Clarissa somehow found a smile for the memory. “I didn’t know about that, but Grandfather so enjoyed Monsieur Loubet’s company. He always had the cook, Essie, prepare her Southern version of coq au vin for him. And she never made it the same way twice. Grandfather always said Essie’s cooking was like the mercies of God—new every morning.”
Samuel rubbed his chin. Confederate gold... France... “I’ve heard about these coins. The French minted them for the Confederacy, to be used in trade with them. Clarissa, Loubet must have come here to sell them to your grandfather.”
“And that rat Absalom found them.” Willie crammed the coin back into his pocket.
“But why would he give Willie twenty dollars just for carrying a ladder?” Samuel said.
“New every morning...” Clarissa hesitated then drew in a quick, audible breath. “Grandfather’s favorite verse. ‘It is of the Lord’s mercies that we are not consumed, because his compassions fail not. They are new every morning. Great is thy faithfulness.’”
“And in the letter he said, ‘Listen. “His compassions fail not.’” The word listen isn’t in the verse.” Why hadn’t Samuel thought of this before? He glanced over at the sanctuary. “He was giving us a clue. The stone he etched with the Bible reference must be loose, and he hid the gold there.”
“And he must have hidden some in my great-grandfather’s tombstone as well. The verse is engraved on it too.” Clarissa stood, her hands trembling. She clasped them together, held them to her mouth. “Absalom was right about treasure at Camellia Pointe.”
Samuel leapt to his feet. “Let’s go. Absalom might still be there—”
He shot across the lawn, Clarissa and Willie running behind him. As he passed the bridge, someone let out a yell and then a string of curses.
Samuel rounded the corner of the sanctuary. A toppled ladder and a stone and chisel lay on the ground near the structure’s foundation.
Absalom dangled from the untrimmed oak tree, his long, curly hair caught in the branches, his feet kicking at the air three feet from the ground. A dozen or so gold coins littered the grass beneath him.
“Get me down!” Absalom grabbed the branch with both hands and squirmed as if trying to ease the pulling on his scalp.
Willie dashed around the corner. With a flourish, he drew his sword. “En garde!”
“You don’t fight a man who’s hung up in a tree by his hair.” Still breathing fast from his hard run across the lawn, Samuel moved closer to Absalom and his snarled hair.
“That’s not in the rules.” Willie made as if to run the man through. “He deserves it. He was trying to steal Miss Clarissa’s gold.”
“It’s still bad sportsmanship. Just guard him.”
The boy puffed up, adding an inch to his height.
Clarissa reached them then, panting with her exertion. She skidded to a stop at the sight of her cousin in the tree. “Absalom! Have you been drinking again?”
The foul words he shot down from the tree should have made its leaves wither.
“Get that sword out of here!” Absalom’s voice shook like the leaves all around him as he kicked the air.
Samuel picked up the ladder and propped it against the building. “Support yourself on this until we can get you out of the tree.”
When Absalom had managed to position his feet on the rungs, Samuel turned to Willie. “Can you climb the tree and shimmy out to Absalom on the branch?”
“Sure. Do I get to cut his hair?”
“I’m not sure the branch would hold me, so, yes.”
“Cut my hair?” Absalom’s scream turned his face red. “Nobody’s cutting my hair. Just get it untangled.”
Willie waved his sword. “This’ll cut it just fine.”
“I’ll get my sewing scissors,” Clarissa said, turning toward the house.
When she’d gone, Samuel moved a little closer to Absalom, careful the man wouldn’t kick him in the head, and picked up the gold from the ground around him. He put it in his pocket and then stretched to stick his hand in the hole in the sanctuary wall. “I can’t reach all the way in there. Is that where the rest of the gold is, Absalom?”
His foul-mouthed response did nothing to answer Samuel’s question.
Within minutes Clarissa hastened back, scissors in her hands. Sergeant John, the three deacons and a sheriff strode across the lawn with her. “Sergeant John figured out what was going on and fetched Sheriff Joshua Tillman,” she said.
Miss Phemie followed at a slower pace, one hand tucked in the crook of Joseph’s elbow and the other clutching her cane. “My word, Absalom’s stuck in the tree like a long-tailed kite!”
Absalom flinched, whether at Miss Phemie’s high-pitched voice or her apt comparison, Samuel didn’t know.
“The Fighting Chaplain. It’s an honor.” Sheriff Tillman stepped forward, his voice cracking a bit as he took in the weapon. “That sword saved my brother’s life.”
“We’ll sit down for a long talk soon. I want to hear all about him.”
Tillman swallowed hard and nodded. “What kind of animal did you catch in this trap?”
“Gold thief,” Willie hollered.
“Are you Willie?” At the boy’s nod, Sheriff Tillman pulled an empty blue-velvet bag from his coat pocket and pointed to Absalom. “Did you see that man holding this bag in the cemetery?”
Willie peered at it. “Yep.”
“Cut him down,” the sheriff said. “Absalom Adams, you’re under arrest for theft of your cousin’s gold.”
“You can’t arrest me. I’m entitled to my grandfather’s property—”
“Then why did you sneak into the cemetery at dawn to take it? You know all the contents of the house and grounds were left to Clarissa. You’re a disgrace to the Confederacy,” Sergeant John said as Willie scrambled up the tree, took the scissors from Samuel and cut the first of Absalom’s long locks of thick hair. “He carried out the gold that was hidden inside the tombstone. I saw him and Goss headed that way, and Willie following them, so I wanted to make sure everything was all right. Since it wasn’t, I went to the sheriff.”
“John also helped me search Callaway House for the gold and lock it in the jail’s safe. Then we arrested Harold Goss as Absalom’s accomplice. I’m trying to talk the sergeant into becoming my deputy.” Tillman paused, watching Willie cut the sides of Absalom’s hair. “This capture must be sweet for you, Parson.”
“How so?” Samuel said.
The sheriff rubbed the shadow of stubble on his chin. “You haven’t been searching for him?”
“Why would I?”
“If I were you, I’d be on the lookout for the man who defied your order to get reinforcements for your platoon.”
Wait—Adams was that man? The stranger from another platoon, who’d cowered behind a boulder, watching Samuel fight alone instead of running for help? He hadn’t gotten a good look at the weakling, occupied as he’d been with saving his platoon. But now that he thought about it, that man could easily have been Absalom. “Adams, you could have saved some of those Yankees’ lives if you’d gone for reinforcements,” he said through clenched teeth.
As Absalom climbed down the ladder, his now-short hair sticking out in all directions, his hands trembled as they often had when he’d seen or even heard mention of the sword.
Of a sudden, Samuel saw only a man he’d failed.
Samuel’s jaw relaxed a fraction, his anger no longer mattering in light of Absalom’s silent, unconscious accusation. Why hadn’t Samuel attempted to reach the man with love, with the Gospel? Sure, it probably would have done no good, but the fact was, he hadn’t tried. He turned from the eyes that unknowingly shot shame into his soul.
Clarissa, Veronica, Emma—his regret for his failure there had torn three separate holes in his heart. But this time, remorse nipped at him the way Honey nipped at his he
els. Not as painful as his damaged heart, but there nonetheless, constantly reminding him of its presence. He hadn’t paid enough attention to Absalom, hadn’t been concerned enough about his soul. Now he’d have to find a way to make up for it.
Absalom’s ever-louder cursing pulled Samuel from his thoughts. Sheriff Tillman had searched Absalom’s coat and found a few coins in one pocket and a crinkled sheet of paper, folded in fourths, in the other. He passed it to Clarissa.
She read silently for a moment and then looked up, gaping at her cousin. “It’s a receipt from Monsieur Loubet for twenty thousand dollars in gold coin. Where did you get this?”
When her cousin refused to answer, Samuel did it for him. “That’s what you were looking for in my study, wasn’t it?”
Miss Phemie inched toward her grandson, swallowing hard and blinking fast. “I knew you wouldn’t beat us, Absalom, and I thought I would get satisfaction from saying I told you so. But I can’t do it.”
Absalom stood still, quiet for once.
“I wish this had gone differently, and we could all live here as a loving family.” She laid her hand on his cheek. “Somehow Hezekiah and I weren’t able to reach you when you were young. And I’m sorry about that.”
Samuel could do nothing but stare at Miss Phemie, at her transformation. Judging from the silence, neither could anyone else. It drove his own shame all the deeper.
When she stepped away and started toward the house, Tillman pulled Absalom’s hands behind his back and snapped cuffs onto his wrists. “Reverend, I wish you hadn’t had this kind of embarrassment so soon after moving to Natchez.”
The man meant well, but he couldn’t know Samuel’s biggest embarrassment was of himself.
* * *
Absalom in jail, Beau on the steamer for Memphis, enough gold to provide for their family and the orphans, Grandmother looking better than she had since the day their worlds changed. All was right in Clarissa’s world, except the one thing that had become the most important.
She let her gaze rest on her husband, reclined in his favorite Hepplewhite parlor chair. Would he move in with them again? Or would he continue his midnight journeys to the church, refusing to sleep in the room next to hers? She’d never before dreaded nightfall, but now she wished it would never come.
If only things could have been different. No, if only she could have been different...
Her entire household gathered in the opened parlor to hear the final decision. Within minutes, Joseph, Samuel and the deaconate would surely declare Camellia Pointe hers. But the victory seemed slim, her dream trivial. What did a house matter without love inside? That one special love, the one that gave the trials meaning...
“Absalom was in trouble before this,” Samuel said, pulling her from her thoughts. “Sheriff Tillman found out that Absalom and Goss are both wanted for bribery and fraud in Tennessee. They’re cell mates now, and it’s not the first time. They were in prison camp together as well.”
Clarissa refilled Samuel’s cup with the apple-mint tea she’d brewed earlier and handed him a plate of applesauce cookies. As she refreshed the other cups in the room, he reached for the biggest cookie and took a bite.
“I still don’t understand why Absalom gave a coin to Willie,” Grandmother said, sitting next to Samuel. “As far as I know, the only thing he’s ever given anybody is dyspepsia.”
Willie looked up from the floor, where he played with Honey. “To get rid of me when I got too close. He got scared I’d see the stone and figure out he was stealing the gold.”
“Absalom will get a sure conviction. But if we need any more evidence, we can always use his bad haircut against him. Willie, don’t ever become a barber.” Joseph reached down and ruffled the boy’s hair, then opened his portmanteau. “Let’s put this inheritance business to rest. Clearly, Absalom Adams will not fulfill the second term of the will—residing at Camellia Pointe for one year. I suggest we award the inheritance to Clarissa Adams Montgomery.”
“I’m giving the gold to Grandmother. She deserves some consolation for having a grandson who would steal from us.” And wave a gun at her, and turn Good Shepherd into a drinking parlor.
“As many mouths as we have to feed around here, I suggest you hold on to it, missy,” Grandmother said, a new strength in her voice. No, it was her old strength returned to her, since Absalom was gone. The vigor she’d lost on that first day, when Samuel raced into Christ Church and disrupted all their lives.
“We can’t simply give the inheritance to her. The will says the deacons get to vote.” Deacon Bradley sounded much like a little boy who’d been cheated out of a piece of candy. “This whole affair has been highly irregular, just like everything else since Reverend Montgomery arrived. We’ve had a hasty marriage, an orphan drummer, tents and horses in the churchyard, now Confederate gold and who knows what else. You have to let us vote. It’s the law.”
Joseph glanced at the deacons and then at Samuel. “Very well. All agreed to awarding the inheritance to Missus Montgomery, please signify by raising your right hand.”
Joseph raised his hand, as did Samuel. For a moment, Clarissa dared not look at the deaconate. Without their votes in her favor, she still would not win...
Chapter Sixteen
The deacons sat like statues, but unlike the one in the garden, they each had two good hands to raise.
And if they didn’t raise them in the next two seconds, Samuel would march over to the sofa and jostle the deaconate into action.
Except he couldn’t, because the will had given them the right to vote.
“Gentlemen,” Joseph said, an edge to his voice, “it’s time to cast your votes.”
Deacon Morris wiggled his fingers, then he glanced at Deacon Bradley and stopped.
Do it! Be a man.
Bradley kept his fragile-looking folded hands in his lap. “I vote no.”
What? Was he being obstinate to spite Samuel for opposing him on Sunday? “Why?”
“Absalom hasn’t yet been declared guilty. We should wait until after the trial.”
“He can’t meet the terms of the will.” Joseph rose and stood over the deacon, his eyes turned cold. “He’s in jail.”
“For now. We don’t know the outcome of the trial. It’s too soon to decide.”
“I’ve been in law for sixty years. Trust me, he’ll be in jail just as long.” Joseph returned to his chair and turned his glare to Deacon Holmes. “What do you say?”
Holmes looked at Bradley and cleared his throat. “I say we wait.”
How could this happen? It should have been easy. Samuel turned to Clarissa, seated to his left, to Miss Phemie on the right. The apprehension in their eyes drove him to a silent petition, a wordless groaning of a prayer.
“Morris?” Joseph said. “The reverend and I voted for Clarissa receiving the inheritance now. The other deacons voted against. Your vote will decide.”
Deacon Morris hesitated, turned wide eyes to Bradley. Raised his trembling hand a few scant inches above his belly. “I vote yes.”
Yes.
An hour later, Samuel sat alone with his wife and daughter in Clarissa’s drawing room—in the home she now owned.
“Emma, I know Beau hurt you.” She moved to sit on the hassock at Emma’s feet and handed her the jewelry box she held. “Just this week, I decided to give you this bracelet when the time was right. I’d like you to have it now and always remember how much I love you.”
His daughter reached slowly for the box, a glistening of tears in her eyes. “You’re sending me away?”
Clarissa paused, confusion clouding her eyes. “Of course not.”
Emma turned to Samuel. “You’re leaving then?”
“What are you talking about? Nobody’s leaving. We just won the contest so Clarissa could keep this place.”
“I saw you pack and leave Saturday
night, and you don’t sleep here anymore.” Her tears turned her voice tight. “I can’t stand you leaving me again.”
Emma didn’t want him to leave? “I won’t go anymore if you don’t want me to. I’ll stay here.”
She laid her head in Clarissa’s lap and sobbed as if her heart would break.
Samuel sat helpless, because what were you supposed to do with a crying female? Then Clarissa caught his glance and tilted her head toward Emma.
What, she wanted him to come over there?
But Clarissa had been right about everything concerning his daughter so far. With more angst than he’d ever had at war, he came to Emma and squatted at her side, laid his hand on her head.
“You’re the Fighting Chaplain. You fill churches with people who want to hear what you have to say,” Clarissa whispered. “In army camps and in pulpits, you sway hearts with your words. Now you have to hear from God and speak to your daughter.”
She was right. He bowed his head and listened for the voice of the Spirit in his heart.
“Emma,” he choked out through the lump in his throat, “I’ve failed you as a father. I failed your mother too. I was wrong to send you to Kentucky, and if I’d thought for a moment that the war would come so far north, I’d have come for you and brought you home—walked there if I’d had to.”
He drew a shuddering breath against the pain shattering his heart. “I know I’ve hurt you and left you feeling abandoned. But believe me, you were on my mind every day during the war. Your mother and I didn’t have a good marriage, and you’re right—I was relieved when God called me to war. But I never wanted to leave you. Never.”
Emma lifted her head and wiped her tears. “Do you want to leave now?”
“No, I don’t want to leave you.”
“But you want to leave Clarissa.”
He felt as well as heard Clarissa’s sharp intake of breath. She straightened in an instant and, of a sudden, the air felt charged with her emotion—whatever it was.
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