This Loving Land - Dorothy Garlock [89]
Summer swallowed drily, feeling the frantic clamor of her frightened heart even as hidden strength prodded her to say:
“I’d rather read it for myself, please.” The color had drained from her face and her hand trembled as she took the paper.
There were two pages to the letter. Summer recognized the paper because paper had been scarce in their home, and her mother’s handwriting because it was neat and beautiful. She turned her back to Ellen and began to read.
May 14, 1847
My dearest Sam,
I take pen in hand to acquaint you with the news that J.R. met with an accident and is dead. I suffered an injury to my back and am confined to my bed. No, no, dear Sam, I do not want you to come or be concerned for me. J.R.’s pension cares for our needs. J.R. and I had a son. He is three years old now. A bright little boy, who reminds me so much of Slater. But this is not my reason for writing. I have wondered all these years if I did the right thing by not telling you the news that I feel I must tell you at this time. At the time Summer was born, I never knew what day or what hour J.R. would come for me. I had hoped our going would be easier for you if you didn’t know. You have a beautiful daughter, Sam. There is no way she cannot be yours. I was not with J.R. for more than a month before Ovalee and I came west. As you know, Ovalee was killed days later, and as you held me in your arms to comfort me, our love grew, and we couldn’t hold ourselves from each other. Nine months later, Summer was born. I see you in her every day, Sam. Her hair is black, like yours. She tosses her head, like you do. I think J.R. suspected, but he never showed it. He loved her and was a good father to her. She is a good girl, Sam. And beautiful. You would be proud of her. I am telling you now because I feel my time here is short. I will not tell Summer. I couldn’t bear for her to think her mother was sinful, a loose woman. The summer we spent together before she was born was the magic time of my life, and not a day passes that I don’t think of you. I pray Libby has recovered and you have been able to live a fruitful life. I fear my sins of that wonderful summer are catching up with me. Don’t mourn for me, dear Sam. Rejoice that a part of you and I lives on in our daughter.
God bless you,
Nannie Kuykendall
Summer was stunned. Her eyes were no longer seeing the words on the page. The full import of the shocking news had not yet reached her dulled brain.
“It can’t be true,” she whispered.
“It is true, dear. You’ve got to face it.” Ellen’s voice came strangely to her ears. “You understand, now, why I was so shocked when I heard about you and Slater. I thought he knew you were his sister. I was sure he knew. I can’t, for the life of me, understand why Nannie didn’t tell you.”
Summer looked at her dully. Her face felt wooden, then a trembling set in. The letter dropped to the floor.
“You couldn’t have fallen in love with Slater, dear.” The now-hated voice droned on. “He’s your brother, just as John Austin is your brother.” She paused, then hurried on. “I was going to send the letter on to Sam, but before I could find someone to deliver it, he was killed. And Slater . . . well, Slater acted like a mad dog every time I came near. I’m glad I kept it, for your sake, dear. What if you had married Slater? What if you had a child by him?” The horrified note that crept into her voice was not lost on Summer. “Why, dear, children from such a union are deformed, idiots. . . . You know, the ones with the big heads. How glad I am that I came at this time! There’s no telling what horrors I’ve saved you from.”
“Shut up! Shut up!”
Summer leaped