HARVEST OF HOPE

Opening Scene

Juniper Springs, Georgia  April 1860

Auralie Covington’s heart pounded within her ribcage as she clutched the letter and dashed up the grand staircase with unladylike haste. The pattern of the ornate carpet swam before her, but not from tears of joy. She closed her bedchamber door and stared at her name penned across the front of the letter. The masculine script sent an involuntary chill through her. Perry had never written to her before. In the past, his communications were always sent to Father who told her what he thought she should know. Judging by the rumpled condition of the paper and the water-stained corner, the missive had experienced an arduous journey before reaching the Covington Plantation in the foothills of the north Georgia mountains. Oh, how she prayed the letter didn’t say what she dreaded. She took a deep breath and broke the wax seal.

Dear Miss Covington,

“Miss Covington?” Auralie snorted. “We’re engaged to be wed and he calls me Miss Covington. What am I to call him? Mr. Bolden?” The irony of her own statement pricked her. Was it not a paradox to feel such trepidation upon receiving a letter from the man she was to marry? Perhaps if the man had been one of her choosing, her emotions wouldn’t be in upheaval.

The moisture that had stained the outside of the carefully folded and sealed document blurred the ink in various places within the message, including the date her intended had written it. She glanced over the penned lines that remained unaffected by the water stain.

. . . leaving London sometime in . . . If destiny smiles on the ship, the voyage ought not to take more than . . . I trust your father has impressed upon you the importance of our union. Therefore . . .

Auralie held the letter closer to the light streaming in the window and squinted, trying to decipher the smeared handwriting. Since she’d been informed four years ago that an agreement joining her in marriage to the son of one of the most powerful landowners in Georgia had been reached, her father had kept her apprised of Perry Bolden’s European travels. As long as Bolden remained an entire ocean away, Auralie’s apprehension of the arranged unholy wedlock stayed tucked away like a postponed sentence of death. Upon receipt of his letter, however, trepidation exploded through her. The letter echoed the words of her father, leaving no room for doubt that her marriage to Perry Bolden was her duty.

She scanned down the page at the legible parts of the letter. Perry’s expectations of her were spelled out like a list of instructions. Between blotches of smeared ink, he described in detail his demands for their engagement soirée, including the names of certain influential people he considered essential to the guest list. Of course, she was to make herself available upon his return to Georgia, and he went so far as to insist she wear a gown of pink silk upon his arrival.

“Pink! I hate pink.”