Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

I am an author, home designer, interior decorator and artist from Snow Camp, North Carolina. My wife, Elaine, and I have 2 children. Our son is Cameron and our daughter is Kaitlyn.

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PLEASANT GROVE

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Chapter One

A Splash in the Community

"Oh, Mother, please. What can I say to my friends? At your age and I am nearly ten years old. Really, what were you and Father thinking, having a baby at this time in my life?" Genevieve Davis, nearly ten in years and fifteen in mind, was a force to be reckoned with. Genevieve carried the name and features from her father's side of the family. French heritage was how she described it. Her blue eyes and blonde hair must have been carried on a strong gene outweighing her mother's Italian influence on her appearance. She looked just like her father. Genevieve was a whirlwind who stirred her parents' lives, giving them cause to wonder, "What were we thinking, having a baby at this time in her life?"

George was a dairy farmer, reared from generations of Pleasant Grove hardy stock and married to a most uncommon girl. He met Lidia when he was in the Foreign League after his senior year at Grove High. It was a moment in Capellini, beside a stone dairy barn where sheep were being milked to make cheese. George had hoped to find his future in the wisdom of the local cheese makers. Instead, he found his future in the burnt umber eyes of Lidia Salotti. It was the summer of 1922 and George Davis returned from Italy with his new bride.

Somehow that baby boy landed in the heart of the entire community. They were spellbound by his wondering brown eyes, eyes that looked for trouble the first time he opened them. He found trouble as soon as he could walk and by the time his second birthday rolled by, he no longer looked for trouble. He caused it.

JUNE 11TH 1939

A Summer Morning

"Giovanni, please darling, stay where I can see you this time. When you carried that snake up yesterday, you nearly gave me a heart attack."

Lidia was busy in the garden with five-year-old Giovanni at her apron string, or so she thought. She needed to finish picking the green beans and checking the squash before the men came in for breakfast. Giovanni, however, was much faster than his mother. By the time she had a handful of green beans, he had a handful of green bean vines from roots to blooms and was running across the garden, crushing everything in his path. Lidia made it back to the house just in time to help Genevieve finish breakfast, carrying a basket holding just a few green beans across her arm and Giovanni on her hip. He held tight to his bean vine in one hand and a turtle in the other.

"Thank you, Genevieve, I couldn't do it without you. George is on his way up from the barn and I haven't even started in the garden." She let Giovanni slide down to her knee and dropped him on the kitchen floor. His legs were at high gear in mid air and he hit the floor at full speed. "I'll finish the eggs while you set the table. Don't forget to set a place for Hurley. He's helping with the hay this week and he'll be here for every meal."

Hurley White was a black man with a tall, slender build and light complexion. He lived across the woods with his wife, Daisy, and three children. Roy was their youngest, two years older than Giovanni. Roy's two sisters were in the second and third grades. Daisy was an excellent cook and worked as a housekeeper and cook for Dr. and Mrs. Duncan and their daughter, Mary Alice. Hurley and Daisy were a kind and gentle couple with inviting smiles. Their three children were the same.

George and Hurley came in the back door and set a glass pitcher of fresh milk on the kitchen table beside the plate of hot biscuits.

"Please, Hurley, sit, Genevieve's bringing the rest of the food. Thanks for helping us, I don't know what we would do without you, truly, I don't. I think I'll roast a chicken for lunch." Lidia made everyone feel like family. It came natural to this gorgeous Italian lady.

It was different being at the Davis'. It was the way Lidia did things, the way she planted her garden in square lots instead of long rows letting bean vines climb up branches trimmed from the apple trees. She didn't go to The Farmer's Alliance Store to buy her garden seeds and plants. She brought her seeds with her from Italy. They were saved from year to year, for generations and the flavors they offered were from another world. Roma tomatoes instead of German Johnsons and wax beans instead of half runners. Flowers were planted with vegetables and baskets lined the rows instead of metal buckets. Her aprons were even brighter than her neighbors, made from fabric her grandmother loomed and dyed with vegetable dyes when Lidia was a child. Lidia's garden didn't look like a place of hard work and sore backs, it was more like a festival where you ran to claim your prize. There was something about Lidia. George had always known it. Even Hurley knew. Genevieve took great silent pride in it. All the neighbors admired it, but most refused to acknowledge it. Lidia didn't see the magic, because she created it.

Genevieve came in with the food, being careful to place every dish in its correct place. "I was reading that in New York at The Carlton, this is considered An American Country Breakfast and the very most important people in society rave about how wonderful it is. Except on Sunday, of course, when they have brunch. That's when they stay in late, reading the Sunday paper in bed, having their first meal at ten o'clock instead of seven. Then it's Belgian waffles with fresh fruit and whipped cream, or French toast with powdered sugar and link sausage, or Canadian bacon. I think they find some of our heartiest foods a little heavy. Oh, not because it isn't good, it is good, it's delicious. It's because they really don't work hard enough to rationalize eating such a breakfast. You know, life really is very different in New York. Somehow I think I would be right at home in that atmosphere. Don't you think so, Mother?"

"Oh, Genevieve, darling, somehow I think you're already there!" Lidia could barely keep up with her daily responsibilities, let alone take fantasy trips across the globe with Genevieve. It was exhausting to even talk to that girl sometimes because she was so involved in her dreams. You couldn't simply listen. You got caught up in the glory of it all and were only permitted to leave when Genevieve released you. She loved this about her daughter, knowing that a willingness to dream is what landed her in Pleasant Grove with the man she still adored and two beautiful children.

The family finished their breakfast. The milk glasses had only a white film left and the biscuits were reduced to golden brown crumbs scattered across the white tablecloth. The jelly and butter were ready to be returned to the refrigerator. Genevieve was up and promptly taking the plates away just as it was done at The Carlton. George and Hurley were heading out the back door and Lidia was trying to pry Giovanni from the high chair. Having Giovanni in a high chair was the only way to keep him at the table; he had long since been too tall for the contraption. He had tried to escape and was wedged between the strap that held him around the waist and the tray that held his brown chin where smears of jelly held onto bread crumbs. It was almost impossible to set him free. He was running in mid air, causing the chair to bounce across the floor, but he didn't cry or complain. Giovanni Davis lived for what was just ahead of him and never worried...