Tears stung her eyes as she tried to imagine the depth of darkness she’d have felt had she dug her mother’s grave.
“Colonel Talbot allowed us to stop, and we dug it for him. I preached her funeral, and as soon as it was over, Willie packed a few clothes and marched out with us. I kept him near me, and for the next year, the colonel and I tried to finish raising him the best we could.”
His tone had turned gentle and he rested his hand on hers. In the dimmer light of the sanctuary, Samuel’s large, sinewy hand brought a measure of comfort and warmth that hardly made sense, that passed her understanding. The gentle pressure brought up her gaze. She looked into those brown eyes, even darker in the dimness, and saw an emotion she couldn’t describe, a nameless nuance that vowed to change her world forever.
Again.
Chapter Six
The sheer anguish in Clarissa’s beautiful, dewy eyes pierced Samuel like a dragoon saber, throwing him off-kilter for a moment. He breathed a silent prayer for wisdom. By no means could he afford to make a mistake now.
“Clarissa, dearest—”
Samuel cut the word short. Where had it come from? Certainly not his heart.
He tugged at his collar, hoping to relieve the sudden heat in his face and neck. Perhaps she hadn’t heard. Perhaps he’d just imagined he’d said it. Perhaps—
With wide eyes, she looked up at him, lips parted and trembling. Then she closed them, as if she had no words for the gravity of his blunder.
No doubt about it. He’d said it. She’d heard. And every single word of explanation he could think of would only make things worse.
Finally he removed his hand from hers and edged farther from her until his side touched the door. “Forgive me. I didn’t intend to be forward...”
That sounded pathetic. But how could he explain when he had no idea why he’d done it, why he’d called her “dearest”? He had no dearest, not in a romantic sense. His first wife had been dear to him but hadn’t been truly his. Her heart had belonged to another...
“No need to apologize.” Clarissa laid her hand on his forearm, somehow bringing a measure of comfort. The soft pressure lured his gaze to her again, and from some deep reserve, she drew a smile. “And you don’t need to crowd yourself into the corner. It was just a mistake.”
A mistake. The worst thing she could have said.
Nevertheless, if she could make a valiant effort to dispel his embarrassment, he could return the favor. Of course, she was uncomfortable too. He forced a smile of his own, which wasn’t as hard as it might have been had she not done so first. Could he make her smile again? “It could have been worse. I could have said ‘ducky dearest.’”
As he’d hoped, she smiled, this time with twinkling eyes. He moved an inch closer.
“I know you were married before and loved your late wife,” she said. “It’s perfectly natural for you to fall into habits from that marriage, including terms of endearment. Please think no more of it.”
She was wrong about the words of affection—after Veronica’s betrayal, he’d stopped using them. But Clarissa’s maturity astounded him, especially considering how frightened she’d looked when he got to the sanctuary. Perhaps her influence would truly be the best thing for Emma, as he’d thought.
“That’s kind of you,” he said. “But we should discuss the matter at hand. I feel I have direction from the Lord concerning Willie, and I’d like to take care of it as soon as possible. Then we can turn our attention toward settling in as a family and making repairs at Camellia Pointe. We can’t let ourselves get distracted from fulfilling the conditions of your grandfather’s will.”
“Agreed. But how can you know God’s will so quickly?”
He shifted in his seat as if this was the first time he’d been questioned on the topic. “I know it may seem rash. But I’m a man of action, not contemplation. Always have been. The Lord seems able to work within my temperament and give me instant insight in some cases. This is one of them.”
“Did that happen yesterday too?” Her voice carried a note of hope, of yearning to believe they’d done God’s will. “Did you immediately know He meant us to marry?”
“I did.”
“I shouldn’t be surprised. Grandfather often said the Lord worked with him the same way. It bothered him at times, made him question himself.”
The great Reverend Adams struggled with this, as well? Samuel couldn’t help but chuckle. “Wish I’d known that when I entered the ministry. Talking to him might have saved me many long hours of doubt.”
Although a part of him wished to continue this satisfying conversation, he needed to finish their discussion about Willie before he lost his nerve. “I’m entirely confident of God’s plan for us to take Willie home. He has no one but me. No relatives that he knows of.” He looked beyond her, toward the north window and his Vicksburg home. “We might be able to find someone else to take him, but I believe God is directing us to be his parents.”
“I understand his need, and were it not for one concern, I wouldn’t hesitate to take him.”
The same distress settled in her eyes again, even more intense than before. What could worry her so much? “Tell me.”
“It’s Grandmother. She’s the most orderly, disciplined woman in Natchez, and she won’t quickly welcome a boy in her home. She doesn’t have your heart for orphans.”
What—the widow of Hezekiah Adams not interested in orphans? If that was true, Clarissa’s reaction to Willie’s appearance made more sense. “But your grandfather was known across the state for his work with the local orphanage.”
“He comes from a long line of preachers on his mother’s side. Absalom’s father was the first in their line to go into business since they came over on the Mayflower. But Grandmother is from an old planter family, and their interests lay in finances rather than charity. Grandmother changed through the years, but she has difficulty welcoming strangers into her home.”
He took a moment to absorb this news. “That would give her all the more reason to move to Memphis.”
Clarissa drew a hankie from her sleeve and pressed it to her eyes. “She’s all I have, and she needs me too...”
A part of him wanted to tell her she had him now, and he would always protect and care for her. His rational side protested. He wasn’t a true husband and didn’t know how to be. No matter how much he wished for—had always wished for—a true marriage.
Still, Clarissa and her grandmother were his responsibility now...
He took her hand again, to calm her, comfort her, impart his strength and support. Of course she wouldn’t want her grandmother—her only relative, other than Absalom—to leave.
But what if...
“I think we can keep both Willie and your grandmother. He’s an excellent boy, and he’d be a big help to us,” he said. “We have to begin to fulfill the second condition of the will, and my time will be limited. I’ll get a tutor for him and Emma, and after their studies are over, he can help with the repairs at Camellia Pointe.”
“How will that keep Grandmother from leaving?”
“Willie himself will do that. When we were in the army, we had some hotheaded men in our platoon. But they all loved Willie so much that they wouldn’t fight and argue when he was around, because they wanted to protect him and make him happy.” As he spoke, he began to convince himself. “Now he’ll be the buffer between your family—our family—and Absalom’s.”
Clarissa twisted her hankie as if wringing her cousin’s stout neck. “I’m not so sure Grandmother will give in to his charm. You know how jaded she is.”
“I think she will. Willie is respectful and responsible, but he’s still a nine-year-old boy and needs a woman’s influence. When your grandmother gets to know him, she’ll want to help. I’m certain of it. Trust me.”
Clarissa looked away, a tremble to her lip.
/> He took her hand again. “I won’t force you. The final decision will be yours.”
She jerked away from his grasp, a spark flashing in her eyes. “You move too fast for me. This crazy plan of yours will either keep my family together or destroy it, and I have to decide what to do. How am I to make such a huge decision without taking time to think it through?”
“You can, because Willie is here now and doesn’t have a place to sleep tonight. Not to mention, he’s going to be hungry again in a couple of hours. He needs us.”
The fire in her eyes died down, and he sensed her struggle.
“I promise, if your grandmother wants to leave because of Willie, you’ll be the one to decide whether we let her go or find a different home for him.” He stood and opened the pew door. “You’re the granddaughter of the Reverend Hezekiah Adams. You’ll do the right thing.”
* * *
“Are we now to be nursemaids to a ragamuffin?”
Grandmother Euphemia and her cousin-in-law, Ophelia Adams, had apparently not moved from the parlor sofa where Clarissa left them early this morning. Which suited her fine, since Miss Ophelia would likely turn out to be a diplomat, if not an ally, in the war that was breaking out in the parlor.
“He’s not a ragamuffin, Euphemia,” Miss Ophelia said, her gentle eyes taking in Willie and his drum. “He’s from fine stock, with those clear eyes and strong jaw. All he needs is a good bath and some fresh clothes.”
“And just where am I to find clothing for him? We’ve been remaking our clothes for three years now, without a single affordable bolt of new fabric in the whole town.”
Willie met Grandmother’s gaze and held it, a feat many grown men couldn’t do for more than a few moments. “All I want is to work for you and the chaplain, ma’am. I’ll earn the money for my own clothes.”
“You’ll need to speak to the reverend about earning money. Mine is all but gone.”
The rustle of skirts drew Clarissa’s attention to the center hall as Emma glided in, wearing a modestly cut blue taffeta gown suitable for a girl her age. She spun in the spacious hall, making the skirts dance. “Miss Ophelia says I can wear this to your wedding reception.”
“It’s lovely on you.” Clarissa guided her to the parlor. “I want you to meet your father’s friend, Willie Bigelow. He’s moving in with us.”
Rather than the jealousy Clarissa would have expected, Emma gave him the condescending smile of an older girl who perhaps saw an opportunity to be a younger boy’s boss. “I’m Miss Emma,” she said, lifting her chin.
“You’re not yet old enough for that title, young lady,” Grandmother said as Miss Ophelia hid her smile behind her handkerchief.
Emma paused a fraction, then swirled back out the parlor door to the hall. “Nevertheless, I’m older than you, Willie, and I was here before you. So don’t take any foolish notions, and don’t put on airs.”
In Emma’s wake, Miss Ophelia dropped her handkerchief to her lap. “I declare, Euphemia, she reminds me of you.”
“What? Me? I was never that bossy.” At the sound of a carriage approaching, Grandmother craned her neck toward the window. “Who’s coming up the lane?”
Never bossy? Clarissa held back a grin and glanced outside to see Samuel in his rented phaeton, taking the drive at a more sedate pace than he had last night. “It’s Samuel, come to fetch us for church.”
Miss Ophelia hastened to the window as the open carriage approached the house. “Just as you said, Euphemia, he’s his grandfather made over. I can see it, even from this distance. That will stir up memories among our friends.”
“Some memories are best left alone.” Grandmother’s tone turned even grumpier.
“Left alone? Then why did you call him here?” And why had she gotten downright bristly both times the elder Reverend Montgomery had come up in conversation since Samuel arrived?
Grandmother straightened her back, if it was possible for her to sit any more upright than she already was, and turned her focus to Willie. “Run outside, child, and help the reverend with his horse. Then come back and we’ll decide what to do with you.”
After settling his drum in the farthest corner of the parlor, Willie headed for the door.
What would Grandmother do when she discovered she didn’t have a say in this matter?
“Samuel already invited him to stay with us.”
“Without consulting me?” Grandmother looked as shocked as she had yesterday when Absalom appeared in church. Could Samuel have been wrong to insist Clarissa break the news to her grandmother without him? By saying the wrong thing, could Clarissa drive her away?
“Why not continue this discussion after the reverend gets in, and after I’ve gone?” Miss Ophelia said, always the peacemaker. She turned to Clarissa and gave her a too-bright smile. “Let’s change the subject. I certainly hope Handsome Boy didn’t give you any trouble on your drive to town this morning. And I’m referring to my horse, not your stunning-looking husband.”
Stunning-looking—yes, Clarissa had to admit Miss Ophelia’s assessment was true. She dismissed the thought before it could grow roots in her heart.
Footsteps hit the slate gallery floor, mercifully giving her no time to answer, and the front door opened and shut. Then Samuel burst into the parlor, full of confidence and purpose, as always, and drawing attention and admiring glances from all in the room, Grandmother included. No wonder everyone still called him the Fighting Chaplain a full two years after the battle. He seemed incapable of entering a room like an ordinary man. Which she was beginning to learn he was not.
“Good morning, Missus Adams, Madam,” he said, whisking off his silk high hat and giving a proper, understated bow to Grandmother and Miss Ophelia.
Judging from the looks on the older women’s faces, Samuel’s courtly manners had certainly won Miss Ophelia’s favor, if not Grandmother’s.
Willie, having taken in Samuel’s actions and the women’s charmed smiles, snatched his own battered brown cap from his head. He swept the cap before him in exaggerated imitation of Samuel’s bow, brushing the brim across the carpet.
Clarissa hastened to introduce Miss Ophelia and Samuel as she laid her hands on the boy’s shoulders, urging him to an upright position.
“I’d say your work is cut out for you, Reverend.” Miss Ophelia’s eyes shone with amusement.
“And I’d say he’s bringing it on himself,” Grandmother said. “But I can clearly see that somebody has to teach this urchin to become a gentleman.”
“You’ll have the perfect opportunity to begin that instruction Friday evening, when I host a reception in your honor, Reverend,” Miss Ophelia said. “My nephew, Colonel Graham Talbot, insisted we hold it in his home, where I also live.”
“I look forward to it.” But the almost-imperceptible tightness in his tone suggested otherwise. “Is this a church event or private?”
“By invitation. The guest list includes the deacons, their wives and the choir. The singers are eager to get to know you, especially since you’re the new director of the community choir. And the deaconate seems to need reassurance that you’re happy in your new marriage.”
“As they naturally would, considering the former pastor’s indiscretions,” Samuel said, looking around the room. “Where’s Emma?”
Miss Ophelia waved away his concern. “My nephew’s wife, Ellie, sent along a few gowns she feels are too girlish for her now. Emma is upstairs trying them on.”
Loud, heavy footsteps sounded on the back gallery, then the door opened and slammed shut.
Absalom stalked into the parlor. His head was bare, his almost waist-long curls billowing behind him until he plopped his oversize frame into the gold upholstered shield-back chair next to Grandmother. “Ophelia. We meet again.”
Grandmother whacked his knee with the tip of her cane, none too gently. “Call her Miss Ophelia.
And take it easy on that chair. It’s—”
“One of the Hepplewhites that Great-grandfather Peter brought back from London a thousand years ago. Trust me, I remember.” He rubbed the offended limb. “And quit using your cane on me. I have a war injury, you know.”
“I didn’t know.” Grandmother let the cane hover over his knee. “Did a Yankee give it to you, or did one of our own do the Confederacy a favor by taking you out of battle?”
“Taking me out?” Absalom’s roar filled the parlor and bounced off the high ceiling. “If the Confederacy hadn’t been so short-lived, I would have been decorated for bravery in that battle. You and your roughneck preacher could both take a lesson from my heroism. I fought like a gentleman, not a saber-slashing madman—”
A loud thumping sound pierced the air, startling even Absalom into silence.
Clarissa spun toward the corner, where the noise had originated, just as Willie lifted Miss Ophelia’s reticule and slammed the drum head with it again.
“Nobody talks about my chaplain that way.” Eyes flaming, Willie grasped the drawstrings of the pink, frilly purse and held it aloft as if he were about to launch it at Absalom like a tomahawk. Which he might just do if the long-haired ruffian insulted Samuel again. “Nor Miss Phemie neither.”
Miss Phemie? No, no, no. Not Grandmother’s most hated nickname...
“Willie, stop.” Samuel crossed the room in an instant. “Why’d you bang that bag on your drum?”
“I had to make him listen to me.” Willie raised his chin and studied Absalom’s openmouthed, once-handsome face, his forehead and cheeks now lined and his eyes droopy as if he’d lived a harder life than he probably had. “He ain’t the kind of man to obey a drum call. I had to use force.”
Samuel guided the boy, hand on his shoulder, toward Miss Ophelia, whose eyes danced in the bright morning sun streaming through the window.
“I won’t argue with you on any point except the lady’s purse,” Samuel said. “Gentlemen don’t touch those. Ever.”
An Inconvenient Marriage Page 10