The One Who Waits for Me Read Free

didn’t answer. She didn’t know whether Ma and Pa were in a good place or not. She didn’t know anything about such things. She just knew they had to run.
    The two women dressed in men’s clothing struck off across the cotton fields carrying everything they owned in a small bag. It wasn’t much. A dress for each, clean underclothes, and their nightshirts. Beth had a hairbrush one of the pickers had left behind. She’d kept the treasure well hidden so Walt wouldn’t see it. He’d have taken it from her. He didn’t hold with primping—said combing tangles from one’s hair was a vain act. Finger-picking river-washed hair was all a woman needed.
    Fire now raced inside the cabin. By the time Uncle Walt noticed the smoke from the plantation house across the fields, the two sisters would be long gone. No longer would they be under the tyrannical thumb of Walt or Bear Jornigan.
    Freedom.
    Beth sniffed the night air, thinking she could smell the precious state. Never again would she or Joanie answer to any man. She would run hard and far and find help for Joanie so that she could finally breathe free. In her pocket she fingered the remaining bills she’d taken from the fruit jar in the cabinet. It was all the ready cash Pa and Ma had. They wouldn’t be needing money where they were.
    Suddenly there was a sound of a large explosion. Heavy black smoke blanketed the night air. Then another blast.
    Kerosene! She’d forgotten the small barrel sitting just outside the back porch.
    It was the last sound Beth heard.

Two
    T he sun topped the crest of Spanish oak that hung thick with moss. Long rows of white dotted the landscape. Cotton pickers with their heads swathed in white cloth straightened to shade their eyes and watch the passing spectacle. Two soldiers wearing Confederate gray and one wearing Union blue rode past. Men going home to waiting family. Two baritones sang “Dixie.”
    The Union solider, singing in a deep bass, led the strange pack with a rousing “Battle Hymn of the Republic.” The result was an odd clatter of
    â€œMine eyes have seen the glory!”
“Oh, I wish I was in the land of cotton!”
“Of the coming of the Lord!”
“Old times there are not forgotten!”
    Puzzled gapes followed the strange procession as the men’s laughter trailed them down the road. The war ended months ago, and the sight of troops moving along the road was nothing new to the pickers. No doubt it was the returning men’s strange way of celebrating that caught their attention.
    Preach broke into the second verse of “Dixie,” wincing when a wadded-up hat hit him in the back. Grinning, he lifted his chin and sang louder.
    The men’s infectious laughter filled their surroundings. Pierce drew in a deep breath of the hot, stifling air. Freedom. The word had never sounded so good.
    â€œI can taste those mudbugs now,” Preach declared. “And potatoes, onions, and corn.”
    â€œHah!” Throwing back his head, Pierce laughed. “We will celebrate the joy of living, my friends.” Closing his eyes, he soaked in the soft breeze playing across his face. Thank You, God, for bringing me home . Breathing in another deep draught, he paused, frowning.
    Smoke?
    They rounded a curve in the road, and ahead of them a bellowing black cloud filled the horizon.
    â€œGrass fire?” Gray Eagle wondered.
    Pierce lifted a brow. “Might be.” His gaze rested on the heavy blanket of smoke sweeping across a nearby cotton field. The light wind was catching the fire and spreading it across dry fields. “Could be a homesteader burning off his land.”
    â€œDon’t think so. The wind’s blowing too strong. Any farmer with a lick of sense wouldn’t burn today.”
    All laughter gone, the men spurred their horses and rode toward the smoke.
    Flames licked across parched fields, devouring cotton like a hungry