by Judith Pella
The deer fell in instant response. Benjamin grinned and slapped Micah on the back.
“Good work, son!”
Micah flinched slightly at the touch but said nothing more than a grunt in response. Benjamin bounded forward to examine the kill and started to grab an antler.
“Shouldn’t you make sure it’s dead first?” Micah asked with a hint of superiority.
Benjamin felt foolish, since that was a rule even a novice should know. Remembering now what he’d been taught, he reached cautiously toward the animal with the barrel of his musket and poked the buck’s eye. It was then that he saw where the ball had struck.
There was a hole clean between the buck’s eyes. Benjamin’s head jerked back to gape in astonishment at his son. Micah wore a look of grim satisfaction. In that moment he was not a thirteen-year-old boy who had just killed a fine buck. He was a wizened old man, hardened, stonelike.
“You have been practicing,” Benjamin managed to say.
Micah shrugged. “Yeah, some.” He then added almost as a challenge, “Do you know what to do now?”
Benjamin had watched the process before but couldn’t remember everything, though he wouldn’t admit that. Instead he answered, “This will be good practice for you, Micah. Why don’t you take it from here?”
Micah drew his knife from its sheath and slit the buck’s throat, neatly severing the jugular. He then rolled the animal on its back, slicing open the belly from the groin to the chest cavity. Reaching into the opening, he rolled out the guts. Benjamin watched in awe. Who was this stranger at his side?
“Where did you learn all this, Micah?” he couldn’t keep from asking, though it galled him.
“Uncle Haden showed me. You only gotta see it done once.”
Benjamin said nothing, biting back a defensive remark. He realized that when he had seen it done, he hadn’t been paying close attention because he’d not thought it important. For some reason it had been very important to Micah, and he remembered all the details.
They trussed up the animal and carried it home between them. Benjamin never could shake the sense that he was walking with a stranger.
CHAPTER
38
WHEN THEY RETURNED HOME, Benjamin sent Micah down to the creek to wash off the blood and grime from gutting the buck. He then began the process of skinning the animal. Because Micah had asked to keep the hide, Benjamin took special care in the process. Again, this was not a task in which he was adept. He should have waited for Micah, whom he knew had a vested interest in the buck, but he still had some vestige of pride left after the humbling day of hunting. And when Micah took an inordinately long time at the creek, Benjamin lost his patience and began alone. Micah had probably had more time alone with his father than he could bear.
When John Hunter rode into the yard, Benjamin was both pleased and disappointed. He longed for a reprieve from the task, and he knew John would be happy to lend more than a hand, but Benjamin also knew he’d never learn himself if he depended on others. He was thinking much lately of his future and the fact that he well might need to support his family through farming rather than the ministry.
“Look what you got there!” John said, dismounting and striding over to the area near the woodpile that Benjamin had staked out for his work. “A fine big buck, too.”
“My son bagged him.” Benjamin could not help his pride. “Right between the eyes!”
“Didn’t know the boy was such an accomplished shooter.”
“Neither did I.”
“Must be a natural.”
“He surely didn’t get it from me.” Benjamin hefted the buck in a better position to be worked on.
“Let me give you a hand.”
John squatted down next to Benjamin and held one of the buck’s legs while Benjamin made careful slits and began gently working his knife under the hide. “I want to save the hide for Micah,” Benjamin explained.
“Might be able to get him a nice shirt out of it,” John commented.
“He’d like that, I’m sure. I think he is becoming quite the frontiersman.”
John chuckled. “Kids learn fast.”
“Not like their dim-witted fathers.” Benjamin laughed dryly.
He thought of the afternoon and how it all had come so naturally to Micah. In the past Benjamin had expected that his son would follow him into the ministry, though that dream had quickly faded after they had come to Texas. Even when Benjamin had begun to see the futility of such an expectation for his son, he had viewed it as a flaw in Micah. Now he saw it from a different perspective. Micah was not flawed at all because his interests were different from his father’s. He simply had his own way, his own path. Perhaps Benjamin’s ability to see this, to allow him to follow that path, was one good thing to emerge from all the tragedy.
“What brings you out today, John?” Benjamin pulled his focus back to his guest.
John hesitated, and if Benjamin had harbored a hope that this was merely a friendly visit, he knew now to brace himself for something else.
“Well, Reverend Sinclair, I don’t like what brings me here, but I figured it’d be best coming from me. Leastways, I’ve always thought I had a bit more friendly relationship with you than some of the others in your parish.”
“You’ve been a good friend, as good as any I’ve ever had, and I appreciate it.” Benjamin hoped his sincerity came through. He sensed he was going to need such a friend more than ever.
“Glad to hear that, and I wouldn’t say anything except as a friend.
I’m concerned with your best interests. I had a visit from Harvey Doyle, who said he was up here a couple days ago.”
“So that’s his name. And I suppose he told you he caught me cavorting with a woman.” Benjamin barely restrained the bitterness in his tone.
“Something like that.”
“You believe him?” They worked as they talked, and Benjamin added, “Could you stretch out that leg a bit more?”
“I wouldn’t make no judgment until I heard your side of it.” John held the buck’s leg tautly. “I wouldn’t even get involved at all except . . .” Pausing, he ran his free hand through his hair. He was indeed reluctant to stir matters up. “I came to Texas looking for room to breathe, land where my neighbors weren’t pressing down on me. But it is amazing how small and crowded this place can be where rumors are involved. Since I saw Doyle, I’ve had a couple of others come to me wanting to know the truth of it. Guess they came to me instead of you directly because—”
“They’re just a bunch of cowards at heart,” Benjamin interjected.
“Maybe so. Well, the upshot of it was that a meeting was held yesterday by several of your parishioners, and I agreed to come talk to you and get your side of it.”
“Did you agree, John, or did you insist because they would have tarred and feathered me otherwise?”
John chuckled, even though there was little humor in Benjamin’s statement. “They were a bit riled up, and most were willing to believe the worst. But I know you are a man of honor, Reverend, and I knew there had to be another explanation.”
“I appreciate that, and let me assure you, nothing immoral has taken place inside this cabin or out of it. Fate brought Miss Toussaint here, and circumstances kept her here.” Trying to be patient, he explained to John about her coming with her sick baby to find Rebekah. “I couldn’t put her out, John. But I won’t deny I had a desperate need for her help with my children as well.”
“I can imagine. Where is the girl from?”
Benjamin had hoped he wouldn’t have to explain specifics about Elise, yet he knew they couldn’t be avoided. John would no doubt immediately recognize her from the store in San Felipe, for he had witnessed the altercation when she had been accused of theft.
“Let’s not get into that until you tell me what’s to be done about the protests of my parishioners.” Maybe he couldn’t avoid the subject of Elise’s past, but he saw no reason to cloud the present problem with it.
<
br /> “Reverend, I can see the difficulties of your situation, and hers as well. You can’t put her out, especially with a sick child. And you gotta have help with your own children. If it were just me, well, I’d sure not question how you chose to solve the problems. Like I said, I respect your honor. Yet you must also see how this could undermine your ministry.”
“That is a problem in itself.” He studied John Hunter’s plain, solid face. He realized now that because he’d always maintained a position of authority, he had never had any real friends, never had someone to confide in and seek counsel from. Perhaps he would not have come to his present state had he humbled himself enough to be vulnerable. There had been other practical and wise men like John Hunter who could have helped him find a better path where his family was concerned. Though his present sense of self-recrimination now made him feel it was too late, it also made him believe he had nothing to lose.
“John, I’m not sure I have a ministry any longer—”
“The people aren’t gonna cut you off just like that,” John protested.
“That’s not what I mean. I am not sure I am personally fit to minister. Since Rebekah’s death my eyes have been opened, and I have been forced to look inward. I don’t like what I see. I am not the man I thought I was, the man I tried so hard to make others think I was. I don’t believe the man I truly am is worthy of God’s ministry. You read Rebekah’s letter. You know what I’m talking about.”
“I said it then, and I’ll say it again, you can’t blame yourself. But I’ll go one step further. Even if it was your fault, the fact that you now realize it means something. It’ll make you a better man, a better minister, even.”
Benjamin shook his head, not so much in disagreement as in defeat.
If only he were a simple man who could live by simple answers.
John continued. “Sounds to me like you are mighty confused right now. And I don’t think you want to do anything to burn your bridges while you’re in such a state. This community needs you desperately, Reverend.”
“Why don’t you call me Benjamin.” When John opened his mouth to protest, Benjamin added, “For no other reason except I need a friend now more than a parishioner.”
“For that reason, then, I’d be glad to. There’s one other thing you ought to keep in mind, and that is the honoring of your wife’s memory. It ain’t right to her or her children if you ruin your good reputation.”
“Which of course this situation does,” Benjamin conceded. “And it doesn’t do much good for Miss Toussaint’s reputation either. But do you have any suggestions about what I ought to do about it?”
“I have been giving it some thought.”
“And?”
“The facts of the matter are clear.”
Benjamin marveled at John’s amazing matter-of-factness. He decided then and there he was going to sit at this man’s feet—figuratively at least—and learn what he could from him.
“You need help. And this here Miss Toussaint needs help, too, it seems.”
“There’s more to it, John.” Benjamin knew he could no longer avoid this moment. “You’ll find out soon enough anyway. Do you remember when we were in the store in San Felipe and a woman was accused of stealing?”
John nodded, then a light of awareness lit his face. “Miss Toussaint?”
“Yes.”
“Who was the man? Not her husband. I could tell that. But I wasn’t certain.”
“Not her husband. He . . . sells women—”
“You mean she is—”
“Was, John. Was. She was being forced into it. That despicable man used her little daughter to make Elise do his bidding. She finally escaped and came here. She wants to make a new life for herself, but if I send her away, the chances are that man will find her and force her back into . . . that life.”
The men fell silent, focusing their attention on the hide, which, with a couple more motions, was severed from the animal’s carcass. Benjamin had no ready answers, so it was easy for him to remain silent about Elise. He had a feeling John would want to ruminate a bit before speaking.
“I have no idea what to do with this hide now that it’s off,” Benjamin admitted.
“I’ve done a few in my time. I’ll give you some pointers, if you’d like.”
“Thanks a lot, John.” He lifted his eyes and met John’s, and in the way of men, much more was spoken in that look than their words could express.
“What you do with the skin depends on what the boy wants it for.
If he wants a shirt, you’re not gonna want to salt the hide. Just soak it in water till the hair slides off. Maybe add some wood ashes to speed up the process.” John took an end of the hide and spread it open on the ground. “First, let’s scrape as much of the fatty tissue off as we can.
You can use the dull side of your fleshing knife.”
“I don’t have one.”
“A kitchen spoon will do.”
Benjamin disappeared inside the cabin and returned quickly with two large spoons. They set to work on the hide with John making suggestions as they went. “Be gentle. Don’t want to gouge the hide. Leave anything too difficult—it’ll come off during soaking.”
The man held a wealth of information, and Benjamin could have listened to him and questioned him for hours on the many tasks involved with making the best use of the newly killed buck. But still hanging between them as distastefully as a deer carcass was the subject they both would have liked to avoid. But Benjamin knew the topic hadn’t been forgotten.
Finally John inhaled a breath and paused in his work. “You know, Benjamin, I sure wish I knew as much about people as I do about simple work like this. You see, I came here today with a solution in mind to your problem, but considering what you just said about Miss Toussaint, I’m not sure what you’ll think of it.” John folded his arms in front of him and took a moment to appraise Benjamin. Apparently satisfied with what he saw, he continued. “I was going to suggest that you . . . well, that you consider marrying Miss Toussaint.”
Those were the last words Benjamin ever expected to hear. In fact, he was thinking Hunter would offer to take Elise and Hannah into his own home. When the shock wore off at this new twist in the mounting complexities of his life, Benjamin began to babble all the reasons why such a thing was impossible.
“I hardly know her. How can I marry a stranger? I’ve been a widower less than a month. My children already despise me. What will they think if I so suddenly try to replace their mother? Who is to say she’ll want to marry me? She knows what a terrible husband I was.”
The one argument that did not occur to him was how he, a minister, could marry a prostitute. It was John who mentioned it.
“Benjamin, what about that . . . other thing? You know, about the woman’s past?”
Benjamin smiled. “I hadn’t thought of that. I’ve only known her for a week or so, John, but I can tell you with all certainty that no matter what she was before, she is no part of that now. I don’t believe she ever was in her heart.” He paused thoughtfully. “She is kindhearted and gentle. You should see her with the children.”
“Well, I reckon God has forgiven folks of worse sins.” There was a certain edge to John’s voice, accompanied by a sideways look that Benjamin chose to ignore.
“I believe He has with her,” Benjamin replied.
“Folks around here might have a different take on that.” John looked very much as if he hadn’t wanted to mention that, but it was a fact that had to be voiced.
Benjamin’s answer surprised even him. “Let them try to judge her.”
John eyed Benjamin with a questioning gaze and followed it with a smile. John might be wondering about Benjamin’s impassioned support of a woman he claimed to be a stranger. Benjamin wondered a bit also. He decided the cause was simply that after his own fall from grace, he had greater sympathy for those in a similar place.
The two men fell silent, and Benjamin considered John’s outlandish suggestion. Marriag
e! He knew it was a solution other men in his position had resorted to on the frontier. It was, in fact, the most practical solution he could think of. It would benefit both of them. Let that Thomson lout try to molest her while she was married to him! It made him feel he did indeed have something to offer in a marriage of convenience. And because it would be a marriage in name only, it might work far better than many conventional unions did.
Finally Benjamin came to a decision. “I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to mention the idea to Elise.”
CHAPTER
39
ELISE WALKED TO THE EDGE of the woods. The sun was down and bright pinpoints of stars twinkled in the sky. Light from the half moon filtered through the trees, mingling with a low-lying fog to form a glittering veil. She breathed in deeply, detecting a faint scent of honeysuckle.
Somehow the air smelled so much sweeter here than it had at Maurry’s place, though she was certain there had been honeysuckle there, too.
Perhaps it was only that she could notice it here, now freed as she was from the horrors of her former life. Only now could she fully perceive how heavily that life had weighed her down.
And Benjamin was offering her a permanent escape from it. Only a year had passed since she had been taken into bondage, though it seemed like an eternity. Now it could be over. After her miraculous escape, she’d had no delusions that she could remain free forever. In fact, she had secretly believed her only true escape would be in death.
Benjamin offered her something else. He told her he would never let her fall into Thomson’s hands again. Never. And she believed him.
In exchange for that, she had only to care for his children and his home.
She was already developing a fondness for the children, so that should be no difficulty. And she loved keeping house in the little cabin, basking in the exquisite sense of security it offered her. It was even more pleasant than the life of wealth she had known on the Hearne plantation.