Jennie Marshall has some hard choices to make.
Does she leave the small town life she resents or stay in
the old house she’d been raised in and care for her grieving mother? Staying
means no college and giving up all her dreams. It also means keeping the farm
going, taking on a job she’d never wanted, and facing the reality of Trisha and
Michael getting married and starting a family. Leaving would mean Momma losing the
home John Marshall had built for them before he died.
So, of course, she does what a good, responsible daughter
should do—gives up her own dreams, determined to carry out her father’s. When
the stress of her life becomes almost intolerable, relief in the form of
Grayson Jennings arrives. He’s sweet, handsome, and totally in love with her. But
Jennie, being as stubborn a Marshall as her father, refuses to see what’s right
there in front of her until it’s too late.
It takes yet another tragedy to prove that everything she
never knew she wanted was right there Down the Dirt Road.
A little excerpt...
Jennie picked up the box and went to her room where
sat on her bed, the bundle of letters in her lap. There were exactly sixty two
of them- every single one had a date written in the upper left corner, the
earliest one dating back to October when Grayson was in boot camp. All this
time she had waited, thinking what a fool she had been believing he would
actually write to her. Why hadn’t he
sent even one?
And now he was missing in action and she might not
ever get the chance to ask him. She turned the stack over in her lap again,
studying his handwriting on the front of the top envelope. Much neater than
Michael’s but still very masculine.
She really wanted to open one and read it but where to
start?
Flipping the pile back over, she pulled the very first
one- dated 18 October- out from the stack and opened it, careful not to tear
the envelope. A part of her felt like she was invading someone’s privacy,
reading secret thoughts in a diary meant only for the writer. But, they were addressed to her. Grayson had
written them for her.
Never mind that he had never actually sent them to
her.
The first letter was written in black ink on lined
notebook paper, the ragged edges from the spiral meticulously removed.
18 October 2001
Dearest Jennie,
I know you thought
I would never write and honestly, as I sit here in my bunk I wonder if I
should. Do you really want to hear from me or am I just setting us both up for
heartache? You have gone through so much with the death of your father, I have
no right to volunteer for war and then expect you to sit at home and wait for me
when there is no guarantee I will even make it him. Of course, if I could
survive the first three weeks of boot camp, I suppose I can make it through
even the worst enemy prison camp. That was supposed to be a joke. Not very
funny was it?
There is something
I would like to say Jennie. I am very glad that you came to find me that day I
left. The memory of holding you, kissing you even as brief as it was, has
helped me through many a lonely night and long day in the field. I don’t know
why you came for me, I like to think it is because you are as head over heels
in love with me as I have been with you for so many years but I am smart enough
to know that’s not it. I guess it really doesn’t matter why, just that you did
and now I find I have a reason to make it home alive when all is said and done.
Yours Always,
Private Grayson
Jennings, United States Army
A single tear drop fell, landing right beside the
words yours always, the image of a
tiny heart taking shape as the salty water saturated the paper. Her own heart
was aching. How could such a letter possibly be meant for her? She grabbed up
the envelope, checked the name and address again, just to be sure it really had been for her.
How would she have felt receiving that letter when
Grayson was alive and well, knowing he was waiting for her response in an Army
barracks somewhere? What would she have said to him as he poured out his heart
and soul to her, naming her as his reason for living?
Grabbing a pen and a notebook from her desk, she sat
down and pulled out a fresh piece of paper.
Dear Grayson,
I am so glad to
finally hear from you. I was beginning to think that I had dreamt our last
meeting, so quick that it was. I only wish you had written sooner.
I am a grown
woman, about to turn twenty one and no one can make my decisions for me. If I
choose to wait for you while you fight the war for our freedom than it is my
choice and you have nothing to feel guilty for. I don’t really know why I went
after you that day, I only know that I couldn’t bear the thought of you being
halfway around the world without my having told you how sorry I was for being
pigheaded and stubborn. Did I just describe the same thing twice? That’s how
strongly I feel about it! I look forward to the day when I will see you once
again, alive and well on my front porch in your cop uniform, your gun slung low
on your hip and crooked smile meant only for me.
Until then,
Jennie
Reading back over what she had written, Jennie decided
that for every one of Grayson’s letters she would write a reply. If she were to
be privileged to his private thoughts and feelings then he should be able to
share hers. He could read the whole stack when he was found—alive—and sent home
with a purple heart and an honorable discharge. Yes, that was what she would do.
For every letter he wrote to her she would write a reply.
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