by Judith Pella
Then, as if the Bancrofts had not been generous enough, these people whom the Sinclairs hardly knew invited them to stay in their own home while Rebekah recovered.
“A hotel is not the place for a newborn babe and mother,” Martha Bancroft said cheerily. She was a plump, rosy-cheeked woman whose only fault Benjamin could find was that she talked a great deal.
“I insist you bide in our home as long as need be.” Bancroft winked at his wife. “Mrs. Bancroft has longed for new folks to talk to, haven’t you, dear? And another woman! There are so few respectable women in town that this is truly a gift of God.”
“I am anxious to complete my journey.” Benjamin had told the minister of his call to Texas.
“Commendable indeed! But you will do the work of God no good if you succumb to exhaustion.”
“Your wife should have at least a week, if not two, for proper recovery, especially with an arduous journey still ahead of her.” Mrs. Bancroftfs” words were not a suggestion, they were practically an order.
In any case, Benjamin knew Rebekah would need some rest. When Martha Bancroft had extended the invitation, he had glanced at Rebekah, and she had actually been smiling. He hadn’t seen her smile since leaving Boston.
The town of Natchez was divided into two distinct regions. The respectable part of town lay up on a hill. Below this, mostly centered on the waterfront, the more disreputable area flourished. The Bancrofts had a four-room frame house between these two places. Ezra explained that he did not wish to be too far removed from the people who most needed his ministry. He came from Maryland and, like Benjamin, had set out to minister in Texas. But when he came to Natchez, he had seen such great need that he and his wife had decided to tarry there for a time.
“So you will not go to Texas?” Benjamin asked.
“I will see what comes. I expect God will let me know in the fullness of time.”
“Yes, I am sure He will.” Benjamin found Ezra to be a solid Christian man even though he was not a Methodist like Benjamin. As long as they avoided doctrinal discussions, he believed they would get along well.
That first night, Mrs. Bancroft put out a fine meal. Though her children were grown and married with homes of their own back East, she said she could not break the habit of cooking for a full family. However, nothing was wasted because there always seemed to be guests at their table. Benjamin was impressed with the Bancrofts’ hospitality.
The Sinclairs had not eaten so well in weeks, and Benjamin had to caution Micah twice at the table about greed and gluttony. The boy would have eaten more than both grown men combined if allowed. When pie and coffee were served, Micah dug in as though still starved.
“Micah,” Benjamin rebuked, “you have had enough to eat.”
“But I’m not finished.”
“Yes, you are. Leave the table. In fact, you may go outside and reflect upon proper deportment when dining with civilized people.”
“But—”
“Now!”
With a fleeting look at the slab of apple pie on his plate, Micah skulked away.
“He’s a growing boy,” Ezra said.
“Grown enough to learn how to behave.” Benjamin waited until Micah had left and closed the door behind him to add, “I suppose it is not entirely his fault. We have spent too long on the road, living in barely human conditions. You can see why I am anxious to reach Texas and get settled in a proper manner.”
“Surely you don’t think you will find much civilization in Texas.” Ezra leaned back contentedly in his chair and sipped his coffee. His wife fixed a tray of food for Rebekah, who was resting in the guest bedroom, and took it to her, leaving the men alone for a time.
“Do you know much of the region, Ezra?” Benjamin tasted the coffee. It was the best he’d had since leaving Boston. The pie was delicious also.
“Only what I hear. But I am in a fairly good position to gain information. Few come or go from Texas without passing through Natchez. Why, I have even met Stephen Austin himself.”
“Indeed! What can you tell me about him?”
“He’s a good man, entirely dedicated to his colony in San Felipe. The last I heard, however, he had been imprisoned by the Mexican government.”
“I did not hear of this. Do you know why?”
“Apparently he went to Mexico to lobby for the statehood for Texas, which has been part of the state of Coahuila. But the Texians have grown weary with the distance they must travel in order to accomplish official business. At any rate, it appears as if an official believed Austin was attempting to foment revolution.”
“I didn’t know this.” Benjamin fell silent, wondering what kind of situation he was about to step into.
“May I ask, Benjamin, how you came to choose Texas as your destination?”
Benjamin welcomed this question, especially with his brief moment of doubt. It would be good to recall his initial vision.
“I had hardly even heard of the place two years ago,” he began. “That was when my younger brother, Haden, decided to travel there. He returned to Boston a year later to put his affairs in order with the intent of going to Texas permanently. He tried to encourage me to join him. His stories of a vast, wide open land were enticing, I admit. I’m afraid both my brother and I inherited a bit of the wanderlust from a seafaring grandsire. I was far more successful in repressing it than my brother, who has been traveling all about the country since he came of age.”
Ezra smiled indulgently. “But there is indeed something alluring about a new land where miles upon miles have never been seen or touched by mankind.”
“I would not be swayed by such a frivolous notion,” Benjamin stated, but he often wondered if he had been so influenced. It served no good to admit to it anyway. “I had a wife and young family to consider, as well as a thriving parish.”
“But you did set out for Texas. . . .” Ezra prompted, surprisingly with more curiosity than ire.
“I did, but not of my own will.”
“I do not think it would be such a terrible thing for a man to seek adventure. That certainly would not negate the call of God. Where would the world be if some of God’s people were not given an adventurous spirit?”
Benjamin cocked an eyebrow at this unorthodox thinking. “Of course that may be, but I assure you I received a true call from God.”
“I don’t doubt it, my boy.”
Uncomfortable with the direction of the conversation, Benjamin steered it to a more desirable topic. “Ezra, I have learned many things about the land of Texas, but because my brother is not a God-fearing man, he had little to say about the spiritual state of things. Do you know anything of the Mexican attitude toward the Protestant church? I have heard they have begun to show more tolerance.”
“Officially that is not the case. Some Mexican officials turn a blind eye toward the activities of Protestant missionaries. But the Catholic Church is the sanctioned religion of Texas and will remain so as long as Texas is part of Mexico. Protestant ministers continue to operate secretly. And I must be honest with you, Benjamin. The Mexicans are especially intolerant of you Methodists. You . . . uh . . . it is their impression that Methodists tend to be a bit more emotional than some of the other faiths, and thus are perceived to be more threatening to the Mexican government. There are also more Methodists in Texas than other Protestants.”
Benjamin’s bishop had informed him about the situation with the Mexican government, but he now could see there was probably a great deal he had not been told. The call for missionaries, coupled with Haden’s enthusiasm about Texas, had worked Benjamin’s zeal into an almost feverish pitch. He had asked very few questions, believing God would cover and bless him no matter what. Of course the Methodist missions board had not wanted to lose a zealous missionary by burdening him overmuch with the facts.
Now he could see the error in that judgment. Too much information could never hurt, and it certainly was not going to dampen his resolve. This seemed as good a time as any to broaden hi
s knowledge and appease his curiosity.
“Is it true that Americans in Texas have had to convert to Catholicism?” he asked.
“It is the only way for them to own land.”
“How appalling! Certainly they don’t practice that . . . faith?”
“When the risks of practicing Protestantism are so great—”
“That is no excuse!” Benjamin cut in fervently. “To deny their faith over a few grains of dirt! Why, the first-century Christians risked their very lives to follow Christ.”
“Well, even if they were willing to take such a risk, most must wait months before they see any minister, whether it be Catholic or Protestant.”
“It seems to me all these people need is to be reminded of the expediency, indeed the utter urgency, of professing Christ. They have forgotten that their very souls hang in the balance.”
“Perhaps . . .” Ezra sipped his coffee thoughtfully. “There are those who might argue that Catholics also profess Christ.”
“It is a dangerous apostasy,” Benjamin countered with conviction. “Dangerous because, like that other vile apostasy, Mormonism, it mingles evil doctrine with enough truth to fool many. I cannot abide the worshiping of more than one deity as Papists do. I believe one of my main missions in Texas will be to break the pope’s bondage of the people. If it means ending up in chains, then so be it.”
“The only way to free Texas of Catholicism, I believe,” Ezra put in rather blandly, “would be to break free of Mexico altogether.”
“I believe you are right, Ezra. Texas independence should be the top priority of all God-fearing men!” Benjamin surprised even himself with his impassioned response.
“But, Benjamin, you’ll do neither God nor the independence movement any good if you end up in a Mexican prison. I say, tread lightly around the Mexican government. The slim chance that you might convert one is not worth it. You would win a small victory only to lose the entire war.”
“I will try to proceed in the wisdom of God.”
Ezra nodded but did not appear to be convinced. Benjamin suspected that the man, well-meaning though he might be, had had his convictions dulled by the godless surroundings of the frontier. It certainly had been known to happen in some cases. Benjamin vowed such would not happen to him.
CHAPTER
8
BENJAMIN TOOK HIS LEAVE FROM Ezra and went to see to his wife’s well-being. She was lying comfortably on the bed, Isabel snuggled up next to her asleep, and the new baby in her arms. Rebekah was awake, and Benjamin leaned down, kissed her lightly on her forehead, then peeked under the infant’s blanket.
“She is a beautiful child,” he said gently.
“Yes, she is.” A smile twitched upon Rebekah’s pale lips.
“You were very brave,” he said, “not only in your time of travail but during the whole trip. I know it wasn’t easy.”
“God strengthened me.”
Benjamin pulled a chair up to the bed and sat down. “He strengthens us both as we seek His will.”
“Indeed . . .”
He ignored the lack of conviction in her voice. She was tired. She had been through a lot. “We are on a mighty mission, Rebekah. I have just spoken to Reverend Bancroft about Texas. He has some knowledge in this matter, and he has convinced me more than ever that there is enormous need where we are going.”
She only nodded.
He went on. “The field is ripe and ready for harvest. Remember my dream, Rebekah? It is surely coming to pass. I am the workman sent to the field.”
“You need not waste your breath trying to convince me,” she said dully.
He had ceased expecting fire in her eyes, but if only there were a mere spark.
She added, “I have come this far. You don’t think I will leave, do you?”
“I only want—“ He stopped. This was neither the time nor the place to beat a tender subject. How many times had they had this very discussion? She was here at his side. Perhaps it was simply too much to expect more.
“Where is Micah?” she asked, opening another touchy subject. “I thought he would come see the baby after dinner.”
“He . . . there was a bit of a problem at dinner.” Sometimes Benjamin felt so alone. Wasn’t it bad enough that the world was against him at times, did his family have to be also?
“Oh, Benjamin, what happened?”
“The boy has such a rebellious spirit.”
She sighed. “This move has been very difficult for him. Must you be so hard on him?”
“I am trying to bring him up in the wisdom of God.”
“Sometimes he just needs love.”
“I do love him!” Benjamin did not want to think how many times they had had this conversation. The baby stirred as his voice rose. Benjamin stood abruptly. “I best go before the child wakes. I’ll see you in a bit.”
Benjamin left the bedroom. In the front room Mrs. Bancroft was cleaning up after dinner while Reverend Bancroft was seated reading a book—not the Bible, though Benjamin could not make out the title. Still feeling tense from the exchange with his wife, he would have gone outside to be alone, but Micah was still there serving his punishment. He sat in an empty chair. Bancroft glanced up and smiled.
“I don’t mean to disturb you,” Benjamin said.
“Do you wish to talk some more?”
“No. Please continue with your reading.” Benjamin got to his feet. “Perhaps I shall read also.” He took his Bible from his carpetbag, then sat again and opened the covers. But he couldn’t concentrate on the words before him. He felt a deep disquiet inside and knew it had to do with his son.
Rebekah wanted him to be more lenient with the boy. Yet the Word of God clearly instructed, “Spare the rod, spoil the child.” His own upbringing had mirrored such a philosophy, though his father had no concept of the spiritual basis of such. Richard Sinclair had ruled his home with a heavy hand, using the kind of unbending discipline he had learned from his years as an officer in the army. Col. Sinclair’s sons were but soldiers under his command.
Yes, when he was young Benjamin had resented his father for the constant drilling of instruction, for the complete lack of mercy, and especially for the many beatings given when orders were not carried out with due military precision. By comparison, Benjamin was moderate with his own son, but still he could not ignore the teachings of the Scriptures. He sincerely believed that applying spiritual truths would make the difference in disciplined child rearing. If his own son resented him, it was because of the boy’s rebellious nature, not due to any flaw in the handing out of God’s truths.
Yet in this present situation regarding his son, he was forced to admit that Rebekah might be right. It had not been easy for the boy to leave friends and family. And the struggles upon the trail had only magnified his bitterness about the move. Perhaps it would not harm Micah if Benjamin dealt a lighter hand while the boy adjusted. Benjamin set aside his Bible, rose to his feet, and headed outside.
Micah was sitting on the front porch whittling a small tree branch he had no doubt found lying under the oak planted near the house. The sun had set behind that oak, leaving the sky a dusky orange and the grounds in partial shadow. Benjamin saw Micah’s face in dark silhouette, and the boy did not look up in response to his father’s approach.
“Micah.” Benjamin walked around to where he could get a clearer view of the boy.
“Yeah.”
Benjamin bit back a sharp retort at his son’s disrespectful response. He had sought out the boy in order to reason with him calmly and peacefully. Why did the boy always make that so difficult?
“Son, we have been traveling for a very long time.” Benjamin stood awkwardly before the boy. He considered sitting next to him on the step, but Micah had planted himself directly in the middle, thus Benjamin would have had to ask to sit there. He felt that would undermine his authority just when he needed it most. Clearing his throat, he began again. “In deference to the hardships of our journey, I have been am
iss in maintaining proper discipline these last several weeks. For that reason, I will not blame you entirely for your crude behavior earlier. In this instance I believe mercy is called for. It is natural for a person, be he man or child, to revert to his sinful nature when there is no discipline to restrain him. But from now on I will not permit further breech of those things you know to be right and proper. We will soon be in our new home, and I will expect you to behave in a way that honors your home and those who live in it. Do you understand?”
“Yeah—I mean, yes, sir. At least I understand most of it.”
“What is it you don’t understand?”
“That part about home. My home is in Boston, with my grand-parents and my cousins and my friends. Texas will never be my home.”
“It will come to be. Wait and see.”
“No! It won’t!” Micah looked up, his eyes burning.
“Don’t talk back to me!” Benjamin replied with as much fire, then regretted the rebuke. This was not how he had planned this discussion to progress. More softly he added, “Give it time, boy.”
Micah shook his head.
“Mrs. Bancroft saved your pie,” Benjamin offered. “You may go in and finish it if you wish.”
Micah said nothing more but rose, sheathed his knife, laid aside the branch, and strode into the house.
Benjamin walked several paces away from the house to a place behind the oak where he was somewhat shielded from view. He dropped to his knees in the dirt and clasped his hands together.
“Almighty God, I come before you a contrite and needy man. Each minute since I have left Boston I have seen more and more my need for you. I am nothing without your grace and mercy. I am weak and vulnerable without your covering. Only in you can I be the authority my family and my church desperately need. Only in you can I bear the burden of responsibility that rests upon me. My flesh would have me be as those who have shirked their duties as men, like my brother, Haden. My flesh longs after the so-called freedom of worldly ways. Subdue my flesh, O God! Bring it into submission to your righteousness.