River Jordan

Summary

Augusta Trobaugh, with a voice hailed by Anne Rivers Siddons as from and for the South, as complex and resonant as the region itself,” in River Jordanonce again displays her gift for creating communities where improbable friendships and history-steeped kinships abound.Set in a small town well below the Mason-Dixon line, River Jordanfeatures an intricate web of neighbors who come to depend on one another like family. The youngest of the characters, Jordan, a girl with an adventurous imagination, is hungry for warmth and companionship, since she gets no more than scolding from her strict stepfather and mother. When Jordan’s step-grandmother, Miss Amylee, needs a live-in nurse, Peony, the family’s housekeeper and friend, offers the services of her sister, Pansy. Like a breath of fresh air, Pansy, newly saved and released from prison, soon finds her place in the tightly woven community. Pansy, Jordan, and Miss Amylee form an unlikely trio and find themselves enmeshed in the struggles and capers of their neighbors. And through small and large triumphs, each recovers a part of herself that was lost.River Jordanis yet another beautifully told novel in which, as praised by USA Today, Trobaugh streamlines her rich Southern style and creates a narrative as delicate as a line drawing.”

Author Biography

Augusta Trobaugh is the author of the novels Swan Place, Sophie and the Rising Sun, Resting in the Bosom of the Lamb, and Praise Jerusalem, which was a semifinalist in the Pirates Alley Faulkner Competition. She earned a master-'s degree in English from the University of Georgia and has been awarded several grants from the Georgia Council of the Arts.

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Excerpts

prologue d I remember exactly how long and dark the nights were for me when I was in prison, and I also remember how I used to try to lie real still and keep my eyes closed, so that sooner or latero usually lateroI would be able to fall into a bit of sleep. But there was one particular night when sleep didnit come. My parole hearing was only a few weeks away, and it was all I could think about. Lately, Iid become even more aware of the night sounds and the night silences, and I wondered what it would be like to sleep once again in a regular bed in a regular house and not hear keys jingling or the sad yelping of someone having a nightmare a few cells away. Not hear one woman call another womanis name in the dark. I knew all the phantom sounds, as wellothe ones that werenit real. Like hearing my cell door opening and some silent voice telling me that I could go. Be free. I knew for sure that was just a being-in-prison dream. And when I heard my sweet mamais voice, I knew it was just another homesick-dream. But when I heard a manis voice that long, dark nightoand it so close that he had to be right there in the cell with meoI couldnit figure out what kind of a dream that could be! And why on earth would I dream something like that at all? I certainly wasnit interested in any man, not after what Iid gone through with Earlie. And while I was trying to think what kind of a dream sound it was, I heard it again. iPansy?i Who on earth could that be? I was thinking. And just then, I heard Lizzie, in the cell next to mine, snorting as she turned over in her sleep. iPansy? Pansy Jordan?i iWho is it?i I whispered. iWhutchu want? Whutchu doing in here? And howid you get in here at all?i iPansy? Who you talking to?i Lizzieis sleepy, scratchy voice. But I didnit answer her. All I could think about was that if there really was a man in my cell, I might not get paroled, because nobody would believe that I didnit invite him in! Didnit break all the rules just to have him there. But how could any man get into my cell anyway? Even if I wanted him there, which I certainly did not! iWhutchu want? Who are you?i I whispered again, this time with what I hoped sounded like a growl in my voice. iThis is Jesus speaking to you.i Why, I was never so surprised in all my life! That voice was deep and sweet, and the breath that came drifting across my cell had a fragrance to it, like the perfume of blooming tea-olive and something elseoorange blossoms, maybe. And honeysuckle, the way its aroma is sizzled out on a hot summer noontime. All so sweet a perfume that I thought I might just faint from the beauty of breathing it! iWhutchu say?i iPansy? Who you talking to?i Lizzie called. iNobody. Shut up, Lizzie!i And I listened again for the voice. Listened so hard that my ears seemed to grow, reach out for the sound. iPansy, this is Jesus.i iGo on with you!i I whispered. iYou think Iim some fool whoid believe that?i I waited, with my heart hammering in my ears, and when I couldnit stand it any longer, I sat up and craned my neck to look all around the dark cell. A soft, wavering glow appeared in the far corner. A corner where no light should be. And while I watched, a hand appeared in the glow. A soft, bloodless hand with a nail hole in the very center of the palm. Maybe it was just a dream. Or maybe it really was Jesus. And then, all at once, I got things figured out. I laughedoa short, nervous laugh. iOh! Itis probably Lizzie youire looking for,i I said simply. iSheis right next door. Youive just come visiting the wrong cell.i Because everyone knew about Lizzie and her ipersonal Savior.i So what would be so strange about Him coming to see her, in person? Lizzie talked to Jesus all the time, and she even said that sometimes, He talked right back to her. Maybe He was just visiting with her. Sure would take mor