Buckeye Dreams Read Online Free PDF

funeral. It seemed as if the entire township had shown up and crowded into the Kirby parlor. Unfortunately, the viewing hadn’t been going on for five minutes when she sensed very clearly she was not a welcome addition to the community. With some there was a tangible, yet polite coldness, and they kept their distance. With others it was an occasional barb or remark she was sure to overhear.
    Ruth Decker had even pointed out a few people Katherine should take great care to stay away from. “Oh, there’s the Hoskins,” she would say. “Their son died at the Rebel victory at Bull Run.” Or “There goes Estelle Perry. The Rebs killed her husband at Gettysburg.”
    But by far the worst comment the woman made concerned a young widow only a few years older than Katherine. Dressed in black, the young woman had seemed so quiet and grave sitting all alone in a corner of the room that Katherine had forgotten herself and made her way over to see if she needed anything.
    “Are you quite all right, ma’am?” Katherine asked. She was going to ask if she wanted any coffee, but the words died on her lips at the long stare the young woman gave her. Abruptly, she got up and left the room.
    “Adele Stephens.” Katherine turned to see Ruth Decker standing beside her and shaking her head sadly. “Such a shame. Her husband was captured and killed when he tried to escape.” She grasped Katherine by the arm and drew her closer. “They say it was a South Carolinian who did the filthy deed,” she hissed.
    “Excuse me, Mrs. Decker,” Katherine murmured and rushed outside to see the young widow pull away in a worn-out buggy. She was sure the woman had been crying. Later she learned Adele Stephens resided in town with her young son, an eight-year-old boy named Jacob.
    Now, as she brushed her fingers lightly across her jaw, Katherine could only hope they would not meet today in town.
Father, please bring peace and healing to Mrs. Stephens’s heart
.
    She was drawing close to Mill Creek Church. As she approached, she looked around. No one seemed to be about, and she quickly slipped through the gate to the graveyard behind the little brick building. She quickly walked through the rows until she came to Dorothy Kirby’s grave. Although Mary hadn’t asked her to stop, Katherine had felt she should just to be sure it was neat and tidy. The weather had finally decided it was spring a few weeks ago, and everything was blooming. She wanted to make sure a stray weed hadn’t sprouted.
    Delicate new grass was creeping up the soft mound of dirt in front of the gravestone, and Katherine decided to come back once her task in town was completed. Maybe some spring flowers would brighten her resting place. There might be some blooming closer to the creek.
    As she rose, her back protested, reminding her of the hard work she and Mary had been doing to keep up the farm. The work was substantial and constant; Katherine deemed it a miracle they were even able to keep up. Mary had laughed and quoted Ecclesiastes, the verse about how two were better than one.
    Katherine had gone to bed exhausted every night the first few weeks. But she was gradually becoming accustomed to her new life. Under Mary’s care the blisters that formed on her hands soon healed and formed tough calluses. And she was beginning to wake herself in the early morning rather than Mary calling for her. They would do the daily chores and then set about whatever needed to be done that day. Repairing fences, boiling down maple sap into syrup and sugar, spring cleaning—there was always something to do.
    In fact, things had been twice as busy since they had started getting the fields ready for planting. Mary had gone through Dolly’s papers when they aired out her room and discovered she had written down what would be planted and where. Katherine had wondered why Mary had been so glad to find the slip of paper until the older woman explained crop rotation to her.
    They had started plowing