Carolina Built by Kianna Alexander

Author:Kianna Alexander
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Gallery Books
Published: 2022-02-22T00:00:00+00:00

11

JOSEPHINE

July 1883

I slip out of my bedroom, fully dressed, on a warm Wednesday morning. Sweety is long gone, having left before sunrise to accommodate an early client at the barbershop. Now my task is to get out of the house and make it to my meeting.

Easing the door shut, I tiptoe across the landing to the stairs, my moccasins whispering against the wood floors.

I make it halfway down when that one stair creaks beneath my feet.

I close my eyes, pausing mid-step.

The door to the girls’ bedroom bursts open.

“Mama, where are you going?” Three-year-old Florrie, still in her nightgown, latches onto my leg.

I sigh. “I have an important meeting today, sweetie. I’ll be back before you know it.”

“But Mama, I want to go,” she whines, her big brown eyes staring up at me.

I feel the twinge of guilt squeeze my heart as I take her into my arms and hoist her onto my hip. “I’m sorry, Florrie, but you’re too young to come along. Don’t worry, you will have lots of fun with your sister and Grandma Milly.”

Clara pokes her head out of the bedroom then. “Mama, when are we going to make kites? You promised we could do it.”

I cringe, realizing I’m probably going to be late. “I haven’t forgotten, Clara. I’m going to see Eunice today to pick up the fabric remnants we’ll use.”

“See if she has pink.” Clara disappears back into the room.

I make it downstairs, with Florrie on my hip, and find my grandmother sitting in the kitchen, a cup of coffee in hand.

“Morning, Jo.” She raises her cup to me. “Here, hand me Florrie and go on. You’re going to be late.”

“Thank you, Grandma.” I sit Florrie on her lap and finally head for the front door.

I drive my buggy up to the front of St. John the Evangelist. I step down from the seat, offering a snuggle and a head stroke to Cinnamon as thanks for getting me here safely. With her tied to the last available hitching post, I make my way inside the church.

As I enter the grand quietude of the sanctuary, I’m aware of the hushed whispers of the women and girls assembled on the pews. It isn’t like me to be late to a Ladies’ Auxiliary meeting, least of all one where I’ve been charged with speaking to the group. I draw a deep, centering breath.

I hastily move down the aisle toward the pulpit, with my handbag and notes in hand. I run my hands across the polished knotty pine surface of the podium as I place my things there. “Good morning, ladies. Please excuse my tardiness. My children have been quite rambunctious today.”

A few murmurs of agreement rise from the pews, and I feel my mood soften a bit. Many of these women are also mothers; they understand the ups and downs of the job.

“All right, then. Ida, we’re ready for you.” I scan the group until my eyes land on the kind, familiar face of our recording secretary. As

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