Bessie
had already prepared her a plate at her newly claimed spot at the
table, so she sat down across from him.
He
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