Guide Me Home

by Kim Vogel Sawyer

  She held her hands outward. “Nothin’. You got somethin’ in mind?”

  He laughed again, and this time Cissy joined in.

  Devlin

  Sunday morning Devlin dressed in his best suit, borrowed a Bible from the small bookshelf in the hotel lobby, asked Junior to saddle Marey, and then set off for the Joppa Missionary Baptist Church. After spending Saturday afternoon stewing over the Minyard woman refusing to let him visit the cave on her property, he decided she told him no only because she didn’t know him. Once she knew him and trusted him, surely she’d change her mind. And what better place than church to get to know and trust someone?

  He tugged the tight celluloid collar. He sure hoped the Minyards were churchgoers. It seemed everyone else in the valley attended. Folks in wagons, on horseback—sometimes two and three riders per beast—and on foot traveled the dusty, winding road. Devlin fell in with the lot, nodding, smiling, acting as if he made this trek every week. The ones to whom Reb had introduced him nodded and offered weak smiles in return. Their hesitant acceptance gave him hope.

  The church waited just ahead, a whitewashed clapboard structure standing sentry over a graveyard. Wagons crowded along the road in front of, behind, and on the far side of the church, but none parked near the headstones. Out of respect or in deference to some strange superstition? He probably shouldn’t ask. Those who came on horseback were looping their horses’ reins over wagon wheels or in bushes. Since Devlin didn’t know who owned the wagons, he chose to tie Marey’s reins to some scraggly looking shrubs at the far edge of the church grounds.

  Two doors faced the road, but only the one on the right stood open, so he trailed others up the wooden steps into the sanctuary. A row of hooks high on the west wall already held a half-dozen hats. Devlin wanted to shuck his jacket—the windows were all closed tight, and it was already stuffy in the small room—but none of the other men wearing jackets removed theirs. So he slipped into the center of the last pew, where the open door allowed in a bit of a breeze.

  He glanced around, hoping his face didn’t reflect his dreary thoughts. He’d never seen a sadder place of worship. The church was clean, not a speck of dust or smudge anywhere, but where were the stained-glass windows, the tapestries, the murals? Plain painted walls, a painted rather than carpeted floor, simple pews lacking cushions or decorative embellishments, unlit lanterns hanging on wires from the ceiling, and a planked dais holding a simple wood podium offered nothing of beauty on which to feast his eyes.

  Directly in his line of vision, the dented black pipe of a potbelly stove stretched to the ceiling. He scooted a bit to the right so he’d have a clear view of the podium. Then he shifted again to better see around the heads of people filling the benches. By the time a black-suited man stepped onto the dais, every pew, including the one he’d chosen, was full. And the stuffiness was nearly unbearable.

  “Good mornin’,” the man on the dais said. His strong, deep voice rumbled like thunder.

  “Good mornin’, Brother Neville,” those seated in the pews replied with equal enthusiasm.

  Brother Neville unfastened his celluloid collar. “Brother Coats an’ Brother Gentry, would you open the windows for us please an’ let some o’ our good fresh air come through? The ladies are already fannin’, an’ the singin’ hasn’t yet commenced.”

  A light rumble of laughter rolled through the room, and Devlin smiled. The minister at the church in Lexington was never so informal, but Devlin liked the country preacher’s relaxed approach.

  “Shall we stand an’ sing?” Brother Neville held his arms wide, his smile spreading from ear to ear. The entire congregation from youngest to oldest rose. Without warning and without piano or organ accompaniment, the preacher blasted, “Blessed assurance, Jesus is mine! O what a foretaste o’ glory divine!”

  Voices joined him, rousing in their rendition. The coursing breeze stirred feathers on women’s hats, ruffled bows on little girls’ hair, and lifted long strands of hair combed across men’s domes, but no one seemed to mind. Devlin didn’t know the words, and he couldn’t locate a hymnal, so he couldn’t sing, but he could listen and enjoy.

  When they sang the chorus for the third time, Devlin hesitantly added his voice to theirs. “This is my story, this is my song, praising my Savior all the day long.”

  “Oh, such a glorious sound, a choir o’ God’s children praisin’ His name. Must sound like angels singin’ to our Maker’s ears.” Brother Neville patted the air. “Sit, sit, an’ let’s lift up the Lord’s name through readin’ of the Holy Scriptures.”

  He flopped open the huge black Bible on the podium. “Readin’ from Second Samuel, the twenty-second chapter, ‘And David spake unto the LORD the words of this song in the day that the LORD had delivered him out of the hand of all his enemies, and out of the hand of Saul: And he said, The LORD is my rock, and my fortress, and my deliverer; The God of my rock; in him will I trust…’ ”

  All around him people were riffling pages in worn Bibles. The preacher’s deep voice filled the room as he continued reading. He was halfway through the chapter before Devlin located the passage in his borrowed Bible. He scanned the verses until he caught up.

  “ ‘For thou art my lamp, O LORD: and the LORD will lighten my darkness.’ ” The preacher looked up and bounced a knowing grin across the parishioners. “Any of you ever been trapped in a place o’ darkness?”

  People nodded, Devlin included. Memories from his days in the cave swept in.

  “Most people don’t enjoy bein’ in the dark. Well, unless they happen to be those who are tryin’ to hide their deeds—then they want to embrace the shadows. But I can’t say I’m lookin’ at any people like that this mornin’, amen?”

  A chorus of “amens” rose.

  The preacher nodded. “Yessir, folks with pure hearts, folks who try to do good—they find the darkness frightenin’ an’ unwelcome. So they don’t knowingly enter a dark place unprepared. They take along a lantern or a candle.”

  Or a torch, like Tolly.

  “An’ they battle back that darkness with light. Even the tiniest candle can hold back a whole roomful of darkness, amen?”

  “Amen,” the people repeated.

  The preacher stepped from behind the podium and paced the small dais, his feet thudding so hard the echo pounded in Devlin’s chest. “Let me tell you, my brothers an’ sisters, there’s a different kind o’ darkness than the kind that exists in cellars or closets or in the woods in the dead o’ night. There’s a darkness that lives in the center of men’s souls. An’ that darkness is the separation between man an’ his Maker. Amen?”

  Heartier “amens” rang.

  He raised one fist in the air, his voice increasing in power. “The darkness of a man’s soul can be lit by only one thing an’ that thing is the person o’ Jesus Christ! The Lord, brothers an’ sisters, is the Lamp that casts a light on the wickedness of men’s souls. He is the Lamp that frightens the devil an’ his minions back to the depths of hades.”

  “Amen! Amen!” The cries rose all across the sanctuary.

  Devlin shivered.

  “He is the Lamp that delivers lost souls unto the Light of eternal glory!” He leaped behind the podium again and flicked pages so quickly they became the blur of a hummingbird’s wings. “John, chapter eight, verse twelve, ‘Then spake Jesus again unto them, saying, I am the light of the world: he that followeth me shall not walk in darkness, but shall have the light of life.’ Did you hear me? The light of life!”

  By the time he finished the verse, he was shouting. The windows rattled with the force of his voice, and Devlin’s pulse pounded in his temple like beats on a bass drum. “If you’re lost in darkness this mornin’, dear brothers an’ sisters, there is only one way to bring yourself into the light. By trustin’ in the holy name o’ Jesus. By askin’ Him to forgive you of your sins.”

  Once again he took up pacing, his footfalls echoing along with the pound of his thundered words. “All the dark stains
that turn your soul as black as pitch will wash away in the precious blood o’ Jesus. Then light—light like you’ve never experienced before—will shine bright on you an’ in you an’ through you, amen?”

  Devlin gave a start as the loudest “amens” yet rang. Apparently none of them had ever stepped from the darkness of Mammoth Cave into the sunlight. Sometimes the light hurt.

  “Are you trapped in darkness today? Then you come. Come to the Light while we sing. Stand! Stand an’ sing!”

  The congregation rose, the benches creaking and floorboards groaning.

  Throwing his head back and opening his mouth wide, the preacher bellowed, “At the cross, at the cross where I first saw the light, and the burden of my heart rolled away…”

  Devlin eased his way out of the pew. He sent a quick look toward the front of the church, where a smattering of people had gathered and the preacher stood in their midst, eyes closed and mouth moving but no longer singing. Something deep within him gave a tug in the preacher’s direction, but the open door behind him was closer.

  He headed into the churchyard and sucked in a deep breath of air that held the crisp tang of rain.

  “Are you trapped in darkness today?”

  The preacher’s words pulled at him, urging him to return to the little place of worship and discover the Light. He looked skyward and shivered. Clouds, dark and billowing, rolled across the sky.

  “Are you trapped in darkness today?”

  He’d be caught in a dark storm if he didn’t hurry back to his lodgings. He pushed aside the persistent tug, loosed Marey’s reins, climbed into the saddle, and dug in his heels. “Hurry now, girl. Let’s get out of here.”

  Rebekah

  Thunder rolled in the distance as the congregation of the Good Spring Chapel sang their end-of-service hymn. Little Nellie grabbed Rebekah’s hand and looked up with wide, fear-filled eyes. Rebekah lifted her to her hip and finished singing with her sister’s weight—a welcome weight—in her arms.

  Her heart still ached from her last conversation with Devlin. She knew they were different in many important ways. She’d already convinced herself it was foolish to pine over him. So why did his insistence that people around the estate should be willing to give up portions of their landholdings for the sake of money bother her so much?

  When they’d parted Saturday, when his hands spanned her waist and his strong arms lifted her onto Jinx’s back, she’d wanted to cry. They had argued, hadn’t reached an agreement, and still he’d been the perfect gentleman. How could he be obstinate and so admirable at the same time? Her heart wouldn’t survive working at the estate all summer when it meant encountering him week after week. Should she tell Daddy she wanted to quit and come home? But if she did, how would they pay for the cemetery?

  It was all her fault they needed a headstone for Andy. She couldn’t quit.

  She shifted Little Nellie to her other hip, shifting her thoughts at the same time. With their new schedule of him spending days at a time in the cave, she wouldn’t see him every day. She’d be fine. Just fine.

  The hymn ended, and the preacher offered a closing prayer. Then he dismissed them, teasing, “Try to stay dry out there. Sounds like a gullywasher is sweepin’ in from the other side o’ the hills.”

  Rebekah set Little Nellie down and held her hand as they trailed her family up the crowded aisle toward the church doors. Someone bumped her from behind, and she glanced over her shoulder. Cal Adwell stood so close she saw her own reflection in his blue eyes.

  “Hey, Rebekah, wonderin’ if I could take you back to the estate this afternoon when you’re done visitin’ with your family. Got somethin’ important I need to tell you.”

  “What is it?”

  A secretive smile played on the corners of his mouth. “Nuh-uh. Ain’t gonna say ’til I getcha alone.”

  If she rode with him, it would save her a long walk. “I suppose that would be all right.”

  He bounced on the balls of his feet, as eager as a runner waiting for the starting pistol. “What time?”

  They stepped from the church. Daddy waited at the base of the steps, his gaze aimed skyward. Rebekah scurried to him and touched his sleeve. “Daddy, Cal said he’ll drive me to the estate after we have lunch. What time should I tell him to pick me up?”

  Daddy shot a quick look at Cal and then settled his worried frown on her. “Gal, if you can eat somethin’ at the estate, I’d say it’d be best to hurry on to there now. That’s a terrible storm buildin’. Can’t say when it’ll hit, but when it does it’s gonna be hard to get through on these ol’ roads.”

  She’d looked forward to time with her family, but she wouldn’t argue with Daddy. He was one of the best storm predictors in the whole hollow. With regret weighting her chest, she turned to Cal. “Is it all right with you if we go now?”

  His grin broadened. “Sure enough. Fact is, I got a little jinglin’ money in my pocket. Enough, I reckon, to buy you dinner at the hotel dinin’ room if you’ve a mind to give it a try.”

  Cissy darted close. “What about me, Daddy? Can I ride with Cal, too? I can pay for my own lunch with the money I made yesterday, an’ I gotta meet Mr. Temperance at one thirty to get the picture-takin’ screen an’ Beau ready.”

  Daddy’s lips formed a grim line. “No, Cissy.”

  “But—”

  “Gal, that photographer ain’t gonna be takin’ photos today. Not with this wind pickin’ up an’ rain comin’ in. Besides, after how late you’ve got home the last two nights, I’m not sure I’m ever gonna send you back to the estate.”

  “Daddy!”

  He shook his head, his expression stern, and turned his attention to Rebekah and Cal. “Go on, you two, an’ don’t dally.”

  Cal gripped Rebekah’s elbow and propelled her across the yard. Church folks aimed knowing looks at them as they passed by, and Rebekah wanted to tell them she was only accepting a ride, not a proposal to marry. When they reached his wagon, he caught hold of her around the middle. His fingers dug into the underside of her ribs, and she winced.

  “Cal, let me cli—”

  He boosted her with such force he nearly flung her into the seat.

  “Never mind…” Cradling her rib cage with one arm, she inched to the opposite side of the springed bench.

  Still grinning, he clambered up beside her and took hold of the traces. “Ready?” Without waiting for her reply, he slapped the reins onto the horse’s back, and the startled animal shot forward.

  She hadn’t settled herself yet, and she yelped as she caught her balance. She gripped the seat with both hands and tried not to notice how many folks stared at them as Cal’s wagon rolled out of the churchyard. She wished she’d told him she wanted to walk. She might be soaked to the skin by the time she reached the estate, but she wouldn’t be bruised, and half of Good Spring wouldn’t be speculating about whether she and Cal were courting.

  They didn’t talk as they rolled through an uncommonly dark midday. Cal’s face held its silly grin the entire distance, though, and by the time they reached the hotel, Rebekah’s appetite had fled along with her good humor.

  “Cal, could you take me to my cabin instead? I’m really not hungry, and it would be a waste of money to buy me a meal.”

  He lowered his brows. “I’m hungry, though. We can still go in. I’ll talk to you while I eat.”

  She gaped at him. He really expected her to sit there and watch him eat? Devlin would never behave so ungraciously. She closed her eyes for a moment, silently praying for patience. Why couldn’t Cal be gallant and gentlemanly, the kind of man who made her heart sing? He was good looking in a rugged sort of way, and he came from a decent family. If one examined a romance from a logical angle, Cal was a likely choice for her life’s mate. But when she was with him, all she wanted to do was get away, and no logic could erase that truth.

  She opened her eyes and sighed. “I’ve changed my mind. I’ll eat something.”

  “Good.” He leaped to the ground a
nd reached for her, but she clambered down the other side and met him at the front of the wagon. He held out his hand, but she pretended not to see and walked ahead of him up the boardwalk to the dining room entry.

  The savory aromas drifting from the room and the sight of dozens of diners obviously enjoying their meals renewed her appetite. Until she realized how everyone was dressed. All the men wore suits with ribbon ties or bright-colored ascots creating a splash of color against their crisp white shirts. The women’s dresses of pastel linen bore tucks and gathers and miles of lace. Embarrassment struck hard, and her cheeks blazed. How dowdy she and Cal must appear in their homespun clothes, Cal even absent a jacket.

  She turned to urge Cal out the door, but the dining room host, a slender, energetic man named Eugene, hurried over. Rebekah couldn’t ignore his bright smile.

  “Reb! Good to see you.” His gaze zipped to Cal. “Are you and the gentleman together?”

  She fingered her muslin skirt, wishing she could melt into the stained and polished floorboards. “Y-yes. This is a friend of mine, Calvin Adwell. Do you have an open table?” She prayed he’d say no so they could leave.

  “Of course. We can always squeeze in two.”

  She stifled a groan. Wasn’t God listening?

  “Especially when someone is treating one of our hard-working staff members.” He picked up two menus from a cloth-draped table near the entry and waggled his fingers. “Follow me, Reb and Mr. Adwell.”

  He led them through the center of the dining room. Her face blazed so hot she wondered if steam rose from her hair. She kept her head down and focused on the toes of her scuffed shoes appearing and disappearing beneath the hem of her dress so she wouldn’t know if some of the guests turned up their noses at her.

  They stopped at the far edge of the room. A gentleman sat alone at a square table facing the windows. Eugene touched the man’s shoulder. “I found some people to share your table, so you’ll have some company after all.” He gestured Rebekah and Cal forward. “Please meet Miss Rebekah Hardin, one of the employees here at Mammoth Cave, and her friend Mr. Adwell.”