The True Story of My Great Grandmother

  

My mother told me the story of her grandmother and grandfather. They loved each other both tenderly and with the fierceness that defied hardship. In the 1880s, life was simple yet full of hazards that shaped their souls.

Great Grandpa John Riley was a brave, hardworking man with a devoted heart. Born in the region of Meath and Kildare, Ireland, in 1846, he migrated with his family to the United States. Mother said he lived in central Texas, the Mississippi delta, and finally near the banks of Cohay Creek in south Mississippi.

He labored all week at a sawmill near Mize, Mississippi, about eight miles from their home. Every Friday, John walked home to his precious Nancy Catherine, who struggled throughout her life with Erb’s palsy. Because of an injury to a shoulder when she was born, one arm was smaller than normal and had limited use of its muscles. Mother always said her grandmother had a withered hand. While he worked at the nearby town, she took care of her son and three daughters.

On Friday, as the brilliant shades of gold, pink, vermilion, and purple, changed to gray and the sun slipped behind the virgin pine trees, he would arrive at his home, his little haven of love. All week long, he must have yearned to see his family. He longed to see Nancy and his adoring children.

But life took a different turn for John and his family. One fateful Friday, Thomas didn’t arrive. His absence sent shockwaves through their little world, casting a shadow of despair upon the hearts of Nancy and the children.

Days turned into weeks, and time seemed to stand still. Nancy, a woman of strength despite her affliction, refused to succumb to the anguish that threatened to destroy her life. She clung onto hope with a tenacity only a true believer possessed. Every day after she completed the demanding chores of caring for the family and the farm, she stood on the front porch and looked for him. When she had time, she walked the paths around her home in search of some clue about John’s disappearance.

Tom, her only son, grew into a man at a tender age. He worked to help his mother and three sisters. The little girls worked hard too.

The fertile fields of white cotton on sturdy plants stretched all around their simple but well-constructed home. Giant green stalks of corn danced in the winds that blew near the creek. Pigs snorted, cows grazed, and watermelons ripened. Peanuts emitted their pungent odors as they waited to be harvested. And there were sugar cane, field peas, and sweet potatoes. Without John, the farm waited suspended in time.

As Nancy worked the land, her heart heavy with unanswered questions, she found comfort in her memories of John. Every furrow little Tom plowed, and every seed she planted, became a symbol of hope to survive. The land whispered stories of love and sacrifice, urging her to carry on, to keep the flame of hope alive. No matter what happened, Nancy remained cheerful as she placed her faith in her God.

She held tight onto the memories of John, and she never gave up hope, even though the mystery was eventually solved. She didn’t believe anything except that John would come home to her. When she grew older, she doted on her grandchildren and limited her farming to a large garden.

The story of the love and devotion between John and Nancy Catherine has lived through the generations of Riley descendants. Their love was a burning passion that refused to be extinguished. The tales told by Nancy’s grandchildren branded their story on our hearts.

Although I never saw Nancy Catherine Collins Riley, I feel her spirit speaking to me. She never gave up on life. Some day I will sit at her feet and listen to her laugh.

I always wished another great man would have crossed her path. As an incurable romantic, I’ve written a novel in which Nancy finds new love. (Yes, we fiction writers are liars.) She held onto her dreams and hopes of her beloved and his return. What becomes of her? The title of the novel is All Her Dreams of Love.