Nathan fell to the floor beside him, uncertain of what to do but wanting to help the man if at all possible. He reached for the knife, whose hilt was protruding from the man’s chest, but before he could pull it free, someone grabbed him from behind and lifted him away. Suddenly he was aware of other voices, some frantic, others excited.
Someone came running in and knelt where Nathan had just been. Dr. Robinson. He watched with fading hope as the doctor checked for a pulse, put his ear next to the fallen man’s mouth, and finally straightened with a single head shake. “He’s dead.”
“Good riddance.” The voice was Margaret’s, but he heard the other men crowded around the body echo the sentiment.
“But I…it was an accident.” Nathan looked down at his shirt, splattered with blood, and shuddered. He was a murderer. He had taken another man’s life. “He slipped and the knife…” He felt again the sensation as the knife hesitated then plunged to its hilt, scraping past a bone on its deadly journey. He shuddered, his hands shaking like leaves in a strong wind. “He can’t be dead.”
Someone patted his shoulder. “It’s okay, Nathan. Everyone knows it was self-defense.”
“That’s right,” another man chimed in. “I saw him attack you. It was a fair fight until he pulled out his Arkansas toothpick.”
Dr. Robinson stood up and looked at him. “Are you hurt?”
Nathan shook his head.
“Then I’m going back home to my supper.” He pointed to the body on the floor. “Only the undertaker can help him now.”
The man patting his shoulder spoke again. “God rest his soul.”
Nathan turned and pushed his way past the knot of men. The words echoed in his mind…God rest his soul…God rest his soul. He wondered exactly where the slain man’s soul was at this instant. Had his untimely death doomed him to eternity in hell? And what would happen to Nathan now? God would surely condemn him for taking another man’s life. Why hadn’t he found another way out of the situation? Why had he allowed the man’s violent nature to rule?
The questions dogged him all the way back to his home. They echoed as he washed away the dead man’s blood. They followed him into his bedroom, robbing him of sleep. When he did finally manage to close his eyes, all he could see was the stranger’s surprised face, all he could remember was the feel of the knife biting into the other man’s flesh. He was as guilty as Cain and deserved whatever punishment God meted out to him.
Christmas was supposed to be a time of love and celebration, but Nathan could find no joy at all. He should not have accepted Iris Stuart’s invitation for Christmas dinner.
He glanced around the room at the other guests—Wayha Spencer and his two granddaughters were here. He ought to be glad that they had not lost their home like so many of the other Indians in the area. If not for Iris and Adam’s intervention, they would probably not be here.
Lance and Camie Sherer were here, too. They had also brought their children. Just being around such nice families ought to make him feel better—but it didn’t.
Adam Stuart walked over to him. “I’ve got something I need to talk to you about.” He inclined his head toward the door. “Let’s go to my study for a minute.”
Nathan followed him to the quieter room and waited for Adam to speak.
“I’m worried about you, Nathan.”
With a sigh, Nathan walked to the window and looked out at the scenery. Last week’s snow had mostly disappeared, leaving patches of white here and there in the shadiest parts of the Stuarts’ grounds. “Is that why you and Iris invited me?”
“Of course not.” Adam’s easy chuckle filled the room. “You and I have been friends for years, Nathan. Which is why I feel I need to say something. You haven’t been the same since the accident.”
“Accident?” Nathan didn’t even try to keep the derision out of his voice. “You mean murder. Although it may not have been intentional, I murdered Ira Watson.”
Adam walked up behind him and put a hand on Nathan’s shoulder. “The Bible speaks to the difference between homicide and accidental death. You know you held no enmity against that man. He attacked you—”
“Not until I stepped between him and Margaret.”
“So you are condemning yourself for protecting a lady? A woman who has been your friend for longer than we have? Who could not protect herself from his brute strength?” Adam’s hand tightened on his shoulder. “God would not condemn you for protecting the weak.”
“How can you speak for God?” Nathan let his anger escape. “How can you say what He thinks? He created Ira Watson and died for his salvation as much as He died for mine.”
“That’s true, but sadly not all men choose to embrace God. Some refuse to listen until it’s too late.”
Nathan knew his friend was speaking the truth. He wanted to embrace it, but he could not. “I wish I hadn’t gone to eat supper there that night. I wish I’d gone home and eaten alone. I wish someone had stepped in when the fight first broke out. I wish any number of things had happened that night. But they didn’t. And—I—killed—Ira Watson.”
“If you were guilty, don’t you think the sheriff would have arrested you?”
He lifted his shoulders in a shrug. “No one liked the man. He hadn’t been here long, so he didn’t have anyone to defend him. I couldn’t even find any family connections.”
“All of that is beside the point. The sheriff is a fair man. When he learned the circumstances surrounding Mr. Watson’s death, he knew no reason existed for him to arrest you.”
“He’s only a man. He should have arrested me. He wasn’t inside my head that evening. He didn’t know how angry I was. How could he? Only God knows what was in my mind, and I feel the weight of His judgment.”
“Listen to me, Nathan.” A new tone had come into Adam’s voice now. A sound of command. “You have got to find a way to forgive yourself and put that unfortunate episode behind you. Believe me, I know the danger of holding on to the past. I almost waited too long. Every day I thank God for bringing me out of my bitterness. He can heal you, too, if you’ll let Him.”
Knowing Adam was right, Nathan pinned a smile on his face. “I’ve been thinking about that.”
“I’m glad to hear it.” Adam returned his smile. “If there’s anything I can do to help, please don’t hesitate.”
“Just pray for me.”
“Always.” Adam led the way back to the parlor.
Nathan watched as his friends laughed and talked, wishing he could join in. But an invisible wall seemed to separate them, a wall he didn’t know how to break through. Maybe if he had the right tool…maybe if he studied his Bible more…maybe if he dedicated himself completely to doing the Lord’s work…
The idea took root. He could study more and understand God’s Word better if he let go of all his worldly considerations and devoted himself to the Lord’s service.
The more he thought of it, the more he liked the idea. He would become a preacher. He’d sell everything he owned—the store and its inventory, his land, his home—everything. He’d go wherever the church sent him. He’d face any hardship with fortitude. And once God saw how devoted he was, maybe He would erase the guilt of Nathan’s evil deed.
He said good night to his hosts and assured them he would be better in the days ahead. He watched as a look of relief passed between Iris and Adam. He felt humbled to know he had such good friends. They truly cared about him. He wanted to tell them of the plan he’d come up with after his talk with Adam, but it was too new, too precious. He did not want to risk having anyone put a stumbling block in his way. He knew this was the right thing to do.
Nathan climbed onto his horse and rode home, feeling more hopeful than he’d felt in a month. He glanced up at the clear night sky, thinking of that night more than eighteen hundred years earlier, when God had become a man. He was determined to find his way back to the upright man he’d once been.
He would study hard, learn every verse, memorize the whole Bible if
he had to. He would show God how penitent he was. He would become worthy again, even if it took him the rest of his life.
Chapter 1
May 1841
Nathan leaned forward in the saddle. “It won’t be long now, Lazarus. We should arrive in Natchez before noon.”
The horse nodded as if excited by the promise. Nathan straight- ened and looked around him. The terrain was so different on the southern section of the Natchez Road. Pine trees crowded in on either side and formed a canopy above horse and rider, offering welcome shade in the warm spring temperatures. Although Nathan was acclimated to warm temperatures—it already felt like summer here in Mississippi even though it was only midmorning—he was already sweating. He supposed many things would be different here.
Should he stay in a hotel in Natchez On-the-Hill before appearing at Magnolia Plantation? He was several days ahead of his scheduled arrival, and he did not want to inconvenience his hosts. Or should he proceed directly to the plantation, which would serve as his home base for the next few years? At least he hoped he would be stationed here for that long before the church decided to give him a new circuit.
He could not wait to see the accommodations being provided by Mr. and Mrs. LeGrand. A separate home for his own use. It would be quite a change from the past year apprenticing under Douglas Feazell. He was looking forward to hours of quiet without the interruption of Pastor Feazell’s three rambunctious children.
By all accounts, Mr. and Mrs. Jeremiah LeGrand were a couple with but one child, a young woman with intellectual, rather than family, pursuits. He had no doubt she would be plain, outspoken, or terribly spoiled by doting parents—perhaps all three. But at least she would not pull on his coat to get his attention or try to climb in his lap with sticky fingers.
Nathan’s stomach clenched. He did not understand why children were so ill-behaved. He had been a model of propriety from the time he could walk. Everyone said so. Why did other children have to run and romp, scream at nothing, and shout when a whisper was more appropriate?
Nathan took several deep breaths and urged his horse to a canter as the dense foliage began to give way to cultivated fields. He passed an inn and waved to a man sitting on the front porch in a rocking chair. He traveled another mile before seeing a large house in the distance that must be one of the plantation homes. Was it Magnolia Plantation? He had no way of knowing, so he stayed on the road that would take him into town. He would find someone there to give him specific directions.
The bustling port city came into view as he crested a hill. People hurried along wooden boardwalks on errands, and the streets were clogged with wagons, carts, horses, and carriages. The sights and sounds were nearly overwhelming to him. Banks and millinery stores vied for space next to grocers and livery stables. On his left, he caught the shouts and laughter of children running on the lawn of what appeared to be a school or orphanage. He shuddered and moved on as quickly as he could manage.
He allowed his horse to follow other riders moving in a westerly direction and was eventually rewarded by a stunning vista—the wide ribbon of the Mississippi lay at the bottom of a precipice, her muddy waters rushing southward with a flotilla of cargo-laden boats.
Not wanting to actually go down to Natchez Under-the-Hill, he moved out of the flow of foot and horse traffic, choosing a grassy park bordering the main road. The park must have been created for visitors such as him, offering several benches and a hitching post. Nathan dismounted and tethered his horse before walking to one of the benches that overlooked the river below. He breathed deeply of the warm air, removed his hat, leaned back, and closed his eyes to thank God for a safe journey.
A young girl’s voice interrupted his prayer. “Hey, mister, are you asleep?”
Nathan opened his eyes to see a girl with hair as blond as his own wearing an oversized dress. She could have been anywhere between the ages of toddler and debutante. “I am not.”
The girl pursed her lips and nodded. “Too much to drink?”
He looked around for rescue. The girl must have a nanny or mother somewhere in the vicinity.
“My uncle Freddy used to drink in the morning.” She sat down beside him on the bench and swung her feet to and fro. “But then he got mashed by a hotel.” The girl smacked one hand down on the other with a loud sound.
“He what?”
She nodded and fixed him with a blue-eyed stare. “A big tormato came here last year and killed lots of people. Uncle Freddy was eating his dinner at the Steamboat and it fell down on him. That’s why I had to go to Mercy House and live with the other orphans.”
Nathan’s mouth dropped open. He ran his hand through his hair, a sure sign of anxiety, and immediately tried to straighten it. “Did you come here alone?”
“Ummm.” The girl sneaked a glance past him. “Nooo. But Miss Deborah is busy.”
He swiveled his head to see a group of children being gathered up by a tall woman who was frantically looking around. He could understand her concern. His desire to ease her fear overcame his own anxiety. “I think you’ve been missed.”
The girl tried to hide behind his shoulder. “I wanted to see if you were okay.”
“Well now that you know I am, why don’t you let me return you to your friends?” Nathan stood up and held out a hand to her. He didn’t know why he didn’t send her on her way, but he could not ignore the sadness in the child’s eyes. “Come along. I’ll take you back.”
“You look like Uncle Freddy. Maybe you could say you’re his brother and Miss Deborah would let me come live with you.”
“I have many reasons to reject such a suggestion.” Nathan tried to keep the horror from his voice. “The first is that it would be a lie. I’m a pastor. Would you have me break one of God’s commandments?”
Her eyes widened, and she shook her head.
“Good. Come along, then, Miss…”
“Mishal Carpenter, but everyone calls me Mia.” She stood up and brushed a leaf from her skirt.
“Miss Carpenter.” Feeling a little like he’d been run over by a team of horses, Nathan escorted the precocious child back to her guardian. As he walked away, he could hear the children asking about his identity. He didn’t hear what Mia’s answer was, but he hoped it had nothing to do with “tormatos” or uncles.
Nathan collected his horse and decided to stop at the land office he’d passed on his way through town. After winding his way through the steady stream of townspeople, he arrived at the glass-fronted building that advertised the business within and the owner, Silas Ward. He dismounted and entered the front door, setting off the tinkling of a bell.
“Hello, what can I do for you?” An olive-complexioned man with dark eyes and darker hair smiled at him from behind a tall counter.
“I need to find out how to get to Magnolia Plantation.” Nathan removed his hat and held out a hand to the merchant he imagined to be Mr. Ward. “I’m new to these parts, and I thought you might be able to help me.”
The man on the far side of the counter frowned, and his mustache twitched.
Nathan wondered if he had broken some local custom. Back home he could have stopped at any number of businesses to make a similar inquiry, but this was not Tennessee.
“What’s your business with the LeGrands?”
Nathan let his hand fall to his side. “I’m the new itinerant pastor, and the LeGrands have graciously offered me a place to stay while I’m holding church meetings here in Natchez.”
The man’s expression lightened a degree or two. “So you’re the new pastor. And here I was thinking you might be a customer.”
“Sorry to disappoint you, sir, but I have no need for land.” Nathan stretched his mouth in a smile. “I hope that won’t keep you from attending church once I am able to take the pulpit.”
“Of course it won’t.” The man extended his hand across the counter. “My name’s Silas Ward. Pleased to make your acquaintance, Pastor.”
Nathan returned the firm handshake. “Likewise
, Mr. Ward.” He watched the features on the other man’s face, amazed at the transformation. From professional courtesy to distrust to friendliness. Mr. Ward would make a fine actor. But was his ability to modify his temperament at lightning speed an indication of imbalance?
As Mr. Ward described the route he should follow to Magnolia Plantation, Nathan tried to quash his misgivings. It was not his place to judge others. That much he had surely learned in the past year.
He assumed a pleasant smile, thanked the merchant, and escaped with a sigh of relief. His dislike for Mr. Silas Ward was disturbing. He would have to pray for understanding and acceptance. His future as a pastor depended on his ability to relate to all the people in the community.
Chapter 2
What’s that on your cheek?”
Abigail LeGrand rubbed at her face and sneezed. “Probably dust.”
“Let me.” Her mother pulled a handkerchief from the pocket of her skirt and stepped close. “You’re only making matters worse.”
Abigail tapped her foot but submitted to her mother’s ministrations. Why wasn’t she covered in dust, too? But then no amount of grime would ever take away from her mother’s beauty. From the top of her gleaming black tresses to the toes of her fashionable slippers, Mama always looked as though she’d stepped from the covers of a ladies’ magazine.
“I don’t see why you’re so concerned, Mama. We still have a lot to do this afternoon to get the cottage ready for the new minister.” She pointed at the pile of dust covers she and her mother had removed from the furniture. “Those need to be washed and stored, and I still have to cut the magnolia blossoms you wanted.”
Her mother sighed and looked around. “I always forget what all has to be done, but we need to hurry. The new preacher will be here any day now, and I want everything to be right for him.”
Mississippi Brides Page 17