by Bonnie Leon
Standing alone on the porch, Rebecca was dumbfounded. “I’m sorry,” she said softly, then stepped off the porch, glancing at the nearly naked children with their dusky black skin.
She walked toward the house. The porch swing creaked, and she knew Willa would be sitting there, her sewing in her lap and a cup of tea at her side. This was a strange land—the cultured and the untamed living side by side. How would she ever find her place in this unruly country?
13
A knock came at the door as Rebecca pulled a brush through her dark tangle of curls. “Come in.”
The door opened. “G’day, mum,” Callie said, stepping inside. She carried a tray with tea and crumpets to the table near the window.
“Good morning, Callie.”
“Feels like it’s goin’ ta be a hot one, eh?”
“Yes, very.” Rebecca set the brush on the bureau. “Please stay and share a cup of tea with me.”
“No time this mornin’. There’s work ta be done. And ya ’ave church.”
“Do you ever go? To church I mean.”
“Oh no, mum.” Callie filled a cup with tea, added a half teaspoon of sugar, and stirred. Handing it to Rebecca, she said, “It’s roight hot. Be careful ya don’t burn yer tongue.” She started for the door, then stopped. She shifted from one foot to the other.
“Yes?”
“Well, mum, actually, me and some of the other lydies were talking . . . ’bout Mrs. Thornton and her readin’ from the Bible. We like her roight fine, but . . . Wal, could ya ask ’er not ta tell no more stories ’bout Jesus? Yer close ta ’er, she’ll listen ta ya.”
“But why not?”
“Like I said yesterday, it’s not our way. We don’t want the children askin’ ’bout it. The spirit god dreamed for many years of what he would make, and then he made everything—the rocks and trees, animals and people. We come from the land. We belong ta the land. And when we die, we go back ta the land. There’s no place called heaven, and there’s no Jesus.”
“Oh, but there is. Please . . . let me show you.” Rebecca walked to the bed stand and picked up her Bible. “God has so much to say to us. He loves us . . .”
“No. It’s no good ta be lookin’ at that book. There’s no blacks what read it. The Boolyah man tells us what we need ta know.”
“What’s a Boolyah man?”
“One with great powers, and he’s roight smart. No one goes against ’im, no one. And he can do things . . . things I can’t speak of.”
“Well, he’s not God, and God can do all things.” Rebecca looked at the Bible in her hands. “This is God’s Word. He spoke straight to mankind so we would know the truth.”
Callie stared at the leather-bound book in Rebecca’s hand. Her eyes were hot with anger, but her voice remained steady and unemotional as she said, “There are white men who read that book . . . and still they kill blacks—even the bybies. Mr. Thornton gives the blacks food and a place ta sleep. But he doesn’t see us. He’s a hard bloke. And he reads that book.”
“Yes, that’s true, but what about Mrs. Thornton? She’s kind and good, and she reads it too.”
“No matter if she reads or not—she be kind.” Callie walked to the door. “Will ya speak ta ’er?”
“I will, but I can’t promise anything will change.”
Callie stepped into the hallway and silently closed the door. Rebecca dropped onto the chair at the desk, still gripping her Bible. Gazing out onto the yard below, she studied a clutch of hens scratching and pecking at the ground. I have about as much sense as those chickens. I spoke up too quickly. Now Callie will never listen to what I have to say. I’m always blundering along ahead of you, Lord. Please forgive me. Help me to be useful to you and not a hindrance.
She gazed at the Bible in her lap and ran her hand over the black leather cover, then watched as Callie carried a pail of leftovers and vegetables to the pigpen. Rebecca closed her eyes. “Father, help her to see you. Show Callie that you’re real, that you love her, and that you created her, not some unknown god who supposedly walked the earth thousands of years ago.”
Later that morning Rebecca walked up the church steps. Elvina Walker greeted her. “G’day,” the white-haired woman said. “How’s it been with ya?”
“Very well, thank you,” Rebecca replied, hoping to avoid being trapped in a conversation with the well-known gossip.
“G’day to ya,” Cambria said, taking the stairs.
“Hello,” Rebecca said, grateful for the distraction.
“It’s a lovely day, eh?” Elvina said.
“I figure we’re in for a storm later though. Feels a bit muggy, wouldn’t ya say?” Cambria smiled charmingly.
The bell chimed, calling everyone indoors. Cambria looped an arm through Rebecca’s and walked in with her through the foyer. “Where’s Daniel?”
“He had business of some kind. He’ll be here shortly. I’m to save a place for him.”
“Mind if I sit by ya, then? I’m here on me own today.”
“Please do.”
The two women walked down the center aisle between the heavy wood pews. The sanctuary was bare of any adornments except for a wooden cross at the front. Its one redeeming quality was the numerous windows on both sides. Sunlight slanted into the room, detracting from its otherwise somber tone. Rebecca sidestepped into a pew to her left and sat, careful to keep her eyes forward. It wasn’t seemly to gape about.
“I’m so glad I caught ya,” Cambria whispered. “Reverend Cobb’s sermons are dry as dust. If I start ta nod, ya’ll have ta wake me.” She grinned.
Rebecca understood Cambria’s sentiments. She’d not yet experienced a single inspiring sermon since arriving at Thornton Creek.
Reverend Cobb stood at a lectern in front, sorting through notes. She studied the man. He couldn’t possibly be more ordinary looking. He was rather small and, she guessed, somewhere in his midforties. His brown hair was thinning but hadn’t yet gone gray, and his pallid blue eyes seemed sad.
He continued to riffle through his notes. There are a lot of them, Rebecca thought with dismay. Last week he’d talked of hellfire and brimstone for nearly two hours, and the week before that he’d preached on the same topic.
Her eyes settled on the large cross behind the lectern. It was rough planed and slightly irregular. She wondered if the cross Christ had carried had actually looked like that. She wished Reverend Cobb would talk about such things rather than sin and hellfire.
He settled spectacles low on his nose and gazed over the rims at the congregation. “G’day. May the Lord bless ya.” He smiled, then glanced at his notes.
Rebecca didn’t exactly dislike Reverend Cobb. Although he seemed somewhat stern, she’d caught glimpses of a compassionate disposition. However, he lacked spiritual vigor.
As the reverend began to speak, Daniel walked in with Cambria’s aunt Elle on his arm. Rebecca liked Elle. She had a genuine, friendly nature. However, it was this same authenticity that often got her into trouble. Even Cambria had said she thought her aunt too outspoken at times, but she professed to loving her intensely. Elle was Cambria’s father’s only sister, and she’d never married, preferring to remain unfettered. She offered Rebecca and her niece a cheery smile as she sat on the other side of Cambria.
Daniel sat and grasped Rebecca’s hand. “Sorry for being late,” he whispered.
She offered him a smile, not unaware of the warmth of his hand. Rebecca glanced at him and felt unexpected tenderness for her husband.
She turned her attention to Reverend Cobb and wondered why he never talked about the joy and hope they had in Christ. While he rambled on about the terrors that awaited those who refused to repent and turn their lives over to God, Rebecca’s mind wandered back to her morning conversation with Callie.
She tried to imagine Callie sitting here beside her. The image of the black woman with her frizzy hair and untamed spirit sitting stiff backed and proper in a pew didn’t fit. She would hate it, Rebecca thought. I nearly
do, and I love the Lord.
She glanced at the people around her—no blacks. They weren’t allowed. How will they ever come to a saving knowledge of Christ if they’re not accepted in church? She focused on the reverend. Could his sermons show anyone the hope they have in Christ? She doubted it.
Rebecca prayed, Father, please help Reverend Cobb know the loving part of you. Fill him with expectations and foresight, so much so that it will overflow into this congregation and beyond to the rest of the district—to whites and blacks.
Thankful the reverend had preached a relatively short sermon, Rebecca stood at the closing hymn. Daniel clasped her hand. He was being especially attentive. When the song ended he led the way through the parishioners and out to the porch.
Daniel looked down at her, his blue eyes intense. “It feels good to have you by my side,” he said softly. “I’ve been missing you.”
Rebecca felt a pang of longing. “You work too much,” she said, trying to keep her tone light.
“True, and I have more work to do now. I’ve got business to take care of before we go home.”
Rebecca loosed her hand. She’d known that. There was always work to be done.
“I won’t be long,” Daniel said and strode off to join his father, who stood visiting with Reverend Cobb.
“Cast off again, eh?” Elle said with a smile. She draped an arm around Rebecca’s shoulders. “Why don’t ya join me and Cambria for a bite? We’re eating under that tree over there.”
Rebecca looked for Willa. “I’ll have to check with my mother-in-law.”
Willa stood among a clutch of other women. “Oh, they’ll never notice. She’s already pally with ’er friends.”
Rebecca hesitated.
“Come along, then.”
“All right.”
As Cambria laid out lunch she softly sang “Onward Christian Soldiers.”
“You have a lovely voice,” Rebecca said. “I think you ought to sing for the congregation someday.”
“Roight,” she said with a chuckle. “That will never happen.”
“Why not? You’re not afraid, are you?”
“Wal, a little, but even so it’s just not allowed.”
“For heaven’s sake, why not?”
“The church lydies say it’s improper.”
Rebecca leaned against the back of the Taylor wagon. “Maybe someone ought to speak to them.”
“No. Don’t bother, really.”
“Where’s yer mum?” Elle asked Cambria as she joined her niece.
“She’s home with me brothers. Ran was feeling poorly this morning, so she stayed home with the whole lot of ’em. It’s just me and Dad today.”
Elle climbed into the wagon bed and rested her back against the sideboards. A breeze ruffled her wispy blond hair. “Ah, now that feels good. I could do with cooler weather.” She kicked off one shoe then the other. “Tomorrow it’s back to work. This is me only day off. I might as well make the most of it.”
Rebecca was surprised. It was improper for a woman to be barefoot in public.
Elle’s eyes lit with mischief. She laughed. “If only ya could see yer face. Ya’d think I’d stripped of me dress.”
Cambria laughed. “Don’t mind Elle. She’s just trying to get yer goat.”
Rebecca smiled. “I don’t mind, really. In fact, I agree it’s a sensible idea to cool your feet.”
The three women chatted while enjoying cold meat, cheese, fresh bread, and pastries.
“This is very good,” Rebecca said.
“Ya can thank me mum. She’s a roight good cook.”
“I will next time I see her.”
Willa strolled toward the wagon. “G’day, Elle, Cambria. How have you been getting on?”
“Good,” Cambria said. “Me mum told me to tell ya hello.”
“I heard young Ran is ill.”
“He’s not terribly sick. Mum just thought it best to keep him home.”
“G’day, Willa,” Elle said. “I’ll have another of those dresses finished this week.”
“That’s good news. I dare say, Rebecca needs something cooler. The gowns she brought from Boston are lovely but far too heavy for our hot summers.”
Rebecca finished off a pastry. “I can’t wait to see them. I hear you’re the best seamstress in the district.”
“Too roight. I am good, at that.” Elle winked.
Willa looked at Rebecca. “I plan to stay for the women’s auxiliary meeting. Perhaps you’d like to join us?”
“Yes, I would.” Rebecca glanced toward the mercantile. “Do you know when Daniel will be finished with his business?”
“The men usually manage to finish up just as we complete our meeting.”
“Course, there’s an awful lot of ’em who conduct business at the pub,” Elle said with a wry smile.
“Indeed. But I’m certain Daniel and his father aren’t at the pub.”
“Yer probably roight there.”
Rebecca looked at Cambria and Elle. “Are you going to the meeting?”
“Don’t believe I’d be welcome,” Elle said. “I ’ave a habit of ruffling feathers.”
“And I think me dad is about ready to leave,” Cambria said. “But I’ll see ya next Sunday.” Cambria picked up the leftovers from lunch and returned them to the picnic basket.
“Next week, then.”
Rebecca walked with Willa to the church. Although the wind had picked up and dark clouds were building in the east, it was only getting hotter. “You think there’s going to be a storm?”
“Quite possibly. It’s not unusual to have thunderstorms this time of year.” Willa smiled. “I like the storms, but they can make a mess of the haying. That’s why we’re always in a hurry to get what’s cut gathered in.”
Rebecca followed her into the church, where a handful of women had gathered at a table in the foyer.
“Well, it’s about time. We’ve been waitin’ on ya lydies,” Elvina said. She spoke lightly, but her face told them she was irritated at their tardiness.
“I apologize,” Willa said, pulling out a chair and sitting. Rebecca took the chair beside her.
“We’ve been discussing what ought to be done for our upcoming Christmas celebration,” Elvina said. “We’ve decided it ought ta be reverential. After all, it is the celebration of Christ’s birth.”
Silence settled over the women.
Now’s as good a time as any, Rebecca thought. “What if Cambria were to sing a Christmas hymn? She has a lovely voice.”
No one spoke.
Realizing she’d stepped into perilous waters, Rebecca pressed on. “I think it would be quite nice. We might even consider having a solo every now and again. There are others in the church with good voices.”
“Absolutely not,” Meghan said. “It can’t be done.”
“Pray tell, why not?” Rebecca asked.
“It’s inappropriate. And I don’t see why we ought to make any changes just because ya think it would be nice.” Meghan folded her arms over her chest.
Willa’s hands fluttered like dying butterflies as she tucked strands of loose hair into place. Finally they settled in her lap. “Perhaps we ought to give it a bit more thought.”
“There’s nothin’ ta think on,” Elvina said. “Solos are not done here.” She leveled pale blue eyes on Willa. “And certainly if ya spoke to yer husband he’d give ya the same answer.”
No more was said about the solo, and the women talked of other aspects of the Christmas celebration, which included special music, a potluck, and gifts for the needy. Long before the meeting was over, Rebecca felt like one of Willa’s wilted roses. She wanted to go home. She glanced out at the surrey parked in the shade. Woodman sat in front, chewing on a piece of dried grass. She would prefer being in his company. Everywhere he settled peace seemed to be there as well. Unable to endure the meeting a moment longer, she excused herself and walked outside to the surrey. She was disappointed to find that the wind had quieted and the clou
ds she’d seen earlier seemed to have melted away.
“Ya ’ave enough of that tittle-tattle?” Woodman asked with a grin.
“Quite.” She leaned against the front wheel. “Have you seen Daniel?”
“No. But he’ll be ’ere soon enough.”
“Woodman, I’m unclear about something. I know you don’t attend church, but you seem to know about people in the district.”
“Yais, I guess I do, at that.”
“The women here are trying to decide what to do about Christmas. But they won’t even consider trying something new. It’s extremely frustrating.”
“People get stuck in their ways. That’s what I figure it is.”
Rebecca nodded. “I suppose you’re right. But I still don’t think it’s an excuse for being stick-in-the-muds.” She gazed at a distant gum tree. Its twisted, gnarled limbs were captivating. Still looking at the tree, Rebecca said, “I have another question. Why aren’t there any blacks in church?”
“Wal, blacks aren’t allowed. That’s how it’s been, always will be. And most blacks wouldn’t want ta go. Anyway, not to a white man’s church.” He grinned. “No insult ta ya, mum.”
“None taken.”
“I thought things with the blacks was the same in America as ’ere.”
“Some things, yes. In America many of the Negroes are quite religious, but here . . .”
“We ’ave our own religion.”
“Yes, I suppose so.” She rested an elbow on the wheel. “I really don’t know much about the Negroes. I never spent time with them. During the war there was quite a strong abolitionist movement in New England, however. I guess we might be considered free thinkers,” she added with a smile. She studied him. “You’re not like the others. Mr. Thornton and Daniel respect you. They trust you.”
Woodman chuckled. “Wal, that depends on what’s goin’ on and who’s ’round. I’m still just a blackfella. Only difference, me and Mr. Thornton grew up together. We were pally as lads.” He scratched his head. “Guess I know ’im better than anyone ’cept for Mrs. Thornton.”