by Bill Bright
“You really don’t love him?”
Her hands flopped helplessly at her sides. “What am I going to do?”
Daniel did a little hand-flopping of his own. Should he tell her? Ben had sworn him to confidence. If Hannah and Ben felt this way about each other, why were they telling him and not each other? He’d be doing them a favor to say something, wouldn’t he?
On the other hand, if Ben knew Hannah didn’t want to marry him, Ben would be free to pursue Lucy. So it was better to keep silent, wasn’t it?
Hannah closed her eyes and tilted her head heavenward in silent agony. Daniel’s chest hurt to see her like this.
“Well, say something!” she yelled in exasperation, her head still back, her eyes still closed.
“Um…are you talking to me or to God?”
Hannah’s head rolled toward him. Her eyes opened. She laughed. “You really haven’t been around girls much, have you?”
“It’s that obvious?”
“Yes, dear, it is.”
Shaking her head, she slipped her arm inside his and tugged him down the road. “So tell me. Are we going to have to hit you over the head to get you to go to the revival services tonight?”
Daniel wasn’t sure what had happened or how she could change topics and moods so quickly. But it got him off the hook, so he liked it. All except for the new topic.
“I’d better not risk it. I’m still not sure where my—”
“Where your uncle is,” she finished. “I’ve been thinking about that. You saw him at the hotel, right?”
“Aya.”
“Was he there for the meeting of inquiry, or was he there because he lodged there last night?”
“I’m not sure. I haven’t thought about that.”
“Well, think about it. He’s looking for you, right?”
“Right.”
“So, given your deep-seated dread of religious meetings, does it make sense that he would look for you at that meeting?”
“Hmmm…I hadn’t thought…”
“Aya. We’ve already established the fact that you’re not thinking,” she said with an impish grin.
“Hey! That was uncalled for!”
Hannah paid no mind to his protest. “Which means your uncle was there because he’d stayed the night. Now what if we got my father to check at the front desk and see if your uncle’s still registered at the hotel? If he’s checked out, it makes sense that he’s moved on, doesn’t it?”
“Not your father,” Daniel objected. “Because if my uncle is there, he’ll want to talk to him, and my uncle will convince him that I’m lying, and then your father will want to play peacemaker, and—”
“Whoa! Slow down. All right. If not my father, then…”
“Ben. We can get Ben to do it. No, wait…they’ve seen Ben. What if they recognize him?”
“He’ll just have to be careful. Don’t underestimate Ben.”
“He saved me once already.”
“Then it’s settled. Once Ben learns that your uncle is no longer at the hotel, we can assume they’ve left town, and you’ll be free to attend tonight’s meeting.”
“Aya, wait! You tricked me!”
But it was too late. And from the smile on Hannah’s face, she knew exactly what she’d done.
Robely Epps stifled a yawn as Asa queried a local farmer they’d overtaken on the road. Asa was leaning against the side of the farmer’s wagon. They’d been at it for nearly ten minutes. Slouched in the carriage, Epps waited as darkness crept over them.
During the last few weeks they’d learned that they fared better with the locals if Asa questioned them alone. Something about Epps’s appearance made them nervous.
He grinned.
To himself, he said,A time for honey, and a time for terror. Isn’t that what the Good Book says?
He repositioned himself on the seat. The pistol in his waistband dug into him. Muttering a curse, Epps repositioned it. He’d been fighting it all day.
Buying the pistol had been a mistake, something done in a moment of weakness. Cowards killed from a distance. Anyone could pull a trigger. It took a man to kill with a knife.
With a knife you had to get close to your victim. So close that—if he was quick enough and strong enough—he could kill you. What satisfaction was there in killing with a pistol? A mechanical thunder, the odor of gun powder…these were artificial sensations that could not compare to the animal pleasure a man sensed hearing another man’s scream, smelling the fear in his sweat, overpowering his resistance, and then feeling the life drain from him until it was gone.
Laughter cut into Epps’s reverie. Asa and the farmer had found something amusing.
Epps rebuked himself for getting too close to Asa. He enjoyed the man’s company, though Epps thought him unrealistic about the realities of life. But he admired Asa’s persistence to travel this far to track down a whiny, ungrateful, good-for-nothing nephew. Few men would do that for a son. His father never would have.
Leaning heavily on his cane, Asa limped back. The carriage tipped as he climbed in.
“He hasn’t seen him,” Asa reported.
Epps chuckled. “It took him that long to tell you he hasn’t seen him?”
Asa laughed. The farmer had put Asa in a good mood.
“Turns out, he has a cousin that lives in Greenfield.”
The town’s name meant nothing to Epps. He waited for more.
“Greenfield, Massachusetts. I grew up there.”
“Do you know his cousin?”
“I know the family. Don’t recall ever meeting the cousin.”
Asa slumped back, watching the back of the farmer’s wagon as it ambled down the road. His good humor departed with the farmer.
“So where do we go from here?” Epps asked.
“Home. I’m done.” The words themselves were weary.
“You’ve done more than most men in your situation,” Epps said.
“And so have you, my friend.”
Asa reached over and slapped Epps good-naturedly on the leg. As he did, Asa’s forearm hit the butt of the concealed pistol.
Alarmed, Epps tensed.
“You’ve gone the extra mile, my friend.” Asa showed no concern or curiosity over what was beneath Epps’s coat.
“I’ve gone more than a mile,” Epps said, keeping the conversation going.
Asa smiled. “You misunderstand. It’s a biblical expression. To go the extra mile means—”
“Roman rule. Military occupation. The law required that locals assist a Roman soldier for a mile. Jesus taught that a good man would go two miles.”
Asa shook his head in wonder. “This from a boy who never finished school? Robely Epps, all my professional life I have prayed that God would send me young men like you.”
“Don’t say that,” Epps said.
“You not only have intelligence but determination. You can do anything you set your mind to, do you know that? What can I say to convince you to come back to Cumberland with me?”
Epps could feel his anger rising. Talk like that only made it more difficult for him to kill Asa. “Don’t say things like that.”
“Why not? I have faith in you. Somebody should have told you these things years ago. And it’s still not too late. I could introduce you to some men in Cumberland. I have a good friend who—”
“Syracuse.” Epps used the word as a stopper, to plug up the flow of words coming from Asa’s mouth.
It worked.
Asa waited for more.
“Syracuse. My destiny lies in Syracuse.”
Disappointment showed on Asa’s face. But he recovered from it with the agility of a man experienced at handling disappointment. “Syracuse? When we first met, you told me you thought your fortune lay somewhere up here with the canal. So you’ve narrowed it down to Syracuse?”
“When we passed through it,” Epps lied. “Utica…Rome…too small for my taste. I had a good feeling about Syracuse.”
“Good!” Asa said
with forced enthusiasm. “Good! Syracuse is a good choice.” He grabbed the reigns and turned the carriage around.
“Tonight, we’ll stay in Rome,” Asa announced, “then tomorrow we head back. At least I have between Rome and Syracuse to try and twist your arm into coming back with me to Cumberland.” He clucked his tongue and the horse responded.
Epps rode in silence. Sullen.
“Why the long face?” Asa asked him. “The last couple of days it’s been obvious that something’s been weighing on your mind. Now that the decision’s made for Syracuse, you should feel relieved.”
Epps took a deep breath. “I am.”
“Well, someone ought to inform your face!” Asa said, laughing.
“It’s a parting sadness. I’m going to miss your company.”
That much was true.
“Well, there’s one remedy to that,” Asa added.
Epps ignored him.
They crossed an old canal bridge. As they did, a heavy sensation pressed down upon Epps, as though the atmosphere had become thick, making it difficult to breathe.
“You feel it too?” Asa asked. “It’s hard to put your finger on, isn’t it? But there’s definitely something here. I felt something similar to it a long time ago, in New Haven.”
Chapter 35
For not wanting to be in church, Daniel was having a good time. He’d settled into the pew with Hannah on his right and Lucy on his left. A disgruntled Ben sat on the other side of Hannah, between her and her father.
This was the seat Daniel had wanted. So had Ben. When they entered the church, Ben had jockeyed to position himself between the girls. Daniel had decided not to fight him for it.
Lucy had evidently noticed too. For reasons of her own, she had grabbed Daniel’s arm, pulled him beside her, and orchestrated the seating.
“Daniel, you sit by me. Hannah, you next, then Ben.”
They fell into line, and Ben took to sulking. Daniel wondered if Lucy knew how Hannah and Ben felt about each other.
The pews were packed. People stood in the aisles. Even though it was January, windows were open so those standing outside could hear.
Daniel’s presence had been ordained when Ben reported that, according to the hotel front desk, Asa Rush had checked out earlier that day. The owner, Mr. Frank, told Ben that he had last seen Asa Rush with a tall, bearded man riding east.
Hannah grinned at the news.
On the way to the church it was decided—by Lucy and Hannah—that after the service they would all go to the Robbins’s barn. There they could talk, and Daniel could play his recorder like he did the night they found him in the hayloft.
Daniel hadn’t felt this relaxed since the night of Braxton’s murder. His plan was to endure the sermon and enjoy the rest of the evening with his friends.
Hannah and Ben sat stiff and silent as they waited for the service to begin. Mr. Robbins stood in the aisle chatting with a sad-eyed man of about forty. He spoke with the animated gestures of a man who didn’t get off the farm often enough.
Very much aware of Lucy’s physical presence next to him, Daniel searched for something to say. Something witty. He glanced over at her, trying not to be obvious about it.
Lucy sat with perfect posture, head erect, her eyes closed, her lips moving ever so slightly.
Daniel whispered to her, “I think that’s a record. Most people don’t fall asleep until after the sermon begins.”
Lucy frowned. Without opening her eyes, she shushed him. “I’m praying for you,” she whispered back.
Daniel sat back, stung by the shush.
Well, at least she was thinking of him.
The buzz in the room dissipated as Reverend Gillett and Reverend Finney appeared on the front platform. While Daniel had seen Gillett before, for some reason he looked taller than he had this afternoon. He towered over Finney.
Gillett went to the pulpit. Finney took a seat.
Maybe it was the fact that they were in a church and not a converted dining room, but Gillett didn’t have the same trouble getting the group’s attention as he had at the hotel.
“At Reverend Finney’s request,” he said, “many of you have been much in prayer for this meeting. I have assured him of Rome’s fervent desire that God grace our town with revival. Accordingly, he has agreed to address us on the subject of spiritual revival, and how we might promote revival here in Rome.”
A general stir in the congregation suggested that not everyone liked the topic. Daniel had heard that some objected to the idea that revival was something that could be promoted. He looked to see Finney’s reaction. His stoic expression remained unchanged.
“Furthermore,” Gillett said, pressing on, “we have decided to dispense with the singing of hymns, to give Reverend Finney as much time as possible.”
Daniel frowned. He would have preferred more hymns and less preaching.
“Reverend Finney,” Gillett said, handing the pulpit over to the evangelist.
Charles Finney stood. In his midthirties, he had angular features and a high forehead. His eyes, clear and so piercing they could bore a hole through a tree, were his most striking feature. Finney carried a Bible, which he opened and placed in front of him on the pulpit.
“Our text for this evening is Hosea 10:12.” His voice cut through the room like a knife.
Daniel glanced at his friends. All three were leaning forward, as if they were dying of thirst and this man was about to tell them where they could find an oasis.
“Break up your fallow ground;” Finney read, “for it is time to seek the Lord, till he come and rain righteousness upon you.”
The carriage pulled up in front of the hotel. Asa handed the reigns to Epps. Out of courtesy to his friend, Asa didn’t offer to share his room. Epps appeared to appreciate the nonoffer.
“Same time in the morning?” Epps asked.
“Aya,” Asa grunted as he pulled a bag from the back of the carriage.
He noticed a wooden box that he hadn’t seen before in the back of the carriage, but he didn’t ask about it. It wasn’t his, which meant it wasn’t his business.
Bag in hand, Asa stepped away from the carriage.
Epps didn’t look good.
“Are you all right?” Asa asked.
Epps shuddered. “I’ll just be glad when we leave this place.”
“Anxious to start your new life in Syracuse?”
Epps forced a grin. “Something like that.” With a snap of the reigns, he drove away.
Asa toted his bag into the hotel, where the counter attendant greeted him by name.
“Thought you’d moved on,” said the attendant.
“Change of plans,” Asa said, scanning the lobby of the deserted hotel. “Quiet tonight.”
“Aya,” the attendant explained. “Everyone’s at the church. Revival services. Finney’s preaching.”
Asa signed the register. “The preacher from Western.”
“I heard he came out of the church at Evans Mills. But yeah, he’s been making a stir in Western.”
“Have you heard him? Is he a good preacher?”
The attendant handed Asa a key. “You’re asking the wrong fellow. I’m of the opinion that the wordsgood andpreacher don’t belong in the same sentence.”
The attendant motioned to a boy to help Asa with his bags. Asa thanked him. He took a step toward his room, then turned back to the counter.
“Where is this church? I might wander over there later.”
On the way to church, Mr. Robbins had told them that Finney had trained to become a lawyer. Daniel could see it. The man addressed the congregation as though they were a jury. “The Jews were a nation of farmers, and it is therefore a common thing in the Scriptures to refer for illustrations to their occupation, and to the scenes with which farmers and shepherds are familiar.
“What is it to break up fallow ground? To break up the fallow ground is to break up your hearts—to prepare your minds to bring forth fruit unto God. To break up the f
allow ground is to bring the mind into such a state that it is fitted to receive the Word of God. You must begin by looking at your hearts. Many never seem to think about this. They pay no attention to their own hearts, and never know whether they are doing well in religion or not—whether they are gaining ground or going back—whether they are fruitful, or lying waste like the fallow ground.
“Examine thoroughly the state of your hearts, and see where you are—whether you are walking with God every day, or walking with the devil—whether you are serving God or serving the devil most—whether you are under the dominion of the prince of darkness, or of the Lord Jesus Christ.”
Finney went on to describe fallow ground as cultivated land that is allowed to lie idle for a season. It’s packed down, hard, and unproductive unless broken up. Breaking up such ground is a violent process whereby the farmer’s blade cuts into the hardened surface and forcibly turns everything upside down, so that which has been hidden below is now brought to the surface.
Daniel didn’t like this sermon. He believed that some things were buried for a reason and that they were best left buried.
“Break up all the ground and turn it over,” Finney preached. “Do not balk it, as the farmers say; do not turn aside for little difficulties; drive the plow right through them, beam deep, and turn the ground all up, so that it may all be mellow and soft, and fit to receive the seed and bear fruit a hundredfold.
“It will do no good to preach to you while your hearts are in this hardened, and waste, and fallow state. The farmer might just as well sow his grain on the rock. This is the reason why there are so many fruitless professors in the church, and why there is so much outside machinery, and so little deep-toned feeling in the church. If you go on this way, the Word of God will continue to harden you, and you will grow worse and worse, just as the rain and snow on an old fallow field makes the turf thicker, and the clods stronger.”
Hannah whispered to Daniel, “Sit still!”
“I am sitting still!”
“You’re fidgeting like a little boy.”
She was right. Daniel hadn’t noticed it until she said something. It gave him an idea. He started to get up.