Nathan shook his head. “Abram needs it more than I.” He could feel his stomach rumbling. But he had provisions with him—dried berries and strips of salted beef—that he would eat once he made camp.
Kneeling beside the mat where her husband lay, Leah coaxed him to swallow a little of the stew while Nathan watched. Her tenderness and patience with the wounded man raised a yearning within his heart. Although this couple had so little, they still had each other.
How he wished someone special was waiting for him at home. Someone who would shed a tear of empathy when he was hurt and rejoice with him when triumphs came his way. Someone who challenged him to think and yet loved him in spite of his faults.
Leah finished feeding her husband and returned to the handmade table where Nathan sat. “How came you to be on that road today?”
“I travel about, visiting the communities and spreading the Word of the Gospel.” Nathan’s hands felt empty suddenly. He had left his Bible in his saddlebags.
Her face broke into a wide smile. “You’re a preacher man?”
He nodded, even though he felt unworthy of the wonder in her voice. “I am.”
“Could you tell me a story from your Bible?” Her hands pressed together. “I used to go by the church on Sunday and stand in the door so I’d hear the preacher, but then Master said he didn’t want us hanging ’bout and told us to stay home. So it’s been awhile since I heared anything.”
Verses from Luke’s Gospel filled his mind, the words of Jesus as He spoke to the multitudes of followers. It was as if God was reaching down from His throne in heaven and inspiring him. “ ‘Blessed be ye poor: for yours is the kingdom of God. Blessed are ye that hunger now: for ye shall be filled.’ ” Nathan could feel the comfort in those words flowing through him. His voice grew stronger as he continued. ‘ “Blessed are ye that weep now: for ye shall laugh. Blessed are ye, when men shall hate you, and when they shall separate you from their company, and shall reproach you, and cast out your name as evil, for the Son of man’s sake. Rejoice ye in that day, and leap for joy: for, behold, your reward is great in heaven….’”
Leah clapped her hands. “I see why you’re a preacher.”
From the other side of the room, Abram shifted on his pallet. “Them’s some good words.”
Nathan hadn’t even realized the man was conscious, much less that he could absorb the meaning of the words in spite of his pain. He got up from the table and walked over to the corner where Abram lay. “May God’s embrace comfort you and His Word give you the strength to overcome the evil of this world.” He put his hand on the black man’s thick shoulder, careful not to touch his back, bowed his head, and took a deep breath. “Lord, please look down on this man, Abram, and heal him. May he and his wife, Leah, find favor in Your sight. Please grant them freedom. Give them hope for tomorrow and bless them with Your mighty blessings. We know, Lord, that You gave Yourself for our sins, and we thank You most humbly. Amen.”
“Amen.” Both Abram and Leah repeated the word after him.
“Thank you, Preacher.” Leah’s voice recalled him from the tumult in his heart.
Nathan felt both diminished and strengthened by what was happening in the meager slave quarters. Never before had he felt so strongly the power of the Lord. Never before had he been swept away by awe and wonder. Never before had God seemed so real to him. The sermons and prayers he’d spoken in the past seemed but a pale version of what had taken place here.
He wanted time alone to consider the ramifications, so he took his leave with promises to return. He also made a promise to himself to do something to help these two escape their bondage. Nathan knew he didn’t have enough money to purchase their papers, but he also was beginning to realize God could give him whatever was necessary.
Nathan collected his horse and left the plantation behind. When he found a place to make camp, he gathered pine needles for a bed and settled down. He gazed up into the starlit sky. Was God looking down on him right now? A sense of peace covered him like a warm blanket, and Nathan understood that his question was answered. No matter what had happened in his past, God was still there for him.
His unworthiness brought the sting of tears to his eyes. Nathan drifted to sleep somewhere between regret and thankfulness.
Chapter 16
I saw her.” Deborah put down her glass of lemonade with a clatter. “I know how ridiculous it sounds, Abigail, but I saw Mrs. Aucoin.”
“You’re telling me you saw a ghost?”
A nod answered her. “She was dressed in a white flowing robe and carrying a lantern.” Deborah reached out and grabbed Abigail’s arm. “It had the same green glow the children saw a few weeks ago.”
Abigail was dumbfounded. Deborah was not given to flights of fancy. She had been raised in the orphanage and had raised dozens of other children in her turn. She was as practical and capable a person as any Abigail had ever met. And now she was claiming to have seen a ghost.
“I know you remember the story. Robert Aucoin was a pirate who sailed the river and attacked merchants and visitors making their way down to New Orleans. He was caught and hung somewhere around Memphis. When the local authorities came to his wife and told her what had happened, she refused to believe it. She ran from the room, screaming that her husband was a good man who would return to her.”
A shiver teased its way down Abigail’s spine. She had heard the tales about the poor, crazy woman who walked along the bluff out back, looking for her husband, losing her grasp on sanity when year after year passed without his reappearance. Poor, mad Vanessa Aucoin. Abigail shook herself. “While I’m aware Robert and Vanessa Aucoin were real people who once lived here, no one above the age of twelve really believes they haunt this house. They are only stories children tell because of some ghoulish enjoyment they get from frightening one another.”
“I thought so, too, until last week.” Deborah let go of her arm and leaned back against the sofa. “I’ve not been sleeping well, what with the noises the children keep hearing and the lights moving back and forth.”
“That must be the explanation.” Abigail felt better. Her friend was not becoming unbalanced. “You probably thought you were awake. It’s very understandable. What we need to do is hire an assistant for you, someone who can help you with the responsibilities you carry. I come over as often as I can manage, but you need someone else who lives here with you and the children. Then you can get some well-deserved rest.”
Deborah shook her head. “I’m sure of what I saw. It was a woman dressed in white. And she had to be a ghost because while I was watching, poof ”—Deborah clapped her hands for emphasis—“she disappeared like a puff of smoke.”
Abigail cast about for some logical explanation. “Perhaps one of the older girls was walking outside.”
“No, I checked. For once, all of the children were sleeping peacefully right where they should be.” She held up one hand. “And before you suggest one of the neighbors, remember that she disappeared without warning. How could she have done that if she was a real person? The drop down to the river is one hundred feet or more. No one could survive such a fall.”
“I don’t know, Deborah. But there must be a mundane answer.”
“There is. The ghost of Mrs. Aucoin.”
Abigail blew out a breath. “I would have to meet her face-to-face before I’d believe that.”
“I’d probably feel the same way if you told me the story I’ve told you, but I know what I saw.” She sighed. “Enough of my problems. Why don’t you tell me what’s been going on with you the past few days?”
The change of subject was abrupt, but Abigail allowed it. She would mention the problem to her parents. They needed to know something odd was going on here. Perhaps they could get to the bottom of the situation.
Abigail sipped at her lemonade as she considered what topic might get Deborah’s mind off of her problems. After a moment, she knew what subject to broach. It was sure to remove all thought of apparitions. “I a
m going to dinner with Mr. Ward on Friday.”
That did the trick. Deborah’s mouth dropped open. “Mr. Ward has secured your attention? I never would have thought it possible.”
“Why do you say that? Mr. Ward is a nice man. He works hard, has an accommodating disposition, and is very considerate of my feelings.”
“But I thought your parents had hoped for a match between you and Brother Pierce.”
Abigail almost choked on her drink. “Nathan? I cannot think of a worse idea. Brother Pierce is proslavery, antichildren, and very domineering.”
“Oh my. Well, that would never do.” Deborah summoned a weak smile. “But please be careful when you are with Mr. Ward.”
“Why do you say that?” Abigail’s hand crept up to her throat. “Do you know something unsavory about Mr. Ward?”
“Unsavory?” Deborah looked at a point directly above Abigail’s left shoulder. “I wouldn’t say that. But there is something about him, something familiar. Yet when I try to pin down the feeling, it slips away from me. I keep thinking I know him, but I know it’s impossible.” She turned her focus back to Abigail’s face. “I wish you hadn’t agreed to see him.”
Abigail shrugged. “I thank you for your advice, but I am committed for a dinner. If it makes you feel any better, I will be on my guard.”
“I’m certain everything will be fine.” Deborah’s smile wobbled a bit. “It’s probably one more sign I am slipping over the edge of sanity.”
“Don’t be silly. I’m sure it’s a matter of getting enough sleep and relieving your mind of some of the pressures it is under. Once we find someone to assist you, I’m certain you’ll feel better in no time.”
Silas put down his spoon and looked across the linen-covered table. “Is your gumbo tasty?”Abigail brushed her mouth with a starched napkin and nodded. “It’s a bit spicy, but I like it that way.”
“That’s good.” He picked up his spoon and dipped it into his bowl once more.
At this rate, dinner was going to be a very long meal. Abigail wondered what topic she could bring up. They had already covered the weather—warm—the number of people dining out nowadays—dozens—and the broad variety of items available at the local mercantile—amazing.
She glanced at Silas and thought that he was at least a well-mannered diner. He did not slurp from his spoon or put his elbows on the dinner table. But other than that, she could not say many favorable things about him. Silas had a knack of agreeing with every statement she uttered. While that should make her feel as though her ideas were correct, Abigail wondered if he might agree even if she now switched her position to the opposite point of view.
“I had a most interesting visitor this morning.”
This sounded like the start of a good topic. “Who was that?”
“William Johnson. He said he wanted to meet me and tell me about his shop around the corner from my office.”
A spark of interest flared. Abigail looked at Silas with more enthusiasm. Her father had once patronized William Johnson’s barbershop. “He is quite famous in this area.”
A nod answered her. “He told me a little of his background. How he was freed as a child and learned his trade before purchasing a building downtown and opening his shop. He said he’s the barber for many of the landowners in Natchez.”
“Yes, his business acumen is extraordinary, but did you know that he himself owns slaves?”
Silas’s eyebrows climbed toward his hairline. “Is that so? How odd. One would think that, having been a slave himself, he would oppose slavery.”
“Yes, it is shocking to me, too.” Abigail sighed. “Papa says it’s because of Mr. Johnson’s desire for higher social status.”
“Your father is very perceptive.” Silas leaned forward. “Mr. Johnson wanted to know if I planned to take part in the Fourth of July festivities.”
“What did you tell him?”
When his lips curved upward, she tried to convince herself the man sitting on the opposite side of the table was attractive. Some would describe him as dashing, with his dark hair and eyes, but she found his intense gaze a bit off-putting. As he hesitated before giving her an answer, Abigail found herself comparing him to the tall, blond-haired, blue-eyed minister. Somehow, Nathan seemed much more appealing.
“I’m not certain.” His voice cut through her wandering thoughts.
Perhaps it was guilt over not giving him her full attention that shaped her answer. “Oh, you must. We have great fun.”
“Sometimes they can be quite tedious with speeches from self-serving politicians and ill-mannered children allowed to run loose like heathens.”
Abigail’s initial excitement faded in response to his words. Doubt brought her eyebrows together. She thought Silas enjoyed being around children. It was Nathan who was uncomfortable. Or had Silas only been pretending to enjoy the orphans’ company for his own reasons?
Tucking the question away for later consideration, she consciously smoothed her expression before answering. “Besides the speeches, we have games, tasting competitions, and boat races along the river. Then everyone gets together to eat watermelon and watch the incredible fireworks display.”
His gaze sharpened on her face. He leaned forward slightly. “Will you be attending?”
“Of course.” Abigail sat back in her chair, her hand resting next to her empty bowl of gumbo. “My family always goes. Mama’s pickled pears usually win the competition for canned fruits, and she’s been experimenting with a special recipe to enter into the pie contest this year.”
“I may have to sign up to be a judge then.” He reached across the table and put his hand on top of hers. “All of a sudden, listening to a few long-winded politicos seems a small price to pay.”
Tugging her hand out from under his, Abigail hid it in her lap. “I usually enjoy their speeches, but perhaps I am too dim-witted to give an opinion.”
Now it was Silas’s turn to furrow his eyebrows. “Please forgive me. I didn’t mean to insult you or your celebration. I’m certain it will be an outstanding day. I cannot wait to take part.”
Feeling a little foolish for her discomfort, Abigail nodded. “I apologize for my snappish remark. But you should take into consideration that this is my home. I love Natchez, and I hate to hear newcomers disparage our customs.”
Their waiter came to their table as she finished speaking, his tray laden with food. Abigail could tell Silas wanted to say something more, but he folded his lips into a tight line and waited as they were served the main course—roast lamb.
“Is there something else I can bring you?” The man smiled at something on the other side of the room.
Abigail shook her head.
“No, thank you.” Silas answered for both of them.
As soon as he walked away, Silas’s dark gaze returned to her face. “I hope you’ll forgive me, Abigail. The thought of losing your friendship is shredding my heart.” He put his hand on his chest. “I won’t be able to enjoy a single morsel of this dinner unless you accept my apology.”
How melodramatic the man was. He ought to be a thespian. He had obviously missed a successful career on the stage. Promising herself to never again be put in a similar situation, Abigail nodded.
Silas stretched his hand out, his fingers beckoning her to put her hand in his.
Abigail would have liked nothing more than to leave the table and take herself home, but she knew it was impossible. So she held onto her temper and forced a smile. “Really, Silas. Please don’t make a scene. I accept your apology. You may consider yourself completely forgiven and this whole conversation forgotten.”
She ignored his hand and pushed her meat around her plate. Would this evening never end?
Chapter 17
Nathan heard the singing before he reached Gatlin Camp Ground. It seemed to carry on the wind, like the voices of angels, and he felt hope lifting his spirit as he moved forward.
In the week since he’d left Abram and Leah, his mind had poked and
prodded at his long-held acceptance of enslavement. He felt like a man who had lived his whole life in a dark cave—a cavern whose walls were indifference and ignorance. How could he have ever been so blind?
Nathan tightened his knees on his horse’s saddle as he began singing along with the unseen worshipers. Crossing the clear waters of Topisaw Creek, he followed a well-marked path to an open area. Several wood cabins clustered together at the far edge of the campground, their backs to the dense woods of pine trees wider around than Nathan was tall. A large structure rose from the ground to his right, its walls nothing more than poles driven into the ground. A crowd of people sat under the interlaced saplings and tree limbs that formed the roof.
Wondering if he should try to stow his gear first or join the others under the brush arbor, Nathan dismounted and led his horse to the corral. He removed his saddle and bags, stacking them to one side of the fence for later retrieval.
“Well, would you look at who’s finally come riding in.” The lilting voice made his heart race and brought a smile to Nathan’s face.
“It’s good to see you, Abigail.” He took off his hat and bowed to her.
“We got here yesterday.” She scuffed at a patch of grass. “It’s going to be a great week.”
“Yes.” Nathan stared at the top of her head, his fingers itching to loosen her chignon. He wanted to wrap his arms around her and kiss her. Thoughts of pressing his lips against her soft mouth robbed him of the ability to speak.
Moments passed until she finally turned her dark gaze up to his face. His feelings must have been apparent on his face because her cheeks reddened. She glanced back toward where the others were still singing. “I’d better get back to the meeting. It looks like Bishop Ross is about to begin his sermon.”
“Don’t go.” The two words shot from his mouth with the velocity of a rifle blast. “I…I’ve been thinking about you a lot. Wondering if you’ve kept busy.” He wanted to bite off his tongue as soon as the words escaped. Would she be able to tell how jealous he’d been? The thought of her being entertained by the officious Silas Ward had stolen several nights of slumber. He squared his shoulders. “I mean, I know how much…how many…”
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