The Year of Jubilee by Cindy Morgan

Author:Cindy Morgan [Morgan, Cindy]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: FICTION / Christian / Historical, FICTION / Southern
ISBN: 9781496476005
Publisher: Tyndale House Publishers
Published: 2023-04-18T00:00:00+00:00

The next day I told Mr. Farris all about the festival. He listened as he whittled, the early morning dew still diamonds on the grass. We talked awhile, wanting to ease into the chore ahead. When there was no more stalling, we got to work.

The pile for Nickel Thrift was growing almost as high as the burn pile. Mr. Farris sat on a stool, low to the ground, to sort through everything I brought him for inspection. I came to an old red suitcase at the bottom of a pile of dusty boxes. When I carried it out to him, his Santa eyes twinkled behind his round glasses.

“I have been looking for that suitcase for years.”

He bent over to undo the latches. Inside were pictures. Old family photos, yellow and brown. The kind that people never smiled in. A few of a little boy with his parents, one of a little boy in an old-fashioned bathing suit on the beach. There was a picture of a young couple, the man in a Navy uniform and the woman with dark hair and pearls.

“My dad was in the Navy too!”

“Yes, I think I knew that. Your dad’s a fine man, Grace.”

“Yeah. I think he is too.” I looked closely at the picture. “Who is this?”

“That is me and the missus.”

“Wow! You look so young.”

“We were newlyweds in that photo.”

“Mrs. Farris was a pretty lady back then . . . Oh . . . I’m sorry.”

“She was very beautiful—I’m no prize myself anymore.” He gave a little chuckle, making me feel better.

We came to a photo taken in a living room with a little boy in a Sunday suit, and right behind him was the old Victrola.

“Is that you? There’s the old record player.”

He smiled. “Yep. Believe it or not, I was once that small.” He patted his belly. “Not anymore!”

Near the bottom of the suitcase was a picture in a frame. The minute he saw it, his face froze and he reached down, picking it up carefully as if it might break.

“Who is that?”

A little girl with dark curls in a frilly dress stared out of the old frame with a soft smile. She looked to be around five years old.

“Sarah. She was my sister.”

“She was real pretty.”

He took out his handkerchief and wiped the corners of his eyes.

“Are you okay?”

“I haven’t seen a picture of her in years, and I guess it brought back memories. She died the year after this was taken. Pneumonia. A lot of kids died from it back then.”

He wiped his eyes again, then closed the suitcase and set it beside him. “Grace, I guess I understand a little what you’re going through with Isaac.” He paused, wiping his eyes one more time. “And if there’s anything you need, anything I can ever do, just ask.”

I couldn’t help myself. I reached my arms out and hugged him. When I did, he started to cry, and so did I. We stood there dripping our tears into the dry ground.

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