Epilogue
FOUNTAIN CREEK, COLORADO
“Finny! We got something from Uncle Jack. It’s a package this time!”
At the sound of Bethie’s shout, Josephine looked up from the typewriter and out the open window to see her, still some distance away, racing across the meadow toward the cabin, long legs devouring the distance.
Eager to hear from Uncle Jack, Josephine also wanted to finish this article while little TJ and Kathleen still played quietly at her feet.
She took another bite of jerky and scanned the last paragraph she’d written.
“Failure is impossible” is a mantra our beloved Miss Anthony wrote on my heart, and one I hear echoed every day inside me.
As we continue to make great strides, we will also face seemingly insurmountable obstacles.
Doors will close that we would wish open.
But we must stay the course and patiently persevere, holding fast to the eternal truth that God created all men and women equally.
He created us to work alongside each other in His Kingdom, and we are not merely “better together,” we need each other—women and men partnering together—to bring the change we so desire for this world, and for our daughters and granddaughters.
And if it riles you to read that, my dear sisters, then be riled. But it is the truth.
She smiled at the last part, remembering that night with Dodge on Miss Mary’s front porch, another lifetime ago.
Three years had passed since dear Miss Anthony died, passing the torch to younger leaders, and still the movement pressed forward, gaining momentum.
Which reminded her of dear Todd and her parents, and the costly legacy they’d left behind.
A legacy orchestrated by God and that had given her another chance at life.
Glancing back out the window, she saw Bethie had stopped to give Honey a rub.
Uncle Jack had sent the then-young calf by rail soon after they’d settled, along with a dozen of the distillery’s finest heifers and a bull.
She feared the man’s generosity might one day bankrupt him, and had written him as much, assuring him they had all they needed and more. But still, the gifts came.
Eager to get one last thought on the page, she turned back when her gaze fell to the little blue bottle she kept on her desk.
She pulled out the rolled-up piece of paper peeking above the rim and let it unfurl.
Though she’d long ago memorized its contents, she treasured the bottle—and Psalm 56:8 that Calla had written in her own words.
“You keep track of all my sorrows,” she read aloud. “You have collected all my tears in your bottle. You have recorded each one in your book.”
Thanking God again for Calla and Nannie and how they’d changed her life, her attention was drawn to Kathleen’s blue metal pitcher on the kitchen table.
Bethie kept it filled with purple coneflowers planted from seeds Calla had sent them from Lynchburg.
Everywhere she looked, she saw reminders of God’s faithfulness. Through good times and bad.
She continued typing.
In closing, a dear friend once counseled me not to judge God by my circumstances.
I confess with shame that for many years I did just that.
But no longer. His faithfulness stretches to the heavens and his compassion knows no end.
It is my perspective that skews my earthly lens.
I have realized this: If I had the power of God to change my circumstances, I would.
But if I had the wisdom of God, I would not.
He knows what I need far better than I do.
So wherever you are in your life and in this continuing battle for justice, dear sisters, and brothers, take heart. God sees. He knows. He’s working.
Bethie raced through the front door of the cabin, nearly tripping over the twins. “Finny, look! It’s a package!” She gave Josephine a quick peck on the cheek, her own flushed from the run.
“Be careful, sweetheart!” Josephine laughed and scooped up Todd Jasper and Kathleen, one on each hip. At three years old, TJ was getting especially heavy. And Kathleen, talkative. “Go grab your uncle. He’ll want to be here.”
“Where’s Sarah?”
“She went for a ride with Colin before dinner, but should be back soon. We won’t start without her.”
Bethie gave her a playful look that Josephine returned. Colin, one of the young hands employed on the Jennings’s ranch, routinely called on Sarah these days, making his intentions clear. They all liked him, Sarah especially, and it was good to see her so happy.
Bethie raced out the door toward the barn, fourteen going on twenty and as smart as she was beautiful. By the time they’d traveled from Atlanta to Colorado, four years ago, Bethie had already taken to calling her Finny. Which seemed fitting.
She glanced at the return address on the partially opened package: Nannie Helen Burroughs, National Training School for Women and Girls, 50th Street NE and Lincoln Heights, Northeast Washington, DC.
Nannie had accomplished what she’d set out to do, and was changing the world one woman and girl at a time.
All correspondence with Uncle Jack—and anyone else, limited as it was—still went through Nannie, just to be safe. Their home, their world, was here now. All of her writing was done under a pseudonym as well. Veritas Aequitas. Dodge’s idea. Latin for Truth and Justice.
Josephine recognized Uncle Jack’s decorative script on the package within, and realized how Bethie knew it was from him.
“Come here, Kitty Kat.” Dodge came through the door, Bethie in tow with Jessie trotting behind them.
He took little Kathleen and planted kisses all over her face until the girl dissolved into giggles.
Then he placed a kiss on Josephine’s lips that stirred memories of the wee hours together that morning.
She saw the memory of it in his eyes, too.
Bethie took TJ from her and tickled his little tummy. “You grin just like your Uncle Jack, you know that? But Finny, we can’t start without Sarah. She’ll be givin’ us all a good tongue lashin’, if we did.”
Bethie had Sarah’s accent down to a T, and it always made Josephine laugh.
Dodge glanced out the window toward the snow-covered peaks. “I saw them coming down the ridge a while ago. She shouldn’t be long.”
Josephine reached down and gave Jessie a rub. The cattle dog was showing gray on her muzzle but a more faithful and loving companion couldn’t be found. And still, every time it rained, Jessie slept on the end of their bed, wanting to be close.
Josephine cut the remaining string from the package and opened the box, then smiled. Read this first, Josephine, before opening the gift within. And I will know if you don’t! was written on the outside of the letter. She would follow Uncle Jack’s wishes.
Dodge and Bethie’s laughter as they played with the twins drew her focus, and it still caused emotion to well inside her when she thought of what her life might have been like had she not been forced to flee Atlanta that day after the rally, and had dear Slim Poyner not offered to help her.
What wealth of treasures she would have missed.
The rhythm of horse hooves sounded from outside and a minute later, Sarah burst into the cabin, cheeks flushed and blue eyes radiant.
“Don’t be tellin’ me you’re havin’ a family meetin’ without me!
” She gave the twins a quick peck each on the cheek, then eyed the letter in Josephine’s hand.
“Oh! Is that from Uncle Jack? Have I missed anything, Finny girl?”
“No, we were waiting for all the family to be here.”
Sarah’s eyes went soft, as they always did when they mentioned family.
Josephine unfolded the letter, and just seeing Uncle Jack’s beautifully scripted handwriting brought him closer somehow.
“Dearest Colorado Family, I trust this finds you well and enjoying spring in those beautiful mountains. The pictures you last sent of that rocky range filled me with awe. A regret I will long carry with me is that I failed to travel west to see you and your home when I could. Thank you also for the picture of the twins. Kathleen is precious, as was her namesake, and Todd Jasper is a right handsome lad. Good to see he doesn’t take after his father. ”
Everyone laughed, Josephine catching the warmth of memory in Dodge’s expression.
“I don’t have much to do with the distillery anymore,” she continued reading.
“Not that there is much to do with our state now officially locked down by the law of prohibition. No making or selling of whiskey in Tennessee. You won, Josephine. If you were still here, I’d salute you with a shot of Old No. 7.”
She met Dodge’s gaze, knowing he followed these events as closely as she did.
Public sentiment had shifted after a shocking Nashville murder the previous November, when former US Senator and newspaper editor Edward Carmack was gunned down in the street by Robin Cooper, the son of a man Carmack had once called friend.
Years of bitter politics and the rising heat over prohibition had turned the men into enemies.
The killing—and the swift release and pardon of the man responsible—ignited outrage across Tennessee.
Carmack became a martyr, and by January the General Assembly passed statewide prohibition.
Josephine grieved the violence that led there, but she thanked God for the outcome. She found her place in the letter and continued.
“Lem is considering moving the distillery to Missouri and Alabama to make the whiskey there, even though we poor souls in Lynchburg cannot buy it. Do not tell anyone, but I might have a few barrels squirreled away. Mine is simply to enjoy life and bring joy where I can. Sometimes I think back to our debates on the issues and wish we could have them all over again. I have not changed my stance, mind you, and I know you remain the same. But I would welcome our banter.”
Josephine’s eyes watered, and it took a minute to continue.
“Miss Mary tells me to send you her love and that you owe her a letter.” Josephine smiled, able to hear the woman saying it even now.
“Young Louise, four years old, has everyone at the boarding house wrapped around her little finger. Miss Mary has her hands quite full, especially being with child again, but she and Calla make a good team. Calla is doing so well, and every time we are together, we speak of you all.”
“I wish we could see them,” Bethie said softly, and Dodge pulled her close.
“Calla sends her love,” Josephine continued, memories tugging at her heart.
“She recently wrote down a collection of recipes and I have told her we should get them published and call it Miss Mary Bobo’s Boarding House Cookbook.
But Miss Mary is not for it. Miss Mary fears it will only bring more business to the boarding house, and she says she already has more than she can handle.
But everybody knows she’ll always make room at her table. ”
“Finny,” Bethie interrupted. “Why don’t you write down your recipe for sausage gravy and biscuits and mail that to her? She could put that in.”
They all laughed, and Josephine continued reading.
“Mrs. Carver at the mercantile sends her best as well. She’s continuing your work, and I told her to use as many shelves in the back storage room as she needs.
I should probably bring this letter to a close.
But one thing before I do. I was baptized last Sunday in Mulberry Creek.
Now don’t start thinking that I’m regretting my whiskey-making days.
I am still most proud of what we all built together here in Lynchburg.
Be sure and tell Dodge that. Lord knows I miss him and the talks we used to have. ”
“I miss you too, Uncle Jack,” Dodge whispered, his voice soft.
Josephine took a steadying breath. “I’m so grateful for the success I’ve had in my life. I only wish I’d known sooner what true contentedness was and that it can be found only in Christ. He is what matters most. Nothing else comes close.”
Josephine scanned the next lines and winced.
“As you already know, that dang safe that broke my toe cost me my foot and nigh on up to my knee a couple of years back. But the doctor recently took my leg clear up to the hip. So last Sunday, men had to carry me down into those cold waters, then heft me back out. And while I miss my leg and would gladly have it back, I could feel nothing but joy and peace not my own. God is good, is he not?”
Josephine nodded. “Yes, he is,” she whispered. “Better than I ever knew.” She glanced up. “Almost done.”
“Along this same vein, please find the enclosed gift. It is something I know you have long admired, Josephine, and even coveted when you worked with me, so I want you to have it. Especially seeing that my treasure is now laid up in heaven where moth does not corrupt and where thieves cannot break in and steal.”
Josephine paused and looked at Dodge. “No, he wouldn’t.”
“Can I open it?” Bethie asked.
Josephine nodded. “Be my guest.”
Bethie unwrapped the paper and gasped. “It’s his gold medal! The one he had framed in his office!”
Dodge laughed. “Uncle Jack, you are one for the books, sir.”
Josephine’s gaze returned to the letter. “Give my love to everyone and please, let me hear from you in return at your earliest opportunity. Yours most sincerely, Uncle Jack.”
Josephine started to read the postscript aloud, then realized she’d never be able to. Besides, it was really intended for her and Dodge alone.
“What a good letter!” Sarah said, chasing little TJ out the front door. Kathleen quickly followed and Bethie ran in pursuit.
As if sensing there was more, Dodge came alongside her. She handed the letter to him.
“P.S.” Dodge read, “I’m not sure which one will do me in first, Josephine.
The love of the ladies, as you used to tease me about, or the plague of that blasted broken toe.
But know that whatever takes me from this world, I will die a better man for having known that lanky young boy who saved us from that massive beast of a bull and that fiery young suffragist who waltzed into my office and gave me what for.
I think I saw the love between you two before either of you ever knew it.
And just for the record, though you might not want to tell Dodge this, I never considered you too tall. ”
Dodge laughed. “Why that ol’ scoundrel.”
“He’s quite the man, that’s for sure.”
Dodge brought her scarred palm to his lips and kissed it, once, twice, as he often did.
She wrapped her arms around him, thinking of Lynchburg and Mulberry Creek, of the distillery and Miss Mary’s, the places where their love began, and she knew part of her heart would forever belong in those hills.