BREATH OF WATER

Now Available!

Hot Springs, North Carolina
Late April, 1886

Dulcie Chappell bit back a grin. She’d predicted Grandma’s reaction to changing the name of the town even before she told her the news. Virginia Chappell always studied a matter with the belief, Don’t mess with nothin’ what don’t need fixin’. Grandma didn’t like change.

“What fer do they wanna go and do a thing like that?” The syncopated rhythm of Grandma’s uneven footsteps and the thump of her cane accompanied the clacking of the shuttle against the breast beam on Dulcie’s loom. “Such nonsense. Town’s been called Warm Springs as long as I’ve been putterin’ ’round these parts.”

“Grandma, you heard they uncovered another natural spring not far from here.”

“I ain’t deaf. I heard.”

Dulcie glanced up. “Then you heard the water in the new springs is hotter. That’s why they changed the name. The mayor and town council figure changing the name of the town from Warm Springs to Hot Springs would make all those people who visited here in the past want to come back.”

Judging by Grandma’s scowl, Dulcie’s explanation did little to convince her the change was a good idea.

Grandma snorted and rapped her cane on the floor, a sure sign of her agitation with something she couldn’t control. “Plain silly. Iffen them folks that visited before be wantin’ to come back, they will, and it’ll be for the same reason why they come in the first place. The mountains.” She tipped her head toward the vista outside the open doorway. “Them hills sing to the soul. That’s why folks wanna come here.” She gave a tiny shrug of her bony shoulders. “S’pose the springs is nice, too.”

Dulcie let Grandma fuss over the change she deemed unnecessary and kept weaving the fine purple woolen threads. Warp and weft fibers of silky soft lamb’s wool caressed her fingers as they interlocked with each other into a herringbone texture on her loom.

Grandma sighed and flipped her hand in a dismissive gesture, but Dulcie would bet her best hair ribbon they hadn’t heard the last of Grandma’s opinion on the subject. For now at least, Grandma settled herself at the smaller of the two spinning wheels and began pumping her foot on the pedal in a measured rhythm. Her expert touch, twisting the fine fibers as they wound their way around the wheel, created a delicate strand of yarn.

§ § § §

The childhood memory of the day her parents and baby brother had died of diphtheria hadn’t faded over the years. She remembered running, blinded by tears, climbing the rickety ladder in the barn, and collapsing in the hayloft, exhausted from crying. That was where Grandpa had found her. He’d wrapped his arms around her and held her tight as he told her that God had taken her mama, papa, and baby brother to heaven. All she knew at the time was that she’d never see them again and God had taken them away.

Dulcie shook off the gloomy memory. A lingering thought tiptoed through her mind. Grandpa believed God was blessing them. Goodness knew they worked hard enough, from before dawn until the sun fell behind the mountain. Her heart chafed to watch her grandparents labor until their hands were calloused. Maybe this year, things would be better and they could afford to hire some help. A wry smile pulled at the corners of her mouth and she shook her head. She’d never seen either of her grandparents take their ease and doubted they’d be in favor of the idea.

A sobering thought erased her smile. She was the sole heir. Until she married and had a family of her own—a sixth generation of Chappells—keeping this farm going fell squarely on her shoulders. She owed it to Grandpa and Grandma, and to all the generations of Chappells who toiled and fought for the land, and now rested beneath it. Once day, she’d be responsible for not only this farm, but also for continuing the family legacy.

She ran her fingers over the finished portion of cloth on the loom. Fine Chappell wool produced from Chappell sheep on Chappell land. Too many thoughts tumbled through her mind to concentrate on her weaving. Her heart burned with the desire to care for her grandparents, to make them proud of her. The mantle of responsibility weighed heavily.