Truth’s face wrinkled with confusion. “I’m confused, Jarena. Are you saying you truly care for Thomas?”
Grace bobbed her head up and down and giggled. “She won’t admit it to us, but she’s been writing him letters ever since he rode off with Lieutenant Boyle.”
“Have you heard back from him?” Truth asked eagerly.
“No—not a word. That’s why I fear something has happened.”
Before Truth could respond, Moses stepped out of the dugout. “The three of you are looking mighty sad.” His gaze finally settled on Truth. “Your father would like you to join us inside.”
Truth couldn’t move. “Me?”
Why did her father want to see both of them together? What had Moses said? Why wouldn’t he just leave her alone?
She took a deep breath and walked inside to her father’s side.
Ezekiel gestured to the chair beside him. “Sit down, daughter. We need ta talk, and it’s gonna take a little while.”
Truth shivered. She wanted to run from the dugout and away from Moses Wyman, but she did as her father bid.
“Moses come here to set a few things aright. I think it’s best if I let him do the talkin’—but I want you to listen careful like. You’s gonna find some of what he says hard to believe, but it’s true.”
“How do you know what he’s saying is true?”
“I have documents to prove what I’m going to tell you,” Moses stated quietly.
Truth chewed on the inside of her bottom lip. “Go ahead, then.”
“I know you think I’m a white man who is making unseemly advances toward you.” Truth wanted to run from the room. Moses had come here and convinced her father that his actions were justified. She narrowed her eyes and glared at him.
“I can see you’re rushing to judgment—but please wait until I’ve finished. You see, it’s true that I feel affection toward you. However, I am not what I seem.” He took a deep breath. “Just like you, I am colored.”
Truth jumped up from her chair. “I don’t believe you! Pappy! You don’t believe this lie, do you? Why, he’s as white as the Boyles. Everyone in Hill City knows he’s a white man.”
“He’s been passing,” Ezekiel said quietly.
“I don’t believe him. He’s white, Pappy. White! He’s telling you these lies to try and get me in his bed. Can’t you see what he’s doing?”
“Show her the letters, Moses. I couldn’t read them letters, but you can. And Moses tol’ me what’s in ’em.”
“Read the letters, Truth.” Moses gave her the folded documents that had been on the table. “If you still have doubt after you’ve read them, you can write to any of these people and confirm that I am truly the same as you. I’ve had a much easier life—of that there’s no doubt. I was raised in privilege and given education and training from an early age, but none of that changes the fact that I am a Negro—just like you.”
Truth sat down and unfolded one of the letters. The missive was penned on fine linen stationery and released a faint scent of jasmine. Likely written by one of his white lady friends, she surmised before gazing into his deep brown eyes.
“You ashamed of being one of us? Is that why you’re passing? Or is it because you want the life only the whites can have?”
“Why don’t you read the letter? We’ll talk when you’ve finished,” he replied unflinchingly.
Truth pressed the pages open and carefully read each one, glancing at Moses from time to time. When she had completed the letters, she refolded them and handed them back to him. “And why should I believe what these people say? Like this Spencer Houston? You could have had anyone write a letter such as this for you.”
“But why would I? If my desire is to pass for white, why would I carry something identifying myself as colored—a man born to a slave on a cotton plantation in Louisiana? I can explain all of this on our journey back to Hill City, but I think your father will vouch for me— as will Dr. Boyle.”
“You’ve told Dr. Boyle?”
“Yes. It was never my intention to pass as white when I moved west. I’ve never before done such a thing. From the start, my plan had been to settle in Nicodemus, but then I met Carlisle Boyle on the train, and it seemed as though matters quickly got out of hand. Everyone assumed I was white and discouraged my move to Nicodemus; then when Dr. Boyle told me there was a newspaper for sale . . .” His voice faltered and then faded completely.
“I’ll ride back to Hill City with you, but that doesn’t mean I completely believe you. I still have a lot of questions.”
Moses smiled broadly. “And I’ll answer all of them. I won’t be happy until you’re completely satisfied your questions have all been answered. However, we truly do need to be on our way back to Hill City,” he said as he rose from his chair.
Truth followed suit and leaned down to place a kiss on her father’s cheek before hurrying outside, where her sisters were still seated on the grass. “Moses is colored,” she told them in a loud whisper. “Have Pappy tell you about him once we leave for Hill City. He says his parents were slaves.”
Grace stared at her twin as though she’d gone daft. “He’s as white as any white man I ever did see.”
“But he has dark eyes and dark hair—and it is wavy,” Jarena haltingly stated as she stared at Moses, who was bidding her father goodbye. “He just might be. When you look at him real close, there’s a possibility he might be one of us.”
Truth hugged her twin. “I best be on my way. Don’t forget you promised to come and spend the night, Grace. Mrs. Boyle said it would be fine for you to come whenever Pappy says.”
Truth hugged Jarena and then scurried off, waving her handkerchief in the air. For their return to Hill City, she rode with Moses in the buggy while Harvey raced off on Moses’s chestnut mare. She hoped Moses Wyman was prepared to talk, for she had already formulated a mental list of questions that would surely take him hours to answer!
CHAPTER
33
Macia and Lucy Malone presented a picture of solidarity as they sat side-by-side on the front porch of the Boyle home. The younger girl shivered as a late afternoon breeze swept across the porch. Clucking like a mother hen, Macia grasped her knit shawl and carefully wrapped it around Lucy’s thin shoulders. Pleased when the girl snuggled closer, Macia smiled and then nodded for Lucy to continue reading from the primer.
As Lucy completed another page, Macia heard the sound of an approaching buggy, and they both glanced up from the book. Lucy began to wave with childlike enthusiasm as Dr. Boyle brought the horse and buggy to a halt a short distance from the house.
Macia remained seated as her father slowly ascended the steps. He swooped his hat in a grand gesture. “Good afternoon, ladies. I trust you’re enjoying your afternoon.”
Lucy giggled at his antics. “I’m reading to Macia.”
“And I trust you’re doing a good job?” Dr. Boyle responded with mock seriousness.
“I think so.” The child looked up at Macia.
“Her reading skills have improved immensely. In fact, we were just completing our lesson. I believe Lucy’s expected home very soon, aren’t you?”
Lucy placed the fringed bookmark Macia had given her between the pages. “Can I come back tomorrow?”
“ ‘May I come back tomorrow’ is the proper question. And the answer is yes. Shall I expect you at the regular time?”
Lucy bobbed her head up and down as she carefully removed Macia’s shawl from around her shoulders. “Good-bye, Dr. Boyle. See you tomorrow, Macia—and thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” Macia smiled and waved.
Her father watched the child skip down the street. “Engaging little girl, isn’t she?”
“She is quite lovable,” Macia agreed. “What happened in Nicodemus?”
“All of Jackson’s allegations were proven to be lies. He’s quite fortunate the residents of Nicodemus didn’t take the law into their own hands.”
Her father sat down beside h
er. “I know all of this is painful for you, Macia. You left little doubt in any of our minds that you had planned to make your home in Kentucky with Jackson. Though it’s difficult right now, I do hope that you’ll eventually realize this is truly a blessing in disguise. Better to know in advance that the man is unscrupulous. He would never be the husband you deserve.”
“Oh, Father,” she lamented, her lips quivering, “am I doomed to be an old maid?”
He patted her hand. “Don’t be impatient, Macia. I believe God has someone exactly right for you—someone who will make you very happy.”
Macia remained on the porch while her father walked toward the livery to thank Jeb for warning Moses that Jackson was headed to Nicodemus. She’d likely never see Jackson Kincaid again, but that was all right. She no longer cared for him as she once had. Perhaps she should discuss a journey to Topeka with her parents. She hadn’t yet taken up Martin Eustis on his offer to show her the sights in the capital city, even though he’d sent a formal invitation after his visit to Hill City. Yes, a visit to Topeka just might be in order, she decided.
Macia looked up as her mother stepped out onto the porch a short time later. “Looks like Lucy’s returning for another lesson.”
The sun was dropping from sight, and Macia squinted as she looked down the street. “Is that Jeb with her? I wonder what he’s up to.”
“I don’t know, my dear, but I’d venture to guess that he’s not coming to see me.”
“Or me!” Macia jumped up from the wooden bench and firmly planted a hand on each hip. She could now see that her father was accompanying the Malones.
“You dare not rush off, Macia. You’ll hurt poor Lucy’s feelings. Do sit down and be civil.”
“Look who I convinced to come and visit,” her father said enthusiastically as he pushed Jeb ahead of him and toward the porch.
Her father’s tone was a bit too cheerful, and Macia sent a warning look in his direction. Surely he wasn’t thinking she could ever have any interest in the likes of Jeb Malone! She nodded politely before turning her attention toward Lucy.
“I thought perhaps you were returning for another reading lesson, Lucy.”
“We are—well, at least that’s what we’ve come to ask you. Jeb never did learn to read real good, and I told him you’re a mighty good teacher. You think you could teach him to read as good as me?”
“I’m guessing Jeb can read just fine. He’s been operating that blacksmith business, and I have a feeling your mother probably taught him how to read when he was a little boy.” She met Jeb’s unwavering stare and dared him to defy her.
“I believe I’m going to go inside and have a slice of pie if I can convince your mother to cut one for me,” Dr. Boyle said. “Lucy, would you care for a piece of pie?”
The girl didn’t hesitate. She was inside waiting in the hallway before Dr. Boyle had taken his first step. “That must mean she’d like some pie,” he said to his wife with a chuckle.
Jeb sat down beside Macia, careful to maintain a wide gap between his dusty pant leg and her fancy floral print skirt. The air was thick with tension. Macia knew he was uncomfortable. She hesitated, contemplating how to handle his obvious embarrassment. She considered offering him a book to test his reading skills, but stopped herself. Treat him as you would want to be treated.
She gave him a sidelong glance while contemplating the idea. She didn’t want to be like Jackson Kincaid, believing she deserved more than others because of her father’s income or position in society. She almost laughed aloud at her last thought. There is no society in western Kansas.
She turned to face Jeb. “You didn’t come here for reading lessons, did you?”
“No. I can read just fine. But my sister thought that if I told you I needed reading lessons, we could spend time together—and you’d get to know me.”
She gave him a gentle smile. “And to know you is to love you?”
“Lucy thinks so, but she doesn’t have much basis for comparison.”
Macia nodded. “She’s a bright child. Perhaps she’s right. You never did take me fishing.”
“You just say the word,” he said, his eyes bright. “How ’bout we take a picnic and go after meetin’ next Sunday?”
She hesitated a moment and contemplated his invitation. An afternoon picnic could prove a relaxing diversion, but she didn’t want Jeb to build false hope.
“No obligation,” he continued, “we’ll just have fun. And if you never want to go again, I’ll honor your request. I promise. And folks around here can tell you I’m a man of my word.” He watched her eagerly.
“I’m sure you are, Jeb. Sunday sounds fine.” She stood. “Now, why don’t we join the others and have a piece of that apple pie before they eat it all without us?”
Long after the rest of the family had gone to bed, Macia pulled a chair near her open bedroom window and stared out into the starlit night. The air was filled with the scents of springtime—honeysuckle and lilacs and irises—the promise of a new beginning. A new beginning with no plans and few prospects. Her father had often said she needed to trust God and always attempt to place the welfare of others before her own. . . . Perhaps she should consider a teaching position for the area children.
She lit the small lamp on her bedside table and lifted her Bible from the table. Flipping open to the book of Psalms, she gazed in wonderment at the words she read: Trust in the Lord, and do good. . . .
Macia sucked in a deep breath and slowly exhaled. Apparently her father and God were like-minded—they both thought a good portion of trust and a few selfless deeds were in order. She closed her Bible, snuffed the light, and once again stared into the starlit sky.
“I’ll try,” she whispered. She hesitated and then nodded her head. “I’ll try!” This time the words were filled with determination.
Each day Jarena listened as her father lauded the fact that his seeds had begun to sprout. But emerging weeds accompanied the new crop, and the battle for control quickly ensued. The hoeing and chopping were endless, and Grace now spent more time in the fields than at the dugout with Jarena. While their father worked his acreage, Grace hoed the sprouting crop in Thomas’s fields. Jarena longed to be the one pulling weeds and nurturing Thomas’s fledgling crop, but her father had quickly opposed that idea. He cited several reasons, but mostly it was Grace’s inept cooking that had influenced his decision. “That chil’ does real good out there workin’ in the fields, but she scorches everything she tries to cook,” her father had remarked. “We ain’t got us enough food to be burnin’ it up, and that chil’s cookin’ ain’t fit for man or beast.”
Jarena hadn’t argued, for it would do no good. Though she attempted to find pleasure in each day, she grew weary of performing the same monotonous chores without anything to break the daily routine. One morning she spied Miss Hattie sitting outside the Harris dugout and motioned to the older woman. “Come on over and have a cup of coffee, Miss Hattie.”
Miss Hattie waved in return and soon made her way to Jarena’s side, with her sewing basket in one hand and her ever-present parasol in the other. The tattered lace edging of the sunshade flapped lazily in the afternoon breeze. “Gettin’ kinda warm, ain’t it?”
Jarena nodded and smiled. Everything about Miss Hattie made Jarena smile. In fact, Jarena believed Miss Hattie to be one of the wisest people she’d ever met. “I thought you’d be tending to Nathan while Calvin and Nellie were out in the fields hoeing.”
“You ferget Calvin went to Ellis yesterday for the supplies and mail?
Ain’t expectin’ him back ’til a little later this afternoon. I tol’ Nellie she needed to spend some time with her young’un whilst Calvin’s down to Ellis. Chil’ needs more time with Nellie ’stead of all the time bouncin’ on my knee. Dat boy’s beginnin’ to think I’s his mama.” She positioned her ample body on a chair Jarena had carried outdoors and rested her folded parasol against her side. “Calvin says your pappy’s gonna have the best crop of anybody in Nicodem
us township.”
“I wouldn’t doubt it. Except for attending Sunday morning meeting, he’s out there from sunup to sundown. If it’s only determination that counts, he’ll have a fine crop—and Grace, too. She’s working on Thomas’s claim from dawn to dusk. Both of them think the land is going to produce just fine, but this ground isn’t the rich black loam promised in those broadsides, and it definitely doesn’t compare to the fertile soil back in Kentucky. Wouldn’t surprise me if nobody has much of a crop come harvest time. I keep wondering if I’ll ever get used to this flat, unpleasant prairie.”
“This here place got a beauty all its own, Jarena. You gotta learn to enjoy what’s in front of you. God created this here countryside, same as he created the hills and valleys in Kentucky. There’s beauty in all of what He made for us.”
“You must admit the beauty’s a little more difficult to find out here in Kansas,” Jarena quipped.
“I ain’t so sure that’s true. There’s a kind of beauty out here on dese plains you can’t find in Kentucky. I figure God must like variety. When you gets to thinkin’ about it, He made all His people look different. And the animals, they’s all got their own special look, too—same with the countryside. Don’t mean one place is prettier than the other—just different. Why, I never did see me none of dem pretty little star-shaped blue blossoms or dem big yellow sunflowers or even a buffalo until I come to Kansas. Course, I don’t reckon we could count them beasts as beautiful, but dey sure is a mighty creation. Truth is, gal, contentment don’t come from the outside—it comes from in here.” She tapped a finger over her heart. “It’s time you made your peace ’bout all that anger you been storin’ up since you left home. Now, don’t misunderstand—I been seein’ good changes in you. But the truth is, you still got a ways to go if you’re gonna find the inner peace that’s gonna set you free.”
“I’ve been trying, Miss Hattie. I pray and pray, but my prayers seem like a vapor that rises up and dissolves before reaching God. It’s as though I never uttered the words—I don’t think God hears me. Do you ever wonder about God, about where He is?” Jarena’s words were a mere whisper.
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