Friday, January 20, 2017

Whom Should She Tust - Part 2

Good morning Friday Fiction Fans,
How was your week? It must have been busy since no one commented. Oh, well. I have weeks like that too. I just can't seem to have time to get on a blog, read the post and then comment. Sorry.

This week has been a good writing week. I thought last week was a good week. Last week I got 6k written. This week I already have 7k written and I still have today and tomorrow to write. And yes, I'm working on "Finding Joy." It's been fun. I've named a cat "Bitty" and something happened that I thought wasn't going to happen for quite a while. Just goes to show you never know what will happen when you write a book. ;)

I'm working on other projects and such. Starting to work on decorations for the "Widow's Luncheon" that us "secret sisters" host for the widows at church on the Saturday before Valentine's Day. Our theme this year is pink and music. :) It's going to be fun.

And I have to get to work on some blog posts for Read Another Page, so I'm going to go now. I hope you enjoy this story.

Whom Should She Trust?
Part 2

    A brief time elapsed ere the servant reappeared. “Tain’t no use, Miss Hannah. De gintleman say he won’t leave da place till he sees you if he has ta wait till tomorrow or de day after dat or de day after dat. An’ he didn’t give me no card an’ won’t tell me no name. I does like his looks though. I tink he is an honest man.”
    “He is a very rude man if you ask me. No name, no card, and insists on seeing me when I have declined to see him. And yet, oh Candace, how can I refuse? My father would be ashamed if I were to act as my feelings now tell me to.”
    Candace waited in respectful silence. She knew it was best to let her mistress speak her mind in peace.
    “Very well, . . . I will see him. Show him in here, Candace.”
    Miss Hannah once again turned wearily to her desk and picked up her pen, but she did not write. In spite of herself she felt a slight curiosity towards this strange gentleman who wouldn’t take no for an answer. Who was he, and what did he want? She had no desire to see him, she told herself, and yet at the sound of approaching footsteps she rose in dignified silence and turned towards the door, her father’s words repeating in her mind,
    “Be careful whom you trust. Be careful whom you trust. . . .”
    As the door was opened, the stranger paused on the threshold; a look of admiration plainly visible on his face at sight of the fair lady before him. After a low bow he entered. Miss Hannah gave a slight nod of acknowledgment and turned to Candace.
    “Thank you, Candace. You may leave. I will ring for you when I want you again.”
    Candace nodded and withdrew, leaving her mistress alone with the strange gentleman.
    For a full minute they both stood in complete silence. Miss Hannah waiting for the gentleman to make his errand known and leave her once more in peace. The stranger, tall and broad shouldered, with an easy air about him, gazed in unconcealed admiration at his hostess.
    Miss Hannah started.
    “Oh, Hannah, it has been so long, and yet you haven’t changed. You are as beautiful as ever.” The gallant words were uttered as the stranger came forward with both hands outstretched and a smile on his face.
    Miss Hannah took a step backward and reached for the bell while keeping an eye on her unwanted visitor.
    The stranger saw his mistake and paused. “Hannah, don’t ring! You don’t recognize me. I should have known you wouldn’t. Here,” and he pulled off his waistcoat and pushed his left sleeve up revealing a jagged scar. “Does that tell you the truth?”
    Miss Hannah stared at the scar and then into the blue eyes which looked so steadily and honestly back at her. It had to be . . . but how could she be sure?
    The stranger seeing her distrust and hesitation, forever dispelled it by pulling out a curiously shaped watch guard and repeating as though from memory,
    “This is a present from me to you. Whenever you see it, remember, be true.”
    “John! It can’t be . . . But it has been five years! Why didn’t . . . How came you to . . . Where . . . when? Oh, John! Let me cry, it’s been so long!” Her head rested on his shirt front while the tears fell.
    “My dear little Hannah. It is a long time, but the story is soon told.” John tightened his arms around her. “Can’t you even greet me with a smile? I promise I won’t run away this time.”
    The merry words of long ago brought Hannah’s head up with a smile “as bright as the sun,” John thought as he kissed the fair girl in his arms.
    “Oh, John! Come, tell me everything. I am longing to know.”
    “Can’t we walk out in the garden? I feel so confined here.”
    Hannah’s rippling laughter rang out as it had not done for so long. “You always felt that way here in this room while I loved it. Yes, of course we can go out. Let me just ring for Candace to bring me my shawl.”
    “Stay,” John’s hand caught hers back from the bell. “Never mind the shawl. If you must have something, use this,” and with a quick move his waistcoat was around her shoulders. “I hate wearing one of those now as much as I ever did.”
    “John, you are impossible!” and slipping her arm through his, she led the way out into the sunshine.

    Candace turned from the doorway. “I jest knowd it. Dat’s her lubber sure ‘nough. I saw dat gintleman, an’ I says to my self, “Candace dat man has gotta be Miss Hannah’s lubber.” An’ now I knows I’m right.”
    “Lubber? Miss Hannah’s? Candace, I thought yo had more sense den dat!”
    Candace turned, hands on her hips, “Now Zeke Andrews, don’t you go an’ try ta tell me dat de man walkin’ right now in de garden with Miss Hannah ain’t her lubber. I knows better.”
    Zeke looked out the door a moment. “Maybe its a cousin. I heard her say there’s a heap of dem, dough dey don’t come ‘round here no more.”
    “An’ her wearin’ his coat! Now yo talkin’ like a man wit no sense in his head. Sure Miss Hannah got a heap o’ cousins, an’ I knowd dat. I’s seen dem all at de burin’ o’ Massa, an’ I’s sayin’ dat aint one.”

    “Now tell me everything, John, please.” Miss Hannah looked as eager as a child as she gazed up into the face which was watching hers with such interest.
    “It won’t take long. I only received your letter about Uncle’s death two months ago and have been trying to reach here ever since.”
    “Two months ago! It has been three years since he–”

Is John Miss Hannah's "lubber"?
Do you have any relatives that you haven't heard from in years?
Would you recognize them if they showed up?


Liberty Bluebelle said...

Hi Rebekah! I enjoyed this parts one and two of the story as a restful end to a busy day. Now waiting for part 3 to find out who John is. =) Have a good week!


"Where the Spirit of the Lord is, there is liberty."

Rebekah said...

Thanks, Liberty. I'm glad you were able to enjoy these two parts. You can have part 3 on Friday. :)

Liberty Bluebelle said...

Looking forward to it! =)