These tangled threads, p.30
These Tangled Threads, page 30
As if finding a few wells would suddenly bring folks rushing in from the cities. For pity’s sake, did they even want that? He’d read about Hoovervilles popping up around the country, and they sounded terrible. But the deacons at church had this wild notion they could attract businessmen who’d lost almost everything in that stock market mess two years ago. They argued Kline could capitalize on a return to the land and farming—especially with the drought out west—if they could ensure a steady water supply.
Jeremiah shook his head as he stepped up onto Meredith’s front porch. Why they wanted strangers and hoboes moving here and causing trouble, Jeremiah did not know. But then he’d never been one to rock the boat. As a matter of fact, he’d long been the one they looked to when the boat needed hauling to shore, so the hole in the bottom could be patched.
“Meri? You ready?” he called through the screen door. Arnold and Wendy tumbled out, each one grabbing ahold of a leg. The boy was four and the girl almost three. They giggled and grinned up at him. “Alright then,” he said. “Got a good grip?”
“Yes sir,” Arnold crowed, latching on like a baby possum in a storm. Wendy just giggled some more and planted her little bare feet more firmly on top of his right boot. He began to walk around the porch, stepping wide and high as the children clung and laughed so hard tears ran down their cheeks.
“Jeremiah, you don’t have to do that.” Meredith appeared, wrapping a shawl around her shoulders and cinching it at her waist.
He shrugged. It wasn’t any trouble, and young’uns in Kline had little enough to entertain them. Of course, lately, they’d had a water dowser putting on a show. And Jeremiah had a suspicion that’s all it was. “Why they’re giving that man another chance, I don’t know,” he said.
Meredith patted his arm. “Hope springs eternal,” she said. “I think today’s the day!”
“Hope so,” he grunted. Meredith was forever an optimist, which was a wonder when she’d married young, had two babies lickety-split, and then lost her husband to typhus. “Now if I can pry this pair of possums off my legs, we’ll go see if the third time really is the charm.”
They started down the road toward the church, enjoying the warmth of a bright spring day. Jeremiah was well familiar with the church building since it served as their schoolhouse during the week and he served as the teacher. It wasn’t something he’d set out to do, but while he looked like a lumberman, he’d actually gone to college and studied history. He’d meant to be a professor, until his widowed father took sick and he’d come home to look after him. It’d been twenty-five years now since Dad died and the locals asked him to teach their kids so they didn’t have to go so far for schooling. He always had been a soft touch when someone needed help.
Which was why he’d tried to help by suggesting they run Sullivan Harris off. Advice that fell on deaf ears. Just the day before, Sulley said he thought there was a likely spot for water out back of the one-room church, much to the delight of the deacons. Having a good source of water there would be a boon.
The dowser had slept on the ground the night before, claiming it helped put him in “synchronicity” with the water. Jeremiah thought it was all blather and said so, but he’d been outvoted when he suggested they ask for their money back and run Sulley out of the country.
As they approached the church, Jeremiah could see a tight knot of people out front. When Joe Randolph—head deacon—looked up, he saw him blanch.
“Found water already?” he called as they drew closer.
Joe pulled away from the group, his eyes darting all around. “Well, no. It would seem Mr. Harris has left us instructions on where to dig.”
“Instructions? What kind of nonsense is that? Where is he?”
Joe swallowed hard and stuttered, “I-it would s-seem he’s not about.”
Jeremiah knew his face had turned stormy. Joe held both hands up. “Now, the note said he’d stayed for as long as he could. Probably has family eager to see him.”
“Then why in tarnation wouldn’t he have mentioned that before?” Stomping around back, Jeremiah sized up the situation. There was no camp. No bedding laid out by a fire ring. No signs of someone spending the night. “Couldn’t find water so he ran off with your money,” he announced to the group trickling around the corner of the building. “Nothing but a swindler. I told you we needed to ask for that money back!”
Joe licked his lips and looked nervously around the group. “Let’s not jump to conclusions. He left us information about where to dig.” He held up a piece of paper. “It seems to me we shouldn’t call the man a swindler until we’re certain of the facts.”
“Horsefeathers!” Jeremiah hollered. “When did you get to be so doggone trusting of strangers?”
“But what can we do?” This from another deacon who was wringing his hands. “We borrowed some of that money we gave him from the General Conference. We have to pay it back in a year. Getting a well was supposed to bring more folks in. Help fill the collection plate.” His eyes were wide, and he looked like he might be sick.
“We’ve got our tools ready,” Joe said, sounding like he was gaining confidence. “Best thing is to dig where he said, see if we hit water, and go from there.”
“You’re wasting your time,” Jeremiah said. “Go after him is what I’d do. And quick, too, before he has a chance to get very far.” As soon as he spoke, he realized his mistake. Hope dawned in several eyes, and Meredith stepped closer to curl a hand around his arm and bat her eyelashes at him. “You’d do that for us?”
“I wasn’t . . . what I meant to say was . . .” He looked at the expectant faces around him. These folks scrimped and saved to be able to pay someone to find them water. Never mind that he thought they’d been taken for fools. He let his shoulders fall. “Alright then, dig your well. Here’s hoping I’m wrong.”
By dinnertime, Jeremiah felt pretty sure he hadn’t been wrong. And by suppertime everyone else was in agreement. The well started dry and stayed that way, hope fading with the day’s light. Jeremiah might have enjoyed feeling vindicated if it weren’t for the hopeful looks everyone kept throwing his way. Last thing he wanted to do was light out after some charlatan with a good head start.
Joe, who had stripped to his undershirt and was now covered in grime, hoisted another bucket of dirt from the well and added it to the mound. Jeremiah had taken his turn down in the hole and was now leaning against the side of the church, watching. Joe sighed and ambled over.
“I’m afraid you might have been right about Sullivan Harris.” He wiped his face with a dirty handkerchief. “Thing is, we’re stuck between the devil and the deep blue sea here. Did you mean it when you said you’d go after him?”
Jeremiah felt a knot forming in the pit of his stomach. “I was just saying what I’d do if it were my money. Wasn’t exactly offering.”
“Even so.” Several other folks gathered around, hope shining through the dirt and weariness of the day. Meri and the kids had gone home, but he could still see their woeful faces in his mind’s eye.
“We’ll look after your place for ye.” This from Able Stevens, his eighty-two-year-old neighbor who could outwork most men half his age. “School’s about done, and we’ll help out with gasoline.”
Jeremiah closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, then let the air out like he was rationing it. “Thou shalt love thy neighbor as thyself.” He’d often thought that verse was extra hard. “Alright then.” He let his shoulders drop low. “Too late to start today. I’ll head out come morning.” He was pretty sure he was going to regret this.
SARAH LOUDIN THOMAS is the director of Jan Karon’s Mitford Museum in Hudson, North Carolina. She holds a bachelor’s degree in English from Coastal Carolina University and is the author of the acclaimed novels The Right Kind of Fool, winner of the 2021 Selah Book of the Year Award, and Miracle in a Dry Season, winner of the 2015 INSPY Award. Sarah has also been a finalist for the Christy Award, the ACFW Carol Award, and the Christian Book of the Year Award. She and her husband live in western North Carolina. Learn more at www.SarahLoudinThomas.com.
BETHANY
CONNECT
0 Resources
instagram Instagram
email Newsletter
facebook Facebook
TicTok
𝕏 X
Table of Contents
Cover
Endorsements
Half Title Page
Books by Sarah Loudin Thomas
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Contents
Epigraph
Prologue: Arthur
1. Lorna
2. Gentry
3. Gentry
4. Arthur
5. Lorna
6. Gentry
7. Arthur
8. Gentry
9. Lorna
10. Arthur
11. Gentry
12. Arthur
13. Lorna
14. Lorna
15. Arthur
16. Gentry
17. Arthur
18. Gentry
19. Lorna
20. Gentry
21. Arthur
22. Lorna
23. Arthur
24. Lorna
25. Arthur
26. Arthur
27. Lorna
28. Lorna
29. Arthur
30. Arthur
31. Lorna
32. Gentry
33. Arthur
34. Gentry
35. Lorna
36. Lorna
37. Arthur
38. Gentry
39. Lorna
40. Arthur
41. Lorna
42. Gentry
43. Arthur
44. Lorna
45. Lorna
46. Arthur
47. Gentry
48. Lorna
Epilogue: Arthur
Author’s Note
Acknowledgments
For more by Sarah Loudin Thomas
About the Author
Back Ads
Back Cover
List of Pages
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93
94
95
96
97
98
99
100
101
102
103
104
105
106
107
108
109
110
111
112
113
114
115
116
117
118
119
120
121
122
123
124
125
126
127
128
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152
153
154
155
156
157
158
159
160
161
162
163
164
165
166
167
168
169
170
171
172
173
174
175
176
177
178
179
180
181
182
183
184
185
186
187
188
189
190
191
192
193
194
195
196
197
198
199
200
201
202
203
204
205
206
207
208
209
210
211
212
213
214
215
216
217
218
219
220
221
222
223
224
225
226
227
228
229
230
231
232
233
234
235
236
237
238
239
240
241
242
243
244
245
246
247
248
249
250
251
252
253
254
255
256
257
258
259
260
261
262
263
264
265
266
267
268
269
270
271
272
273
274
275
276
277
278
279
280
281
282
283
284
285
286
287
288
289
290
291
292
293
294
295
296
297
298
299
300
301
302
303
304
305
306
307
308
309
310
311
312
313
314
315
316
317
318
319
320
321
322
323
324
325
326
327
328
329
330
331
332
333
334
335
336
337
338
339
340
341
342
343
344
345
347
348
349
350
351
353
355
357
358
359
360
361
362
363
364
365
366
Sarah Loudin Thomas, These Tangled Threads
