Of Needles and Haystacks by Ann Fryer (the beginning after the end novel read TXT) 📕

He opened the packet and slid out the papers. His mouth dropped open, but he didn’t say anything. The cat rubbed against his legs, ignoring me.

“Don’t know what I’d do with a farm anyway.” Awkward words for certain. But still, he remained silent.

“Hi, Dorothy.” Ernest approached, holding a shovel. “What brings you here?”

“The farm deed. Signed it over to Uncle this morning.” I stood waiting.

Ernest embraced me, but Uncle got up and limped out, Rosie darted away. No sounds. No words. No thanks. Ernest followed with a spring in his step and left me in the hazy heat of the barn. Alone. Still waiting.

A birthright had been restored, I hoped. Assuming Uncle can be trusted to never again risk gambling away his family’s security.

JAMES WATCHED HAMMOND, feeling as much a coward as he’d always inwardly accused Hammond of being. “Good crop this year?”

“Good enough to get back on my feet.” Hammond’s sun-weathered face had changed into something more stone-like. Deep creases had formed around his mouth.

Helen plunked a plate of steaming biscuits between them, a welcome repose since Ruth’s death. How he missed her spirit, her sustenance. Even the missing food from his pantry! Found himself buying too much at Harley General.

He’d tried to take her place and deliver a goodly amount to the family he knew suffered most as a result of her passing. They wouldn’t take a crumb from him, but the hungry-eyed old man that lived in the shanty next door had snatched it up right quick.

He buttered a hot biscuit and gently placed his knife across the plate. “You might get Ernest. There’s something we need to discuss.”

Hammond barely nodded, but scooted his chair back and hollered through the screen door.

Ernest came without delay, grinned when he saw him. Ah, a hint of the old home he once knew. Would it ever be fully restored? Did good homes always have to be disbanded by greed and self-will? Or was this not truly his place? He envisioned the mansion that framed his mother’s social life, that left him in back rooms and darkened stairways, forever a stranger to the life he’d been born.

Ernest snatched a biscuit, ate it whole and grabbed another. The one person in this family that maintained his character throughout their difficulties. The boy showed promise.

“I’m needing to come clean with you both.”

Brows arched and his stomach clenched. But he’d hold on for dear life. “It’s all my fault. I should never have interfered in your business, Hammond. You didn’t take help five years ago, but I gave it anyway.”

Hammond looked confused.

“Shouldn’t have, but I contacted your brother-in-law, Mr. Trafton. Told him what was happening to you.”

Hammond’s face reddened. Ernest’s chewing slowed. He stared at his father.

“I begged him to help you—to help keep you and your whole family from becoming destitute.” He’d just spit it out. “I gave them the money they needed to buy this place and, thereby, keep it in the family. Knew you wouldn’t take help any other way. So, I went around you, Hammond. I’m sorry. I should never have interfered.”

“David,” came gargling from his throat, like an unused voice.

“Dorothy inherited the place. Not sure what would have happened if I didn’t finance the purchase—none of you would own it now. You’d all be gone.” And he’d have missed years of good memories. He hoped to make many more.

Ernest crumbled the edge of another biscuit. “Papa, I don’t understand.”

Hammond looked to the ceiling, pain etched in those new lines. “I gambled...couldn’t stop...” the rest of his words choked in sorrow. “Trafton paid...and then...”

Humiliation crashed over the big man like the waves of the sea as he tried to confess his weakness to the son who ought to look up to his father. His forehead glistened with sweat.

James rose and put a hand on his shoulder. “Those days are over, Hammond. I want to start afresh. I promise that I’ll never overstep your desires again, if it’s God’s will. Please understand. I couldn’t see you drown in debt. Not after all you’ve been to me. Not after you saved my hide more times than I can count.” He’d listened to his screams as the burns tore into his soul. And cared. Hammond stayed by his side, through every whimper and cry.

How did an act of kindness become a weight of debt in his own heart? How had he become willful enough to put a finger in the pie of another man’s trouble? If Hammond had wanted his help—such intervention would have been a great gift. But Hammond hadn’t been ready to reveal the depth of his failures. Was any man? Perhaps he had overstepped God’s work in Hammond’s life, but then God was always at work. They both should have trusted Him more.

He feared anew losing a family. Again.

Hammond dropped his head in utter defeat.

Ernest glanced at the curious watchers clogging the kitchen doorway.

Little Ruby ran to him. “David!” She clung to his leg and wouldn’t let go. “Dorofy gived us the farm back.”

JAMES RODE HIS HORSE for hours on end. The experience had left him exhausted. His mind swirled, his pounding heart jerked at the wounds still healing. Life might never be the same between them. Awkwardly, they sat in the parlor, an attempt at visiting after the terrible truth was exposed. They were mighty fidgety. Barely civil. Glances avoided all ‘round.

He thought that when he released the truth as God had propelled him to do, life would be right again. Simple as that. Dorothy might gain entry back within the family, where she belonged. Where she would feel most welcome.

This was most certainly not the case. Positive sentiments did not lie in her direction.

“Good thing she came to her senses.” Hammond pursed his lips together. “Before she sold the rest of my farm.”

Those words again. My farm. Such ingratitude.

“She’s caused enough damage around here.”

Damage? What had she done but survive a difficulty? Isn’t that what they’d all done? Responded to pain?