Angel of the Cove Read Free

straight from heaven.
    He followed the sound. Granny Lawson sat in a straight chair in the shade of the oak tree behind her house, a basket of June apples at her feet. Her forehead wrinkled as she concentrated on peeling the plump apple in her hand. The knife she held made a circular path, and the skin of the fruit dangled below her fingers in one continuous spiral. The words of the hymn the congregation had sung the Sunday before poured from her lips and rang across the yard.
    He listened for a moment, watching her. Lines that told of hard work and a difficult life covered the leathery skin of her face. She sat hunched slightly forward, her concentration so focused on the apple that she appeared oblivious to anything else.
    Life in the Cove was hard on women. They worked alongside their men, eking out a living in the mountain valley soil and bearing their children. Some buried their babies along the way. He wondered howmany funerals of children he’d conducted since he’d come back to the Cove. His mother had buried two before he and then John were born.
    No doubt about it. Life in the Cove was hard. But no matter what happened, the people knew there was one person they could always count on—Granny Lawson. Whenever a need arose, she was there.
    His gaze dropped to her strong hands—healing hands, they were often called. There was something about her fingers that always caught his attention. Everyone who shook hands with her was surprised to discover she had the grip of a man. Yet those same hands dispensed tenderness and love to all she came in contact with. No woman in the Cove would think of giving birth without Matilda Lawson at her side.
    He remembered his grandmother talking about the first white settlers that came after the Cherokee were forced out of their mountain homes. The most loved and respected among them had been the midwives—the granny women of the Cove, as they came to be called. And now Granny Lawson carried on a tradition that had begun many years before. His heart warmed with love for this woman who’d always been like a second mother to him. He cleared his throat and stepped closer. “Making a pie for supper?”
    Startled, she looked up and smiled. The delight that flashed in her eyes made him forget his weary afternoon in the saddle and the disappointment he’d had when he tried to talk to Luke Jackson about his need for God in his life.
    â€œWell, it if ain’t the preacher come a-callin’ to keep me comp’ny,” she said.
    He walked over to where she sat, reached down in the basket, and pulled out a round green apple. He rubbed the smooth skin across his shirtsleeve and looked up at her. “Mind if I help myself to a bite? I've been riding the Cove all afternoon, and I’m getting mighty hungry.”
    She motioned toward the house with the hand that held the knife. “Help yourself. Go in the kitchen and git you a chair. Then come set a spell with me. The breeze is nice under this here tree.”
    Simon shook his head and sat down on the dirt. “The ground isfine. Don’t have much time. John and Martha are looking for me to stop at their house for supper. Don’t want to be late.”
    Granny smiled. “How’s your brother and that sweet sister-in-law doin’?”
    â€œFine. Fine. Martha seems to be making it all right.”
    Granny dropped the peeled apple into a pan at her feet and reached for another one in the basket. “Reckon I’ll be makin’ my way over to their farm purty soon now.” She stopped and thought a moment. “Should be in about two months, I’d say.”
    Simon nodded. “That’s what they tell me.”
    Granny hesitated before she started on the next apple. “Simon, when you gonna find a nice girl and settle down like John? You need a good woman.”
    He laughed and chewed on the bite in his mouth. “I’m making it fine by myself, Granny.”
    A