Free For Love's Sake by Leonora De Vere Page B

upon the blanket he was seated on. Across the church lawn, she watched a handsome man around her age carry buckets of ice to the women hard at work making the ice cream.
    Christopher saw the look in her eyes, and understood it all too well. “Would that be your young gentleman?”
    “I don’t have a gentleman,” she replied, snapping out of her daze.
    Spooning the creamy dessert around his bowl, he looked on as the boy was stopped by a group of pretty young ladies. They all vied for his attention. Whoever he was, he was very popular.
    “Who is he?”
    Laurel took a few bites of her ice cream, but tasted none of them. “The preacher’s son.”
    “You are in love with a minister’s son?”
    She stared at the young man for a very long time, and then looked over at Christopher. “I thought I was, but now that I look back, I think maybe I wasn’t after all.”
    For some reason, he was glad.
    “Not that it matters anyway,” Laurel continued. “Because his parents didn’t exactly think that I was a proper companion for him.”
    “I’m sorry.”
    She sighed and let her shoulders droop. “Not as sorry as I am. I loved this church, but now I can barely stand to show my face around here. It’s humiliating.”
    “Don’t let your pride stop you from attending church,” Christopher said, finishing the last bit of his delicious peach ice cream. “Doesn’t that go against everything they teach?”
    Laurel stood up, brushing little pieces of grass from her pink skirt. “Perhaps, but they weren’t exactly filled with Christian love and forgiveness themselves, either.”
    “People are always willing to blame others, but never taking the time to find fault within themselves,” Christopher said. “All denominations must be that way, I think.”
    She took a few steps, then turned back toward him. “Let me show you something.”
    Christopher followed her to the edge of the church lawn, then through a narrow wrought iron gate. They were in the cemetery, and they weaved between the rows of simple headstones and elaborate monuments. At the far end, Laurel stopped in front of three plain gravemarkers.
    William Henry Royster. Died 1893
    Myrtle Vincent Royster. Died 1896
    Their loving daughter June. Born 1866 – Died 1890
    “My grandparents,” Laurel explained, pointing to the first two. “And my mother.”
    He noted the pride in her voice when she spoke of her grandparents, but also the way she grew somber at the mention of her mother.
    “They thought it best to leave off her last name,” she said, picking a yellow dandelion from beside their stones. “Which was still Royster.”
    “And your name is Graham,” Christopher said. “After your father?”
    “The man she thought was my father. Never could be sure in those days.”
    She said it without shame or regret, although she did not look him in his eyes.
    Christopher looked down at the graves with her, his hands thrust into his trouser pockets. “Is that why you couldn’t marry the preacher’s son?”
    “That is why I can’t do a lot of things. No matter how hard I try, I can never atone for the shame my mother brought our family. So, one day, I just quit trying.”
    As they walked back through the iron gate, Christopher saw the young man. He suddenly wanted to hit him, to hurt him, and make him pay for the pain that he had caused her. Miss Graham was innocent, yet the town insisted on punishing her for crimes she did not commit, and of all people, a minister and his family should have been forgiving and accepting. Instead they added fuel to the flame.
    “Miss Graham,” he said, his voice sounding deeper than usual.
    Laurel stopped and turned to him, perplexed by the harshness in his words.
    “He did not deserve you.”

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

    It was chilly at the mill that day. The leaves had begun to fall, and the last traces of summer were long gone. What a difference a few weeks can make . Laurel thought to herself as she stared out the window. Just the