by Lyn Cote
Think not that I am come to send peace on earth: I came not to send peace, but a sword.
For I am come to set a man at variance against his father.
And a man’s foes shall be they of his own household.
Each word struck Brennan like a hammer blow. The terrible sinking feeling began in the pit of his stomach. He gripped the bench underneath him and willed away images of that dreadful day, the day the state of Mississippi had seceded, the day he’d made his decision known.
He fought free and looked at Levi to see if he’d exposed any of his inner turmoil. Levi wasn’t looking at him. He was gazing at the back of Posey’s bonnet. Surreptitiously Brennan surveyed the people around him who were blessedly ignoring him also.
He blocked out the rest of Noah’s words, forcing himself to stare at the wood floor and go over in his mind what he had to do at Levi’s newly staked homestead now that his rib had healed. Surely before fall had passed, he’d receive the letter and have Levi’s work done.
At the end of the sermon, Brennan rose with everyone and listened to Noah’s benediction. “The Lord bless thee, and keep thee. The Lord make his face shine upon thee, and be gracious unto thee. The Lord lift up his countenance upon thee, and give thee peace.”
Brennan felt a touch of that peace. Must be due to Noah Whitmore, one lucky man. The three of them turned to find Miss Rachel waiting for them at the rear of the church with—of all people—Mrs. Ashford.
Brennan didn’t want to talk to the woman but he had brought Posey’s letter. He had meant to slip it to Posey when no one was looking, but when would that be?
“We want to invite the four of you to Sunday dinner,” the storekeeper’s wife said brightly.
Brennan tried not to look surprised or distressed, as he was both.
“That is a kind invitation,” Miss Rachel said, looking to him as if asking him to come up with a good excuse.
His mind was a blank slate.
And that’s how they ended upstairs, sitting around the Ashfords’ table. Posey’s grandmother had not been well enough to walk to church but she sat at the table. Brennan almost felt sorry for her. She had obviously lost flesh everywhere but in her swollen abdomen, another sign it might be heart trouble.
Mr. Ashford said a long and flowery grace and then the meal began—roast beef, mashed potatoes and fresh green beans with bacon. Almost as good as Miss Rachel’s meals.
Brennan had made up his mind. He would eat and say nothing except thank-you at the end.
Mrs. Ashford started the conversation. “Mr. Merriday, you have certainly improved your situation since coming to Pepin.” He swallowed not only his mouthful of food, but also the sharp reply that came to mind. He didn’t want to be judged. Nobody did.
“You’ve become quite respectable,” the woman continued.
Miss Rachel gasped audibly.
Saying that Mrs. Ashford lacked tact was like saying the Mississippi flowed south to New Orleans. Brennan stared at the woman without a word to say.
“Mr. Merriday was a friend, a comrade in arms with my father,” Posey said with quiet dignity. “Mr. Merriday may have come to town sick and in a bad situation, but he has always been respectable.”
Levi beamed at her.
“Indeed,” Miss Rachel murmured.
“Mr. Comstock,” Almeria said, filling the uncomfortable silence, “tell us about your claim.”
Brennan was taken aback. He’d never expected this woman to come to his aid.
Chapter Twelve
Levi stepped into the fray, another buffer between Mrs. Ashford and Brennan’s temper. “Well, Brennan went out to look at land for me—I’ve been so busy with work at the forge. And he’s a farmer so I thought he’d know how to assess land better than I would.”
Grateful to Levi, Rachel felt her tension ease a fraction.
“You didn’t go yourself?” the older woman asked sharply.
“I trust Brennan,” Levi replied. “And after staking my claim, I went to the land and he chose the right tract. I saw that right away. Has a spring and a creek running near it. We’ll not want for water—no matter whether rain comes or not.”
The older woman appeared appeased.
Rachel relaxed. Now if Mrs. Ashford would concentrate on Levi, not Brennan—
“Why don’t you stake a claim for yourself, Mr. Merriday?” Mrs. Ashford asked.
Steadily chewing his food, Brennan stared at the woman.
Rachel spoke up. “Mr. Merriday never planned to settle here.” Was the woman completely oblivious to the effect of her questions? “He’s only here because he was left by that boat captain when he was ill. And he graciously agreed to help me prove up my homestead.”
“But why move?” Mrs. Ashford said. “There’s land and work for you, Mr. Merriday. Why not settle here?”
Rachel wondered where Mrs. Ashford’s change of attitude was coming from.
Brennan continued eating, looking more and more as if he would let loose with something rude at any moment.
Rachel nearly stopped eating but forced herself to go on.
“I’m going to write my parents,” Levi said, again diverting attention, “that I’m courting a young lady. I’d like them to come up and meet Posey before—” the man blushed “—before…winter.”
Rachel was certain he meant to say before we become formally engaged and her heart softened. “I’d like to meet thy family, Mr. Comstock.”
“Are you two really gonna get married?” Jacque asked.
The boy’s question, which so obviously revealed his opinion that girls were to be devoutly avoided, lightened the mood around the table.
Rachel chuckled.
“Yes, we are,” Posey said, smiling at Jacque.
“Children should be seen and not heard,” Mrs. Ashford said stringently.
“Sometimes,” Brennan began, “adults should be—”
“I’ve decided to write that Mr. Benson in Dubuque,” Rachel interrupted, fearing Mr. Merriday was about to insult their hostess. “I may need to find some local help. Producing in bulk and then shipping the candy while still fresh might force me to find someone to work with me.”
“I’d love to help you,” Posey said.
“Me, too!” Amanda joined in.
Their responses did not surprise Rachel yet she saw Mrs. Ashford look a bit irritated.
“I will need to discuss terms with Mr. Benson first,” Rachel said, “to see if doing business with him would profit me enough that I could compensate anyone.”
“Very wise,” Mr. Ashford said. “So far, Miss Rachel, you have made very sound business decisions for a woman. Please feel free to discuss Mr. Benson’s terms with me.”
In spite of the “for a woman” slur, Miss Rachel smiled at him. He had been helpful in ordering her new oven and she liked the man. He and his wife, especially his wife, wanted to be thought important, but they were honest, good people. She tried to catch Brennan’s eye to encourage him to show some grace.
He merely sent her a brief scowl.
As soon as he finished his meal, he rose. “I thank you for the good meal, ma’am.” And with that he left.
Mrs. Ashford looked surprised. “Well,” she said, “well.”
Mr. Ashford gazed at her pointedly. “Katharine, Mr. Merriday went through the war and like your sister lost everything because of it. We can afford to be charitable.”
While these words appeared to calm the lady of the house, they stirred up a storm in Jacque’s eyes.
Everyone but Rachel seemed to have forgotten this boy came from Mississippi.
“The news from the South is disturbing,” Posey said. “It’s like people still want to fight the war. Hasn’t there been enough suffering?” The young woman’s tone radiated despair.
“You Yankees took everything!” Jacque stood up, red-faced. He barged from the room and they heard his footsteps thunder down the back staircase.
“Well!” Mrs. Ashford exclaimed once more.
<
br /> Rachel rested a hand on the lady’s. “I think Jacque suffered greatly in the war, too. He lost everyone except his father and I’m sure he witnessed fighting and…killing.”
“But we—” Mrs. Ashford began.
“She’s right,” Almeria spoke up. “You didn’t suffer as we did. Your son was in California, a long way from the war and you didn’t lose anything to a marauding army or suffer for your support of the Union. There’s an old spiritual that starts, ‘Nobody knows the trouble I’ve seen….’” The older woman shook her head and laid down her fork. “I’m tired, Posey. Please help me to my room.”
Levi stood up. “I’ll help you, ma’am. If you’ll permit me.”
Rachel had never seen the older woman smile.
Almeria did now. “Yes, please.”
Levi helped her out of her chair, offered her his arm and let her lean against him as he walked her down the short hallway to her room. Posey trailed behind the two.
When Rachel turned, she found Mrs. Ashford dabbing her eyes with a hankie. “I don’t know,” the woman whispered in a choked voice, “how long we’ll have her with us.”
Rachel had thought the two strong-minded women would grate on each other’s nerves. Yet Mrs. Ashford’s sadness appeared completely genuine. Rachel tilted her head and murmured a sympathetic phrase. Mrs. Ashford was a mixture of the maddening and the benign. Well, aren’t we all? Even Brennan Merriday.
*
Rachel found Jacque sitting in the shade of her shed where a bit of coolness could be found. Once again she must pour balm upon this young, wounded heart. Where was Brennan? She’d fretted over him all day. But right now dealing with Jacque was all she could handle.
“I ain’t gonna apologize to that Yankee,” he said, firing up.
“Jacque, I am a Yankee, too, remember?”
He wouldn’t let her catch his eye.
She reached down and claimed his hand. “Thee missed a really good apple pie.”
He let her take his hand and lead him to the cabin but still kept his eyes lowered.
Inside, she nudged him to sit on the bench at the table and brought out a cookie and handed it to him. “Thee must give up the war, Jacque. The Union was preserved. Slavery is abolished forever. And it’s time to let go.”
He sent her a disgusted look.
The boy had much to learn and school started tomorrow. She couldn’t let him go to a school full of Yankees and continue hating them. The truth would set him free, so she would give him truth. “I’m a Quaker. Thee knows that many Quakers were abolitionists?”
He chewed the cookie slowly, ignoring her.
“Jacque, I understand the war injured thee in many ways, but that does not mean I will tolerate impoliteness. I asked thee a question, please answer it.”
“Yeah, I heard of abolitionists and Quakers.”
“And the Underground Railroad?”
He looked up at this. “You didn’t do that, did you?”
She nodded. “My family hid runaway slaves twice when I was a child.”
Jacque looked at her as if she’d just said that a wanted outlaw and she were best friends.
“Slavery was wrong.” She sat down across from him.
He folded his arms across his narrow chest and glared at the tabletop.
Her heart ached not only for this boy but for all the suffering slavery had unleashed upon them. God was not mocked. Whatever a man or a nation sowed, that it would reap. “Would thee have wanted to be a slave?”
He glared up at her then. “It’s not the same.”
“Because thee was born with white skin? Take a moment and think of life if thee had black skin.” She fell silent. “Thy mother died, but how would it have felt to have been sold away from thy mother?”
The silence grew and the outdoor noises, the clicking of insects and singing of birds, grew louder.
“My pa…” Jacque corrected himself. “I mean, Mr. Merriday says he went to a slave auction and it was awful.” The boy’s tone said that he had given this a lot of thought.
“I’m sure it was.”
Jacque looked at her then. “He said he saw that they were people. But everybody told me slavery was best for black people. That they weren’t smart enough to look after themselves.”
The old lie. Rachel rose and lifted one of her books down. “This book was written by a man named Frederick Douglass.” She forced Jacque to take the book from her. “He was born a slave, ran away and became an educated man. He is certainly able to look after himself. It is titled Narrative of the Life of Frederick Douglass, An American Slave.”
Jacque looked at the book as if it were a snake about to strike.
“Tomorrow thee will begin school and will learn how to read and write better. And as soon as thee is able, we will read this, Mr. Douglass’s story, together. He knows what it was like to be a slave. After we finish the book, we will discuss slavery.”
She realized that she’d just given a promise she might not be able to keep. What if Brennan left, taking this boy with him? Or just left her? Her heart felt crushed by a dreadful weight.
Jacque stared at the book a long while. Then he glanced up. His face had lost its stubborn rebelliousness. “I want to hear what that man’s book has to say. You’ve treated me better than anybody ever has. You feed me good food. You make me new clothes. You talk nice to me.”
“Mr. Merriday has done good by you too,” she prompted.
He grimaced. “He’s okay…for a Yankee.”
She let it go at that. They were making some progress here.
He ran his hand up the spine of the book and then handed it back to her. “You think school will be good?”
Rejoicing silently, she accepted the book, returned it to the shelf over her bed and turned to him. “I liked school. That boy, Clayton, will be there but Mrs. Lang will keep him in line at least till the new teacher comes. Make sure thee obeys the teacher and all will work out well.”
Jacque nodded. “How come you’re so nice to me?”
Rachel let herself stroke the boy’s hair and cup his cheek. “I was raised to treat others as I would want to be treated. I suggest thee lives that way, too.”
“Even to Clayton?”
She laughed out loud and ruffled his hair. Suddenly it was so hot and she longed to do something she’d done as a child. “Let’s go wading in the creek and cool off.”
“Miss Rachel! Really?”
Grinning, soon Rachel walked beside Jacque toward the creek, looking forward to taking off her shoes and wading in the cool water. But where had Mr. Merriday gone?
And what would she do when he finished helping to build Mr. Comstock’s cabin and left for Canada? Or would he stay? When would that letter from Louisiana come and did she really want it to come? Would this truth set them free or just set them at odds?
*
After a day of wandering near the river and keeping out of sight, Brennan finally gave in and headed for Miss Rachel’s cabin. He didn’t want to need her, but he couldn’t stay away.
He paused to look through the trees into her clearing. Everything was as usual—neat and tidy, well ordered. Jacque was sitting on the bench by the door, whittling a stick with a small knife. A striped black-and-white stray cat had come from somewhere and was lying at the boy’s feet.
Mrs. Ashford’s voice came back. Mr. Merriday, you have certainly improved your situation since coming to Pepin. Brennan gritted his teeth. That obnoxious woman’s words had repeated in his mind all day—no matter what he did. She might be right and he didn’t like it. Resisting again, he started to turn away.
Then he glimpsed Miss Rachel come to the open doorway. She scanned the edges of the clearing. Was she looking for him? He didn’t like the way his heart lifted at this thought. But it was just a false twinge. He had no heart left. It had been beaten out of him long ago.
Still, he went into the clearing and tried to ignore how her welcoming smile captured him.
“Where you be
en all day?” the boy demanded.
“That your cat?” Brennan responded, ignoring the question.
“I don’t know. She just come this afternoon when we were wading in the creek.” Jacque leaned down and the cat let him rub her head with his knuckles.
“You know it’s a she?”
“Miss Rachel says she’s gonna have kittens soon.”
“Yes,” the lady spoke up. “I’m hoping she’s come to stay. One can always use a good mouser. But, Jacque, remember I said she might have decided merely to visit us. We’ll just have to see.”
Brennan stared at her. This woman was always taking in strays—this cat, Jacque, him. He stalked to the basin and washed his hands. “I’ll go milk the cow.”
“I already did that,” Jacque said.
Mrs. Ashford intruded again—You’ve become quite respectable.
Brennan’s jaw tightened. If only he could have told off the storekeeper’s nosey wife, she wouldn’t still be digging her spurs into him.
“Come in to supper.” Miss Rachel waved him forward. “We’re having cornbread and milk.”
“And the last of the cookies?” Jacque asked hopefully.
Brennan couldn’t help himself. He laughed out loud.
Miss Rachel beamed at him.
He followed her, the boy and the cat inside. Yesterday Miss Rachel had baked a double batch of buttery cornbread, which now disappeared, eaten from bowls of milk drizzled with maple syrup. He savored the salty and sweet and the rich flavors of cornmeal and maple.
The quiet of the cabin and Miss Rachel’s good food worked on him, soothing him. Here he felt at home, an unwelcome thought.
Why don’t you stake a claim for yourself, Mr. Merriday? Mrs. Ashford had asked.
He put down his spoon and rubbed his forehead. The awful restlessness he’d experienced that evening down by the river goaded him again. He wished he could bid Pepin farewell. He would never feel easy till he put the war behind him and that was impossible here. But some part of him reached for Miss Rachel as if she might make everything right.
“Jacque will be going to school tomorrow,” Miss Rachel said. “I will walk with him and thee.”