Embers of Love

by Tracie Peterson

  Christopher wondered why he hadn’t been informed or called upon to help the man. He had often been summoned across the tracks to treat the people of color. With Brother Shattuck’s next statement, however, it became clear as to why the doctor had been unnecessary.

  “The man died as a result of his injuries. He wasn’t even discovered until an hour ago. He was a good man – a man with a family, just like many of the men in this congregation – but others decided he didn’t deserve to live.”

  He moved down from the pulpit and came to stand directly in front of the pews. “I can hardly believe that civilized men would act in such a manner. There’s not a man in this community who doesn’t know sorrow and death, and in knowing such miseries, should not willingly give them to another. I’m more saddened than I can say.”

  There was a low murmuring in the congregation and the man beside Christopher elbowed him sharply. “Preacher ought to mind his own business and talk about the Scriptures.” The woman beside him nodded in agreement.

  The man to Christopher’s left leaned forward. “Somebody ought to teach that preacher some manners.”

  Suddenly, Christopher felt wide awake.

  “This country suffered a terrible division over slavery, among other issues,” the preacher continued. “Like a family at odds with one another, this nation fought a war that left many without their fathers, sons, husbands, and brothers. They’re mourning in the black church today, and our community faces dealing with the murder of Mr. Samuel Davis.”

  “Samuel?” Mrs. Vandermark stood in shock. “He used to work for us. Who would do such a thing?” She buried her face in her hands and began to weep.

  Deborah came to her side and put an arm around her mother. “Brother Shattuck, is there something we can do to get justice for this man?”

  “Justice?” someone questioned from behind Christopher. He turned to find an older man scowling. “Justice was probably already done served. Folks don’t put others to death for no reason.”

  “That’s right!” the man beside Christopher bellowed. “Sins of the fathers revisited on the children. That’s in the Good Book.”

  Brother Shattuck’s sorrow turned to disbelief. “Listen to yourself! That isn’t what’s happening here.”

  “My guess is that man committed a crime.” This came from the man at Christopher’s left.

  “Then the law should have been summoned to deal with the situation,” the pastor replied.

  In a matter of moments, the entire church erupted in conflicting opinions. Christopher saw Deborah lead her mother from the church and followed after them. They’d barely stepped outside when Deborah’s mother collapsed. Christopher stepped forward quickly and caught her before she fainted to the ground.

  “Mother!” Deborah reached for her mother’s hand.

  “She’ll be all right. She’s had a bit of a shock. Where’s your wagon?”

  “Just over there,” Deborah said as she pointed. “I’ll lead the way.”

  Christopher followed her and gently eased Mrs. Vandermark onto the wagon bed. She rallied as Deborah tapped her hand.

  “Mother, are you all right?”

  “Oh, what’s happened?” She struggled to sit up, but Christopher held her back.

  “Take it easy. You fainted.”

  She looked up at him and shook her head. “How embarrassing.” Her expression changed as she appeared to remember the reason. “Oh, poor Samuel. His wife must be beside herself. Two little children and no father. What in the world caused those men to kill him?”

  Christopher met her tear-filled eyes. “I couldn’t say.”

  “Hate,” Deborah whispered. “That’s what made them kill.”

  Christopher felt a chill run down his spine. No doubt she was right. He’d seen such things before and had hoped to never see them again. For a moment an unpleasant memory came to mind. Hate had been at the very heart of that horrendous moment from his past. Hate had very nearly taken a life then . . . just as it had taken Samuel Davis.

  CHAPTER 25

  OCTOBER 1885

  Deborah wasn’t surprised that her mother insisted on helping Miriam Davis and her two young sons. Mother’s compassion extended to everyone, but especially to those who had no means to help themselves. Not only was it fitting to help the widow and orphans as the Bible commanded, but Mother viewed former employees as extended family – even if their skin was the color of ebony.

  “Did you remember the green beans?” Mother asked. Deborah helped her mother get up into the wagon.

  “Yes, ma’am. Ten quarts, just like you said.” Deborah hiked the skirt of her dark blue gingham dress and climbed up beside her mother. The early morning air had a hint of chill to it, but Deborah didn’t expect it to last for long. The afternoons were still warm and sunny, sometimes hot. She loved this time of year. The hardwoods were starting to turn colors; the promise of things to come.

  Sadly, she couldn’t help but wonder if Samuel’s death was also foretelling the future. Back East, she had seen ugliness directed toward many people – not only those whose skin was a different color. There had been many problems with hatred and prejudice toward the Irish and Jews, just to name two groups. Here in Texas, there was more than just a disliking of the Negroes – whites were quite negative toward the Mexicans, as well. In fact, Mr. Perkins wouldn’t even hire those of Mexican or Indian blood. His grandparents had suffered under the Mexican government and Comanches had killed other members of his family years earlier.

  “Do you suppose we’ll see more killings?” Deborah asked as they drove to the Davis home. “A great many people around here seem to feel free to overlook what’s happened.”

  “I hope there won’t be further conflict. Arjan plans to speak to Zed about puttin’ some additional men out to guard the area. Some old hatreds have stirred up since he hired new people to work at the sawmill. Sometimes it seems the war took place just yesterday.”

  Deborah focused on the road ahead. “I don’t suppose folks will ever be willing to completely forget.”

  “And maybe they shouldn’t, lest we repeat the wrongs. However, forgiving the past is important. My parents held slaves, and so did their folks before them. It’s not something I’m proud of, but it’s a fact. When Mr. Lincoln called for an end to slavery, my family complied. They believed that the law of the land was to be obeyed. They didn’t agree with secession, but it caused them to face much ridicule and anger from their neighbors.”

  “But that war was about so much more than just slavery,” Deborah countered. “I heard an esteemed statesman in Philadelphia. He spoke of the war as if it were really the final steps of our country’s battle to become a nation. Until the war, we were simply a collection of individual states without a cohesiveness to join together as one. States’ rights were always considered more important than that of the nation as a whole. The fight was also about bringing us together as one.”

  “Sometimes you have to tear down to build up,” Mother replied. “But I don’t like seein’ where the bitterness has taken us. There will always be those who consider themselves better than their brothers, but the very idea of takin’ a life because a person looks different – has a different manner of speaking or religion – that’s just wrong. How can good Christian people act like that?”

  Deborah shrugged. “Maybe because we aren’t really as good as we’d like to think. Being a Christian doesn’t mean we are perfect. Besides, don’t forget slavery is discussed in the Bible. Many people used that as an argument to support and defend it.”

  “But now a woman is without a husband and her children without a father – and for what reason?”

  Mother brought the wagon to a stop in front of the Davis home. There were several older women gathered near the open front door, while small children played in the dirt. Deborah helped her mother from the wagon, then went to the back to unload the goods they’d brought.

  “Afternoon, Miz Vandermark,” one of the women greeted.

&nbs
p; Deborah heard her mother respond and ask after Miriam Davis. She was surprised when Dr. Clayton came from the house. He spoke momentarily to one of the women before spying her. He gave a brief wave and made his way to where she stood.

  “Is someone ill?”

  He nodded. “Mrs. Davis. She was expecting another baby, but sadly, she lost it. Poor woman was hysterical. I gave her something to make her sleep.”

  “First Samuel, and then a child.” Deborah looked toward the house and thought of the family that lived there. She knew what it was to lose a father – the void could never be filled. She turned back to find Dr. Clayton watching her with such intensity that it caused her to tremble. “We . . . ah . . .” She waved her hand over the end of the wagon. “Mother wanted to bring the family some supplies.”

  “I’ll help you carry them inside,” he said.

  Mother joined them. “Dr. Clayton, how good to see you. I hear that Miriam has suffered a miscarriage. Is she going to be all right?”

  The doctor lifted a box of canned goods. “I believe she’ll make a physical recovery, but she is devastated over the losses she’s suffered. I was just telling Miss Vandermark that I gave Miriam something to help her sleep.”

  “That’s for the best, I’m sure,” Mother replied. “Is it all right if I go inside and speak with her sister?”

  “Of course.”

  Mother led the way, while Deborah and Dr. Clayton followed behind with their loads. Inside, the cabin smelled of pork grease, tobacco, and death. In the corner, an old black woman sat and puffed on a pipe while keeping watch over Samuel Davis’s body. Deborah nodded to the woman as they passed by.

  Placing the box on the rickety dining table, Deborah took a moment to look around the cabin. It was terribly small – hardly big enough for one, much less four. The furnishings were mostly homemade and poorly constructed.

  Miriam’s sister Ruby came from the back room. Her eyes were red-rimmed, and she bowed her head as Deborah’s mother took hold of her arm and spoke in a low, comforting voice.

  “Ruby, we’ve brought some canned goods, cornmeal, sugar, and a couple of hams. I wanted to make sure the family had plenty to eat during this sad time.”

  “Oh, Miz Vandermark, what we gonna do without Samuel?”

  “Don’t fret. Now isn’t the time. Miriam needs you to be strong for her.” The younger woman nodded and began to sob as Mother embraced her.

  “Why don’t you take me to Miriam,” Mother said, drawing Ruby with her toward the bedroom. “I know she’s sleepin’, but I just want to look in on her.”

  “I’ll get the other boxes,” Dr. Clayton told Deborah in a whisper.

  Several of the women who’d been outside came in and gathered round the old woman. Deborah felt uneasy, almost like an intruder as a couple of the women began to wail. “I’ll go with you.”

  He nodded and allowed her to go through the door first. Once outside, Deborah drew a deep breath of the fresh air and looked to Dr. Clayton. “Thank you for your help. If you need to get back, however, I can manage.”

  “Nonsense. I don’t mind at all. In fact, I can get these last two boxes. Why don’t you just wait here.” It was more a command than a question. He hoisted one box on top of the other and headed back into the house.

  Deborah leaned against the wagon bed and cast a quick glance around the yard. The children were still playing in the dirt, avoiding the awkward sorrow inside. The two Davis children, Jonathan and Saul, were among them. She thought to go and speak with them, but Dr. Clayton was returning.

  “Thanks again,” she told him. He smiled and she felt her stomach give a flip. The feeling took her by surprise. What in the world is wrong with me? She struggled for a moment to think of something to say.

  Blurting out the first thing that came to mind, Deborah tried hard to push aside her discomfort. “Do you have any idea how we might trap wild hogs?”

  Dr. Clayton looked at her oddly for a moment, stroking his chin as if truly considering the question. “I can’t say that I’ve ever had to deal with wild hogs.” His brows rose as he cocked his head to one side. “I don’t think I’ve ever known anyone who wanted to trap a wild hog . . . until now.”

  Deborah looked to the ground. “I suppose it’s just been on my mind. We’re having trouble with the razorbacks eating the young pines. We were just talking about it and looking for ways to deal with them.”

  “What about fencing off your land?”

  “No, that won’t work. It’s too expensive for one thing, but for another, folks around here despise fences. They want their cattle to graze freely. Fencing the land would only make enemies, and in time, folks would simply pull the fences down.”

  “I see. And I suppose you couldn’t just fence small areas of these young trees? Maybe even around each small tree?”

  “I suppose it’s a thought,” Deborah replied. “Very labor intensive, but possible. We talked about traps, but of course, with other animals moving through the area, it’s too dangerous.”

  “That makes sense, but what of creating some sort of trap that would allow only something the size of the rooters to enter? Fix it in such a way that they couldn’t get back out once they were inside. It would only contain them, not harm them.”

  “Is there such a trap?”

  “I believe so. Your brothers are handy with tools – they might even build one of their own.”

  Deborah heard her mother’s voice and turned to see her coming from the house. Mother reached out to take Dr. Clayton’s hand. “Thank you for helping Deborah with the boxes.”

  Dr. Clayton put his hand over Mother’s. “It wasn’t a problem at all. Are you doing well? You look a bit tired.”

  “I am. This grief has kept me from sleeping at night.”

  “I could give you something to help,” he offered.

  She shook her head. “No, I use the time to pray. I figure if the good Lord wants me to sleep, He’ll bring it about.” She smiled and patted his arm. “I hoped that we might meet up with you while in town. I wanted to invite you to join us for supper tonight. Can you make it?”

  “I believe I can.” He looked at Deborah. “Perhaps we can talk to your brothers about building those pens.”

  Mother glanced to Deborah and then back to Dr. Clayton. “Pens?”

  “For the rooters,” Deborah explained. “Dr. Clayton has an idea of trapping them in a pen – something only big enough for them.”

  “And even if it caught other animals, it wouldn’t harm them. Of course, the rooters might if they got inside with them. It’s not without its dangers.”

  “We can discuss it over supper,” Mother said. “I think Arjan would like to hear your ideas.”

  –––––––

  Christopher eased back from the Vandermark table and patted his stomach. “I must say, of all the folks who’ve blessed me with a meal, you offer the best. Just don’t let it get around, or I might have to go back to cooking for myself.”

  “No, we’d simply have to have you here for supper every night,” Mrs. Vandermark declared.

  Christopher glanced across the table at Deborah. She was beginning to captivate his thoughts in a most unexpected way. Several times a day, she would come to mind. He tried to tell himself that it was only because of her interest in medicine and how he thought she should be trained as a physician. But he knew better. It wouldn’t be hard to lose his heart to her. Perhaps he already had.

  “Doctor?”

  He looked at Mrs. Vandermark in surprise. “I’m sorry. I was just thinking of other things. The meal was incredible. I’ve never had such delicious pecan pie. I’d love to send my mother the recipe. It’s not as heavily sweet as the one she makes. I actually prefer it.”

  “I’d be happy to send her the recipe. It’s one I brought with me when I moved to Texas. It goes way back in our family. Speaking of which, I don’t believe I know much about your family. You came here from Kansas City, is that correct?”

  Christopher dre
w a deep breath and nodded. “I did. My mother and father live there still with five of the children at home.”

  “That’s right. I seem to recall there were fifteen children in your family.”

  “Yes. I’m the oldest.”

  “Goodness, but I can’t imagine how your mother could even get through the day.”

  Laughing, Christopher easily remembered those times. “She is extremely efficient – much like you, Mrs. Vandermark. I have no doubt you’d handle it in easy order.”

  “You are sweet to say so,” she replied. “Why don’t you and the boys go discuss buildin’ the pens now? Deborah can bring you more coffee.”

  Rob got to his feet. “I think Dr. Clayton’s idea is a good one. I already have some ideas about how we can do it.”

  Christopher thought to excuse himself from the gathering, but a part of him didn’t want to leave. He had come to enjoy this family. They reminded him of home and of all that he was working for. His gaze settled on Deborah once again. He was treading dangerous waters. He’d come here with one purpose – to make money for his family. He needed to keep to his plan.

  CHAPTER 26

  NOVEMBER 1885

  “I hope these traps work,” Rob told G. W. as they secured the last of the makeshift pens. They pounded stakes to fix it to the ground, then adjusted the door.

  “Should do just fine, long as the rooters go for the bait.”

  Rob pulled out a bucket of slop and poured it inside the pen. “Can’t imagine them passing up a treat like this.” He laughed and threw the bucket into the back of the wagon. “That makes six pens. Guess we’ll see what happens in the mornin’.”

  Decatur and Jasper looked up from where they’d been lazing under a tall pine. At the sight of the boys loading their tools into the wagon, the two hounds got to their feet and stretched. The sun had dropped below the trees, and the damp air took on a chill that made everyone long for the warmth of home.