by Ann Shorey
Ellie bit her lip and surveyed his face. Drops of perspiration beaded his forehead. Although he was as well-groomed as ever, he looked slick rather than suave. She stepped back and held her hand toward the open parlor door. “My uncle is expecting you.” She kept her tone brisk.
Mr. Beldon blinked. “Thank you.” She caught a whiff of sweat when he crossed the hallway.
“Come on in,” Uncle Arthur called. “Forgive me for not getting up.”
“Quite all right—”
Ellie closed the parlor door and stepped across the hall into the sitting room. The bass murmur of the men’s voices followed her as she took her seat in a low chair under the open window. She lifted one of her old aprons from her sewing box and settled back, hoping for a quiet half hour to finish altering the garment to fit Maria. The hem had already been turned up and basted. All she needed to do was stitch across the fold. Ellie threaded a needle and half listened to the sound of crows squabbling with each other in the willows while she sewed.
Her mind locked on the promise she’d made her sons earlier in the day. Hands shaking, she realized how far she’d wandered down a forbidden path. Oh Lord, forgive me. Help me undo the harm I’ve done. She tugged at the basting thread to remove it, but it held fast. Ellie anchored her needle to one side and pulled harder at the basting. The thread snapped.
Uncle Arthur’s raised voice carried into the sitting room. “Adultery and desertion. You call it a ‘cross bill’?”
Mr. Beldon’s voice rumbled an indistinct reply.
“Write it all down on your paper,” Uncle Arthur roared. “Every bit. And put down that she will have to pay the costs too.”
Mr. Beldon said something else that apparently calmed her uncle, because his voice dropped and she couldn’t hear the rest of the conversation. After several minutes, their visitor stepped into the hall.
Ellie dropped her sewing and hurried toward him. “Mr. Beldon, may I have a word with you before you leave?”
He reached for the latch on the front door. “It will have to wait. I’m rather pressed for time right now.” He shifted his writing case to his left hand and stepped across the threshold. “A group of townspeople have asked to meet with me this evening and I need to prepare. I’ll see you Thursday.” The door banged shut.
When she turned away, she saw the twins standing in the kitchen watching her, disappointment on their faces.
26
Matthew lifted Graciana’s bundle and took her hand. The child’s small palm was dwarfed within his own large one. “You can’t stay here. It’s getting late.”
She nodded, clutched her rag doll, and allowed him to lead her from the dock. His heart ached at the trust in her eyes. Where could he take her so she’d be safe? His mind retraced his journey through Oakport, trying to remember where he’d seen a rooming house.
When they reached Samson, she slid her hand from Matthew’s and reached up to stroke the horse’s shoulder. “He’s very beautiful.” Samson turned his head toward her and nuzzled her neck. Graciana smiled, revealing a row of even, white teeth. “Horses like me.”
“I can see that.” Matthew stuffed her bundle in one of his saddlebags. “Want to ride him?”
She bobbed her head, still smiling. He put his hands under her arms and lifted her onto the saddle. Graciana’s blue dress floated down around the saddle horn and her bare feet stuck almost straight out on both sides of the animal. Matthew swung up behind her, tucking his right arm around her waist to hold her in place. She smelled like the dust of the road, and under that he detected the faint aroma of lavender. Her dress wasn’t any dirtier than could be accounted for by her journey. Someone had taken good care of the child. “We’re going to find a place for you to stay. Are you hungry?”
“Yes, sir.” Her voice trembled. “You’re not going to leave me, are you?”
Matthew’s mind raced. How could he keep her with him? Surely she had family somewhere. “Tell me again where your Aunt Polly was going with you.”
“I don’t know the name of it.” Her voice choked on a sob. “Aunt Polly had papers, but those men took her anyway. She said ‘hide,’ so I did.”
Matthew hugged her to him. “Don’t cry. You’re safe now.” He wiped a tear from her cheek with his thumb. “I won’t leave you.” He tipped his head back and stared at the twilight sky, wondering how many more surprises the Lord had in store. Samson clopped along the road through Oakport. Matthew held the reins with his left hand and scanned buildings for a sign indicating a place to stop for the night. He needed time to think before heading north.
Matthew sat in the kitchen of Mrs. Singer’s rooming house. Water splashed in a tub on the other side of a fan-style screen as the landlady scrubbed travel grime from Graciana’s skin.
“Sir, are you there?” Graciana called, her voice anxious.
“I’m right here.”
The water sluiced. “Hold still, child. We’ll be finished soon.” Mrs. Singer sounded impatient. After a few minutes she led Graciana, wearing a faded blue nightdress, around the screen.
As soon as Graciana spotted Matthew, she pattered to him and grabbed his hand. “You did wait.”
How many times had she been left alone? He hoisted her onto his knee. “I promised, didn’t I?”
“Yes, sir.” Graciana’s damp hair hung below her shoulder blades. Her pointed face shone. “But I was afraid you’d be gone.”
“Nonsense.” Mrs. Singer tucked a wisp of graying hair into the severe bun she wore at the back of her head. “He’s a preacher. Of course he’d keep his promise.” The screen squeaked when she folded it flat.
Matthew avoided the woman’s eyes. He didn’t deserve credit for keeping promises. He’d promised to pastor the church in Beldon Grove, and here he was in Oakport. He squeezed Graciana’s hand. “Mrs. Singer made you a nice bed upstairs next to mine. Let’s get you settled.”
The child slid to the floor, still clutching his hand, and walked up the stairs beside him. The narrow bedroom was just large enough to hold a single bed and a cot. A washstand with a pitcher and bowl stood at one end and a candle burned in a wall sconce.
“Here we are.” Matthew forced himself to sound cheery. “See, Mrs. Singer put your doll on the pillow for you.” He turned back the gray blanket on the cot and patted the threadbare sheet. “Climb in. I’m going outside for a few minutes to check on Samson.”
Suspicion clouded her eyes. “You’ll come back?”
“I promise.” The word echoed in his head. A promise is forever. He’d taught that to his children.
When he reached the foot of the stairs, Mrs. Singer awaited him. Concern wrinkled the skin around her pouchy gray eyes. “That poor little mite has seen her share of grief, I’d say.”
“Did she talk to you while I was stabling my horse?”
Mrs. Singer nodded.
“What did she tell you? I haven’t wanted to press too hard for fear she’d be afraid of me.”
She turned and led the way to the sitting room, closing the door behind them. Folding her arms over an ample bosom, she looked Matthew up and down. “She tell you her ma’s dead and her pa died this past winter?”
“Yes.”
“She say anything about their neighbors helping out?”
He frowned. “No. She said her Aunt Polly brought her here. Apparently her aunt had papers directing her to Graciana’s family, but the woman was abducted?”
“Aunt Polly was one of the neighbor’s slaves—not blood kin. She looked after the child. From what Graciana said, it sounds like her father wanted her brought north because he thought she’d be safer with kinfolks.” She cleared her throat. “If you want my opinion, I think slave catchers must’ve stole Aunt Polly—travel papers or no.” Matthew sucked in a breath, trying to absorb the information.
Mrs. Singer drew her lips into a thin line. “That child’s lost everything. I hope you meant it when you told her you wouldn’t leave.”
After three days of steady travel toward t
he next stop on the circuit, Matthew spied the tall building beside a stream that gave Arcadia Mills its name. “Tonight we won’t have to sleep in the open. Elder Meecham said the miller is a hospitable soul.” He gave one of Graciana’s braids a gentle tug. “A nice feather bed will be welcome, don’t you think?”
“Yes, sir.”
Matthew cleared his throat. “What did I ask you to call me?” “I mean, yes, Uncle Matthew.”
He patted her back. “Good girl.”
They rode past a deserted building with a lopsided steeple on the roof. The steps and porch were missing, as were a number of clapboards along the sides. Empty window openings gaped at him. Matthew squinted down the road but couldn’t see another steeple.
The sound of water spilling over a dam grew louder as he approached the millpond. Graciana wiggled in the saddle and peered at the rippled green surface of the pond. Then she turned and looked at Matthew, an eager expression on her face.
“Can I go wading?”
“I’ll ask. It’s a hot day. I expect they’ll say yes.” He guided Samson over the grassy bank toward a house standing a short distance from the creek.
Graciana beamed. “Thank you . . . Uncle Matthew.”
Once in front of the house, Matthew slid from the saddle and tied the reins to a hitching post, then swung the child to the ground. She clutched his hand as they walked toward the front door.
Before he could knock, a man hastened toward them from the grist mill.
“Welcome, welcome.” He extended his hand. “I’m Jacob Bates— the miller.” He paused to catch his breath, his white hair drifting around his head like a nimbus.
“Reverend Matthew Craig. This is my—” Graciana moved closer to his side. Matthew sensed she was holding her breath, waiting to see what he’d say. “This is Graciana, my ward.” He felt the child’s body relax.
“Well, hello to both of you. Come in and refresh yourselves.” Jacob pointed to the front door. “Are you passing through, or planning to settle here?”
“I’ve been sent by my church conference to hold a meeting.” Matthew followed their host into the house.
White curtains hung over the two windows in the parlor, and a hooked rug with a flowered pattern rested beneath a square center table. Several upholstered chairs were arranged around the room.
“Is that you, Jacob?” A stout woman wearing a black taffeta dress bore down on them from the back hallway. She stopped when she saw Matthew and Graciana.
“Guests?”
“Indeed.” He turned to Matthew. “This is my wife, Hilda. My dear, Reverend Craig is here to hold a church meeting.”
Her eyebrows shot upward. “Where? We have no church in Arcadia Mills.”
It was Matthew’s turn to be surprised. “No church? When I saw that empty building at the edge of town, I thought there would be a newer one nearby.”
Jacob laced his fingers across his belly. “The preacher got in a dispute with one of the members and left in a huff a couple years back. We’re getting along fine without him.”
Matthew felt like he’d been punched in the stomach. “Where do you hold Sunday meetings?”
“We don’t.” Jacob looked at his wife. “Will you bring us some cool water? I’m sure they’re parched after being out in that sun.” After she left, he pointed at the chairs. “Sit and be comfortable. You and Graciana are welcome to stay as long as you need to—we have an extra room.” He settled into an armchair next to the empty hearth, leaning back so his paunch rested on his lap.
Matthew dropped into one of the seats on the opposite wall. Graciana took the chair closest to him and pushed it over the polished wood floor until it abutted Matthew’s. Then she climbed onto the horsehair cushion and folded her hands in her lap.
Still stunned at Jacob’s revelation, Matthew groped for words. “I can’t go against my church’s wishes.” He steepled his fingers and studied his host. “Where do you suggest I hold a meeting?”
“I suggest you don’t.” Jacob’s genial expression never faltered. “Folks around here haven’t been much for church since that preacher left. We figure if a man of the cloth can’t live by what he preaches, what chance do the rest of us have?”
Matthew blanched at the blunt truth in Jacob’s words. “But—”
“Don’t worry over it, young man.” Jacob’s eyes twinkled. “You get a good rest tonight, then head on to wherever’s next on your circuit. Ain’t no one going to check up on you way out here.”
Matthew’s shoulders sagged. ”I’d know, and there’s no getting around that.”
Graciana fidgeted next to him and tugged his sleeve. “Ask if I can wade,” she whispered.
Jacob heard her, and smiled. “Yes, you can wade. Maybe there’ll be some other children at the pond. It’s pretty popular on these hot days.”
Before Graciana could leave, Hilda returned, carrying a tray holding four glasses of water and a plate of cake slices. Her taffeta dress rustled as she placed the refreshments on the table.
Frowning, she gazed between Matthew and Graciana, “Is this your daughter?”
“This is Graciana, my ward.” The words came easier this time. “She’s been looking forward to wading in your pond.”
Hilda put her hands on her hips and studied Graciana with disapproving eyes. “She’s awfully . . . dark. She’s not an Indian, is she?”
Graciana shrank next to Matthew. Her hand crept into his.
Matthew stood. He saw Hilda’s smug expression through searing anger. “It doesn’t matter what she is. She’s a little girl who’s lost her family.” He stalked to the door. “We’ll be going. We have a distance to travel before nightfall.”
When the front door closed behind them, Matthew took Graciana’s hand. “Come.” He headed across a grassy slope in front of the house.
“Where are you taking me?” A fearful quiver crept into her voice.
“Down to the pond. We’re going wading.”
Matthew knew the community of New Camden lay near the route he would follow to reach Beldon Grove. The performance Nathan Clyde mentioned when Matthew had visited Adams Station had probably taken place by now. He’d detour and ask if anyone had seen Ruby.
Upon reaching the outskirts, Matthew was surprised to see that New Camden far surpassed Beldon Grove in size. Its main street bustled with carriages and foot traffic. As he rode along the first block, he noticed an apothecary, a book store, jewelry and watch shop, a gunsmith, and two mercantile establishments. Crossing an intersection, he came upon a square two-story building with “American House” painted across the false front over a covered porch. A smaller sign on one side of the door read “Meals and Lodging.”
Graciana leaned forward, staring at all the activity. “Is this where you live?”
“No, but it’s on the way. We’ll stop here tonight for a real bed and a good supper.”
Turning Samson toward the hotel, Matthew checked the supply of coins in his pocket to be sure he had enough for a night’s lodging and some food.
When he pushed open the door to the hotel lobby, he saw a placard propped on a triangular easel.
Shakespeare’s Macbeth
Six o’clock Friday night
New Camden Lyceum
A clerk walked out from behind the registration desk, eyeing Matthew and Graciana. “Do you require a room?”
“Yes. Thank you.” Matthew pointed at the sign. “Could you tell me where the New Camden Lyceum might be?”
“Going to see the play tonight, are you?”
“Yes,” Matthew said, surprising himself. He experienced a thrill of anticipation at the thought of breaking his self-imposed prohibition. “Yes, we are,” he repeated, louder this time.
The clerk waved his hand toward the north side of the reception area. “Up the road about a half mile. It’s a new brick building—you can’t miss it.” He surveyed the two of them. “The barber across the street can sell you a bath. Folks around here wear their Sunday best for entertainment
s.”
Matthew felt his cheeks flush. “I didn’t plan to attend straight off the trail.”
“No need to get stirred up. Just trying to help.”
In the rear of the barber shop, Matthew sat on one side of a closed door and waited while Graciana bathed. He’d unpacked her other dress and some clean underthings from the bundle she’d brought with her, carefully tucking the lavender sachet back in with her few remaining garments. A pink calico dress now hung from a hook on the wall in the washroom.
Her voice carried through the door. “Are you there, Uncle Matthew?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
He leaned back in his chair. The child’s fear of being abandoned touched his soul. Was this how Ellie felt? Why was it so easy for him to see Graciana’s need, yet overlook his wife’s? Matthew straightened his shoulders. Once he got home, he’d stay put. Let Beldon do his worst.
Graciana opened the door and stood before him, her pink dress brushing her calves above her soft leather slippers. “I’m ready except for my braids. I need your help.”
“Stand here in front of me.”
He took the comb she offered and parted her hair down the center. Graciana’s hair was thicker than his daughter Maria’s, and easier to braid. As Matthew formed the plaits, his latest worry touched his mind. Who could he find to take her in when they reached Beldon Grove? He couldn’t add any more burdens to Ellie’s shoulders.
A few minutes before six, Matthew and Graciana joined a crowd of people standing in front of the Lyceum. She bounced up and down with excitement. “I’ve never been to a play. What do people do there?”
“I’ve never been to one either. But I know they act out a story.”
“I like stories.”
He fingered the coins left in his pocket, hoping he had enough to pay for two seats. Graciana was more animated than she’d been since he found her. Guilt drenched his conscience at spending money he couldn’t spare on frivolities, but it would be worth it to make her happy—even more so if he heard news of Ruby.