by Caryl McAdoo
A warmth spread from her fingers to his heart, then little miss climbed over her auntie and kissed his cheek. He lifted her at the waist, carried her around the front, letting her pet the off mule's muzzle, then placed her back on the wagon's bench.
Tapping the tip of her nose, he mouthed and signed “be good; it is time to go home.”
Her shoulders slumped, and her chin dropped to her chest. About broke his heart for her to go, but next week, he'd get to see her two days in a row—the aunt and her little niece—and that would have to suffice.
Like molasses on a frosty morn, seemed to Zeke Sunday took twice the normal time to pour from its jar onto his slice of life. But finally it arrived, and there he sat on the deacon's bench, waiting his turn and doing his utmost best not to stare.
His eyes, though, refused to be denied. The sisters and his littlest student sat about midway on his left side, same as last time. Must be their pew.
If he had his druthers, they'd sit right up front, on the first row. But then surely everyone would know how smitten . . .
Preacher faced him. “Reverend?”
Joining him, Zeke stood next to the lectern, removed the card from his coat pocket, and handed it over.
The older man looked at the paper a bit then faced his congregation.
“Says here there's now twenty-two full-time students at the reverend's school, all young men from seven to seventeen—one from as far away as Little Rock. Two more boys come twice a week, more if their pa can spare them, and one young lady . . .”
He smiled toward the sisters. “Our own Miss Harmony studies there on Mondays.”
A round of amens accompanied by various and sundry blessings rose then fell like a wave rushing onto the shore before returning to the deep waters.
“Of those students, seven are totally deaf. Our headmaster here asked me to remind you that any child is welcome. Boys can bunk at the school. For now, he asks that young ladies be accompanied by a female relative as Miss Harmony always is by either her mother or aunt.”
Someone in the back stood. “What's the charge for part-time schooling?”
For the next few minutes, Zeke wrote out answers, and Preacher read them. Appeared he might have a few more for school on the morrow.
Shame he couldn't spend all day with . . . a warmth engulfed him. For several heartbeats, he basked in the sweet presence the Spirit engulfed him in—how he loved those times. He opened his mouth and sang.
“Bless the Holy name of the Lord! Oh, my soul in one accord! Bless the Father and His Son by whose blood the victory's won.”
As he sang, the youngest sister stood and added a rich alto harmony to his baritone melody. The whole congregation joined in. Before the last note trailed off completely, he started another, then another until the Holy Spirit finished His work and left.
Zeke's tongue refused more words.
The pastor turned his back to the folks. “What just happened?”
Retrieving his pad, Zeke wrote out “at times the Lord moves me to either prophesy or sing, but only when He wants. I can't control it.”
“What'd he write, Preacher?”
The man faced his flock and read the writing.
“So what then? You saying this man is . . . some kind of prophet or something?” The tone in the man's voice indicated a good amount of skepticism.
Perhaps the Spirit's anointing that allowed him to sing without stuttering wouldn't bode well with the congregation. His gaze went straight to the sisters, and he searched for acceptance in the eyes of the one who'd moved him so.
Preacher stepped around the lectern.
“Now, Harvey, you heard the man just now like we all did. No, I'm not saying he's anything but what he says he is, a teacher that knows sign language and can change twenty-five young people's lives.
“With my own ears, I've heard him stutter so bad he can hardly get one word out. How about you be the judge?”
“What about it, Ezekiel Sheffield? You a prophet?” That time the man's timbre carried an overt mockery.
“I, I, I . . .” The same sweet warmth overwhelmed him, stopping his answer. He stared at the man a minute then nodded. As though watching from across the road, he'd seen it all unfold.
“Tomorrow about this time, a bolt of lightning will split the big oak guarding your home, my brother. But neither half will touch your house.” He laughed. “That lead army man you hid in the tree's fork when a child will be revealed.”
He turned north and watched what his mind's eye witnessed for several pounding beats of his heart. “When the storm blows in, a twister half a mile wide is going to come right up to the Red, but it will not cross the river.
“Instead, it will dance along the bank then rise back up into the sky. No one will be harmed. Let this be a sign unto you, says the Lord.”
Well, come tomorrow, he'd know for sure if he carried Ezekiel's mantel.
So would all the Methodists.
So would the sister.
He returned to the deacon's bench.
Melody bowed her head.
“Oh Lord, Mighty God, make it so. Don't let him be embarrassed, Father! It would surely ruin the school, and Mister Harvey would run him out of town on a rail just for spite! Save him from being humiliated in public and all.”
She looked up to find him on the bench.
The man didn't seem the least bit bothered at all. If it had been her, she'd be sweating bullets! Except she never would have ever opened her mouth in the first place. Such faith! He possessed the faith of Abraham!
And oh how the man could sing! If only he could talk all the time like he could sing. She could listen to him until the cows came home.
Why, if he was a mind to talk . . . she might never have a straight face again.
A vision of him and her sharing a marriage bed danced out of her mind's eye's reach. But she surely . . . Could be, she needed to stop thinking such nonsense.
Ezekiel Sheffield needed to marry Lucy. She was the oldest, and Harmony needed a new daddy. The precious child had taken to him so; she'd be so heartbroken if he didn't marry her mother.
Church ended, and it seemed to her the congregation split right down the middle. Half of the righteous, maybe even more, gave Mister Sheffield a wide berth as though what he had could be caught.
The others treated him like a famous stage actor or some other notable person they wanted to touch. Pleased Melody to no end that the man would be coming home with her and her sisters for supper.
She eased up next to Servilia. “Please, Sister, won't you drive home? Let Lucy and Harmony sit in the back bench with Zeke. I'll do all the dishes if you'll agree.”
Her middle sister smiled. “Why not? He'll be long gone out of Red River County after tomorrow.”
Never dreamed the hard-hearted wench would agree so readily. Melody didn't debate her sister's prediction, either.
A storm would blow up or not, no matter what she said. Time would tell, and unlike so many of the Bible's prophesies, that one had a time limit, and the deadline would be within twenty-four hours . . . give or take a few.
About broke her heart that her plan to keep Zeke and Lucy together all afternoon had worked to such perfection. But then on the other hand, sweet Harmony seemed more full of joy than ever.
When not holding hands with her teacher, her pudgy little fingers had been busy spelling out all the words she'd learned. Granted, all nouns—and easy ones at that—but, she was talking!
Nary a grunt or groan heard the entire afternoon. School made a miraculous difference, and Melody's heart, so overfilled with love and gratitude, almost burst out of her chest.
Must have thanked God a thousand times already that afternoon for sending Ezekiel Sheffield to DeKalb. He had to be the kindest man she'd ever known.
It obviously thrilled him to teach Harmony new words. And he seemed so attentive with her dearest sister.
Though difficult, Melody would watch until he looked her way, smiling that warm c
ompassionate smile of his. Then she had to turn away and ignore how his glance affected the core of her being.
Everything would be for the best. Harmony needed a daddy, and what better man could there ever be than that one?
Plus, baby girl already loved him so. And it appeared that in his company, Lucy laughed more, too, as though free to let down her guard and shed all the weight of the heavy burdens she'd been forced to carry day after day.
How could Melody not be filled with anything but joy?
Why did her insides betray what should be?
At least she got to shake the man's hand when it came time for him to ride away.
Had he hung onto hers a bit too long? Or was it only her selfish heart, grabbing at any tiny straw to hang her hat on? No. She couldn't.
She wouldn't.
Again that night, she dreamed of a life with the headmaster who'd swept into her world and changed everything. Her joy in his arms was unspeakable, but in the cold reality of dawn, truth demanded being faced.
God had sent him for Lucy.
He would propose, they would marry, and that was that. She was duty-bound to make it happen.
Once presentable, she hurried downstairs. Her oldest sister worked on breakfast as usual. She eased up next to her. “You go ahead and carry Harmony to school today. I promise not to let Servilia goad me into a fight.”
“No, sweetness, I can't. There's simply too much to do today, and Mister Draper said he'd come over this morning to help me fix our tine harrow. Best you take her.”
“But he can just as easily help me with it, and I can take care of whatever else you need done, too. You should go. Zeke would be disappointed.”
“Oh.” Lucy faced her, smiling. “Do you think so?”
“Of course!”
Though it appeared she wavered the slightest bit, her character left no room for such indulgences. “No, I need to be here. You go. It's settled.”
The protest died on Melody's tongue. Even after yesterday, if her sister was so adamant, how could she refuse? “If that's what you want, of course. I'll be happy to go.”
“Good. Now eat then see to getting the wagon ready while I get Harmony up and at it.” She laughed. “Did you see all her new words?”
“Indeed I did. Isn't it wonderful? She's like a little sponge.”
With the mules on two-and-a-half-mile-an-hour pace, Melody divided her time between daydreaming about Mister Sheffield and considering his word about the twister and lighting bolt that could split a granddaddy oak in two.
At least when her little passenger wasn't poking her to watch her spell another of her new words; it amazed her how much baby girl had learned in such a short time.
Why it never dawned on her or Lucy that the kind of storm Zeke had predicted could flood the creeks, she couldn't imagine, but the minute she turned off onto the Simpson's lane, the possibility hit her like that lightning bolt Zeke mentioned.
Should she turn around and head home right then and there? Sky didn't look ominous at all.
How could she ever make Harmony understand? The child would probably hate her for life. The man and two of his young charges stood on the porch by the time she set the brake.
“Morning, Reverend.”
First gracing her with a face-splitting grin, he came down the steps then strolled out to the wagon, holding out his hands. Harmony jumped into them, and he swung her around before setting her gently on the ground.
He signed toward the boys; she couldn't catch every word, but caught the gist of it. The two young men hurried to take hold of the mules’ halters. He turned back and signed much slower to her.
'Nice to see you, Miss Melody. Hoped you might bring me a piece of that wonderful pound cake you made.' He held his hand toward her.
Accepting his offering, she grinned back, relishing the touch of his skin on hers. “As a matter of fact, I surely did. I noticed you had seconds yesterday. Brought extra berries, too.” So steady and so strong. The warmth from his fingers practically set her insides on fire.
If only.
Once on solid ground and his hand back to his side, she regained her balance. “Zeke, what about the storm?” She spoke as if its inevitability was a certainty. “Will there be much rain? I was wondering about the creeks.”
With a shrug, he pulled out his pad. She held her hand over the paper, blocking his writing, then spelled out, 'Tell me. I need the practice.”
'Saw some.' He signed. 'But I don't know for sure how much.'
“Do you think I should—”
‘If you need practice, sign it.’ He grinned. Oh how she loved his mirth.
Slowly, but surely, she spelled it out. ‘Think I should head home before the storm hits?’
'Could, I suppose, but . . .' His hands stopped moving. He glanced at the sky then her niece.
‘No home.’ Baby girl’s brows furrowed.
'Harmony might not understand. She's very bright, but there's so much she needs to learn yet.'
The pounding of Melody’s heart at the thought of being stuck at the school—with Zeke—drowned out every warning some other irrelevant part of her insides shouted. She didn't want to go home either. She didn’t want to go anywhere.
After all, her niece deserved her school day, and she'd come all that way . . .
‘I . . . think you're right.’
With the biggest smile, baby girl jumped up and down and twirled around and around in the yard, hands over her head, waving at the birdies.
During the dinner break, Zeke put his two oldest hearing students in charge and took his noon repast with his special ladies.
Halfway through his bowl of beans, the door burst open. The young man who filled the portal pointed west by northwest. ‘Big storm, Teacher. Like you said yesterday in church. Best get the windows closed and shutters latched tight.’
Chapter Four
E
ach of the eight-pounder's booms startled her even though Lucy watched.
Every blow shook her innards like a wet dog shaking the water off. She wanted to let go, but she couldn't swing the sledge with enough force to bend the iron back into place and saw no other way to get the harrow fixed.
Earl couldn't hold the tine in place and swing the big hammer.
After two more full blows then a couple of taps for good measure, the man straightened. “Not new, but it'll do.”
“Thank you, sir.” She grinned. “What do I owe you?”
“Well now, under normal circumstances, I'd take a home-cooked meal, but . . .” He nodded over his shoulder.
“With that storm barreling down, best get on back home and see to things. Especially if it turns off as bad as that preacher claimed. Might ought to shutter your windows, Lucy. Had more time, I'd stay to help, but . . . ”
“No, no. You go on. And you'll have to come again for dinner, I'll cook you two! I so appreciate it, Earl.” She studied the wall of black headed toward DeKalb.
A strange lighter cloud, maybe a mile or two long, hovered low beneath it with not one ragged edge. Like a roll of cotton fresh ginned. She'd only seen anything like it once, and there were three in the sky!
“You might be right.”
“Anything else you need me to do?”
“No, sir. Absolutely not. You've done enough. Servilia can give me a hand with the shutters.”
“Maybe I ought to stay after all.” He winked and chuckled.
About that time, the rain pelted the earth with drops the size of bird eggs. The wind whipped up and slammed the door shut. Lucy jumped.
Even with him soaked to the bone by the time he mounted, he wouldn't stay. She offered to lend him some of her husband's clothes, but he insisted on getting back.
She stood on her porch as her neighbor rode into the teeth of the storm. Before Zeke, she'd sort of hoped Earl Draper might come courting. But if being shy could kill a body, he'd be six foot under.
Besides, if what her sister's gossip mill claimed was true, poor man still
fought the same battle that claimed her husband and father.
Horrible, stupid, no-good war! So many dead, even more maimed in so many ways. Someone, somewhere should have come up with a better way to end slavery. She wished again her beloved had been assigned to General Buckmeyer's army.
Her sister stepped onto the porch. “Water's hot. What were you thinking of cooking?”
“Let it boil. Come help me. You get the shutters closed.” While she ran to the barn to batten everything down, Servilia covered the windows.
Soaked by the time Lucy got back to the house. She grabbed both her sister's hands. “Pray with me. Pray Harmony and Melody aren't out in this!”
With tears streaming down her cheeks, she went to beseeching God. “Father in Heaven, protect my babies. Lord, don't let them be hurt. Keep them and Earl in Your arms, safe from all harm.”
“In Jesus’ name, amen.” Servilia pulled her hands free.
Why did her sister have to be that way?
For what seemed an eternity, Lucy just stood there to keep from screaming. She could barely breathe, and right that minute, if her sister said another word, she might really hurt her.
Dripping on the kitchen floor, she stripped to her petticoat and knickers. “Peel a half dozen potatoes for the soup. I'm going to change.”
Dry again, she returned to find Servilia still chopping and grabbed an onion from the bin. “Here, dice this, too. I'll get the peas.”
“I don't know what you're so worried about.” She wagged the knife in the air toward Lucy. “I thought your preacher teacher said no one was going to get hurt.”
“Sister. I do not want my baby girl and our Melody out in this. And what about Earl Draper? Can you imagine how I'd feel if anything happened to him or his home because he'd been here doing a favor for me?”
“Ask me, he's sweet on you.”
“What makes you think so?”
“Well, isn't it clear as glass? He rides all this way then spends all morning helping you fix a harrow that we won't even need until fall.”
“Oh, that doesn't mean anything. He had the time, and I'd mentioned . . .”
“So what about Zeke, then? Is he interested, too? Melody certainly is smitten with man—same as me. Except for the stuttering, he's about perfect to my way of thinking. Well, all that crazy prophecy stuff. You obviously don't believe him either. I'd want him to keep all that to himself.”