by Ann Shorey
“Come over here where I can see you.”
Matthew complied, stepping closer to his father’s chair.
The old man’s yellowed eyes widened. “By dad, it is you.” He snorted. “You come back because I’m dying? Think you might get your hands on this place?”
Fear of confrontation pounded Matthew’s belly. Since childhood, he’d been cowed by his father’s authority. Not this time. He wouldn’t let Pa roll over him again. He lifted his head and stared straight into the other man’s eyes. “No. I told you when I left that I wanted no part of anything that comes from slavery.”
The woman who brought the lamp appeared in the doorway. “Master Craig, cook sent me to tell you supper’s ready.”
Marsden turned his head at her voice. “Tell her to set an extry plate.” He looked at Matthew. “Since you come all this way, you might as well spend the night.”
Matthew gazed around the spacious dining room while Hattie served their meal. The ornate furniture looked as it had when he was a boy, but the patterned French wallpaper showed signs of mildew in the corners. The heavy window coverings drooped, appearing to be long overdue for an airing. His father wasn’t the only part of the farm that had declined.
“Where are the boys? I thought they were taking care of things here.”
Marsden spoke around a mouthful of gravy-smothered ham. “They been nearly as much a disappointment to me as you. Adam and Eli both went up to Harrisburg to live when they got married.” He pitched his voice high, imitating a woman’s speech. “Their wives don’t want to rusticate down here in Marysville.”
“But Nathaniel, where’s he?” It was hard to believe that his brothers, who had been boys when he left, were now men in their thirties and early forties.
A trickle of gravy escaped the corner of his father’s mouth, winding its way through his whiskers. “He comes around when it suits him. Just waiting for me to die, I expect.” Marsden leaned back in his chair and studied his oldest son. “From what I hear, you’ve made a success of preaching after all. Thought sure you’d starve.”
Puzzled, Matthew looked at him. “How’d you come to hear that?”
“Molly’s miserable excuse for a brother-in-law, Brody McGar–vie, came crawling back here a few years ago. Seems he lost everything Samuel worked for up there in Missouri. Thought I’d help him out. What a fool!” Marsden belched, then took another forkful of ham. “Anyways, he told me you’d come for Molly when her Samuel died, and that you had a fine church up in Illinois someplace.”
Matthew remembered Brody, and the heartbreak he’d caused Molly by taking control of all Samuel’s possessions and leaving her and her children destitute. He wasn’t surprised to hear that Brody mismanaged the inheritance he’d obtained by trickery. What did surprise him was the sound of pride in his father’s voice at the notion that Matthew headed a fine church. Did he imagine it?
Marsden dropped his fork onto his plate. “Hattie! Where’s the pudding?”
“It’ll be here quick, Master. Just let me get these here dirty plates out’n your way.” The woman’s response had been so prompt, Matthew suspected she’d been listening behind the door.
China clinked as Hattie gathered up soiled plates and cutlery. Marsden rested his gnarled hands on his belly and looked at Matthew. “Cook makes the best sweet tater pudding you ever put a tooth to. Bet you don’t get anything like it up there in Illinois.”
Matthew shook his head. “Probably not.”
Hattie placed bowls of golden yellow pudding, swimming in cream, in front of each man and stepped out of the room. After so many years away from Kentucky living, Matthew felt ill at ease being waited upon by slaves.
His father’s hawklike gaze bored into Matthew’s eyes. “You say you didn’t come back because I’m dying.” He pointed with his spoon, splattering the tablecloth with drops of cream. “What do you want?”
“I want to have peace between us. Nothing else.” Matthew poked his spoon at the sweet dessert. “We had hot words when I left home, and it’s time to make it right.” He swallowed, waiting for the old man’s response.
“That was twenty-five years ago. You think I’ve been holding my breath waiting on you?” Marsden snorted, then in the next breath seemed to shrink in his chair. “Until that useless Brody come through here, I was afraid you was dead.” He mumbled the words into his pudding. His hand trembled, rattling his spoon against the lip of the bowl. “I’m glad you’re back. You did good to come.”
Alarmed, Matthew leaned toward him. “I’m not staying, Pa. I don’t agree with slaveholding—never will. But you’re my father, and I owe you my respect.” Reaching out, he laid his hand on his father’s arm, feeling frail bones under his fingers. The power Marsden held over him had melted away, like the ample flesh that formerly covered the man’s frame. “It was disrespectful for me to shout the Word of God in your face and expect you to change. If there’s anything I’ve learned over these years, it’s that God’s message has to come quietly, or not at all.”
His father studied him with narrowed eyes. “Respect, is it? I suppose that’s right out of the Bible.”
“It is.”
“That the kind of thing you preach in your fancy church?”
Matthew had hoped the subject of his church wouldn’t arise. He’d rather leave without his father knowing he was back where he’d started when he was eighteen. “It’s what I preach, yes.”
“Tell me about this church of yours. Tall steeple, colored glass windows?”
“Nothing so elaborate.” He cleared his throat. “In fact, right now I don’t have a church. I’m riding circuit.”
“Name of heaven, boy! Why are you back to that?”
Matthew shoved his half-finished bowl of pudding toward the center of the table. Even though he no longer had the old fear of his father, the subject of his church left him feeling defenseless. How could he explain his leaving when he’d begun to doubt his own judgment?
“A group rose up against me, led by a person of power and influence. He got folks to believe I shouldn’t preach there. So I left.”
“Well, by dad! I never figured you for a coward. What happened to that hothead who stormed out of here all those years ago?” Marsden’s eyes blazed with the angry light that Matthew remembered from childhood. “I was proud of your spunk, even though you went about things wrong.”
Hurt rose in Matthew’s throat at the old man’s words. Why couldn’t his father have said he was proud of him back when it would have mattered? He pinched his lips to stifle a bitter response.
Marsden gripped the arms of his chair and leaned forward. “You go on back there and throw that upstart out of your church.”
“You don’t know him. He’s—
“I know you.” A slight smile grazed his lips. “You can do it.”
Matthew led Samson down the gangplank and onto Illinois soil. The idea of returning home to wrest the pulpit from Marcus Beldon filled him with dread in spite of his father’s parting encouragement. It was all well and good for Pa to tell him he could do it. Pa’d never been afraid of anything in his life.
A voice seemed to speak in his ear. What do you think it was like to carve a settlement out of the Kentucky wilderness? Matthew remembered stories he’d heard as a boy—fear of Indian attack, poisonous snakes, children lost in the thick forests. Of course his pa had been afraid. He just didn’t let it stop him. He nudged Samson with his heels. “Let’s get on home.” If he rode hard, he could be back in another five or six days.
Samson turned, moving past hogsheads of tobacco being unloaded from the steamboat. His hooves made a hollow sound on the wooden dock. As Matthew rode past rows of barreled pork and molasses waiting to be rolled aboard, he heard a high keening.
He tipped his head and listened. The wails turned to hiccuping sobs, now soft and muffled. It sounded like a child crying. But where? Matthew guided his horse up to the landing and wrapped the reins around a post. Then he sprinted back, searching for the
origin of the cries. As he moved around the barrels, he spotted a little girl crouched on the dock. She raised a tear-streaked face at his approach and tried to scuttle backward between two barrels.
Matthew squatted on his heels and held out his hand. “Please, don’t be afraid. I won’t hurt you. I’ll help you find your mama.”
The child stopped moving. Her dark brown eyes welled with fresh tears. “My mama’s been dead for a long time.” She squeezed a grimy rag doll to her chest and stared at Matthew.
“Well, your papa then.”
She moved her doll to her shoulder, patting it like it was an infant. “My papa died too,” she whispered. “In the wintertime.”
Matthew stood and searched for another adult, but saw no one. He ached to gather the child in his arms, but felt if he moved too quickly she’d run away. Judging from her size, he thought she was probably Maria’s age or maybe a little younger. He stretched out his hand and touched her shoulder. She didn’t move.
“What’s your name, little one?”
“Graciana.” She straightened. “Graciana Largo.”
Matthew took his handkerchief and blotted the tears from her soft, caramel-colored cheeks, then smoothed her straight black hair away from her face. “If your mama and papa are in heaven, who brought you here?”
“Aunt Polly brought me. But some bad men found her and took her away.” Her grip on the doll tightened.
Matthew dropped to one knee and put both hands on Graciana’s shoulders. His eyes searched her stricken face. “I’ll take you home. Can you show me the way?”
“My home is gone. Papa promised Aunt Polly would take me to his family.”
25
Ellie tilted a pitcher and drizzled a stream of water around the lilac start growing next to the back porch. Fresh growth sprouted from a tender green stem near the base of the plant. The heart-shaped leaves spoke to her of future promise. She felt absurdly grateful to see evidence of new life, even if it was only on a shrub.
Smiling, she settled into a chair in the shade and let her gaze roam over their farm. Chores waited, but for the moment Ellie savored the peace of the afternoon. She jumped when the back door slammed.
The twins walked to her side. “Mama?” Johnny asked. “Can we talk to you for a minute?”
She placed the empty pitcher on the floor and turned to her sons. “Of course you can. Whatever you’ve done, if you tell me the truth you won’t be punished.”
They leaned on the porch rail and faced her. Johnny’s cheeks flushed. “It’s not something we’ve done.” He gazed at her with anxious eyes. “It’s . . . well, we think it’s wrong for you to go riding with Mr. Beldon. You act like you have a secret with him.”
Shocked, Ellie stared at them.
“We don’t want people to think you’re like Aunt Ruby,” Jimmy said.
Heat traveled through her body at the thought that her sons were taking her to task over her behavior. Had her hopes blinded her to her responsibilities as a wife and mother? She shook her head in denial. “People won’t think that. I’m not like Aunt Ruby at all.”
“Then why did you let him drive you to town?”
Ellie bent her head at his words. Being a disappointment to her children was the last thing she would ever want. “You must understand, he just took me to see your Aunt Molly. Uncle Arthur can’t hitch the buggy, and you know what happened when you tried it, Jimmy.”
He looked down at his still-swollen foot. “Maybe you could ride with Mrs. Wolcott,” he mumbled.
She opened her mouth to respond, but Johnny stepped away from the rail and stood in front of her. His voice shook. “Why did you pass Mr. Beldon a note in church the other Sunday? I saw you. What does that have to do with rides to Aunt Molly’s?”
Shame seared her heart. She couldn’t let her sons believe she’d be unfaithful to their father. Ellie lifted her head and allowed her eyes to rest on each boy in turn. “I asked him to do a favor for me.”
“Why not wait and ask Papa?”
“Papa already said no.” She stood and clasped each twin’s hand in one of her own. “So I asked Mr. Beldon.”
Johnny drew his hand away. “What would you do to us if we went behind your back when you told us not to do something?”
Ellie felt she might faint. “I’d punish you,” she said in a small voice. Tears burned her eyes. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered. “I never meant to involve you children in my concerns.”
“Don’t cry, Mama.” Jimmy wrapped his arms around her. After a moment, Johnny moved closer and joined the hug.
Engulfed in her sons’ embrace, Ellie’s memory slipped back to the morning they were born. Then she’d held them both in her arms. Now they were holding her. Their grasp surprised her with its strength.
Johnny was the first to let go. He shoved his hands in his pockets and leveled his steady brown eyes on her. “What was the favor?”
She moved to the top step and sank down. Honeybees darted in and out of the morning glory blossoms draping the porch, their hum the only sound she heard over the beating of her heart.
Ellie patted the spot next to her. “Sit with me. I’ll tell you all about it.”
Once they’d settled on the step, she said, “You remember when Papa and I found out that my father died last year?”
“And you thought he’d already been dead for a long time,” Jimmy said.
“Yes, I did. Somehow, learning he’d been alive for so many years but never came back for me was harder than knowing of his death.” It felt strange to talk to the twins as though they were adults.
“And the favor?” Johnny stuck to his question like a hound following a scent.
Ellie took a deep breath, remembering her last conversation with Mr. Beldon and the doubts it had raised in her mind. “I asked him if he could find out whether my father had married during those years in Texas, and might have had other children.”
Jimmy looked astonished. “How could Mr. Beldon do that?” “And what difference would it make?” Johnny stood and gazed down at her, his expression skeptical. “Texas is so far away we’d never meet them anyhow.”
Ellie plucked a morning glory and squeezed the sticky flower between her fingers. The crushed blossom left a purple stain on her thumb. The boys were right—Mr. Beldon had no way of finding them. Realization scorched through her mind. He talked a lot, but everything he’d told her was common knowledge.
She looked up at Johnny. “At the time I thought it would make a difference. Your papa was leaving, Aunt Ruby was gone, and Julia . . .” She pulled another flower from the vine. “I felt so alone. It would have been a comfort to know I had brothers and sisters— like you do.”
“We’re never alone.” Jimmy scooted closer. “Papa says God is always with us.”
“Yes. He is.”
Jimmy’s words swept over her. Her obsession about relatives in Texas suddenly seemed foolish. God was with her every moment. And her family was right here. “No more rides with Mr. Beldon?” Johnny raised an eyebrow.
“No.” Then she clapped her hand over her mouth. “Wait. He’s coming next Thursday to take me to Molly’s. I’ll tell him then.”
Ellie poured drained cranberry beans into a crockery pot, then pushed a few pieces of salt pork beneath the surface of the beans. She added boiling water and a drizzle of molasses and slid the covered pot into the oven.
Uncle Arthur thumped into the kitchen on his crutches. “Baked beans? One of my favorite suppers.”
“Good thing.” She smiled at him. “We’ve had them quite often lately.”
He leaned on one crutch and drew a chair away from the table. The forced inactivity since his fall left her normally robust uncle pale. The skin on his cheeks sagged and the corners of his mouth drooped. “Near forgot to tell you. I had Doc ask Marcus Beldon to call this afternoon.”
“What! Why?”
Uncle Arthur took a deep breath and released it in a noisy sigh. “Since I can’t get to Springfield I’m planning
for him to write up papers to counter your aunt’s divorce petition.” He tugged at his beard. “Never thought I’d see the day.”
Ellie didn’t know which worried her more at the moment— her uncle and aunt divorcing, or Mr. Beldon’s imminent arrival. “Can’t you wait? Maybe she’ll change her mind.”
“And maybe she won’t.” He pushed to his feet. “Anyways, don’t fuss yourself over having a caller. We’ll set in the parlor and not be in your way.”
Ellie watched him crutch down the hallway and open the parlor door. She wished she could turn the clock back so none of this would have happened. Aloud, she repeated Matthew’s response when she’d said something similar to him. “A stream doesn’t run backwards and neither will our lives.”
She walked to the open back door and leaned against the frame. “Oh, Matthew, it’s been a month. Where are you?” A column of dust rose beyond the creek. She held her breath, waiting for the rider to appear.
Her shoulders slumped when Mr. Beldon’s carriage rolled into view. She turned away and quickly scanned the cornfield for her sons. They’d be upset if they saw him arrive, but with the corn so high perhaps they wouldn’t notice. This would be her opportunity to tell him not to come for her next Thursday. Her heart sank a little at the thought. The honeycomb quilt was so close to completion. After working on it over the past months, Ellie wanted to be there to help stitch the binding when it came off the frame. But not at the cost of hurting her family.
She ducked back into the kitchen, not wanting Mr. Beldon to think she’d been awaiting his arrival. Ellie blushed to think of her misplaced trust in the man.
When she heard steps on the front porch, she poked her head into the parlor. Arthur sat in one of the chairs near the cold hearth, the envelope containing the divorce notice clutched in his hand.
“Mr. Beldon’s here,” she said.
“I’m ready for him.”
When she opened the door, a smile crinkled Mr. Beldon’s eyes. “How delightful to see you, Mrs. Craig.” He held his hat over his heart. “Your presence makes the day even brighter.”