Jimmie Abram

You have just stumbled into the world of Garden of the Midnights, where a small stone house sits alone on a section of Sharottewood land. If you chance to walk inside, you’ll find three-legged stools instead of chairs, a worn Bible, and a tiny scrap of paper that says—if you can read—the word America. Now, this might sound to you like a simple abode. To be truthful, it is. But then again, so is Jimmie Abram…

Isabella did not recognize the man, although his brown, woolen clothing were obvious signs of his breeding. A cap was crunched in one white-knuckled grip, and the red hair strewn across his forehead was damp and in much disarray. “M’lady,” he started, but he seemed so out of sorts that he could go no further. 

Isabella descended one step. “Are you lost, sir?”

“No.” His noticeably large forehead was crinkled in concentration. “Forgive me, m’lady. I don’t be wonderin’ that you don’t know me. I be Jimmie Abram an’ I have a wee farm on Sharottewood land.” 

Garden of the Midnights

Jimmie Abram

Jimmie’s greatest qualities:

• Kind
• Simple
• Godly
• Humble
• Shy
• Helpful
• Hard-working
• Enduring
• Friendly

Facts about Jimmie: 

• He is an older man with red hair
• He does not have many earthly possessions
• He is a tenant who farms on Sharottewood land
• He names all of his animals (his pig’s name is Thomas Jefferson)
• He lives in a quaint stone house
• His wife and child are buried by his home
• His dream is to go to America

Where Jimmie lives:  

Farm on Sharottewood Land
Northumberland, England

Well, enough boring facts. Should you like to meet Jimmie for yourself?

---

THE KETTLE TOOK A LONG time in boiling, and the two fell into comfortable silence. When Jimmie spoke again, he did so as he handed William a steaming cup. “Would you be mindin’ if I was to call you Will?” 

William circled the cup with his hands. He smiled, amused. “No one has ever asked me that before.”

“People been callin’ me Jimmie so long I near forgot my Christian name was James.” 

William laughed. He took a long drink from his cup, and after several moments of silence, said quietly, “Are you happy, Jimmie?” 

“The only man that e’er asked that question wasn’t happy himself.” 

William let his gaze drop into the cup. The steam stung his eyes. “Did you never marry?” 

“There was a Mrs. Abram, to be sure. But that was many a year ago.”

“What happened to her?”

“Ah, pretty as a field of corncockles, she was.” Jimmie looked away, distracting his vision on something in the far corner of the room. “She be buried outside along with the child we had.”

“I am sorry.” The words seemed empty.

“’Tis not an easy thing. Gettin’ up in the mornin’ and takin’ that first breath of air was a mite hard, for a time.” 

“How did you manage?” 

Jimmie’s eyes were rapt. “I got a dream,” he said, “and like as not, it’ll ne’er come true.”

William listened.

“But it be all I ‘ave left, and it helps me to get up in the mornin’ and it keeps me breathin’.” Jimmie sighed and shook his head. “Listen to me.” He chuckled. “What a fool I be.”

“You are not a fool,” William assured him. 

“You only be sayin’ that since I saved your life.”

William stood from his chair, smiling—and on an impulse, he reached across the table and gripped the man’s shoulder. “Whatever the dream is, I pray to God it will come true for you.”

Jimmie seemed too emotional to speak, and with his eyes downcast and gleaming, he only nodded.