Etched

By Jim Herod

Any family who has lived in one country for several generations will have the history of that country carved into their family heritage. From a Civil War veteran in nineteenth century Selma to an emergency room medic in modern Atlanta, history has swirled around the descendents of Peter Alexander Stone. Whether in Crumptonia, Alabama or Los Alamos, New Mexico, this family has lived, worked, and served at the edge. It takes a visitor from Iraq and a trip to Africa for Thomas Herndon Stone to know that history has not finished its etchings on his family.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Nov 5, 2012
• ISBN: 9781477281628

Jim Herod

Jim Herod was raised in an enchanted place a little south of Selma, Alabama. He was educated at the University of Alabama and the University of North Carolina. For thirty-five years, he told stories about science and mathematics at Georgia Tech, the University of Montana, the United States Military Academy at West Point, and the University of Karlsruhe. There was another story that needed to be told. It was the story of the young Confederate soldier who bled on the floor of the house known in Hartsville, Tennessee,as the Averitt-Herod House. It would be the story ofa journey by a young man too innocent to anticipate what could happen on the battlefields and in the prisons during the War Between the States. Herod now lives and writes from the edge of The Nethermost in Grove Hill, Alabama.

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© 2012 by Jim Herod. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 10/30/2012

ISBN: 978-1-4772-8163-5 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4772-8161-1 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4772-8162-8 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2012919501

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

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Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Contents

Prologue

Chapter 1. Esau Moreland

Chapter 2. Lillian Stone Hall And Benjamin Moore Stone

Chapter 3. Esther Stone Bartoli And Robert Moore Stone

Chapter 4. Elizabeth Stockton Phillips

Chapter 5. Roger Lamont Phillips And Rosetta Fiorella Bartoli

Chapter 6. Lawrence Alexander Stone

Chapter 7. Jonathan Ramsey Stone And Ellen Isabella Phillips

Chapter 8. Robert Alexander Stone And Thomas Herndon Stone

Acknowledgements

For family

Always for family

PROLOGUE

Robert Moore Stone learned what it means to be a man from his Grandfather William, not from his father. Dr. Benjamin Stone simply wasn’t around that boy for long enough to imprint a manly code of conduct. That important job fell to Grandfather William.

Benjamin Stone was a physician in the early 1900’s with a practice in and around Kent County, Alabama. There were many other physicians in the area at that time. Nevertheless, Benjamin Stone was prominent enough that when the first hospital was opened in the county, the notion of naming it to honor him was proposed. The hospital board laughed at that idea, saying whoever suggested such a thing did not know about Dr. Benjamin Stone. There was much that could have been told. Instead, the hospital was given a generic name: Southwest Alabama Infirmary.

Stone’s prominence could be indicated by this fact: if almost any mother in the county was asked which physician treated her, she would probably say that it was Dr. Benjamin Stone. He tended the county’s aristocracy and its woodsmen, the white farmers and their former slaves. It was never a surprise to see Dr. Stone traveling in his carriage along the dirt roads near old Suggsville or Oak Valley. Years later, the Chicago White Sox baseball player from Suggsville, Ron Barber, would tell a newspaper reporter in Chicago that his mother told him that Dr. Stone brought him back from the dead. That’s what he said. Of course, nobody believed that. But such was the reputation of Dr. Benjamin Stone.

One horse or another would be prancing in front of the doctor’s buggy as he made his house calls. The gentle ladies laughed about the horses’ names: Algernon and Longfellow. Gentlemen, on the other hand, would snort at what seemed like hubris to them.

Sometimes, Dr. Stone would be seen riding his stallion around the county. It bothered the men folks when they found Stone’s stallion tied to a hitching rail at their house. Word got around that after admiring the animal, one gentleman was told that the stallion’s name was Cass. It was not so much the name as the way Dr. Stone laughed when asked from where in the world such a name for a horse had come.

What bothered some men was Stone’s answer. Giacomo Casanova: that’s his full name. Stone would rub his hand through the horse’s mane when he said that. Laughing, too. In some quarters of Kent County, they laughed with him. Usually not among the educated gentry, and not the woodsmen either. The woodsmen in the county thought the name was another indication of what they took to be the uppity ways the doctor brought with him from his hometown up in cotton rich Dallas County. Nevertheless, many admirers of good horse breeding asked that the stallion be allowed to spend a week or so in their pastures. Stone always said no. Bring your mare over, he would say. It will be my pleasure to return the mare to your house in due time. Cass’s pleasure, too.

It did seem to be a pleasure for Dr. Benjamin Stone.

Among Robert’s earliest memories of his father, one was of riding the Southern Railway passenger train from Kent County up to Selma. He and his sister, Esther, were placed in a seat in the middle of a railcar and told not to leave that seat except to go to the bathroom. Their father dared them to get off the train before he came for them. During their earliest trips, they were too frightened to move. In time, however, the journey to Selma with neither parent hovering around them became a part of the adventure. It never seemed to occur to them to wonder where their daddy found his seat on that train.

Dr. Stone would spend one night at his father’s plantation. Then he and his daughter would return to Selma for a visit with his sister, Lillian Stone Hall. Robert, on the other hand, was allowed to romp at The Plantation with Lillian’s three sons.

Robert shot his first deer down in the nethermost with his grandfather sitting beside him. His cousins cut off his shirt, smeared the deer’s blood over his face, and rode him around the house on their shoulders. Robert could hardly wait to tell his mother. She, on the other hand, thought it was all very disgusting.

All the time his father was alive, Robert would cry when it was time to leave the cousins and his grandfather. For a few summers after Dr. Stone was shot, Robert and Esther continued to visit Dallas County. As always, Esther stayed in Selma with their Aunt Lillian, while the cousins and Robert would go to The Plantation.

Robert was too old to cry when his cousins enlisted in the army at the start of the Great War in Europe. Grandfather William did not celebrate with Lillian’s sons as they declared their eagerness to bury the German Kaiser. William Stone had seen a war, a war that had torn the nation apart. So, he grieved without shame for his grandsons and all the other boys who would go to Europe.

For the rest of Robert’s life, he would remember 1918 as the beginning of sadness in the family. If the murder of his father in Kent County was a time of family anguish, the death of his cousins was a personal grief that left him dark for weeks. His mother moved the family to Mobile after her husband’s death. With the death of Aunt Lillian’s sons, Robert and Esther seldom returned to Dallas County. The boys were gone.

It was a surprise when Aunt Lillian adopted an orphaned girl. Robert overheard his mother talking about that adoption one evening. She’s getting that girl to help end her grief, his mother had said. I declare, I wouldn’t take in anybody’s children. These two are more than I ever wanted!

Robert never told his mother that he heard her say that, and he never forgave her either. Yet, it was that memory that set him on a course to leave, to go to the University, to become a journalist, to work for the Montgomery Advertiser. From Montgomery, he visited his grandparents in Selma more than he visited his mother or maternal grandparents in Mobile. It was because of that close relationship with his grandfather that he eventually got the job of settling the estate in Dallas County. The Plantation house held hints of history that he had never heard. There was nothing for a journalist to do except to put together the story of his grandfather’s life.

One special person promised historical information: the daughter of a former slave. If Robert’s mother knew, she never told him or his sister that her father-in-law and a former slave were half brothers. She never acknowledged that the slave’s daughter and her husband were first cousins. All Robert and Esther knew was that Jessie had always been with the family. Before he died, however, Grandfather William told Robert about that brother who did not live in the big house, about how the two of them grew up together, and about how that brother brought him home after The War Between the States.

And, Jessie knew. Jessie knew the history of those two half-brothers, one white and one a former slave. Come and see me, Jessie told Robert. Before it’s too late and all that business is lost. I’ll be needing to tell you without your mother listening and trying to shush me, she said. That’s what she told Robert in the late summer of 1937.

It was agreed. They would meet at the Lagniappe Restaurant in Mobile on Tuesday, November 24, two days before the holiday that Abraham Lincoln named Thanksgiving nearly three quarters of a century earlier. Jessie would tell her father’s story, the story that Esau told her, the story of Esau and William, the story of Robert’s own family.

ESAU MORELAND

1843-1927

SON OF PETER ALEXANDER STONE AND BEATRICE MORELAND

I, too, sing America.

I am the darker brother.

They send me to eat in the kitchen

When company comes,

But I laugh,

And eat well,

And grow strong.

From I, Too

By Langston Huges

NOVEMBER 24, 1937

Welcome to the Lagniappe Restaurant. I saw you getting out of that taxi. I said to myself, ‘That man is not one of my usual customers. Maybe he has done come six hours early.’ The woman who greeted Robert Stone at the restaurant door had a loud laugh and a low, dusty voice. ‘Or, maybe,’ I said, ‘Yes sir. Here comes Miss Jessie’s cousin.’ I declare, I’d remember if you’d been here before.

Robert was puzzled, wondering how Jessie knew about this place. Before he had time to respond, the hostess continued. And, I don’t expect you’re the new alderman from out there in West Mobile. I do say. No matter which it is, I can take care of you, get you what you want, maybe even what you need. She put her hand on Robert’s arm and let out her rolling cackle again.

Robert looked down at the hand on his arm. There was no smile on his face when he turned his eyes back to her. I expect you know the answer, Madam. He paused. I’m Robert Stone. Robert Moore Stone. It was my understanding that Jessie Moreland was meeting me here.

At once, the hostess’ demeanor changed. Oh, Lordy. I do declare. Miss Jessie is sure blessed to have such a good looking cousin. Her laughter was loud and boisterous again. She folded her arms across her broad bosom and rocked back and forth. Miss Jessie is already here. Yes, sir. And, she is waiting to show you all she has done brought. She reached for Robert and pulled on his sleeve, leading him among the tables of patrons in The Lagniappe Restaurant.

No one seemed to take notice of him. There was no reason why they should have. There were suits and coveralls, men and women, a mixture of people—all eating at the dozen or so tables crowded into the room.

Robert stopped the hostess as they walked through the restaurant. He nodded toward the stairs going up along a side wall. Is that what I think? . . . those stairs, I mean. . . . and up there? He nodded toward the hallway visible from the main floor of the restaurant.

She turned to him. Don’t you be paying no attention to that. Miss Jessie didn’t say nothing about you needing a room. I tell you what. If you want to get you a place up there sometime, you make that appointment with me. Yes, sir. Don’t you go talking about that with Miss Jessie. I don’t plan to be getting in no trouble with her. No, siree.

The hostess tugged on Robert’s arm again, leading him behind a curtain and into a smaller room. Jessie Moreland was sitting at the single table. She stood when they came in.

Hello, Mister Robert. Jessie looked different. Her dress was not the utilitarian white dress she wore when working in his mother’s home, and it was not as dressy as when she had visited him earlier in the year at his office in Montgomery.

Hello, Jessie. He took her hand. Her hand was cold. Maybe it was cold because of the damp and chilly November air coming off Mobile Bay. Whatever the reason, Robert wrapped both his hands about hers. Your hands, Jessie.

Cold hands means a warm heart, she recited.

I’ll let you two be alone. The hostess turned to leave.

Miss Savoi, Jessie stopped her. Please bring Mr. Stone a cup of coffee. I ’spect he’s tired after riding the train down from Montgomery. Then, in about a half hour, we’ll take our lunch.

I’ll do that. Do you need anything, honey?

Jessie shook her head.

Robert looked back toward the door as the curtain swayed. Cajun?

Yes, sir. That’s what folks call her. I call her Miss Savoi.

Miss Savoi?

Yes, sir. That’s who she is.

How’d you find this place, Jessie? I’ve never heard of it.

If you worked for one of the Mobile papers, ’stead of that Montgomery paper, you’d know. City council folks come down here when they think they need something. Didn’t you see the Chief of Police? He’s out there right now.

The Chief of Police? Robert turned back toward the curtain.

Yes, sir. He don’t come in his uniform, but if he needs help with something or other, he sets up a meeting down here, orders his boiled shrimp and frog legs, and has his meetings.

Robert nodded. And, that’s what we’re doing. He looked around for a menu. What do you recommend we eat here?

Oh, don’t you be worrying about that none. I’ve already ordered our dinner.

Why, thank you, Jessie. You shouldn’t have done that.

No bother for me. No, sir. And, I thank you for treating me to the best gumbo and crawfish in the whole of Mobile Bay.

Robert laughed. Good, Jessie. He pulled out a chair. But, you have a story to tell me and, if I understand, you’ve brought some things to show me.

Jessie sat again. She folded her hands in no hurry to rush the conversation. How’s your missus?

Virginia? She’s doing fine. You’ll see her and Larry tomorrow. We’ve told Larry that he’s coming down for Thanksgiving in Mobile. It’s hard packing for a five-year old. Of course, he’s too young to understand much of that.

Tell me what you hear from Miss Esther.

Robert smiled as he sat. Sister said that she and Stephan are making plans to come back to Alabama, to come run the family farm in Crumptonia. I got a letter from her last week. Mostly, she’s concerned about her in-laws. You remember that one of her husband’s brothers came over from Italy to perform the wedding ceremony? Father Alessandro. There is another brother back there that’s in the Italian Army. Esther and her husband are worried about both of them with what’s going on in Spain.

You learn about all that with your newspaper?

Yeah. My thinking is that the Catholic Church and the Italian government are supporting the wrong side. And, both of Stephan’s brothers are hot headed.

Why do young men like to be thinking about war and fighting?

They both sat quietly.

You missed your war. Jessie broke the silence.

No more big wars. Never again. We’ve had the war to end all wars. Besides, here I am in my thirties, not young anymore.

Don’t you be talking to me about getting old.

The curtain separating their alcove from the main restaurant parted. Miss Savoi came in with two cups of coffee. You didn’t say how you like your coffee, she put a cup in front of Robert. I know how Miss Jessie takes hers.

Robert looked over at Jessie. Black and strong for me.

The hostess laughed as she walked out. You got that. Twice, you got that.

Jessie and Robert sat silently again. Finally, Robert asked, Why am I here, Jessie? What do you have for me?

Jessie picked up her cup of coffee. Is your Aunt Lillian enjoying having herself a grandson?

William sighed. You mean Elizabeth’s boy? I guess it was a good thing she took in Elizabeth several years ago. After Lillian’s own boys . . . what happened to them, her being all involved with Elizabeth has kept her young. Now, Elizabeth and Jerry are living out in the little community where he grew up. I hear they’re pregnant again. Somehow, I’m not surprised. Every time I’m around them, she’s got her hands all over her husband.

Jessie laughed. I’ve seen her. Miss Elizabeth was a pretty girl and is a right pretty woman now. Comes from a good family.

Robert frowned. I don’t think I know of her family, other than Aunt Lillian. You know something I don’t know?

Lot’s, Mister Robert. Lordy, yes! She sipped her coffee.

Well, that’s why I’m here. Talk to me.

Jessie touched a package she had brought that was wrapped in white cloth. I have letters from my daddy. I’ve saved all these letter. When I was young like you, I wrote some of what daddy told us happened back then. I wanted to tell you about my daddy and your Granddaddy William.

I’m ready to hear whatever Esau wrote and whatever you remember.

Did Mister William tell you that he didn’t know where his daddy is buried?

Robert turned and looked out the window toward the bay. Esau had gone with Robert’s great grandfather to old Fort Morgan down on Mobile Bay back in the summer of 1862. Yeah, I know what he said. It was almost seventy five years ago, Jessie. I guess Great Grand Daddy is buried over there with a bunch of other Confederate soldiers.

Jessie looked down at her hands. I have my daddy’s tag.

The identification tag? Good for you. I saw it once. It was Esau who had made the tag. It was an oval piece of copper with two holes and a rawhide string. Esau had used a hammer and nail to punch his name into the thin metal tag.

Esau made one for his daddy, too. Jessie went on.

For Great Granddaddy Peter. That’s what he told me.

One of these days, maybe you can go across the bay out there and see if you can find out where my granddaddy is buried. Your great granddaddy.

For a moment, Robert sat quietly. I should. I could take my wife and Larry. He needs to know the story about all that. Our family. I understand there’s not much left over there at old Fort Morgan.

Your great granddaddy is.

Yeah, I guess so.

Esau got back home about the first of the year, three months before the Yankee Army busted Selma up.

You and I know all this history, Jessie.

Yes, sir. Fort Morgan was run over in August and Selma was burned in the following April.

Same month as the surrender.

Yes, sir.

And, Esau went to get Grandfather William.

My daddy would laugh and grin when he’d talk about getting those letters from his brother, your granddaddy. He must have been a happy man. Grandmamma said it was September and the fields needed caring for. Cotton bolls were just about ready to bust open. He got two letters. One was from your granddaddy when he was walking through Tennessee. The other was from up in North Alabama where my mother was raised. Both came at the same time. Said, your granddaddy wanted to come home, to bring a wagon. He’d been cut, you know.

Robert waited quietly. No one ever told me that. I didn’t know he had a knife wound from the war.

Shot, too.

Really? Robert looked out toward the Mobile Bay again. I never knew. When did it happen? Who shot him? I knew he was taken prisoner but I never heard he was shot or had a knife wound. He didn’t tell that.

He got through all that fighting, beat half to death, survived small pox in Illinois, and then almost got kilt. Yes, sir. It happened when he was walking home. My daddy stopped his farming, told his mamma she’d have to watch over the place, and took off. Two horses were a pulling a wagon with him and food stuff. Jessie shook her head. I declare, Grandmamma Beatrice must have wondered if she’d ever see her son again, or your granddaddy. It was scary times. Yankee soldiers messing with folks. Everybody was either scared or shooting mad. But, Daddy took off.

Robert sat back in his chair. So there was more in that story than I recorded. Granddaddy never told me. He just told me that he walked home ’till Esau found him.

Yes, sir. That is what he would say. I guess he wasn’t proud about getting stabbed and all. I’m going to tell you ’bout that . . . ’bout them meeting up and coming home. You pay attention, now. One of these days, you’re going to want to tell your children.

*     *     *

Esau reined in the horses halfway between the two-story house and the barn. Hullo! He stretched as he hitched himself up from the wagon seat and looked back toward the white house. The letter had said for him to pull in behind the house, near the barn. Hullo! he called again. Anybody here named Jeremiah?

What business you got here, calling out for Jeremiah?

Esau turned back toward the barn. He had not seen the older man walk up, a pitchfork held across his chest. Esau raised both hands. Hey there, Mister. You won’t need to be taking that pitchfork after me. I’m just looking for the Hoover place.

The man with a pitchfork took two steps closer to the wagon. A frown was across his face. We don’t give no handouts. You best state your business and get on down the road.

I’m looking for William Stone. We got a letter saying he was staying at the Hoover place. I was hoping this was it.

Who’s been writing you something about Mister William?

Esau lowered his hands. You know him? I’ve come to take him home.

Is that right?

Yes, sir. Sure enough. Esau put his hands on his hips.

The man looked up toward the house and turned back to Esau. We were expecting his brother.

Esau laughed and climbed down off the wagon. He didn’t tell you about his brother? Esau took two steps toward the man. Are you Jeremiah?

The man lowered the pitchfork so that the tines were pointing down. I’m Jeremiah all right. He shook his head. I don’t know about all this. He looked over toward the horses and then back at Esau. You best tie your rig over there by the fence. We’ll just have to see.

Esau chuckled to himself as he tied the horses to a rail of the fence. He called over his shoulder, How come he wanted me to bring a wagon?

He can tell you ’bout all that. He’s not up to riding no horse all day. You’ll see. Jeremiah turned back toward the barn, beckoning with one hand. You need to come this way.

Esau caught up in a few steps, glancing over at the barn as they passed. I like the looks of your barn. I’ve seen a lot of burned out places ’tween here and Montgomery.

Jeremiah did not respond. He kept walking toward a cabin hidden from the main house by the barn.

I thank y’all for keeping William, helping him get well from whatever’s ailing him. Is he staying out here?

Jeremiah paused, turned, and pointed to where Esau was standing. You can wait right where you are.

Esau scowled as Jeremiah stepped up onto the porch of the cabin, disappearing inside. Some welcome I done got, Esau murmured. He shifted his weight from one leg to the other as he waited. He could hear Jeremiah talking to somebody inside the cabin. It was a woman who answered Jeremiah. Just as Esau was about to turn back toward the barn and the two story house, he heard the woman’s loud laughter.

The cabin door opened. There was a smile on her face when she stepped onto the porch. The woman walked to the porch’s edge, one hand on her hip, the other still holding a large cooking spoon. You’re the soldier man’s brother?

Esau took off his hat and ran a hand over his head. That’s right, ma’am. I’d like to see William. I’ve come to take him home.

Which one of you is the older brother?

How come you’re asking that? We’re the same age, if that matters any.

She laughed her loud cackle again. Well, you ain’t twins. I know that for sure.

No, ma’am.

The woman turned back toward the open door. Jeremiah! There was no sound inside the house. Jeremiah! Do you hear me calling after you?

I do that!

Well, answer me! She paused, waiting for an answer. There was none. I want you to go up there and tell Soldier Man that the wagon is here to fetch him home. And, don’t you be telling Miz Hoover that his brother is here. We don’t need none of that reminding.

A chair scraped across the floor inside the cabin. In a moment, Jeremiah stepped out the door and, without speaking to the woman or Esau, hurried up toward the big house.

My name is Esau, ma’am.

Flora.

Miss Flora, can William get around okay?

Which one of you is older?

You haven’t said why you want to know that? He waited for her answer. There was none. I’m eighteen days older. That don’t matter none. My mama nursed us both.

What was wrong with Soldier Man’s mama? Was she too puny?

She died just a few days after he was born.

Flora nodded her head. I see. She paused. They called the white one William. Should of called him Jacob. Jacob and Esau is the way it’s suppose to be.

Esau did not answer at first. He looked back toward the wagon and the barn. When he turned back to Flora, his eyes were dark. We don’t have no problems, ma’am. And, don’t you be starting none. I appreciate what you’ve done for William, and he will too. But we are family and there is no need for nobody to be setting things wrong. Not by no outsider, no how.

Flora and Esau faced each other in silence for a while, neither moving. Then, she grinned. I’m glad to see Soldier Man’s older brother has some grit about him. Every family needs somebody. Flora shook her head. Soldier Man went up north there with all that fighting and carrying on, thinking he was going to be tending to all them boys what got themselves shot and whatever. And, what? What? He was brought in here stabbed and shot hisself.

Brought in? He said in the letter he wrote when he was up in Tennessee that he was walking. The last letter said he stopped here to rest. He didn’t say nothing about no shooting and stabbing.

He walked most of the way here. He got cut up about a day’s ride up the road. You ask him about all that.

Esau turned as he heard Jeremiah walking up. Alone.

Flora stepped off the porch. Oh, Lord have mercy me. They’re not coming?

Jeremiah walked up onto the porch and looked back at Flora. Jasmine said he’d have to shave before he comes down here.

Flora put her hands on her hips. How come that? Her voice was raised. How come she be saying what he’s got to do? Here, this man has done travelled all this far and Soldier Man needs to be shaved ’fore he can walk down here to tell his brother hello?

Jeremiah took off his hat and dusted it on his pants. That girl takes after her mama! You should know that! Now, I’m bringing chairs out so that these two men can talk to each other by themselves. They need to do that. You go on about your work and leave ’em be. I’m going to go unhitch them horses from the wagon and put them up. I expect they all gonna be headed down toward Selma tomorrow and they’re gonna want the horse to be fed and rested. With that, Jeremiah went inside the cabin.

Esau waited until Jeremiah came out with two chairs and set them under a tree near the porch. He spoke quietly to Jeremiah. I can get the horses unhitched.

Jeremiah stopped and turned to Esau. No! I don’t want you doing that. You stay right where I put you. There’s enough going on around here without you changing what I say is going to be.

Esau smiled. It sounds to me like you folks are going to be glad to be rid of me and William, too. Then, whatever’s got everybody all stirred up around here will be gone. And, that’s good.

Flora turned, walked into the cabin, and shut the door.

Esau looked first toward the cabin and then toward the barn. In a moment, he shook his head, walked to where the chairs were, and sat down.

It wasn’t so long before he saw them coming. The man was leaning heavily on a cane. He looked too frail to be William, too old with his drawn face and gray hair tied back with a dark cord. Esau wasn’t sure, so he didn’t get up. Instead, he leaned forward with his hands on his knees. Their eyes met. Esau bit his lip and stood. It was the smile on the man’s face. That’s how Esau knew. He nodded.

The man and woman stopped when they were a little ways from Esau.

Esau spoke first. I’ve come to take you home.

You took your time. The man shifted his weight to his left leg. I’ve been looking for you for more’n a month.

Esau did not respond for a moment. He looked at the woman and then looked up to William. You might have said you’re glad to see me.

William looked over toward the cabin and then back to Esau. I am that. It’s just . . . . How come . . . ?

Both letters came. Esau nodded to the woman standing behind William. It was the same day.

William half turned