Sky stared at him hopelessly. He had argued the matter with the boy until there was nothing left to say, so he turned to Davis and stated, “I believe your father will have great influence concerning the reconstruction of the South.” That ended the argument.
Davis left the Winslow home thinking about the various members of the family. Dan’s determination to join the White Knights showed a crack in the family solidarity, and Mark had told Davis about leaving soon to take a job on the Union Pacific railroad. The foundations were crumbling—not only for them but for the whole South.
The wedding on December 23 was everything Pet had hoped for. The house was filled with friends, and though the family had spent nearly all they had, Sky and Rebekah regretted none of it as Thad and Pet said their vows.
Pet, in a shimmering white gown, and Thad, in his new gray suit, made a handsome couple. The only nervous person seemed to be the minister!
After Belle and Davis had waved goodbye to the newlyweds, who had driven off for a week’s honeymoon, Belle said, “I wasn’t sure you were going to make it through the ceremony.”
“Never was so scared in my life,” he grinned. “They really are a fine couple, aren’t they?”
“Yes. So in love!” She shook her shoulders in a gesture of rebellion. “I always feel let down after a wedding. It’s always so anticlimactic! And there’s all that cleaning up to do!”
“I’ll help, Belle,” he volunteered. “I’m probably better at that than I am at performing wedding ceremonies,” he laughed.
“You did wonderfully well,” she said. “Your words about marriage—did all that come out of a book?”
“Some of it,” he admitted. “Remember the part about love that is real love never changing?”
Her eyes mirrored the doubts bombarding her. “You really believe that, Davis? That love is that strong?”
“Yes, I do,” he murmured. “But it’s rare to find that kind of love in this world of ours.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
ON THE WAY HOME
The ministry of Reverend Davis Winslow provided a form of recreation for the citizens of Richmond during the cold days of January and February. His congregation gathered regularly to hear him preach, and for every die-hard Confederate that shook the dust of St. Andrew’s from his feet, one or two curious visitors would slip into a back pew and listen with curiosity to the Yankee preacher.
Dooley Young was one of the first of the rural people to come, but he did not slink in and claim a backseat. He marched into St. Andrew’s with his hair slicked back, his huge mustache brushed, and an innocent look in his bright blue eyes. He sat beside Thad and Pet and sang with unbridled enthusiasm, though off-key. After the service he grabbed Davis’s hand and with a vigorous handshake said, “Parson, that sermon took the rag off the bush! I ain’t heard such good preachin’ since I was a feeler for the Baptists over at Donaldson.”
“A feeler?” Davis asked, puzzled.
“Why, shore! At all the baptizin’s, I got out in the creek to feel around for a shallow spot for the dippin’!” Dooley grinned and passed though the door, calling over his shoulder, “You turn your wolf loose next Sunday morning, Reverend. I’ll bring you a hull bunch of sinners to work on!”
True to his word, the following Sunday the church was banked by two pews of Dooley’s relatives and friends, and they continued to attend. “Ain’t got no preacher out our way,” Dooley’s mother, a short, heavy woman with eyes like her son, said. “You think you might hold us a camp meetin’ come spring, Reverend?” A sadness clouded her pleasant face, and she added, “Real bad times. Our young’uns ain’t got no school and no church. What’s to become of ’em, Reverend?”
Davis couldn’t forget Mrs. Young’s question, and for several days he struggled for a solution. He decided to visit the settlement where Dooley’s people lived. It was cold by the time he reached Belle Maison. Thad spotted him from where he was repairing a fence, and called out, “You’re turning blue, Preacher! Get off your horse and come inside. We’ll get you something hot.”
Rebekah and Belle joined them at the kitchen table. “Good to see you,” Rebekah nodded.
“I am really on my way to see the Youngs—but this coffee sure is welcome.” Davis sipped some more of the bitter brew and said, “Mrs. Young told me there’s no school for any of the children.”
“That’s bothering Dooley a lot,” Thad said. “He’s got a whole passel of brothers and sisters. From what I hear, those folks are having a hard time just making it through the winter. The men haven’t been home to make a crop for a long time.”
Davis finished his coffee, and asked for directions to the Young place. Thad scratched his head and began giving some rather lengthy directions. “Ah, this is too complicated. Guess I’ll have to go with you.”
“I’ll go, Thad,” Belle spoke up, then covered her impulsiveness by saying, “Hitch up Maggie to the light buggy while I change clothes.” She dressed warmly in woolens, put on a heavy overcoat, pulled on a stocking cap and knitted gloves and hurried downstairs. “I’ll be back soon, Mother,” she called to Rebekah.
“Take some of these cookies to Asa and the rest of the children,” Rebekah suggested. “Have a good time.” She watched out the window as Belle crossed the yard to where Thad and Davis were waiting, got into the buggy, and the two disappeared down the road.
The air was cold for March, but there had been little snow. “Never been down this road,” Davis commented. He saw someone plowing far back off the road, and when the man waved, Davis waved back.
“That’s Toby,” Belle nodded. “He’s going to make his own crop this year. He worked out some arrangement with Father.” She hesitated. “If we have to move, I suppose he’ll have to go as well.”
“I hope that doesn’t happen.”
“I think it will.” A note of finality edged her voice. “There’s no way we’ll have the money to pay the bank, Davis. I told Thad once that it was foolish putting all the work he does into a place he’ll not be able to keep, but he just told me, ‘I’m not giving up on God.’ ”
“Good way to think,” Davis replied. “I’m doing about the same thing, I guess. Plugging along with the church work, all the time something’s telling me, ‘Take it easy! You won’t be here more than a couple more months.’ “ He changed the subject abruptly: “What about the hospital, Belle?”
“They closed everything except one small wing. Most of the patients had left, and there wasn’t enough work for all of us.”
“Thousands of men will never forget you, Belle,” he said quietly. “I’m one of them.”
She brushed his comment aside and began speaking of happenings around the farm. They left the main road, and soon were on a makeshift, rutted lane leading into the thick scrub timber. That gave way to larger trees. By now Davis was quite lost. “If you leave me here, I’ll never get home,” he said ruefully.
“These are real backward people,” Belle told him. “Poor as church mice and proud as Lucifer! They’re very suspicious of outsiders.”
“They might not take kindly to a poor Yankee invading their territory,” Davis said. “But I haven’t been able to forget Mrs. Young’s question.”
They continued winding their way through. “Look! I think I see light ahead,” Davis said.
“There’s the house,” Belle pointed as they left the heavy woods and entered a cleared field. “Isn’t that Dooley riding over there?”
“Looks like it.”
The rider waved his hat, and rode full tilt to meet them. “Well, I wish to my never!” he exclaimed with a wide grin. “If it ain’t the preacher and Miss Belle! Come on in. I reckon you’re just in time for some dinner.”
“We can’t—” Davis broke off as Belle’s elbow jabbed into his ribs. He caught the tiny shake of her head, and amended his speech. “Well, you can trust a preacher to drop in right at dinnertime, can’t you now?” As Dooley turned to dismount and enter the house, Belle advised, “Don’t ever refuse
what people give you, Davis—especially those like the Youngs. They may not have much, but they’d be hurt if you didn’t share it.”
“Good thing you came along,” Davis told her as he helped her out of the buggy. “Keep an eye on me, will you?”
Children of all ages sprinted from every direction. They scooted through the front door, and raced from around the house. One tow-headed boy of about ten jumped out the window over the porch and slid down the sloping shed roof, falling loosely on the ground, then got up and joined the others, staring bashfully at the visitors. Mrs. Dooley emerged from the house, smiling enthusiastically. “Come in the house, Reverend—you young’uns make a path, for mercy’s sake! You act like you ain’t never seen a preacher before.”
Once inside, Davis and Belle were almost forced to sit down by the burst of hospitality Mrs. Young considered good manners. The room was large and scantily furnished with items made by a clever home craftsman. The floor consisted of wide pine boards, with cracks so wide Belle wondered how the tiny feet of the baby tottering along the floor kept from getting caught in them.
Dooley leaned against the wall, and the children scattered to corners where they could get a clear view of the visitors. All had an almost comic family resemblance—undersized, the same pale blue eyes, yellow hair, and large ears, including the girls. Davis commented later, “They all look like sugar bowls with two big handles!”
“Pa’ll be in directly,” Dooley said. “He jest came in from trotlining over on Ten Point. Got a big mess of bullhead cat-fish. Lem’me name all these here young’uns for ya.” Everyone had two names—Asa Roy, Billy Joe, Mary Sue . . . When he had introduced them each one, he grinned. “You won’t be able to recall which is which. I get mixed up my own self sometimes.”
Mrs. Young and two of her daughters, both about fifteen, scurried around preparing the meal, while Dooley kept Davis and Belle entertained with tales of his hunting feats. Davis was entranced by the little man, and Belle smiled as Davis set one of the smaller Youngs on his lap while Dooley told about his dogs—all awesome, it seemed.
“What’s your best dog, Dooley?” he asked.
“Guess I’d have to say it’s ol’ Blue,” Dooley drawled. “He’s gettin’ on a bit, but all in all, he’s about the best bird dog ever drew breath.” He scratched his head, remembering an incident. He went on to tell a tale of ol’ Blue’s feats, how he’d chased a bunch of quail into a hole and then released the birds one by one so Dooley could shoot them with his shotgun. The longer he talked, the longer and wilder the story became.
By now Dooley had Davis’s rapt attention. The extraordinary exploits of such a dog must have been something to behold!
Belle suddenly loosed a peal of laughter, a silvery sound, that surprised Davis. His face grew red as saw that everybody in the room was grinning at him. “Dooley Young!” his mother admonished as she came sailing out of the kitchen with a long wooden spoon waving in his direction, “Don’t you be aggravating the pastor with them lyin’ stories of yours!”
Davis joined in the fun at his expense. He didn’t mind. It made the room seem less alien now. The door opened shortly, and a short man in worn overalls entered. Reuben Young greeted the visitors, and seeing the meal of catfish, greens and cornbread already on the table, invited them to be seated. The long table was made of rough pine planks. No two plates were alike, and the tableware ranged from a silver fork, black with age, to Dooley’s Arkansan toothpick, a Bowie knife over a foot long that he had carried all through the war.
Davis enjoyed the dinner immensely and complimented Mrs. Young. After the meal they sat around drinking sassafras tea, a new experience for Davis, and he said, “Sure is good tea. Guess you wonder why I came out here. I’ve been thinking about something you said in church last Sunday, Mrs. Young.”
“Me, Reverend?”
“Yes. You said the children are getting no schooling.”
“That’s a sad truth, Brother Winslow,” Reuben nodded. “We had a little school here—‘bout four years ago, wasn’t it, Ada? But the schoolmaster went off with Jackson and got hisself killed at Chancellorsville.”
“Sech a fine young man!” Ada remarked. “But they wouldn’t be no way to pay anyone anyways.”
Dooley speared a biscuit with his huge knife, spread some honey over the fragments and transferred a morsel to his mouth. “I sure have been grievin’ over these young’uns, Preacher. We thought about movin’ to town—but we’re not town folks.”
Davis shifted uncomfortably on the bench he shared with Belle and three of the children. He wanted to help, but didn’t want to raise false hopes. These people have been hurt too much already, he thought, and had almost decided to say nothing of an idea that had been in his mind for the past week.
“You have an idea, Reverend Winslow?” Belle asked, and he gave her a quick glance, long enough to see that she was encouraging him to do anything he could to help the Youngs.
“Well, I’m not sure,” he replied. “I’ve got a diploma somewhere back home that says I’m qualified to teach a little bit. I’ve never done it, but I’d be willing to give some time if you think it would help the children.”
The room became so still Davis thought he’d violated one of the obscure mountain credos. Both parents stared at him as if he had dropped out of the moon. Dooley and the rest of the family as well seemed struck by Davis’s words.
He dared not look at Belle, and mumbled, “Well, I just thought it would be—”
He broke off as Mrs. Young began to cry. Mr. Young patted her shoulders, explaining to Davis, “Preacher—if you could teach my kids to read and write—”
Dooley raised his head, his face sober. “Preacher,” he said, “I ain’t never been a religious man. But for months I been listenin’ to my mama pray that God would send somebody to teach these young’uns. I never thought it would happen.” He stopped, then said huskily, “But I don’t reckon I’m ever gonna forget that the good Lord ain’t forgot about us out here in the woods!”
Davis reddened. “I’m glad to hear you say that, Dooley—but really, you’re all making too much out of my offer! I can’t come full time. I thought we could work out some sort of schedule when I could take a few days off from the church—say, three mornings a week, maybe—and at least do something.” He laughed. “It’ll be the first time my education’s done much good.”
“Reverend, would it be all right if a few other childrens came along with ourn?” Reuben asked. “We got some kin-folk who’re jest as anxious as we are to get some larnin’ for their childrens.”
“Why, not at all. As I told you, I’m not much of a teacher. I guess I can do pretty well with the reading and writing, but arithmetic is like a foreign language to me.”
Belle looked at the eager faces around the table and said impulsively, “I’m a terrible speller—but I did very well with arithmetic.” She smiled at Davis. “Could you use an assistant, Reverend Winslow?”
“Why—of course!” he nodded in delight.
When they left the house, it was decided that on three mornings a week Dooley would bring the children to Belle Maison for lessons. That would cut down on the long trip for Davis, and Belle volunteered to get a large vacant building in order. They both felt a little overwhelmed.
“I’m a little frightened, Belle!” Davis confided. “We’ve got them all excited—and I don’t have any idea how we’re going to do it.”
Belle was feeling very warm and happy. “We can do it, Davis! I know we can!” She talked rapidly about the job that lay ahead—desks, benches, maps and supplies. Her face was alive with anticipation—just like the old days when he had first seen her. Her eyes were clear, without the veil of reserve he had grown accustomed to, and her cheeks glowing, both from the cold air and the excitement that bubbled over.
He stopped to rest the horse at a small creek when they were halfway to Belle Maison. She turned to face him, unconscious of the picture she made in the blinding sunlight. Her hands flew as she desc
ribed the plan for the schoolroom, and once unconsciously gripped his arm. Her lips, reddened by the sharp air, were tender and enticing.
All of a sudden she gasped with shocked surprise and embarrassment. “Good heavens!” she laughed. “I haven’t taken on like this for years!”
“I’m glad we’re doing this project together, Belle,” he said, smiling. “I would never have offered if you hadn’t urged me on. It’s going to be good, isn’t it?”
She nodded, tiny lines furrowing her smooth brow as she thought about possible opposition. “But—will the church let you do it, Davis? Some of the members are very jealous of the pastor. They think since they’re paying his salary, he ought to spend his time with them.”
“I have no idea, Belle,” he shrugged. “Never been a pastor before. But I don’t think this project is an accident. I believe God is in it, and it’s about the clearest sign He’s given me that I’m on the right track.”
She studied him a moment. “Is it that way with you? You seem so confident about things.”
“Not about details, just the big things.” He watched the horse drink, trying to think how to say what he was feeling. “I know that God came into my life and made me a whole man. I know that He wants me to serve Him. And I know He brought me to this place for this particular time. The rest . . .” He smiled at her. “Well, I’m just walking in what little light He gives me, Belle. I was beginning to get a little desperate—but this idea of a school! And you offering to help!” He reached out and put his hand over hers. “I’m thankful for you, Belle!”
She felt the warmth of his hand, and was swept by a haunting guilt—a black, horrible, dreary, hopeless feeling that never left her for long. She shivered and lifted her eyes to his. He saw the pools of pain and grief.
He had prayed for an opportunity to speak to her, had asked for wisdom to say words that would lead her to the truth. Now he was afraid—afraid that he would overstep the boundaries she had placed around her spirit. If he crossed those lines, would she build the walls higher and stronger than ever?
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