LEATHER AND LACE

Chapter 1-The Beginning

Franklin County, Virginia, June 1804

It was a summery day in central Virginia, humid, the air heavy and thick, and barely a breeze. Sam was bored playing outside with his Feazel cousins...they were either much older than him or much younger and all he was doing was scratching the dirt with a stick. The black woman who took care of him, Sugar, was occupied with her younger charges who had somehow managed to cover themselves in honey. His Aunt Nancy Feazel, his late mother's sister who had basically raised him since his mother's death, was also busy, baking pies in the summer kitchen. He glanced at the woods lining the edge of the wheat field, wondering what he could find out there. At least there'd be shade under the trees, he thought. He was 8 years old, almost 9, and wanted to explore past the confines of the Feazel farm. He snuck off toward the forest.

xxxxx

At the farm that abutted the Feazel place, the Fabray homestead, 6-year-old Peyton and 4-year-old Quinn were also playing behind the farmhouse and were also bored and sweaty in the heat. A stray breeze finally blew through, and the rustling leaves of the trees in the forest behind the house caused Peyton to turn his attention to that unexplored area. Their mother was occupied in the house with her 3-year-old daughter, twin 1-year-old sons, and a new baby boy, so Peyton and Quinn were largely left to their own devices during the day.

"C'mon Quinny," he said, taking her hand. She followed her big brother willingly, past the tobacco plants, past the barn and crude shacks her father had built for farm help, to the edge of the woods. There, she stopped. Peyton didn't realize that and kept going until he felt her resistance.

"No Peyton!" she said, stubbornly.

"Maybe we'll see a fairy in the woods, Quinny!"

"A fairy?" she asked cautiously.

"Yes, like in your picture book...maybe I'll find a gnome!"

"What's a gnome?"

"Like a little elf...let's go!" Peyton said, now very excited at the prospect of meeting a gnome. He was pretty sure there were no fairies in the woods, though.

Slowly, she began to walk with him into the forest, looking about the tops of the trees for tiny ladies with wings.

xxxxx

Sam had made his way pretty far into the woods when he heard a twig snap. He stopped and listened. He had heard his older male cousins and uncles and grandfather talk about hunting and what they heard in the woods. Sam wondered if it was a raccoon or even a deer or maybe even a wild hog. He mentally kicked himself for not bringing his sheathed knife, a present on his 8th birthday from grandfather Feazel. He began walking again, more cautiously, and then heard the trickle of a running creek. Even in the forest it was hot and water suddenly sounded perfect. Thoughts of the snapping twig left his mind and he wandered off toward the sound of running water.

xxxxx

"I haven't seen not one fairy, Peyton Fabray! I wanna go back home!" Quinn pouted, stopped, crossed her arms, and planted her feet firmly on the ground.

"Hear that, Quinny? Water! Aren't you thirsty?"

A cool sip of water did sound good to the little girl, still hot even in the shade of the forest. Maybe the fairies stayed near the water, she thought and acquiesced to her brother's request.

xxxxx

Sam found the creek in short order. It was wide enough and shallow enough for him to shuck off his clothing and wander out into the middle and lay down on his back, letting the cool water wash over him. From that position, the trees blocked out most of the sun though a few rays would shine through every once in awhile. He closed his eyes and enjoyed the refreshing coolness. He wondered if his mother had ever played in this creek; his grandparents never talked about her. And then, another twig snapped and he heard a little girl giggle. He sat up, looking at the opposite side of the creek from which he came, where he had heard another twig snap.

xxxxx

"We're almost there, Quinny! It's getting louder now," Peyton told. She was tired of walking through the dense woods, holding her brother's sweaty hand. She could hear the water now, loud and clear, and wanted a drink badly. A couple more yards ahead of her, Peyton stopped suddenly, waiting for her to catch up.

"Look there, Quinny! A rainbow! Maybe that's where the fairies live!"

She stepped up next to him, excited, breaking a stick in the process and giggled at her brother's excitement. She looked down at the creek and saw the rainbow from the reflection of the sun's rays. She looked left and right for a fairy but only saw a naked blonde-haired boy lying in the water, now sitting up and looking around anxiously.

"Who's that Peyton?" she whispered, grasping his hand.

"I dunno, Quinny," he said quietly, now seeing the other boy. Calling out, he said, "You there! Who are you?"

Now, the boy in the creek froze, looking their way. He scrambled out of the creek to where he had dropped his clothing and pulled it on quickly.

"No! Don't go!" Peyton called after him and then ran down to the creek and through it. He had been commended by his father before on his quickness and now put it to use. He caught up with the wet boy, who was trying to get his boots back on, and grabbed him by the arm.

"Who are you? We live on the Fabray farm, right over yonder. My sister and I heard the creek and came down for a drink. Looks like you had a better idea," Peyton laughed. He was nearly 7 years old and was not only physically quick but mentally quick, as well. Quinn had followed her brother across the creek, stepping carefully on rocks and stopping at the edge to cup her hands and take a few sips of the crystal clear water.

"Uh, well, I live with the Feazels..." Peyton noticed the boy watching his sister. Sam thought he had never seen such a pretty blonde-haired girl. All of his girl cousins had mousy brown hair, somehow his hair had turned out a darker shade of blonde but was even blonder from playing in the summer sun.

"Well, what's your name?" Peyton asked him.

"Sam, Sam Evans..."

"Why you live with the Feazels if you're not a Feazel?"

"My mother was Elizabeth Feazel; she died when I was 8 days old...my father left me here to be raised by my Aunt Nancy Feazel and Sugar," Sam said, watching Quinn approach them.

"Sugar, the black lady? She's the momma to Patsy, the black girl on our farm, helping our momma with the babies," Peyton told him. Quinn sidled up to Peyton, squeezing up against him. "This is my sister Quinny. Quinny, this is Sam...he lives over at the Feazels."

"Nice to meet you," she said quietly, doing an extremely curt curtsy.

The wet boy smiled at her. "You too."

She stared at the new boy and quirked her head to the side. "You have big lips…like a fish!"

He put a hand over his mouth. No one had ever said anything like that to him. He blushed fiercely.

"How rude, Quinn! Apologize to Sam," Peyton admonished her.

She looked down at the ground and mumbled an I'm sorry.

"So, how did the water feel?" Peyton asked him.

"Felt very cool..."

"Can I dip my feet in, Peyton?" Quinn asked quietly.

"Sure...I will too," he replied.

"I better be gettin' back...Sugar won't know what to do if she can't find me," Sam told them, turning to head back.

"No stay Sam! We're hunting gnomes and fairies...you can help us," Peyton said.

"What's a gnome?" Sam asked.

Peyton laughed. "Quinny asked the same thing...it's like an elf. She wants to see a fairy."

"I don't know what that is either," Sam said, following them to the creek's edge.

"It's like a little lady with wings and she sprinkles magical dust on things," Quinn suddenly spoke up.

"Magic dust, eh? Sugar says magic is the devil's work," Sam said.

"It's just in her picture book that Patsy reads to her," Peyton said.

"Oh, okay," Sam responded, wondering why the little girl was fascinated by fairies.

The three of them spent the rest of the day exploring the woods between their two farms, never finding neither fairies nor gnomes. The boys did find a couple arrowheads and Quinn some pretty yellow wildflowers that she picked to take home to her mother. By the time they parted ways as the sun was setting and Sam could hear Sugar's frantic voice calling his name, he was pretty sure he loved the blonde-haired girl running off with the wildflowers. He had never met anyone like her; her hair was golden, her skin porcelain, her eyes wide and hazel, sometimes green, her laughter infectious, even if she did tell him he had lips like a fish. To him, she was a fairy, magical.

Over the next couple months of that hot summer, the three would meet at the creek most days. One day, Quinn brought her picture book to show Sam pictures of fairies and gnomes.

"Do you really think you'll ever see one?" he asked her, flipping through the pages.

"I believe I will," she answered politely. He watched her dance off in a clearing where the sun was beating down, wondering how she got to be so pretty.

One day, they were playing, chasing each other near the creek. The shadows picked up and the woods darkened. Before they knew it, rain was pouring down in sheets, drenching them. Sam ran for the Feazels; Peyton and Quinn ran for home. They decided, when they met again, to try to construct some sort of shelter. It took a few days and the Fabray's toy wagon but they managed to pilfer slabs of discarded boards, nails, and a hammer. Sam and Peyton worked diligently and put together a crude shack. They even fashioned three small benches.

Quinn brought one of her dolls to play with, and Sam laughed at her, making her cry.

"Only babies play with dolls," he had said, laughing. When she began to cry, he was confused by how he felt, why he had been deliberately mean to her.

"I'm sorry Quinny," he said quietly. "Your dolly is pretty."

She sniffled a bit and it was forgotten the next day.

Peyton had a habit of bringing books to the woods and he found that Sam, a year older than him, still had trouble reading. So, they worked on reading together when it was too hot to do anything else.

Some days, Sam would show up in the woods after breakfast and his chores but the Fabrays would not appear the whole day. He missed his friends. He missed Peyton helping him learn to read and he missed Quinn's sense of humor. Sometimes he missed seeing her ponytail; he would always give it at least one tug.

By the end of August, they knew their way around the woods like experts. They had seen many different woodland creatures and began bringing old rotten apples to leave for them. By that time, most of the creatures were aware of the children and the food and began to expect it.

On the last day of August 1804, Sam met his friends at the creek. Peyton and Quinn took off their shoes and dipped their feet in the cool rushing water. He had news to share with them and didn't feel like dipping his feet in the creek that day.

"My pa lives in Stokes County, North Carolina. He wrote that he wants me on his farm now that I'm 9," he told them. Peyton was now 7 and Quinn 5.

"Really Sam? You really have to go?" Quinn asked him.

"Yep, tomorrow."

"Sammy, we'll miss you!" Quinn threw her arms around him, surprising him a little but he hugged her back.

"I'll miss you too Quinny..." he mumbled, letting her go. He was not going to cry in front of his friend Peyton.

"Yeah, Sam, we'll miss you...hope ya like it on your pa's farm," Peyton told him. Sam knew already he was going to hate it. His father had remarried and he had half-siblings there.

"Maybe you can write us?" Quinn asked him, tears building up and running down her cheeks. That day, her hair was high in a ponytail, and he remembered with every shaky breath she inhaled her ponytail would bob up and down, the bright blue ribbon tied around it trembling.

"Maybe..." he said, kicking at the ground with the toe of his boot. "I best be going..." He looked once more at Quinn Fabray and ran back through the woods to a large oak tree where he'd carved the initials QAF (he'd found out her middle name was Amelia) inside a heart, sat down and cried.

Stokes County, North Carolina, September 1804

Sam's grandfather Feazel drove the wagon that took him to his father's farm. Sam's Aunt Nancy joined them for the trip. The house resembled the Feazel farmhouse, so Sam thought maybe he'd feel at home there. A man was sitting on the front porch of the residence, whittling, when Sam and his grandfather and aunt arrived. The man stood up and walked out to meet the wagon. He was blonde-haired like Sam and looked angry. Sam would come to find out that that was his usual look unless he was talking to or about his other children.

"Pa?" Sam asked, already afraid of the man.

"Aye. Jacob," he said to grandfather Feazel and Jacob Feazel nodded. "Nancy," Aaron Evans said and nodded. Whereas Aaron Evans blamed Sam for his first wife's demise, Jacob Feazel blamed Aaron Evans for his daughter's death.

Sam looked back to his grandfather and aunt, begging with his eyes not to be left in this hostile environment. He grandfather looked at him sadly and nodded toward Aaron.

"You need to go with your pa, boy," he said gruffly, not looking at him anymore.

"Grandfather?" Sam asked quietly, wanting only to be back on the Feazel farm where he could meet his friends in the forest every day.

"Write your grandmother as you can," his grandfather said.

"Samuel, I'll be sure to write you. I'll never forget you," his aunt said quietly, hugging him to her.

Sam mumbled okay and hopped out of the wagon to pull his bag from the back of the wagon. Once his grandfather saw he was clear of the wagon, he whistled at the horses, turned the wagon around, and headed back to Virginia.

Sam stood there until he couldn't see the wagon anymore. He turned and realized his father had returned to the porch and now a woman had joined him there and was snapping beans. He walked up to the porch.

"It's nice to see you father," Sam said quietly, stepping up on the porch. His father looked at him funny.

"The missus will show you your room, son," Aaron said, practically spatting the word son out. The missus sat down her bowls of beans and led him into the house and up the stairs.

"You'll share a room with Robert and Amos," she said, sighing. In the room, there was a crib and two small beds, one dresser, one chair. He saw no toys or books. Amos was asleep in the crib; he was still a baby. Sam took the empty bottom dresser of the drawer for his pants, shirts, and socks. Downstairs, he found a little girl playing with an even younger boy.

"Hi, I'm Sam," he said.

The girl looked up at him blankly. Later, he learned she was Jane, age 4; Robert was 2 years old; and Amos was 1 year old.

At supper that night, Aaron outlined Sam's chores.

"Will I be attending school, father?" Sam asked.

Aaron looked at him with the same blank stare Jane had earlier. "No time for school, boy," he said finally.

Sam finished his meal and went to bed, exhausted and sad.

xxxxx

As the years slowly slipped by, Sam learned his routine of work from sun up to sun down. As he got older, the chores got tougher and he found himself lean, muscular, lithe. Even though his father and Jane never completely warmed up to him, they finally became at least cordial. He also found that even though his father doted on the other three children Sam was still the oldest and that held some sway over them. He received regular letters from Aunt Nancy until one in 1811 that stated she had married a man by the last name of Watson and was moving north. That was the last he heard from her.

Robert had the same reading problem as Sam so Sam was able to help him with his reading, like his old friend Peyton had helped him. It also gave Sam a chance to see what he had missed in school by helping Robert with his studies.

One thing he did learn on his father's farm was his ability to build things. He could look at a pile of wood and figure out how to fashion it into a chicken coop, a dog house, a chair. He was often requested at barn raisings once he turned 13. One such barn raising was at the DeWitt farm on the other side of the county. The man's daughter annoyed him the whole day; she was like a boy with two braids and breasts and freckles across her nose, wearing overalls. She wanted Sam to show her how to build something but he was occupied with the job he was sent there to do. Finally, the barn was done and he was trying to make a clean getaway when he heard a girly voice calling after him. He made the mistake of looking back, and there she was, Elizabeth DeWitt, chasing him down.

"Sam! I didn't get the chance to say goodbye!" she hollered at him.

"Goodbye Elizabeth," he moaned.

"Call me Liz, everyone else does," she said, smiling a somewhat toothless grin.

"I need to get home or pa'll have my hide," Sam said, snapping the reins, goading the horses.

"Bye Sam!" she waved after him.

Stokes County, North Carolina, June 1812

Sam was sitting on his father's front porch listening to the older men talk about an upcoming war between the States and Great Britain. It had been a long day for him on the farm, working since the sun had risen. He really just wanted to rest but had to attend a barn dance that evening and probably dance with a girl named Elizabeth of whom he was fond but mostly just as friends. She was tomboyish and lived on the other side of the county but her father knew his father and they arranged it. Actually, it had been a long 8 years on the farm. He had hoped to get better acquainted with his father but that had not happened. His new family was really all his father seemed to care about; Sam was treated like an unpaid farmhand. Sometimes, he'd catch his father looking at him oddly, then he'd look away quickly and be short with Sam for no good reason when he doted on Sam's half-siblings.

The dance that night was boring for Sam. He had to dance all the waltzes with Elizabeth. She still insisted he call her 'Liz' though he heard no one else call her that. She asked if he remembered the barn raising he had helped at. He sighed and said yes, he remembered. Toward the end of the evening, when he was hoping to make his escape, she kissed him on the cheek...in front of both their fathers. Now, he basically had to marry her. He did run off then and was later told by his father that he and Mr. DeWitt had set up the date for him to marry Elizabeth due to her brazen act of passion.

In a month, he turned 16 and ran away to join the North Carolina Militia to fight in the War of 1812, thinking he had avoided marrying Elizabeth DeWitt.

She learned of him leaving his father's farm and wrote him while he served his time with the militia on the eastern coast of North Carolina. She was the only one to write him during those long lonely days and he found himself eventually looking forward to her letters, her handwriting, the scent of her perfume on the paper. He got to see the Atlantic Ocean for the first and only time in his life and there he remembered the summer of 1804 and the creek in the woods and those two kids he played with, the blonde-haired girl specifically, but by that time he couldn't recall her name.

xxxxx

The War of 1812 ended in 1815, and Sam made his way back to Stokes County, North Carolina, to find nothing had really changed at his father's farm except for the fact that he was now respected somewhat for serving in the militia and he didn't have to work as hard on the farm. He was bored, though, and finally sat down and wrote Elizabeth that he had returned and he wanted to see her. He was getting ready to turn 19.

Within a week, he had received a response from Elizabeth DeWitt's father, stating he had permission to court his daughter. Sam rode his horse to visit her.

In the years he had been at war, Elizabeth had grown from a tomboy to a fashionable young lady and Sam was smitten with her. They courted through 1815, mainly by letter, until he finally asked for her hand in early 1816. Her family was discussing traveling west to the state of Kentucky in the spring so Sam followed them. In late June 1816, they were married in Logan County, Kentucky. He finally called her Liz willingly.

xxxxx

Those were happy days for Sam. He got along better with her family than he did his father's family and Kentucky was new land for him to explore. From her father, he learned to master his carpentry skills and was busy making furniture for their tiny home when she came down with a fever. There were no doctors for miles in the Kentucky wilderness, and she died the day after Sam turned 20. Her last words to him had been stay with me stay, and he had stayed, holding her hand. He buried her under a flowering dogwood tree near their cabin, a tree she had loved and had sat under to read before falling ill.

For days afterward, he rarely left their cabin. He had gathered anything personal of hers and returned it to her family; seeing the items was unbearable for him. Though her family was nearby, he felt very alone. He had never known his mother, lost his wife, and really had no connection to his father. He knew he was suffering from a deep sadness and the only way he could deal with it was to get away from it. He had to get away from seeing that dogwood tree every day, reminding him of the vibrant young girl he had buried there, the young girl who happily had talked to him about starting their family soon. He finally decided to return to the Feazels in Virginia; he had not been there since leaving in 1804. He informed the DeWitts of his plans, loaded up his few belongings, and rode his black stallion Clyde northeast toward Virginia.

Franklin County, Virginia, September 1816

"Why Martha Hudson, I do declare! That is the prettiest gown I've ever seen on a girl!" Quinn said to her close friend, admiring the pink silk dress with fancy embroidery and lace. They were preparing for an evening party at the Bell farm. Quinn had arrived to the Hudson farm earlier in her buckboard.

"This old thing, Quinn Fabray? I should think not! Your gown, though, is the most beautiful..." Martha said, eyeing the pale green silk gown Quinn was twirling around in. It was plain and simple, no fancy stitching or lace. In her hair, though, she had had Patsy thread in green ribbon that matched the dress. Her golden hair was now long and in curls for the party. She wanted to look her best for Finn Hudson, Martha's older brother.

She slipped on the matching pale green slippers, the entire outfit a gift from her father on her 16th birthday.

"Oh! Wear these!" Martha said, grabbing a pair of green glass earrings from her vanity and clipping them to Quinn's earlobes. "Perfect! You will certainly be the belle of this ball!"

Quinn giggled. "Do you think Peyton will ask to dance with you?"

Now Martha giggled and blushed. "I don't know...do you think Finn will ask you to dance?"

"I certainly hope so!"

"Girls!" Ida, the Hudson's house slave in charge of the children, hollered upstairs. "You's best be getting on over to da Bell place! You's miss all da good eatin'!"

Quinn and Martha looked at one another and snorted. As if they would eat one morsel in front of the young men they hoped to court.

They gave each other one more once-over before running downstairs to meet up with the rest of the Hudsons to ride over in the big wagon to the Bell farm.

xxxxx

At the Feazel farm, there was an air of excitement. Sam had been back for a few days but was still very saddened over the loss of his wife, refusing to talk about what had happened. Most days, he read or helped on the farm, built things from wood. One day, he wandered out to the woods, wondering if those kids still played there and then he remembered that was 12 years ago, they weren't children anymore. He remembered all their special pathways and even found the little shack they put together though it was dilapidated at this point. He made his way to the Fabray edge of the woods and saw their house. It was quiet there, no activity at all unlike back at the Feazel place. He turned and walked slowly back to that farm.

One of his younger cousins, now 15, asked if he would be attending the barn dance at the Bell farm that night. "Maybe a dance would make you feel better, cousin."

He smiled and remembered his late wife kissing him on the cheek years ago at a dance and how he had ran from her, mostly out of embarrassment.

"Prob'ley not, Sarah, but thank you kindly for asking. I'm sure you'll have a nice time," he said quietly, going back to his book.

He briefly considered walking to the Bell farm down the road but again decided against it, choosing instead to stay at the Feazel's to read and update a journal he had started. On his way from Kentucky to Virginia, the loneliness nearly did him in. At one stop, he bought a journal and pencil for a dime and began recording his thoughts daily, whether it be about nature, weather, people he met on his journey, how he felt about his father's family and his mother's family, the loss of Elizabeth. He even wrote about playing in the forest as a young boy and the blonde-haired girl and her brother and how she had cried when he told them he was leaving for North Carolina. He thought for days about her name. What had it been? He remembered it was unique, not Mary or Hannah or Catherine or Sarah, something different but it just wouldn't come to him. Now, back at the Feazel's and writing in his journal about a barn dance that he didn't feel up to going to, it came to him...Quinn Amelia Fabray. He went outside and even in the dark found the oak tree where he had carved her initials so long ago. He ran his fingers over the letters and the heart and wondered why things couldn't be simple like they were 12 years ago.