Nana and Fawn had an early breakfast of bacon, eggs, and grits. As soon as breakfast was finished Nana bustled about, as well as she could with her cane, going through her wardrobe. There had to be something that wasn’t threadbare. Her bed was littered with discarded dresses that were deemed not fit to wear for a first meeting with what she considered fancy people.
Fawn finished washing the dishes, drying and putting them away. She sang as she worked, a strong alto voice. She liked the mountain songs she often heard being played on dulcimers and banjos. Sometimes the sound would drift through the valley as folks played their instruments while sitting on their porches. Occasionally, as she passed by her neighbors when they played, someone could be seen playing a fiddle. Grief flooded over her anew as the cruelty of the war washed over her. Her song changed from a happy tune to the Civil War favorite, Lenora.
Oh, the years creep slowly by, Lorena,
The snow is on the ground again.
The sun's low down the sky, Lorena,
The frost gleams where the flow'rs have been.
But the heart beats on as warmly now,
As when the summer days were nigh.
Oh, the sun can never dip so low
A-down affection's cloudless sky.
A hundred months have passed, Lorena,
Since last I held that hand in mine,
And felt the pulse beat fast, Lorena,
Though mine beat faster far than thine.
A hundred months, 'twas flowery May,
When up the hilly slope we climbed,
To watch the dying of the day,
And hear the distant church bells chime.
We loved each other then, Lorena,
Far more than we ever dared to tell;
And what we might have been, Lorena,
Had but our loving prospered well --
But then, 'tis past, the years are gone, <...