The Amethyst Heart by Penelope J. Stokes

Author:Penelope J. Stokes
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: ebook, book
Publisher: Thomas Nelson
Published: 2010-03-30T04:00:00+00:00

Enoch Warren turned the Lincoln photograph over and over in his big hands. “Amethyst, this is a real find. A treasure.”

“I know. I can’t believe it was stuck away in the attic like castoff junk.”

A shadow flitted across Enoch’s face. “Your father never got on well with Silas, I’m afraid. Or with me.”

Amethyst nodded. “I know. It was because Grandpa Silas gave you most of the land, wasn’t it?”

“Partly. But it started a long time before that. Abraham was always—well, not like Silas.”

“You mean he was a drunkard and a gambler who never took any responsibility and never thought about anyone but himself.”

Enoch chuckled. “Amethyst, sometimes you can be just like your grandmother.”

“Should I consider that a compliment, Uncle Enoch?”

“In my mind, most certainly. She was a gentle, loving woman, but she was known to speak her mind, and she could be stubborn as a mule sometimes.”

Silvie elbowed Amethyst in the ribs. “. . . we know you came by it honestly.”

Enoch’s handsome face took on a faraway expression. “My daddy idolized Abraham Lincoln,” he murmured. “I remember the Emancipation, you know. I recall the night we escaped, out through the root cellar into the woods. It was the night your father was born. We got to freedom, all right, but Daddy never could adjust to living up north. Once the war was over, he determined to come back. Silas and Pearl were still here, still helping folks. Silas and Daddy formed a partnership of sorts, with Daddy taking charge of the land and crops.” He ran his fingers over the picture frame. “I remember seeing this picture hanging on the wall in the log cabin room. But I was too young to think much about it. Now I guess I’m old enough to appreciate it—and its connection to my people.”

“I understand. I feel the same way about the things I found in the attic, especially Grandma Pearl’s journals.”

Amethyst watched Enoch’s face and saw the longing in his eyes. She understood the expression all too well—it was the same emotion she had felt when she discovered Grandpa Silas’s trunk and the treasures inside. All her life she had fought against shame—humiliation over her father’s dissolute ways, embarrassment at her mother’s simpering weakness. Isolated and at odds with her own family, Amethyst Noble had never belonged anywhere. But now, she had evidence of her roots, a heritage, a birthright—one that made her proud rather than ashamed.

She had told Silvie that she would never sell the photograph, but in that moment Amethyst knew that she could give it away—as a gift to Uncle Enoch. She loved him, and had always felt his love and understanding in return. He had been so good to her, and to her parents—looking after them, never asking for anything in return. It was the least she could do. And surprisingly, she felt no sense of loss at the idea of giving up the Lincoln photo. After all, it would still be in the family.

“You keep the photograph, Uncle Enoch.

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