Flashes illuminated the oak tree nearest the window in a ghoulish glow. Each rumble of thunder built on the last, as if in competition with each other. An unearthly yowl sent shivers up Auralie’s spine, and the next flash of lightning revealed Belle’s cat, Frank, crouched on a branch of the tree.
Auralie opened the window. “Frank, do you want to come in before this storm hits?”
As if understanding every word she said, Frank meowed, shinnied across the limb as close to the window as he could, and leaped gracefully to the windowsill. He preened for a moment then hopped down into the bedroom.
Auralie laughed. “Belle said you were too old and fat to climb trees. Won’t she be surprised?”
Maow. Frank rubbed against her leg then proceeded to make himself at home on the foot of her bed. She rubbed his head and he purred in response, leaning into her touch.
“You can stay here tonight, old fellow, as long as it’s storming. It’ll be our secret.”
Lightning flickered again, followed by a roll of thunder that seemed to rumble endlessly across the nearby mountains and echo in the valley beyond. The call of the storm drew her back to the window seat where she watched nature’s wrath in fascination. Rain that had begun as a soft sprinkle now intensified. She closed the window and listened to it tapping on the glass like an evil thing demanding entrance. The similarity to the impending upheaval in her own life was too uncanny. She shuddered.
Forks of lightning sent jagged slashes across the sky. Bewildering emotions roiled within her in rhythm to each clap of thunder. Yesterday’s visit to Colton Danfield’s place left her feeling even more unsettled than her dread over Perry Bolden’s return. Here she was, engaged to one of the richest young men in the state, from a very influential family. Yet she couldn’t stop thinking about Colton Danfield—a man with dirt under his fingernails, who made his living by sweat and calluses. What did she have in common with him?
Learning the black man working on Colton’s land was no longer a slave intrigued her. Curiosity picked at her to learn how the man’s freedom came about. She’d heard accounts of men buying slaves only to set them free and wondered if that’s what Colton had done. Speculation of him doing such a thing didn’t seem far-fetched at all. In fact, the more she learned about this man, the more she wanted to know.
Thunder boomed and shook the house like a definition of her father’s intimidating roar. A tremble rattled through her, imagining his response if he could read her thoughts. The storm raging outside her window was nothing compared with the maelstrom that would hail down around her if she defied Shelby Covington.
The booming thunder awakened Colton, and he rose from his bed. Crossing the cabin to the front door, he peered out through the sheets of rain to the barn, its form outlined by flares of lightning. Everything seemed in order. The sheep were safely tucked into the barn with Free, and his presence kept them calm despite the storm.
He returned to his bed and stared up at the ceiling, the interesting analogy drawing lines of perspective in his mind. Unsettled times, debate over political opinions, and the outcome of elections drew frightening pictures of possible consequences. But if one remembered the Shepherd who never slept—the One who always guarded and sheltered His children from the storms of life the way Free guarded and calmed the sheep—he could rest in the Shepherd’s promise. A small smile lifted the corners of Colton’s lips.
There was one thought, however, that kept slumber at bay. The image of Auralie Covington stepped into his mind. The memory of her walking through the meadow grass, the wind catching her hair and tugging it from the confines of her bonnet, lingered in Colton’s subconscious like a drop of honey on his tongue. The sweetness remained long after the source was gone.
Colton listened to the storm retreating in the distance, grateful for the rain that nourished the earth. Rain to a farmer should be a soothing lullaby, but sleep slipped into some elusive hiding place. He needed his rest to energize him for the day’s work ahead. He closed his eyes. Surely if he lay very still, slumber would overtake him.
It didn’t.
How was he supposed to sleep when a woman like Auralie graced his thoughts? He rose to sit on the side of his bed, wondering if the storm had awakened Barnabas in the lean-to. Perhaps, but the man likely rolled over and went back to snoring. Colton stood and groped his way in the darkness to the east-facing window. No streaks of dawn painted the sky yet.
He felt his way to the table and lit the oil lamp. The soft glow danced across the room. He nudged the wick a little higher and the light grew. One of his mother’s favorite scriptures eased into his memory.
“But if we walk in the light, as he is in the light, we have fellowship one with another, and the blood of Jesus Christ his Son cleanseth us from all sin.”
“Lord, keep reminding me if I stay close to Your light, I’ll always be able to see where I’m going.”
He made his way to the small kitchen and shoved a few pieces of stove wood into the banked coals. While the stove heated, he measured ground coffee beans into the pot and ladled water over them. If sleep refused to be his companion, he could always count on the Lord and a fresh cup of coffee.
He pushed the pot over the hottest part of the stove and crossed the room to stand at the window. Distant lightning flickered within the clouds, like summer fireflies at dusk playing tag in and out of the field grasses. He tried to fix his eyes on the spot where he thought the next glimmer would be, only to have it blink in a different direction. Gratitude filled him as the scripture continued to roll through his mind. He didn’t have to chase God’s light, wondering where it might next appear. He could put his trust in the Lord’s presence, knowing it was always constant.
The bracing aroma of coffee called to him, and he answered the beckoning invitation to fill a cup. He pulled out a chair and settled at the table where he’d left his Bible last night.
He opened the Book to Isaiah seeking encouragement for his heart. He soaked up the words, letting them bathe him in the comforting presence of the One who inspired their writing. He drained one cup of coffee and poured another, eager to return to the precious fellowship he found between the pages of God’s Word. By the time he finished his second cup, pale light gilded the sky out the east window.
The latch on the back door rattled, and Barnabas knocked on the doorframe. “Mistah Colton? You got the coffeepot on already?”
“Come in, Barnabas. The Lord and I were having a talk.”
Barnabas grinned. “I’s finished with the barn chores. Me ‘n’ Free took the sheeps out to the pasture. Looks like it rained durin’ the night.”
Colton smirked. “You could say that.” He gestured toward the stove. “Help yourself to the coffee.”
Barnabas leaned and stared closely at Colton. “You don’ look like you slep’ at all. Meybe I best make breakfas’ so’s it be fit to eat.”
The offer coaxed a smile from Colton. “Fine with me.”
“My mama’s co’n cakes.” Barnabas smacked his lips. “Wit’ sorghum syrup.” He pulled a cloth sack from the shelf and held it up. “Mistah Colton, this be co’nmeal?”
Colton turned up the flame flickering in the lamp. “No, that’s grits. The other one is cornmeal.”
Within minutes, corn cakes sizzled on the cast-iron griddle adding their fragrance to the air.
“There be four or five ewe sheeps that still ain’t birthed their young’uns.”
Colton grunted in response.
“I think two of ‘em is carryin’ twins.”
“Maybe.”
“Mistah Colton, you feelin’ all right?”
“Fine. Just tired.”
With a deft flip of his wrist, Barnabas turned the corn cakes. “Sump’in mo’ than that botherin’ you.” A knowing twinkle glittered in his eyes.
If there was ever another soul on this earth besides his parents and Pastor Winslow that Colton knew he could trust, it was Barnabas. He stood and walked to the stove, poured himself another cup
of coffee, and wandered back to the table. How did a man blurt out—even to a trusted friend—that he couldn’t get a woman off his mind?
“Those corn cakes smell good.”
Barnabas scooped the crispy cakes onto two plates, placing one in front of Colton. They bowed their heads, and Barnabas began to speak to God.
“Lawd, I thankin’ You for this new day and the way You take care o’ us. An’ Lawd, please bless my frien’, Mistah Colton. He be troubled this mornin’, but I ‘spect You already know ‘bout dat. Now I ask You to be blessin’ this here food, Lawd. It ain’t as good as my mama made, but if You blessin’ it, I be mighty thankful. In the name o’ Your precious Son, sweet Jesus.” When Barnabas raised his head, that same twinkle appeared in his eye, but Colton wasn’t in the mood for teasing.
“Pass the syrup.”
Barnabas pushed the syrup jug across the table, a twitch jiggling one corner of his mouth. “Womens sho’ is puzzlin’, ain’t they?”
Colton sucked in a deep breath and blew it out. The man’s ability to read his thoughts was downright uncanny. “I’m beginning to find that out.” He stabbed a bite of corn cake and shoveled it into his mouth. He chewed thoughtfully for a minute and pointed his fork at Barnabas. “You know what bothers me?”
“Mmm-hmm, she be a pretty woman an’ you don’ know what to say to her.”
An exasperated scowl twisted Colton’s lips. “Besides that.” He poked another forkful of corn cake into his mouth. “You lived on the Covington Plantation for over fifteen years, yet she acted like she didn’t know you.”
Barnabas shrugged. “No reason fo’ her to know me. I was a field slave. All dem times she come down to Slave Row, she jus’ be with the chilluns and some o’ the mamas. She never did talk much to us workers, ‘cause the overseer always around. I know who she be, but she never seen me.”
“Hm.” Colton mulled over Barnabas’s reasoning. “Makes sense, I suppose.” Colton polished off his breakfast and gulped the last of his coffee. He started to clear the table, but Barnabas stopped him.
“I take care o’ the dishes, Mistah Colton. It be the Lawd’s day. You gots to get ready fo’ church.”
Colton nodded, and for the hundredth time, wished Barnabas could come to church with him.
Chapter 8
Colton hated that Barnabas couldn’t accompany him to the church in Juniper Springs. Leaving a man of Barnabas’s faith behind to worship alone felt so wrong. There was no doubt in his mind his friend would spend time worshipping the God he loved, whether it took place in the barn, out in the meadow with Free and the sheep, or between the rows of growing corn. Barnabas never let a day go by without thanking God for His blessings. The way Barnabas found joy in the little things most people took for granted taught Colton that none of God’s blessings were insignificant.
Colton finished shaving and dressing and pulled Pastor Winslow’s black worsted wool coat from its hook. Slipping his arms into the sleeves, his memory echoed with the words of admonishment from the white-haired gentleman.
“Son, don’t ever forsake the assembling with other believers on the Lord’s Day.”
Wearing the old preacher’s coat to worship seemed like the man accompanied him. The thought made Colton smile.
Barnabas had Jasper saddled and ready when Colton stepped out the door. He mounted up and noticed his saddle had been freshly soaped and polished. Like he always did, Colton asked if Barnabas had his papers with him, and his friend responded by patting his shirt pocket. The practice had become a ritual.
Puddles dotted the road to town, and Colton carefully guided the horse around them so he wouldn’t arrive at church mud-spattered. He drew in a deep breath of rain-washed air and remembered to thank God for providing the precipitation.
“And God, please watch over Barnabas while I’m gone. Keep him safe and let him find joy in his time of worship this morning.”
Jasper’s rocking chair gait made for an easy ride. Lack of sleep tightened the muscles in Colton’s neck, and he reached around to rub the tense places. Maybe he’d find time for a nap this afternoon.
Try as he might, he couldn’t convince himself to leave the thoughts of Auralie Covington behind. According to Barnabas, he needed to get himself hitched and have a passel of young’uns. Colton snorted. Even if he had time for a woman in his life, it certainly wouldn’t be Shelby Covington’s daughter. The ludicrous thought reproached him.
Dogwood trees winked their white blossoms at the spring sky, rhododendrons unfolded their flowers in celebration of the new day, and purple violets dotted the shaded slopes. A wagon carrying a family loomed up ahead, and rather than risk the wheels splashing mud up on his polished boots or clean britches, Colton slowed the gelding to ride at a safe distance behind. The four children in the back of the wagon—two boys and two girls, all dressed in their Sunday best—laughed and teased each other and made up a silly song as they rolled down the road. The children’s parents turned around and smiled at the young ones and joined in the laughter. The scene stirred a longing in Colton’s chest. Perhaps God had a family in store for him some day, but not now.
The church bell pealed through the trees. Colton hated arriving at church late, but a pang of disappointment pinched him when the father whistled to the team to hurry them along, ending Colton’s enjoyment of watching the children. He followed the family into the churchyard and found a shady spot to tether Jasper. A few other folks arrived and exchanged greetings. At least he wouldn’t be the only one walking in just as the bell ceased its tolling. He searched for a seat before Pastor Shuford stepped into the pulpit.
Colton smiled at the other members of the congregation around him—hardworking people like himself who observed the Lord’s Day by gathering together in the simple church. He turned to glance across the aisle. Auralie Covington sat beside Belle Hancock. Surprise blinked through him. He knew she’d been visiting her cousin, but it didn’t occur to him that a woman like her might attend church in this modest little house of worship, even though the Hancocks attended regularly. Before he could discipline his focus, Auralie turned and their gazes collided.
He sent her a polite nod and forced his attention to the front where the pastor announced the first hymn. But halfway through “How Firm a Foundation” he caught himself sliding his gaze sideways while everyone else had their faces buried in their hymnbooks. Everyone else except Auralie. The moment their eyes met for the second time, her face flooded with color and she quickly looked back at her songbook.
Heat filled his face, and he wondered what Pastor Shuford must think. He glanced up to see if the preacher had witnessed the exchange. Judging by the twinkle in the man’s eye when he looked straight at Colton, he’d not only noticed, he’d been amused.
After three more hymns, the congregation was seated, and Colton admonished himself to anchor his attention on the sermon. But the knowledge of Auralie’s presence crept in, taunting his thoughts.
Lord, why am I doing this? I can’t be attracted to a woman like Auralie Covington. I’ll only make a fool of myself if I keep looking at her. She’s of a completely different class. I’m a farmer and shepherd. She’s an aristocrat. Please take these unreasonable feelings for her away from me.
Pastor Shuford instructed the congregation to turn to Joshua, chapter one. As he led the worshippers in reading the scripture, the verses Colton had heard a hundred times spoke to him in a way he’d never before considered. Hearing the preacher proclaim with assurance that God would be with him as He was with Moses, that God would not fail him or forsake him, left Colton breathless. What a precious promise. Was such a promise meant for someone like him? A simple farmer? Could he be a Joshua? Colton attuned his heart to drink up the preaching of God’s Word.
Like many of the promises in the Bible, this one came with a command. “Be strong and of a good courage.” The very words drew a picture of unwavering trust in the One who promised to always be with him. If God loved him enough to never forsake him regardless o
f the circumstances, then God believed he had a place in this world, a place of significance. Otherwise, why would He waste His time?
The message spilled over Colton in much the same way Pastor Winslow’s encouragement did. Be strong and of good courage. The admonition that rang in his ears carried with it a thread of warning as well. Events were unfolding around the bend in the road, beyond the horizon where he could not see, but God’s promise meant He was already there, and Colton need not fear the unseen or unknown. Heeding God’s command to be strong and courageous meant fortifying his heart and reinforcing his foundation of trust.
It never occurred to Auralie that she’d run into Colton at the little church her cousin attended, but she wasn’t really surprised to learn he was a churchgoing man. His public statements, urging people to pray and seek God’s will before supporting a candidate or casting a ballot fell into line with watching him sit in rapt attention of the preacher’s sermon. The way he’d spoken of the land and his sheep the other day—like they were blessings, gifts from the hand of God—left her feeling a bit ashamed for never realizing the value God placed on hard work. Colton regarded the work of his hands as a gift, not drudgery, with peace and contentment rather than resentment. Such a man piqued her curiosity. She’d certainly never seen her father dirty his hands. In fact, more than once she’d heard him speak of working people with disdain. Even though she’d not set eyes on Perry Bolden since they were children, she suspected her fiancé leaned toward her father’s notions.
She sneaked several peeks at Colton during the service. His demeanor intrigued her. She’d grown up thinking sitting in a worship service was a stiff, formal affair. Colton’s profile was etched with an emotion she’d not seen in a man before. In fact, the only other person she recalled seeing with a similar expression was Mammy. When Mammy read from the Bible and when she talked about the Lord, she did so with pure adoration in her eyes. Auralie glimpsed that same worshipful countenance on Colton. He hung on every word the pastor said, even brushing a tear or two from his eye.
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