Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
The HomeplaceCopyright 2005 by Gilbert MorrisRequests for information should be addressed to:Zondervan, Grand Rapids, Michigan 49530Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication DataMorris, GilbertThe homeplace / Gilbert Morris.p. cm.---(Singing river series; bk. 1)ISBN-10: 0-310-25232-6ISBN-13: 978-0-310-25232-0I. Title.PS3563.O8742H655 2005813'.54---dc222005010115All Scripture quotations, unless otherwise indicated, are taken from the King JamesVersion.All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrievalsystem, or transmitted in any form or by any means---electronic, mechanical, photocopy,recording, or any other---except for brief quotations in printed reviews, withoutthe prior permission of the publisher.Published in association with the literary agency of Alive Communications, Inc., 7680Goddard Street, Suite 200, Colorado Springs, CO 80920.Interior design by Michelle EspinozaPrinted in the United States of America05 06 07 08 09 10 11 12 /?DCI/ 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1Chapter 1 Awedge of pale sunlight slanted through the window to Lanie's left,touching her auburn hair and bringing out a slight golden tint.She bent over the Warm Morning cookstove, opened the firebox, thenwith quick, economical movements removed the gray ashes with asmall shovel, dumping them into a five-gallon can. She reached downinto an old apple crate filled with what her dad called 'rich pine'---fragments of pine knots so soaked with sap that when lit with a matchthey would burn like a torch.Piling several knots onto the grate of the firebox, Lanie took a kitchenmatch from a box that rested on a shelf and struck the match on the roughstrip on the side. She leaned down and held the flame against the wooduntil the rich pine caught. Quickly she pulled small pieces of pine kindlingfrom a box and put them on top of the blaze. She crisscrossed threesmaller sticks of white oak firewood, arranging them expertly so that adraft was formed, causing them to burn evenly. She shut the firebox doorand opened the draft on the stovepipe, then paused, listening to thecrackle of the flames and the rush of air up the chimney. Satisfied, sheturned the knob for the damper partway to slow down the fire.Lanie Belle Freeman paused, listening to the fire. She tucked a rebelliouscurl from her forehead behind her ear. At fourteen, Lanie hadreached that stage when adolescence gives way to young womanhood.She was thoughtful in most things---cautious and sometimes slow todecide, but moved quickly once she made up her mind. Her faded greendress with a white-flower print revealed the curves of an emerging woman.Her arms suggested a strength unusual for one her age. Sunlight highlightedthe curves of her cheeks. Her eyes were large and gray with a hintof green. They were well-shaped, widely spaced, and contemplative, butat times could flash with temper. Her lips were full and expressive, andwhen she smiled, a dimple appeared on her right cheek.She moved to a tall wooden kitchen cabinet with a gray-speckledporcelain countertop and pulled open the flour bin. 'Plenty of flour,'she murmured. A thought came to her and she picked up a Big Chiefnotebook on the counter and crossed to a table set against the far walljust beside the icebox. As she picked up a pen and sat down at the tablein a cane-bottomed chair, a smile turned up the corners of her mouth.Opening the book to a blank page, she began to write. Her handwritingwas smooth, even, and neatly executed:April the 12th, 1928Lanie Belle Freeman600 Jefferson Davis AvenueFairhopeStone CountyArkansasAmericaNorth AmericaEarthSolar SystemMilky Way GalaxyLanie studied what she had put down. A quizzical look touched hereyes and she smiled. 'There's just one more place to go after that, Ireckon.' At the bottom of the list she added 'Universe,' then studiedwhat she had written.She smiled, then laughed out loud. 'Now I reckon I know rightwhere I am.'Closing the book abruptly, she pushed it to the back of the tableand put the pen beside it. Suddenly she took a deep breath. 'Ice!' shesaid. Whirling, she walked to the oak icebox and opened the ice compartment.All that was left was a small lump of ice. She shut the doorand bent down to check the drip pan. It was almost full. She dashed outof the kitchen and down the long hall that led to the front porch, thenturned right into the living room. She caught a glimpse of her brotherCody working with something in the middle of the floor, but ignoredhim. Going to the window, she reached up on the wall and pulleddown a foot-square card that was marked on different sides in largeblack numbers: '25,' '50,' '75,' and '100.' She put the card in thewindow with the '100' upright to let the iceman know the size iceblock she needed.'Cody,' Lanie said, turning to the boy, 'go empty the drip panfrom under the icebox.''Aw, shoot, I'm busy, Lanie. You do it.'Cody Freeman did not even look up. He had a screwdriver in onehand and was assembling some sort of apparatus. At the age of elevenhe spent most of his waking hours inventing things. Few ever worked,but he had unshakable confidence that someday he would be anotherEdison.'You heard what I said, Cody. Now leave that thing alone. You cancome back after you empty the drip pan.'Cody grumbled, but got to his feet. He had the same auburn hairand gray-green eyes as Lanie, and there was a liveliness about him. Hehurried down the hall, and by the time Lanie got to the kitchen, hehad dragged out the drip pan and succeeded in spilling a widening poolof water on the floor.'You're making a mess, Cody!''Well, dang it, I can't help it if the dumb ol' thing's full!''If you'd empty it when you're supposed to, it wouldn't get full.Now get it out of here.''I'm gonna invent something that'll drain this dadgummed ol' iceboxso nobody'll have to carry the dumb water out!''Well, until you do, just take it out---and stop calling everythingdumb.'Lanie held the screen door open for Cody, who walked out withthe pan, leaving a trail of water behind him. After checking the firebox,Lanie nodded with satisfaction. The rich pine had caught, and thefire was blazing. Straightening, she turned the damper down a littlemore to lessen the air intake. She had become an expert in buildingfires in the wood stove and rather liked it.Glancing at the clock, she saw that it was almost three. She wentto her parents' bedroom, where her mother was sitting in a rockerbeside an open window, crocheting.Elizabeth Ann Freeman was thirty-six. Her body was swollen withthe child she was expecting, but she had retained much of her earlybeauty. Her children received most of their looks from her, especiallythe auburn hair and gray eyes. She had a beautifully shaped face witha short English nose and a slight cleft in her chin. 'Mama, I need to know how to fix fried pies.'She looked up at her daughter. 'Fried pies? Don't you know howto do that?''I've watched you, Mama, but I never learned how.''Well, set down here, and I'll tell you.'Lanie sat down on the bed and listened intently as her motherexplained the process. She did not write anything down, for she had aphenomenal memory. Lanie noticed how tired her mother looked.Having this baby would be difficult, Lanie knew, for her mother hadnot borne a child for eleven years. There was a strain about her eyes,and Dr. Givens had left medicine for her. He had also left instructionsthat Elizabeth was to do no physical work, but should stay in bed asmuch as possible. Lanie had taken over the housework, with her siblingsdoing what they could.'Well, that doesn't sound hard, Mama. I can do it.
Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
The Homeplace Copyright © 2005 by Gilbert Morris Requests for information should be addressed to: Zondervan, Grand Rapids, Michigan 49530 Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Morris, Gilbert The homeplace / Gilbert Morris. p. cm.—(Singing river series; bk. 1) ISBN-10: 0-310-25232-6 ISBN-13: 978-0-310-25232-0 I. Title. PS3563.O8742H655 2005 813'.54—dc22 2005010115 All Scripture quotations, unless otherwise indicated, are taken from the King James Version. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or any other—except for brief quotations in printed reviews, without the prior permission of the publisher. Published in association with the literary agency of Alive Communications, Inc., 7680 Goddard Street, Suite 200, Colorado Springs, CO 80920. Interior design by Michelle Espinoza Printed in the United States of America 05 06 07 08 09 10 11 12 /?DCI/ 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1 Chapter 1 Awedge of pale sunlight slanted through the window to Lanie’s left, touching her auburn hair and bringing out a slight golden tint. She bent over the Warm Morning cookstove, opened the firebox, then with quick, economical movements removed the gray ashes with a small shovel, dumping them into a five-gallon can. She reached down into an old apple crate filled with what her dad called “rich pine”— fragments of pine knots so soaked with sap that when lit with a match they would burn like a torch. Piling several knots onto the grate of the firebox, Lanie took a kitchen match from a box that rested on a shelf and struck the match on the rough strip on the side. She leaned down and held the flame against the wood until the rich pine caught. Quickly she pulled small pieces of pine kindling from a box and put them on top of the blaze. She crisscrossed three smaller sticks of white oak firewood, arranging them expertly so that a draft was formed, causing them to burn evenly. She shut the firebox door and opened the draft on the stovepipe, then paused, listening to the crackle of the flames and the rush of air up the chimney. Satisfied, she turned the knob for the damper partway to slow down the fire. Lanie Belle Freeman paused, listening to the fire. She tucked a rebellious curl from her forehead behind her ear. At fourteen, Lanie had reached that stage when adolescence gives way to young womanhood. She was thoughtful in most things—cautious and sometimes slow to decide, but moved quickly once she made up her mind. Her faded green dress with a white-flower print revealed the curves of an emerging woman. Her arms suggested a strength unusual for one her age. Sunlight highlighted the curves of her cheeks. Her eyes were large and gray with a hint of green. They were well-shaped, widely spaced, and contemplative, but at times could flash with temper. Her lips were full and expressive, and when she smiled, a dimple appeared on her right cheek. She moved to a tall wooden kitchen cabinet with a gray-speckled porcelain countertop and pulled open the flour bin. “Plenty of flour,” she murmured. A thought came to her and she picked up a Big Chief notebook on the counter and crossed to a table set against the far wall just beside the icebox. As she picked up a pen and sat down at the table in a cane-bottomed chair, a smile turned up the corners of her mouth. Opening the book to a blank page, she began to write. Her handwriting was smooth, even, and neatly executed: April the 12th, 1928 Lanie Belle Freeman 600 Jefferson Davis Avenue Fairhope Stone County Arkansas America North America Earth Solar System Milky Way Galaxy Lanie studied what she had put down. A quizzical look touched her eyes and she smiled. “There’s just one more place to go after that, I reckon.” At the bottom of the list she added “Universe,” then studied what she had written. She smiled, then laughed out loud. “Now I reckon I know right where I am.” Closing the book abruptly, she pushed it to the back of the table and put the pen beside it. Suddenly she took a deep breath. “Ice!” she said. Whirling, she walked to the oak icebox and opened the ice compartment. All that was left was a small lump of ice. She shut the door and bent down to check the drip pan. It was almost full. She dashed out of the kitchen and down the long hall that led to the front porch, then turned right into the living room. She caught a glimpse of her brother Cody working with something in the middle of the floor, but ignored him. Going to the window, she reached up on the wall and pulled down a foot-square card that was marked on different sides in large black numbers: “25,” “50,” “75,” and “100.” She put the card in the window with the “100” upright to let the iceman know the size ice block she needed. “Cody,” Lanie said, turning to the boy, “go empty the drip pan from under the icebox.” “Aw, shoot, I’m busy, Lanie. You do it.” Cody Freeman did not even look up. He had a screwdriver in one hand and was assembling some sort of apparatus. At the age of eleven he spent most of his waking hours inventing things. Few ever worked, but he had unshakable confidence that someday he would be another Edison. “You heard what I said, Cody. Now leave that thing alone. You can come back after you empty the drip pan.” Cody grumbled, but got to his feet. He had the same auburn hair and gray-green eyes as Lanie, and there was a liveliness about him. He hurried down the hall, and by the time Lanie got to the kitchen, he had dragged out the drip pan and succeeded in spilling a widening pool of water on the floor. “You’re making a mess, Cody!” “Well, dang it, I can’t help it if the dumb ol’ thing’s full!” “If you’d empty it when you’re supposed to, it wouldn’t get full. Now get it out of here.” “I’m gonna invent something that’ll drain this dadgummed ol’ icebox so nobody’ll have to carry the dumb water out!” “Well, until you do, just take it out—and stop calling everything dumb.” Lanie held the screen door open for Cody, who walked out with the pan, leaving a trail of water behind him. After checking the firebox, Lanie nodded with satisfaction. The rich pine had caught, and the fire was blazing. Straightening, she turned the damper down a little more to lessen the air intake. She had become an expert in building fires in the wood stove and rather liked it. Glancing at the clock, she saw that it was almost three. She went to her parents’ bedroom, where her mother was sitting in a rocker beside an open window, crocheting. Elizabeth Ann Freeman was thirty-six. Her body was swollen with the child she was expecting, but she had retained much of her early beauty. Her children received most of their looks from her, especially the auburn hair and gray eyes. She had a beautifully shaped face with a short English nose and a slight cleft in her chin. “Mama, I need to know how to fix fried pies.” She looked up at her daughter. “Fried pies? Don’t you know how to do that?” “I’ve watched you, Mama, but I never learned how.” “Well, set down here, and I’ll tell you.” Lanie sat down on the bed and listened intently as her mother explained the process. She did not write anything down, for she had a phenomenal memory. Lanie noticed how tired her mother looked. Having this baby would be difficult, Lanie knew, for her mother had not borne a child for eleven years. There was a strain about her eyes, and Dr. Givens had left medicine for her. He had also left instructions that Elizabeth was to do no physical work, but should stay in bed as much as possible. Lanie had taken over the housework, with her siblings doing what they could. “Well, that doesn’t sound hard, Mama. I can do it.” Elizabeth smiled. “I
