Page from a Tennessee Journal (AmazonEncore Edition)

Laura. He glanced over at her and was sure she hadn’t slept at all. Her breathing was still too fast for that. He guessed she’d lain without moving the entire time he’d been asleep. Alex leaned over and kissed her on the ear.
    “Honey, I do have to go now.” He let his hand stroke down her breast one last time as he moved her to sitting.
    She half turned toward him, a quizzical look on her face. If he had misspoken, it was understandable. He hadn’t made love a second time since the earliest days of his marriage, and this had been so much sweeter. He reached for his drawers as Laura stepped into her skirt.
    “You don’t have to get up. I can find my way down the ladder in the dark.” He touched her hand as she buttoned the skirt.
    “I’ve got to go to the smoke house to wash out that pretty bowl you brought the potatoes in.” She reached for her blouse.
    He grabbed her wrists.
    “Let me look at you just a minute longer.” He pulled her between his bare thighs.
    She laid her hands against his shoulders. This time, there was no trembling.
    “Suh, thank you for the food fo’ my children, but I reckon you don’t want the sunshine to catch you here.” Even her voice sounded stronger.
    Alex released her as he stepped into his trousers. Laura started to move beyond the curtain.
    “Wait,” he whispered to her as he tossed the shirt he’d just retrieved back onto the floor. “I want to kiss you again.”
    Slowly she turned, but she didn’t step toward him. He pulled her closer and began fumbling with the newly buttoned blouse. She pushed him away.
    “Suh” was all she uttered as she walked beyond the quilt to the table and the bowl. Alex dropped to the mattress to put on his shirt and boots. Hearing her ready herself to descend the ladder, he pulled down the quilt.
    “No need to hurry with that bowl. I’ll be back in a couple of nights to pick it up.” He didn’t have to wait long for her response.
    Laura stood with Eula’s bowl in her hands, blinking non-understanding back at him. He walked over to the table and took the hand-painted container, with its streak of silver, from her hand, setting it on the table. Alex gathered her in a tight embrace and kissed her lips. He released her to reach into his trouser pockets. He retrieved something and dropped it into the bowl. A thin shaft of moonlight caught the coin. Alex watched her face when the value of the silver dollar registered. It pleased him greatly to see that wide-eyed look of confusion on this most satisfying woman. As he headed down the ladder, Alex felt her stares into his back and sensed her confusion. He had just given her a whole day’s wages for a working white man. As he reached the barn floor, he knew this woman was more than worth it.

CHAPTER ELEVEN
     
    John’s new brown and tan houndstooth coat was stronger on looks than it was on warmth. Still, he had no cause to complain since he had given just one silver dollar for it to a man over from Davidson County who couldn’t take Nashville anymore and lit out for home. A coat warm enough for the late November weather would cost John two dollars, and since it had to look good as well as offer warmth, the price could come closer to three. As John stepped through the back door of Zeola’s, he didn’t bother recounting his money situation. He already had the rent for December, and that wasn’t due until a week from tomorrow.
    “Close that do’. You born in a barn?” Big Red slid his bone-handled butcher knife sideways into the just-cooked Thanksgiving turkey.
    Two pecan and two sweet potato pies cooled on the sideboard, and, by the smell of the cinnamon in the air, two apple pies were about to come out of the oven.
    Reaching behind him, John absentmindedly pulled the door closed as he gave a quick nod to the cook. Big Red, with his no-manners self, was no longer of any interest to John.
    “I sees you got yo’self a new checkered coat for the occasion.” Big Red made short work of both turkey legs and now started on the breast.
    With only a quick head shake in the cook’s direction, John walked toward the connecting pantry door into the dining room.
    “Well, slick, you ain’t as good as you thinks you is. I sees she’s got you sittin’ the first pot. How many mens you think is gonna leave the family table and come on over to Zeola’s on Thanksgivin’ evenin’?” The knife in Big Red’s hand swayed in the air like a leaf on a flimsy branch.
    John stopped short and