Summer of Joy by Ann H. Gabhart Read Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Ann H. Gabhart
picked up the half-unfolded sheet of notebook paper off the table.
Dear Mrs. Curtsinger. Still calling her Mrs., as if every woman over the age of consent had to be married to somebody. Of course, she hadn’t answered his first letter so there was no way for him to know he’d addressed her wrong in that one. She was going to write back to him. Eventually. When the time was right, but that time hadn’t gotten here yet.
Evidently the boy on the other end of the letter didn’t care whether the time was right or not. She held his letter up and read it again for the fiftieth time. The words were emblazoned on her mind, but she read them anyway.
Dear Mrs. Curtsinger,
It has been some time since I first responded to your inquiry concerning my grandfather, Wesley Green, who has been missing for over twenty years. In your letter to us, you stated that you thought you might be acquainted with a man who could be my grandfather. I have eagerly awaited a reply from you that might shed more light on the whereabouts of my grandfather, but have yet to receive any kind of response from you or from the Wesley Green you know.
You wrote in your first letter that he had been gravely injured. I pray he has recovered and hasn’t passed on. It would be a sad blow to think I might be this close to actually meeting my grandfather only to find out that he had died.
Zella looked up and out the window at her rose garden. Some leaves still clung to the vines, but they were shriveled and brown. After the terrible summer they’d had when the whole town had practically dried up and blown away, they hadn’t put on their usual beautiful fall blooming show. She was worried about them making it through the winter. Her mother had planted most of them, and Zella considered it her duty to keep them alive and healthy.
Just as it had been her duty to find out the truth about Wesley when it looked as if he might really pass on into eternity. His family would have needed to know then. His real family and not just David and Jocelyn who claimed Wesley was the same as family. But now that he didn’t appear to be in any immediate danger of expiring unless he caught his death of something from being so stubborn about being baptized in Redbone River instead of at First Baptist, she wasn’t sure what to do. She started reading again.
I am hoping to make a trip to Hollyhill as soon as I have a break from my studies. Could you send me directions to your house so that I might talk to you about the Wesley Green you know? I wouldn’t want to show up on his doorstep without warning and cause him to have a health relapse of any kind from the surprise. As far as I know, he doesn’t know I exist.
I think this man could really be my grandfather. I don’t know why. I’m sure there are many Wesley Greens in this world, but I have a feeling about the Wesley Green in your town. I am very anxious to find out if that feeling turns out to be correct. Please respond to my letter at your earliest convenience.
Respectfully yours,
Robert Wesley Green II
Zella folded the letter and stuck it back in the envelope. The boy had even sent a self-addressed stamped envelope. As if she wouldn’t answer if she had to buy her own stamp. She didn’t know why he thought that. She’d bought the first stamp that had plummeted her into this dilemma.
Zella put on her slightly damp shoes and got her coat out of the closet. She’d think about writing him when she got home from church. She could tell him to wait a few more months while she found a way to tell Wesley about him. She could say that the shock might be too much for Wesley if she didn’t have time to properly prepare him, and that it could be she’d made a terrible mistake and this Wesley Green wasn’t the boy’s grandfather at all.
But that wouldn’t be true. The boy had sent a school picture along with his letter. No mistake about it. Wesley’s eyes had stared out of the photograph at her. Younger, happier eyes, but
Dear Mrs. Curtsinger. Still calling her Mrs., as if every woman over the age of consent had to be married to somebody. Of course, she hadn’t answered his first letter so there was no way for him to know he’d addressed her wrong in that one. She was going to write back to him. Eventually. When the time was right, but that time hadn’t gotten here yet.
Evidently the boy on the other end of the letter didn’t care whether the time was right or not. She held his letter up and read it again for the fiftieth time. The words were emblazoned on her mind, but she read them anyway.
Dear Mrs. Curtsinger,
It has been some time since I first responded to your inquiry concerning my grandfather, Wesley Green, who has been missing for over twenty years. In your letter to us, you stated that you thought you might be acquainted with a man who could be my grandfather. I have eagerly awaited a reply from you that might shed more light on the whereabouts of my grandfather, but have yet to receive any kind of response from you or from the Wesley Green you know.
You wrote in your first letter that he had been gravely injured. I pray he has recovered and hasn’t passed on. It would be a sad blow to think I might be this close to actually meeting my grandfather only to find out that he had died.
Zella looked up and out the window at her rose garden. Some leaves still clung to the vines, but they were shriveled and brown. After the terrible summer they’d had when the whole town had practically dried up and blown away, they hadn’t put on their usual beautiful fall blooming show. She was worried about them making it through the winter. Her mother had planted most of them, and Zella considered it her duty to keep them alive and healthy.
Just as it had been her duty to find out the truth about Wesley when it looked as if he might really pass on into eternity. His family would have needed to know then. His real family and not just David and Jocelyn who claimed Wesley was the same as family. But now that he didn’t appear to be in any immediate danger of expiring unless he caught his death of something from being so stubborn about being baptized in Redbone River instead of at First Baptist, she wasn’t sure what to do. She started reading again.
I am hoping to make a trip to Hollyhill as soon as I have a break from my studies. Could you send me directions to your house so that I might talk to you about the Wesley Green you know? I wouldn’t want to show up on his doorstep without warning and cause him to have a health relapse of any kind from the surprise. As far as I know, he doesn’t know I exist.
I think this man could really be my grandfather. I don’t know why. I’m sure there are many Wesley Greens in this world, but I have a feeling about the Wesley Green in your town. I am very anxious to find out if that feeling turns out to be correct. Please respond to my letter at your earliest convenience.
Respectfully yours,
Robert Wesley Green II
Zella folded the letter and stuck it back in the envelope. The boy had even sent a self-addressed stamped envelope. As if she wouldn’t answer if she had to buy her own stamp. She didn’t know why he thought that. She’d bought the first stamp that had plummeted her into this dilemma.
Zella put on her slightly damp shoes and got her coat out of the closet. She’d think about writing him when she got home from church. She could tell him to wait a few more months while she found a way to tell Wesley about him. She could say that the shock might be too much for Wesley if she didn’t have time to properly prepare him, and that it could be she’d made a terrible mistake and this Wesley Green wasn’t the boy’s grandfather at all.
But that wouldn’t be true. The boy had sent a school picture along with his letter. No mistake about it. Wesley’s eyes had stared out of the photograph at her. Younger, happier eyes, but