As I flipped through the pages of the old leather-bound journal, I couldn't stop the smile that came across my face. Each one was just as tattered and torn as I was. The parchment was dark and slightly wrinkled from age, much like the hands that did the writing. Though the lines of time were evident in both places, it didn't stop my heart from soaring and making me feel as if I had returned to my youth. Days as a boy on the plantation were carefree. A family gathering here, a barbecue there; it was all quite civilized…as it was meant to be.

Gatherings of these sorts weren't your run of the mill soirées, heavens no. These parties were opportunities for the men to boast about the condition of their crops and hard earned money while the women fanned themselves, sipped tea, and carried on of how this one or that one needed to find a husband before she was deemed an old maid. 

With each event brought the nagging of my father, Burt, who would refer to his redundant tactics as "enthusiastic suggestion". He'd encourage me to find someone to my liking, court her, and eventually take her as a wife, but for one reason or another I never could commit. Sarah Jane Delaney was the daughter of a lumber mill owner in a nearby town. On occasion, we'd find our way to the porch to strike up conversation. As I tried to prevent my mind from going adrift, Sarah Jane had her own ideas for keeping me in the present…and might I say that never before had I received such a vulgar proposition.

You see, Sarah Jane's sister, Claudine, had recently run away and married her beau from Jackson, Mississippi. With the family in turmoil from losing their youngest daughter, Sarah Jane had been placed under even more pressure to fly the coop. In addition to the acreage her father was willing to offer in exchange for a proposal, Sarah Jane offered up herself as part of the arrangement. Twice a week is what she offered to be exact. The girl offered to give herself to me twice a week if only I'd make her a Hummel. As I began to resist her advances, she only tried harder to convince me that she could bare my children. To this day, the sound of a rustling petticoat makes me pimple all over with goose skin. 

"Kurt," my father began. "Why not one of the Wilkes girls or Mabel Addams from two counties over? You know your cousin, Riley, likes her so. She would be a good fit for you and a well match for our family."

I ran my hands through my hair, sighing softly as I knew it wasn't a battle to be won. 

"Paw, you know very well that I don't take a liking to any of them." 

He paced slowly in front of me and ran a hand over his bald head. "You care for Riley, don't you?" 

While I was not unaccustomed to the idea of marrying within the family, the thought made me shudder. "She's my cousin." 

"And so was Great-grandmother Millie to your Great-grandfather Robert, but they helped make the Hummels who we are today. They established this plantation and helped to settle this land. Would it be so awful to take into the terms of marriage a woman who you already adore, even if she might be a cousin of yours twice removed?"

I walked away from him, settling myself in front of the window and peering out into the vast yard, trying to regain control of my emotions as I watched the branches of our weeping willows sway in the breeze. 

"I could never marry Riley. She deserves someone who deserves her, not someone who affectionally loves her as a sibling---a real man, not someone like me."

My father advanced in my direction and began to speak before sitting down on the bench adjacent to the window. 

"I suppose Charlotte McCord is also out of the question?" my father softly inquired.

My gaze never leaving the window, I signaled my defeat and quietly replied, "I know how much carrying on the Hummel name means to you and I can assure you with everything that I am, everything that you've made me to be standing before you that it will happen, but I want to do it in my own time with someone I truly care for---not simply because the arrangement is convenient." 

Paw rose from the bench and gently grasped my shoulder before exiting the study. "All in good time then, I suppose." 

As I heard his footsteps leave the room, I let out a happy sigh for finally having come to the conversation's end. Although I felt a slight relief, I knew that I couldn't put off the idea of marriage for too much longer. My 23rd birthday drawing near along with father's failing health only made it all the more apparent that I needed to secure a bride. Dr. Greenhow had told me of Paw's condition. After my mother's passing in 1841, Paw had never been the same. My mother died in childbirth as did the baby, my little sister. I was 4. 

The day of the burial, Mrs. Greenhow had to pry my father's body off of the casket. Before they sealed it shut, I viewed my mother one last time. Paw is convinced I thought she was sleeping, but even as a young boy, I knew better. I'll never forget her angelic face, as pale as porcelain as she held my sister in her arms, or how heartbroken the two of us were for what seemed like years after we lost them both. 

I did all I could for him. When the attack happened, we thought he'd never make it through, but Paw survived. We still aren't quite sure how, but he did. On the contrary, Paw's never been one to give up a fight without using all of his might. Yes, Paw survived an attack of the heart coupled with fever after fever. What finally took him from us was a bad cough, whooping cough to be exact. Nell and I cared for him the best we could, but Dr. Greenhow said there was no use. God had been planning to take him for a good piece and all that was left to be done was to respect Him…even though I hated Him for taking from me the last person I held dear. I still haven't forgiven Him and I'm not sure that I will. 

___________________

"Burt Reginald Hummel passed in the fall of 1860 and with him, he took not only the soul of my father, but also that of my best friend." 

Carefully, I closed the book, inserting a piece of burlap to mark my place and turned to my bedside table. The wheels of the old drawer squeaked and squawked as I gently tugged it from its home in order to grab something from the contents inside. It took a  few rustles of my trinkets and treasures, but I found it. There, inside of a small frame was the photo of me and my father. It wasn't much, yellowed from age and worn around the edges, but it meant more than most of the possessions I own even after all these years. I was only a child then, just a boy cradled by youth at the age of 7. Photos of my mother and the rest of us together are scattered around the house, but I could never let this one leave my side. Placing a tender kiss to my hand, I touched the photo, held it to my heart, and neatly tucked it back into the drawer before giving it a nudge to help it close. 

As I turned back the covers with the intention to rise, the rush of cold air chilled my bones. I stood cautiously, inserting my feet into the slippers on the floor below to prevent them from meeting the sting of the ice cold hardwood. Grabbing the large shawl from the end of the bed, I wrapped myself up the best my old hands could before fixing the sheets to hold in what little bit of warmth might be left for my return. 

Moving around the four poster bed, I took notice of the weather outdoors. While tiny flakes no longer flowed from the clouds above, the ground was dusted with a thick layer of white as far as the eye could see. Trees glistened with a frosting of ice, the branches of some sagging more than the skin hanging from my old bones. 

As I kept my eyes on the wonderland, a warm hand, followed by a gruff voice, made it's way onto my shoulder. "There's a hot kettle of tea and some stew on if you're hungry." Although I never spoke, I knew I didn't have to. Still facing the window, I moved my own hand up my body and placed it atop the one on my shoulder, lightly caressing the top of it with my thumb in reply.