by Ann Shorey
Matthew hoisted Julia onto his lap where she babbled and grabbed for his coffee. “Let’s hear them out.” He pushed the mug out of Julia’s reach and quirked an eyebrow at Ruby. “Go ahead. Tell us the rest.”
“I just need for her to get a picture of what it was like in those days.” Ruby gazed at her niece. “Your pa said he’d go down there, get himself a land grant, then come back for you. We doubted it, seeing as how he wasn’t doing much of a job of looking after you as it was. But when spring wore on, he packed up your things and brought you to us. Said it’d only be for a year or so.”
Ellie leaned forward, shoulders hunched, head down.
“My pa, your Grandpa Long, raved and threatened, but off George went. Time went on. Months. Then a year. Nary a word. We thought, ‘Well, no sense bothering the child with all this. We’ll just tell her he died.’ For all we knew, it was the truth.”
Ellie made a small whimpering sound. Matthew slipped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her close. Part of him could understand the reasoning behind letting Ellie believe her father had died, but he’d seen, as Ruby and Arthur had not, the tears she’d shed after reading the letter. It was bad enough knowing she’d been given away. Learning that her father had been alive for many years and never returned for her doubled the pain.
Arthur scraped his chair away from the table and stood. “Don’t say ‘we.’ I told you from the beginning that we should be honest with her. Now see what it’s come to?”
Ruby looked from Arthur to her niece. “It seemed best at the time.” Her eyes pleaded for understanding. “I never meant to hurt you.”
Water drops on the stove hissed in the quiet room.
Finally Ellie drew a deep breath. “It doesn’t matter now whose idea it was.” Tears spilled from her eyes. “What I don’t understand is how could he walk away from his own child?”
5
Ellie wrung her mop over a pail of lye solution and scrubbed at grease spots in front of the cook stove. Physical activity helped work off the anger and hurt that accompanied her waking hours. Over the past five days she’d dusted each room, even the seldom-used parlor, taken down and washed the kitchen curtains, and hauled ashes out of all the fireplaces.
In spite of her resolution not to, she walked to the kitchen window and peered down the lane to see if her aunt and uncle might be coming toward the house. They weren’t.
Ellie’s mind churned with questions about her father. Nobody would talk about him when she was a child. What did his voice sound like? Was he tall and burly, like Uncle Luke? Or skinny, like Uncle Elwood? She plunged the mop back into the bucket with more force than necessary, splashing the hem of her apron. Ellie eyed the watery evidence of her afternoon’s labors, and sighed. Now she’d never have answers.
She gazed out at the lane again. Matthew passed by, driving his team of Belgians harnessed to the box wagon he used for spreading manure. His return signaled suppertime. She hurried out the back door and emptied the bucket beside the steps. Then, drying her chapped hands on her apron, she ran up the stairs to check on Julia.
The baby’s cheeks were pink with sleep when she rolled over and sat up in her crib. Ellie’s heart lifted at the sight of Julia’s radiant smile. “Mama’s here.” She swung her in the air, kissed her, then laid her on the bed to change her diaper. After dropping a fresh gown over Julia’s head, Ellie carried her to a low chair next to the bedroom fireplace. Once settled she unbuttoned her bodice. “Let’s get you fed before Papa comes in for supper.”
While Julia nursed, Ellie watched the glowing coals. A single tongue of flame rose and bobbed from side to side, as though scouting for companions. Her mind jumped to her father’s life in Texas. Did he regret leaving her? Was he lonely?
Then a new thought intruded. Maybe he remarried. Eyes wide, she stared unseeing at the flame. She could have brothers and sisters.
Ellie stood at the worktable in the kitchen and cut leftover venison into chunks for a meat pie. Each whack of the curved chopper emphasized her frustration with the unknowable portions of her father’s life. She dropped the pieces into a deep crockery pan, then added salt pork, flour, and cold gravy. A crust, already rolled, waited next to the wooden cutting board.
She looked up when Matthew entered. “This’ll be ready by the time the children are home from school.” Ellie surveyed his manure-splotched trousers. “At least you left your boots outside. After you change, you can throw those pants on the wash pile by the door.”
Matthew nodded. Glancing around the room, he said, “Looks mighty bright in here. You’ve been busy.”
“I always clean on Fridays. You know that.”
“Yes, but you usually have Ruby to help.” He cupped a hand around her shoulder. “I thought by now she’d be over her ruffled feelings.”
“Aunt Ruby’s ruffled feelings are the farthest thing from my mind at this moment.” She stepped back and placed her hands on her hips. “I thought of something else this afternoon—what if my father remarried while he was in Texas? I could have family down there.”
Matthew shook his head. “You don’t.”
“How do you know?”
He placed his hands on her shoulders, pressing hard as if to hold down her hopes. “Your Grandpa Long wouldn’t be figuring to inherit anything if there’d been a wife and children.”
Ellie shrugged his hands away. “Molly didn’t inherit when her husband died. She was all but penniless when you brought her here from Missouri.”
Matthew settled into a chair and pinched his lower lip. After a moment he said, “That was different.”
“I want to know if I have brothers and sisters.” She folded her arms across her midriff. “Will you help me?”
“It would be a fool’s errand. You’ll only be disappointed.” He used his patient father voice. “I don’t want to see you hurt. No good will come from digging around down in Texas for relatives who don’t exist.”
Ellie turned her back on him. No matter what he said, she was going to find out. She slid the meat pie into the oven and banged the door shut.
After the meal, the children remained at the cleared table to do their schoolwork. Matthew held Julia while helping Harrison memorize the names and capitals of all twenty-eight states. Jimmy and Johnny had their heads together over their arithmetic assignment, and Maria painstakingly copied the letters of the alphabet onto her slate. Ellie shook out the dishtowel and hung it on a peg near the stove, all the while listening to the soft murmur of her children’s voices. At the same time, part of her mind wrestled with questions about her father’s life. Questions that refused to go away.
She slipped into the chair next to Matthew and lifted Julia onto her lap. Looking over Maria’s shoulder, she pointed to a reversed letter.
“Small dee and big dee have their backs to each other.” She wrote the two letters on the slate. “Like this.”
Maria beamed and copied her. “This way?”
“Exactly so.”
When Harrison finished reciting, Matthew turned to Ellie. “I need to go to town tomorrow.”
Mentally she started a list of things she wanted to do in Beldon Grove, beginning with a visit to the cemetery. Then she’d go to Molly’s and see if Molly had heard of Brazoria County in Texas.
When she opened her mouth to speak, Matthew held up his hand to stop her. “It’d be best if I went alone.” He pushed back his chair and stood. “I clean forgot about calling on Marcus Beldon this week. What with everything that happened on Monday—”
Imperceptibly, Ellie shook her head.
“What happened on Monday, Papa?” Harrison asked.
“Never mind.” Matthew turned back to Ellie. “I won’t be gone long.”
Ellie sighed, disappointed. “Will you bring Molly back with you?”
Matthew took special care with his appearance on Saturday morning. No sense offending Marcus Beldon by showing up looking like a farmer.
When he came downstairs, Ellie had her sleeves rolle
d up and was kneading dough for the day’s baking. She brushed a stray wisp of hair from her forehead with the back of her hand. “You promise you’ll bring Molly and Lily to visit when you return?”
“If they can come.” He looked at Maria who sat watching Julia play with a ball of yarn. “That all right with you, young’un?” He knew it would be. Five months younger than Maria, Lily was an infant during the time Molly lived in their home following her husband’s death. The two cousins had grown up as best friends.
“Oh yes, Papa.” Maria’s eyes shone. “We’ll have such fun.”
Smiling, Matthew left the kitchen. A gust of cold wind caught him when he stepped out of the shelter of the house. He grabbed at his hat, looking up at the deceptively blue sky. “March is going out like a lion this year!”
By the time he stopped the wagon in front of Bryant House, a handful of clouds had bunched on the western horizon. Pausing on the steps of the hotel, Matthew brushed stray bits of straw from his black trousers and straightened his hat. Then he turned the polished brass knob on the heavy oak door and entered the reception area.
Like most of the townspeople, he’d watched the hotel being built. He heard snatches of conversation regarding plans for its cosmopolitan fittings, but once the building was complete, he’d had no reason to visit. Now he noticed how the shining bead board wall paneling harmonized with a tan-colored floor cloth. An intricately designed fretwork arch curved over the hotel keeper’s desk at the rear of the room.
A man dressed in a russet-colored jacket and checked waistcoat walked around the desk when Matthew entered. “Are you in need of accommodations?”
His haughty tone grated on Matthew’s nerves. “Would Mr. Beldon be available?”
“Ah yes.” The clerk smoothed the burgundy cravat tied around his neck. “The Beldons are in room four. Would you like me to announce you?”
“If you don’t mind.”
The clerk pointed to a room that opened to their left. “You may wait in the parlor.” He strode down the hallway that led to the rear of the first floor.
Matthew entered the area indicated, again taking in the richness of the appointments. A large divan faced a screened fireplace, in which burned a low fire. Two matching lounge chairs covered in moss green velvet sat under the heavily draped windows. Glancing at his boots, he noticed to his horror that a rim of mud encircled the sole of his left boot. He grabbed his handkerchief and was trying to clean the grime when he heard voices approaching from the reception area.
He tucked the soiled cloth into his back pocket and turned in time to see Marcus Beldon enter the parlor.
“Reverend Craig.” He sounded annoyed.
“Mr. Beldon.” Matthew held out his hand.
Beldon grasped it with the same enthusiasm he might use if he were offered a dead catfish. “I expected you to come sooner.”
“I apologize. Family matters kept me at home.”
Marcus Beldon led the way to the seating in front of the fire. Choosing one of the lounge chairs, he lowered his bulk into it. “Sit down, Reverend. I’ll try not to take up too much of your time.”
He seemed completely at ease in the comfortable surroundings. No, not at ease—in charge. Matthew sat at one end of the divan. For a long moment, the two men regarded one another in silence.
Matthew leaned forward and rested his hands on his thighs. “You wanted to talk about Beldon Grove?”
“In a way.” The big man cocked his head and studied Matthew. “I found your choice of sermon topic curious. I take it you’re opposed to a performance of Shakespeare being held here?” He leaned forward, smoothing the finely woven fabric of his dove-colored trousers as he did so. “Do you think it’s your place to stand against a cultural event taking place in this town?”
Matthew’s mind flashed to Ben’s warning. If you preach against a Shakespeare play, you’ll sound like a fool. His cheeks warmed.
Beldon’s fingers drummed against one knee. “My father’s intention was to establish an outpost of eastern refinement here on the prairie.”
“Obviously, your father abandoned that vision when he left here fourteen years ago.”
“He left, true.” Beldon’s fingers continued drumming. “But he did not abandon his dream. On his deathbed he instructed me to come here and see that it’s carried out.”
“With all respect, sir, it doesn’t matter who your father was. You are a newcomer here and cannot be expected to begin imposing your will against that of the community.”
“The community’s will? Or yours, Reverend Craig?” Beldon stood, hulking over the seated Matthew. “So that there’s no misunderstanding between us, you must realize that the future of Beldon Grove is my rightful heritage. You’d do well to remember it.”
Matthew pinched his lip and forced himself to remain calm. “Are there any other items you wish to discuss? If not, I must be about my business.”
“I won’t keep you, then. Mrs. Beldon and I look forward to attending your church again tomorrow.” He smiled. “It’s such a change from what we were used to in Virginia.”
Matthew noticed Zilphah Beldon near the entrance to the parlor staring at her husband with a puzzled expression. She didn’t look pleased at what she’d overheard. He wondered how long she’d been standing there.
When Matthew left the hotel, he fought the urge to slam the door behind him. His temper didn’t improve when he noticed a printed broadside attached to one of the porch supports. In elegant script it announced that Shakespeare’s Macbeth would be performed in the Bryant House ballroom on Friday, May 15. His mouth turned down, remembering Beldon’s words. His father’s vision indeed. His rightful heritage. As though the community had been waiting with bated breath for him to arrive.
He urged Samson northward, past the blacksmith’s forge and out onto the prairie. Matthew’s hands shook with suppressed rage. More than anything, he wanted to go back to the hotel and drag Marcus Beldon out the door and onto a coach heading east. He hadn’t felt this strongly about anything since arguing with his father over the older man’s refusal to free his slaves. Then, Matthew had stormed off his family’s Kentucky farm on his eighteenth birthday, and turned his passion toward the saving of souls, both black and white.
Now he slowed Samson to a walk and turned him onto a frost-blasted verge of dead grass. The chill wind made his eyes water. Matthew climbed off the wagon and swiped moisture from his cheeks. His heart pounded. Lord, take away my anger. I know it’s wrong. He waited, drawing slow, deep breaths until his pulse settled to a normal rhythm.
Other thoughts filtered into his mind. He knew Ellie would ask him what Beldon wanted. Considering all the events of the past week, he decided she didn’t need any more worries. He’d keep the conversation to himself.
True to his earlier promise, Matthew stopped at his sister’s before going home. When he opened the door, he saw Molly and Luellen busy with bread making.
“Matt.” Molly hurried over and wrapped him in a floury hug. “Where’s Ellie?”
“Waiting for you.” He grinned at her vivacity. Her home was filled with laughter and activity no matter what time he happened by. “Want to come out for a visit?”
“Yes indeed. Just let me tell Karl where I’m going.” She wiped her hands on her apron and hurried down the hall toward his office.
Matthew walked to the work table where Luellen stood shaping dough into loaf-size chunks. The rich aroma of flour leavened with warmed yeast filled his nostrils. His niece gave him a welcoming smile and returned to her task.
“Those look just right.” He patted her back. “Your mama’s doing a good job of teaching you.”
Luellen blushed. “Next week she said I could do the whole job by myself if I wanted to.”
“You be sure to bring a loaf to church then. I’ll look forward to sampling your work.”
Eight-year-old Lily ran across the kitchen. “Can I go with you, Uncle Matt?”
“Sure can. Maria wouldn’t let me in the house
without you.” Smiling, he tweaked one of her dark braids. He looked up when Molly returned, carrying a shawl. “Ready?”
She nodded, then paused next to Luellen and pointed at the loaves arranged on a baking pan. “As soon as those are doubled, pop them in the oven. Be sure you get it plenty hot first.”
“I will. I know how.”
Molly leaned over and kissed her cheek. “I’ll be back before suppertime.” She turned toward the door, then stopped. “I almost forgot. James brought in a washtub full of honey again this morning. I want to take some to Ellie and the children.” She pulled the tub out from under the table. “I swear that boy has learned to think like a bee. I just pray he doesn’t . . .”
“What?” Matthew asked.
Molly cast a meaningful glance at her daughters. “Nothing.”
With a long-handled spoon, she dug a thick wedge from the honeycomb and placed it in an empty stoneware container. When she pulled the spoon away, a golden thread of syrup remained at its tip, spinning downward in a slow spiral.
6
Ellie and Molly sat across from each other at the kitchen table, the aroma of baking bread swirling around them. The first browned loaves had come from the oven and cooled on a work surface against the back wall.
At the far end of the table, Maria and Lily pushed their chairs together to form a mutual lap on which baby Julia bounced and wiggled.
“Mama, can I give Julia a bite of bread and honey?” Maria asked, looking at the plate of fresh bread resting next to Molly’s container of honey. “She’d like it.”
“You would too, I expect.” Ellie smiled at her.
“And some for Lily?”
“Of course.”
Ellie walked over to the girls. She spread two soft slices with honey, cutting off a tiny corner and trimming the crust for Julia. “When you finish, you can take the baby upstairs—but be very careful with her.”