Forever And Always Read online

  Forever and Always

  Christy Smith

  Copyright © Christy Smith 2012

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations or persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.

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  ISBN: 978-1-4497-3524-1 (sc)

  ISBN: 978-1-4497-3525-8 (e)

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2011963160

  Printed in the United States of America

  WestBow Press rev. date:1/4/2012

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Afterword

  Dedication

  * * *

  To God, to whom I give all praise and thanksgiving. May this book bring you praise and glory.

  To Jerry, my best friend, and wonderful husband. You are my everything.

  To my maternal grandparents, Harold and Ruth for their eternal belief in me.

  To Mom and Dad, for teaching me about unconditional love by example.

  To Carolyn, thank you for being you.

  Forever and Always provides the reader with the ups and downs of the freshly discovered love of a young couple, Patricia Heifelmeyer and John McDougal, at the end of the Civil War. The location of the book is New Orleans Parish, the year of our Lord 1864. The war is almost over.

  Love, laughter, learning, mystery, secrecy, and murder are all woven through the pages of this book. The American Civil War raged from 1861 until 1865 and claimed more than 600,000 lives. Is John McDougal among their number?

  Forever and Always, Orleans Parish,

  the year of our Lord 1864

  Chapter 1

  Memories and a Guest

  The Heifelmeyers had risen in wealth and prominence in 1852 by benefit of Margaret’s family. Patricia Heifelmeyer was fourteen years old, the daughter of a proper English mother, Margaret, and a very rigid German father. When Klaus Heifelmeyer was home, he told Margaret and Patricia, “I’m working. Leave me alone. I am not to be disturbed for any reason,” as the study door closed.

  Margaret would gather courage to knock on the door, “Klaus, Cook has lunch ready.” She was met with protest for any interruption. Business meetings were always secret, since Klaus was one of the heads of the Underground Railroad in the area. Klaus spent most of his time “out in the field” dealing with any problems and making sure the slaves were being treated fairly.

  Margaret, pulled up her long, brown hair and worked it into a different style each day. If her dress soiled, even a little, she was off to change. Her speech was precise, her manners genteel. She was always immaculate and very proper, and she tried to raise Patricia the same.

  Her father, Klaus, on the other hand, was quite businesslike; his mind was always on his work in the Underground Railroad. Being a station master, he was fully dedicated to the cause; it consumed him. Keeping his involvement from everyone a secret had taken an emotional toll on him. Under the estate, Klaus had rooms constructed for those slaves who were too scared to stay in the barn. They were better accommodations than slaves were used to, especially those escaping from their masters.

  Sometimes a girl just needs to speak to her father, but most times, he was unavailable to her, either shut in the study or out in the field, making sure things went well. When she did get the chance to speak to him, she felt hurried because he wanted to get back to his business dealings. Patricia knew that he loved her; he just had difficulty showing it.

  (Patricia’s family upbringing instilled in her a healthy respect for elders. All were addressed formally, especially her parents). Patricia was quite close to her mother. They spent quite a lot of time reading, talking, and doing needlework in each other’s company. Truth be known, Patricia adored her mother. She sorely missed the time they used to spend together preparing meals. She loved learning about baking. Since they moved to the estate and employed the servants, they did not do that much anymore. When they did, it was a real treat for both. Father kept saying, “We have come up in society now, and that’s what he hired Cook for!” Klaus did not realize how much both Patricia and her mother enjoyed baking and preparing meals. Every so often, they would do some baking anyway and swear cook to secrecy, which made those times even more special.

  In the last three years, the family had become very prominent. They had moved to the estate in the past year. They now owned a great expanse of land. To Patricia, it seemed as if their property was endless. Sometimes she missed the old house, the time before the family’s wealth. Life may have been harder, but it was satisfying to work in the fields as they used to. Now with all the servants and farmhands, sometimes it was hard to stay occupied.

  I do still have my reading and needlework, she thought. She had been doing needlework two hours a day for years now. Mother insisted on that. Her needlework lessons had begun at age eight. In the beginning, she was given scraps of material to work with. Mother had been very stern about the way to hold things and that the stitches were correctly done and of uniform length. After trying repeatedly, she began to win Mother’s praise. A word of praise and her eyes shone brightly, and she was determined to do even better. The designs became more difficult, but Patricia would not be discouraged. The harder the work, the more she tried, not just to please Mother, but for her own satisfaction.

  Patricia’s thirst for knowledge was intense. She did not really care what the subject; she just loved to read. Given a choice, her favorite would be poetry. Patricia’s manners were exquisitely honed except for an occasional outburst, usually of laughter, which her mother tried desperately to control. She was a happy child. Often, Mother would smile broadly—privately, of course. Public shows of emotion were unthinkable. Even so, sometimes it was quite difficult for Mother to maintain control. Patricia did many things that brought back memories of her own childhood and the difficult times her own mother had in raising her. Margaret vowed never to let Patricia know how carefree she was as a child. She had become so different with the responsibilities of adulthood a
nd marriage to Patricia’s father.

  Fourteen was such an awkward age. Still more child than woman physically, Patricia was facing a constant war of emotions. She had grown to be a beautiful woman-child. Mother knew it would not be long before many suitors would begin to appear, and she held conflicting emotions when it came to Patricia’s coming womanhood. She feared for her, yet she was ecstatic for her too, knowing of the exciting times close on the horizon for Patricia.

  Patricia was particularly fond of the stable. She loved the smell of the hay and talking to the horses. Jasper, the stable keeper, and she had become as close as acceptable for someone in her position. They both enjoyed the few conversations they’d had.

  Although he actually had no right at twenty-eight and in his position, Jasper found himself looking out for Patricia more as she was coming of age. He felt somewhat responsible for her safety.

  Even though Klaus agreed with the North on the issue of slavery, they lived in New Orleans, so he had to keep up the ruse of being an uncaring slave owner to the townspeople and for the sake of his “slaves.” He was against restraining another human being for the good of another, no matter what race was involved. He was a good Christian man, and he felt that keeping someone against his or her will was just wrong. In the Holy Bible, as God speaks to Moses, He says He heard the cries of His people. In Exodus 3:10, from the burning bush, God says, “I am sending you to Pharaoh to bring my people the Israelites out of Egypt.” No good Christian would go against the Bible. Klaus had become a part of the Underground Railroad as soon as he discovered it existed and continued to be kind to his slaves.

  Father put up a notice today for an overseer. The family already had slaves; the work was long and strenuous. Patricia saw very little of the slaves. They arrived before daybreak, worked through the day, and returned to their families at night. All but Jasper lived on the other side of the creek in a communal arrangement. Klaus allowed Jasper to stay in the barn so he could tend to the animals when needed.

  Patricia was a slender girl with blue eyes that shone like the most beautiful sky you would ever see. Her hair was golden blonde, reaching midway down her back. She was a lovely young girl. At this time in her life, she was confused. Changes were taking place, both physically and mentally.

  That evening at suppertime, there was a knock on the door. As Patricia opened the door, in walked a man none of them had ever seen before. “The name is John McDougal. I was passing through town and saw your notice. Might I be of some help?” Father extended his hand, and the man greeted him with a hearty handshake.

  Klaus hired Mr. McDougal on the spot because of that handshake, Patricia later learned. Father always did think that you could tell the kind of man you were dealing with by his handshake. Father explained that he was to be the permanent overseer. He would stay on the property in the shack down by the creek. Father wanted him available at a moment’s notice. He was to move into the shack as soon as possible.

  John stood tall; with his broad shoulders and lean waist, he would make an excellent farmhand. He would be able to do much of the heavy work that was necessary on the estate.

  John McDougal’s sole intention as he had come up to the door that first evening was to get a job. He was a traveler and man of the world. He had lost his virginity at the young age of twelve to the wife of a former employer. The farmer’s wife had cornered him in the hayloft in the barn. “Either you do, or I’ll tell my husband that you did!” Because of his age, John was unaware of what to do. The farmer’s wife eagerly showed the boy how to proceed.

  Throughout his travels, John had been with many a farmer’s daughter. That night, when he came to the Heifelmeyers’ front door, he noted Patricia when she answered the door with a heavy sigh and a look that went from his eyes to his manhood. She is just another farmer’s daughter just like all the others I’ve encountered, he thought. Though he knew at first glance that she was a young one, he mentally filed that information away for possible later use.

  Patricia, upon opening the door, felt as if she’d been hit in the forehead with a thunderbolt. Every sense in her seemed to wake up. Patricia noticed immediately that John was unique. Instantly she became aware of his full, thick, black hair and brown eyes. His eyes seem to sparkle, or is that my imagination? Their eyes met just briefly, acknowledging each other as something deep within her stirred. I like the twinkle in his eyes. Who is this man that awoke these strange sensations in me?

  As the days progressed, John proved himself to be quite an excellent overseer. Am I mistaken or is Father testing this new overseer more than the others? The question crossed Patricia’s mind in a flash and was immediately dismissed, or so she thought. The tasks John was given—and their number was quite large—were done cheerily, and Father was well pleased.

  John began watching Patricia on the first day of his employment. Is this farmer’s daughter like all the others? Not allowed in the house, his view of her was somewhat limited. She came outside each morning very early, seeming not to notice anyone or anything. She seemed to drink in the sunshine as it rose in all of its glory. She almost dances in its warmth, he thought, her long, blonde hair swaying back and forth as she lets the warmth envelop her. Again, John noticed her youthfulness.

  Often she would wander to her favorite spot on the grounds. Easily overlooked was a small stream to the east of her favorite tree, with an omnipresent flow of water trickling through the rocks. Its waters were clear and cool as a late October sky. Her mind whirling, she would settle herself beneath her special tree, lean back, close her eyes, and try to understand. Questions kept nagging at her. Why did her breasts hurt so? Why did her heart ache one moment and race like her father’s fastest horse the next? So many questions! She wanted to approach her mother for help, but she just did not know how. She wasn’t afraid to approach her, just hesitant; but she wasn’t always in this frame of mind. Usually she was quite happy. And this place! It held such happiness and a sense of security for Patricia. This was the one place she could come to work out her problems, treasure her secrets, do some thinking, and best of all, the one place where she could relax and be herself. She could do what she wanted here, and she did! She read, wrote, wondered, yes, even sang and laughed here.

  Chapter 2

  The Growing Years

  Time passed quickly. Patricia mused, It has been good to spend time with the horses again. I enjoy spending time with Jasper too. He knows so much about horses. He always teaches me so much. Jasper liked her too, for her interest in his knowledge, her love for the horses, and her ability to talk to them. Why doesn’t Mother like me spending time in the stable? I just love the book Father gave me as a birthday gift. She read the inscription again, “To my daughter Patricia, on the occasion of her fifteenth birthday. Father.” It wasn’t just any book, however. It was her very own copy of Poems by John Keats, her favorite poet.

  She was on her way now, book and daisy in hand, to her special spot on the grounds, her special tree, wanting to drink in every last word of that book. Hearing the sounds of wood being chopped and knowing John was close by comforted her.

  Engrossed in her book, Patricia didn’t see him pass with the fresh-cut wood. John finished stacking and watched her intently as he washed up in the trough.

  On retiring to her room for the night, Patricia was surprised at what she found. Strewn about the open window, on the sill and the floor beneath were daises. Gathering them up, Patricia filled her tableside vase and arranged them in it. One from the sill fell back outside. Replacing the vase, she was still trying to figure out how they had gotten there. As she wondered, she took one and put it in her hair.

  In the morning, the daisy was still in her hair, where it remained for the rest of the day. “Good morning, Miss Patricia.”

  “Good morning to you, John.”

  The slightest smile crossed each of their faces. Patricia found herself reaching to touch the dai
sy every so often that day. It began to wilt from lack of water and excess of sun. To save it, Patricia pressed it in her book of poetry.

  One late summer afternoon after Patricia’s fifteenth birthday, she found herself out walking again, enjoying the sights and sounds of the oncoming autumn. Feeling the light breezes dancing in her hair, Patricia watched the new-fallen leaves racing across the meadow, hurrying to nowhere, took in the sweet, fresh scent of the air. Autumn is a very busy, very alive time, she thought. It is my favorite time of the year.

  Walking and not paying particular attention to where she was going, she suddenly awoke from her own little world. She bumped into one of the trees in the meadow, landing abruptly on a clump of clover. Taken aback by the suddenness of it all, she sat there a moment, trying to catch her breath. Gathering herself, she heard something off in the distance that sounded like splashing. But it couldn’t be; she was alone in the meadow. Getting up, Patricia walked toward the sound.

  She came to the shack by the creek and thought, It has been fixed up. It no longer looks like an old shack; it looks like a home! Walking in, she was surprised to see curtains on the windows, a hand-carved table and chairs in one corner, and a beautiful bed made of cedar in another. It looks so homey! Did John make all of this by hand? She had been so surprised, she momentarily forgot her pursuit of the strange sound). Having left the door open when she entered, she again heard the sounds of splashing.

  Quickly, silently, she exited the shack and walked toward the creek. There, swimming in the sparkling water, was John McDougal. The sight of him embarrassed Patricia. She wanted to run away but was awestruck by the sight of him; never having seen a man before, as she was just fifteen. Again, something deep within her stirred. I mustn’t be seen! She crouched behind the trees as John swam in her direction, his body glistening in the bright sunlight. She spied his clothes nearby. Picking up his handkerchief, with one last quick look, she ran all the way back to the estate.