Chapter 73

“Of course, she remembers you,” Myrtle Eaves told her son. “Just look at her face.”

The home seemed smaller inside than it looked from its exterior. Excessive heat from the stone fireplace where the cast iron pot hung quickly moved us back outdoors.

“Jefferson! Jefferson!”

Almost immediately, several huge men were running swiftly toward us from the fields to our west. Patrick and I exchanged glances, and then got the heck out of the way, just in time for Jefferson to be swept up in the air, like he had been at Operation Cracker Line. Earl Eaves didn’t hide his emotions. Quite a bit larger in height and breadth, he pulled his son to his chest and inhaled deeply, with his nose in Jefferson’s hair. Though I would have bet the smell was not so pleasant after our lengthy journey, Jefferson’s father held on tight.