“You’re the new preacher in town, aren’t you?”
Will had been so intent on the man in prayer that he didn’t realize another person had stepped up beside him until he spoke.
“That I am. Will Robertson at your service, sir.” Will turned toward the man, who was short with a girth that strained the buttons of his coat.
The man pulled out a handkerchief to wipe sweat off his face. “Good to meet you, Reverend. Haskell Abshire here. I work for the druggist, J. C. Moffett, down the street a ways. Town all but closed down for the funeral so thought I’d come pay my respects too. Didn’t expect to be standing around out in the sun though.” The man held out a hand for Will to shake. Then he took his hat off to reveal his bald head and fanned his face a moment. “It’s too hot for a funeral. Better to die when winter’s coming or going.”
“One can’t choose the time for his parting.” Will kept his voice low. He didn’t want to show disrespect for the funeral proceedings inside.
“True enough. Pity about old George. I figured he’d make it a few more years. He wasn’t all that much older than me and I’m healthy as a horse.” He put his hat back on. “Folks say that, but horses up and die too. All the time.”
“Did you know George Sanderson well?’
“In Springfield, you know everybody well. Not all that many people to know, but I can’t say that George and me were close or anything like that. I’m not in his league, seeing as how he owned the hotel and all those slaves over there. Me, I own a hat.” The man touched his hat again with a smile. “That isn’t entirely so. I do all right, but I have to chop my own wood and my wife has to mop her own floor. No servants around our house.”
“I see.” Will looked toward the hotel, uneasy with the man’s barrage of words during a time for silence, but no one seemed to be paying any attention to their conversation.
“I saw you eyeing them over yonder.” The man nodded toward the black man Will had been watching.
“Yes, the man there in the middle appeared to be praying.”
“That wouldn’t surprise me. That’s Louis.” Abshire shook his head. “George didn’t do right by him. Should have taken steps to free the man before he died. Would have only been right after what Louis has done for George over the years. But then, maybe death sneaked up on George before he got around to doing what he ought to have done. That happens to a man from time to time. You know what they say where that road paved with good intentions leads. I’m guessing you come across that often enough in your preaching profession. Folks aiming to do good but never getting around to it.”
“Man has a proclivity to sin.”
“Yes, sir. Ever since Adam let Eve talk him into biting that apple.” Abshire pulled out his handkerchief to mop his face again. “It’s hot as Hades out here. Be nice if a breeze would spring up to mark George’s passing.”
“It is hot for June.” Will kept his voice extra low and looked toward the front door of the hotel in hopes the other man would take the hint and stop talking. That didn’t happen.
“That Louis, he goes to your church, doesn’t he?”
“I’ve only been here a couple of weeks, so I still don’t know all the members.”
“Well, I know he’s one of them. Maybe hasn’t been to any services since you got here, what with George dying and all.”
“Perhaps not.”
Abshire looked from Will toward where Louis stood, his head up now as he talked quietly to those around him. “Could be you should say some extra prayers for him, seeing as how you’re his preacher and all. I hear those boys of George’s are anxious to turn their father’s property into cash so’s they can carry it away from Springfield. They’re going to put everything on the auction block and waste no time about it. Nothing right about it, but that’s how it is.”
“I will certainly pray for him and for all of Mr. Sanderson’s family. I hope you will too, Mr. Abshire.”
Will bowed his head in an attitude of prayer and was grateful when the man drifted away to bend somebody else’s ear. But it was good to know other Springfield citizens besides Mrs. Harmon and Miss Starr were upset about Louis being sold. That gave Will more hope of finding a way to obtain this man’s freedom.
He would go with an open mind and a listening ear to Ruth Harmon’s house after the funeral. If they all three could pray believing, as Miss Starr claimed this man standing a few feet away did, then the Lord might smile upon their plans, whatever those plans turned out to be.
The prayer of a righteous man availeth much. He wanted to believe he could be that righteous man praying. He wanted to be that man, had thought he was before Mary’s death brought him low. Now he tossed on a sea of uncertainty.
He looked back over at Louis. His shoulders were squared, his jaw set as he stared toward the hotel door. A righteous man whom Will felt called to help, no matter the consequences. And there could be consequences to stand up for the slave of an influential Springfield family.
“Thy will be done.” Will softly whispered the words as men carried George Sanderson’s body out of the hotel and down to a funeral carriage.
Will waited as people streamed out behind the family. When he saw Ruth Harmon’s slight figure, he made his way through the people to step up and walk with her and Adria Starr. His heart lifted when she gave him a look of welcome.
Twenty
The funeral was awful. Absolutely awful. Adria would have gone outside to stand with Louis, but Ruth gripped her arm and insisted she stay in the seat beside her. She was right, of course. Ruth was always right. Adria couldn’t go stand with the Sanderson slaves. Not without causing upset and problems for Louis, for Ruth, for herself.
Not that she would have made any kind of scene. She could have just stepped out into the open air where at least she could breathe and not feel as though she might melt in a puddle of mourning sweat. Why couldn’t white be the color of mourning? Angel colored. But no, everything had to be black. Black soaked up the heat. Stored it against your skin. Made you wonder which would happen first—you fainting dead away or the priest finally concluding his elaborate praises of the deceased.
Adria felt damp with sweat. Even her head was sweating under the black hat kept solely for funerals. Many of the ladies around Adria looked every bit as miserable. Several pulled fans from their reticules and waved them back and forth while others glared at them with disapproval. Adria envied their bit of stirred air. Better a bit of disrespect than a second funeral featuring you.
Ruth meanwhile sat perfectly still except for the moment she had grasped Adria’s arm to keep her in her seat. Ruth’s face barely glistened and no sweat drops ran down past her eyes as they did on Adria’s face. If Adria lived a hundred years, she would never be the lady Ruth was almost effortlessly.
Carlton sat with his family close to the front, as befitted their position as a family of wealth in the community. Carlton had glanced back at her once without a smile. In fact, she wasn’t even sure he was looking for her and not Janie Smith. Not that she cared, she tried to tell herself. She had other things to worry about.
But she did care. Whether she wanted to say yes to marrying Carlton or not, she did love him. At least she was pretty sure she did. Some. And she’d always been positive he loved her. Maybe not exactly the way she wanted to be loved as an independent woman able to think for herself. Even so, there was a certain amount of comfort knowing a man like Carlton wanted to marry her. Now maybe he didn’t. Perhaps he had glimpsed the real Adria and was ready to give up on her ever being the wife he dreamed of her being.
It was all so confusing. Thinking she didn’t care whether Carlton loved her when she did. Then what about Logan Farrell with those remarkable eyes? The very thought of him was enough to make her heart speed up. Steady, comfortable Carlton or dangerous, unknown Logan Farrell. Why dangerous? He’d done nothing to make her think outlaw, but a woman knew a dangerous man by instinct.
She pushed thoughts of them away. She could simply spurn the
m both. Take Abigail up on her suggestion to come east and stay with her. Fight for freedom for the slaves and for women. What better freedom than shrugging off the idea that marriage and family was a woman’s most important goal in life? And yet, hadn’t she always wanted family?
If only Aunt Tilda were still alive. Then, in spite of sitting ramrod straight with sweat running down the inside of her dress and the priest’s incomprehensible words floating over top of her head, a smile sneaked out on her face.
She dabbed her upper lip with her handkerchief to hide that smile as she could almost hear Aunt Tilda speaking in her ear. “Missy, you’re over-thinking it all. Worryin’ a freckle into a canker sore. Just give it time. The right answer will most likely occur to you. And whether it does or not, another worry is sure to come along to push that worry right out of your mind.”
She already had that worry. Louis. Everything else could wait. Not that worrying would help anyhow. She needed to be praying. With belief, the way Louis prayed.
When they followed the crowd out of the hotel, the preacher stepped up beside Ruth. Adria was surprised when Ruth almost smiled before she remembered she was at a funeral. But she definitely had a welcoming light in her eyes. Obviously the man’s love of poetry had made an impression.
They didn’t speak. Just gave each other a little nod of acknowledgment. Then Pastor Robertson shortened his stride to match Ruth’s as Adria was accustomed to doing as well. The carriage carrying George Sanderson’s body moved slowly down Main Street. Those few who hadn’t been at the funeral stepped out on the street to stand quietly as the procession passed. If Logan Farrell was among them, she didn’t see him. Some of those walking behind the procession dropped out to join those on the sidelines.
If the preacher hadn’t been walking with them, Adria and Ruth might have done the same, but once he joined them, they seemed to have to finish the course with the Sanderson family. At least the carriages and buggies were moving so slowly they only stirred up a little dust. The sheriff had blocked the street so no wagoners or drovers could come through during the funeral procession.
At last the ordeal was over. The coffin was lowered in the grave and the family dropped in their symbolic handfuls of dirt. Carlton looked across the grave directly at Adria while the priest spoke the final prayers. He didn’t smile. Neither did she. A graveyard wasn’t a place for smiles or the words necessary for them to mend their relationship.
The preacher returned with Ruth and Adria to their house, where they carried chairs out into the backyard to sit under the shade of the oak tree that had to be over a hundred years old. Strong with deep roots and shade a person could count on all through the summer.
Was that how she was in Springfield? Depending on those roots and the shade that not only Ruth provided but Louis as well. The thought of stepping away from that shade started up a tremble inside Adria. Even if she merely stepped away to take Carlton’s hand in marriage.
She would have to leave this house, this life, for something totally different. Perhaps Ruth could tell her how she should feel. Ruth had made that step into marriage, and from the way she appeared to welcome the preacher’s admiring glances today, it could be she was softening toward the idea of a suitor. The pastor, a widower, was a very eligible prospect.
The church members had much discussion about calling a pastor without the helpmate of a wife. Many were against it, but others suggested an unmarried man would have more time for ministering to the needs of the church. Then a few suggested the Lord would supply the man with a wife if he were meant to have one to help him in his ministry.
Adria looked at Ruth and then the pastor sipping the lemonade Ruth made before they left for the funeral. She had set the pitcher in a pan of cool water from the well to be sure it would be fresh and reviving. They needed reviving after the long ordeal of the funeral.
She and Ruth had shed their black jackets when they reached the house. The white blouses underneath were of a summer material, which, along with the bit of breeze in the oak tree’s shade, made the long skirts bearable. Dust rimmed the hem of Adria’s skirt, but Ruth must have found a cleaner path to walk or had found a moment to brush her hem when she went in to fetch the lemonade. Adria wasn’t concerned with her soiled hem as she helped Ruth carry out bacon sandwiches and cucumber slices. A raisin pie was waiting for dessert. Ruth must have risen before dawn to have time to bake that before the funeral.
When Adria had commented on the trouble Ruth had gone to, Ruth waved away her words. “He’s our preacher. If he’s here at lunchtime, it’s our duty as church members to offer him a meal.”
The blush that rose in Ruth’s cheeks told more than her words. A blush that still lightly tinged Ruth’s cheeks now and made her even lovelier than usual.
But whether or not romance was awakening between Ruth and the preacher, Adria couldn’t let them forget the purpose of their gathering.
She was just about to tell them so, when Pastor Robertson put his plate back on the small table they had moved out beside the chairs and said, “I didn’t speak with the man you are concerned about today, Miss Starr, but I did take note of this Louis. A man worthy of help. Even a Mr. Abshire was in agreement of that.”
Ruth looked a bit alarmed. “You didn’t tell Haskell Abshire about our efforts for Louis, did you?” She hesitated, then went on. “Haskell has a tendency to talk overmuch.”
“What Aunt Ruth is trying to nicely say is that if Haskell Abshire knows about something, everybody in town will know before nightfall,” Adria said.
The preacher chuckled. “I have no doubt that is true, but not to worry. I listened. He talked.”
Ruth smiled with relief. “Yes, I can imagine that to be so. Haskell would have been happy to have a new ear for his many words.”
“But the interesting thing about those words was that he gave voice to the opinion George Sanderson had done his servant, Louis, an injustice by not giving him his freedom before death took him.” Pastor Robertson looked thoughtful. “If that is the general consensus of the townsfolk, perhaps that will help your campaign to free Louis.”
“I don’t think the son I met yesterday in the hotel kitchen is going to be swayed by public opinion. Bet says he is counting the worth of everything.” Adria looked over at Ruth. “You said you have a little money saved. Do you think we could buy Louis?”
“We wouldn’t have nearly enough.” Ruth looked sad to have to say that. “Not even close. You know what prices they put on slaves.”
“Even if we get a loan from the bank? Our house could be collateral.” Adria leaned forward toward Ruth. “And maybe I could get Carlton to help.”
“Or perhaps you could get Carlton’s family to buy him?” Ruth suggested. “His family treats their slaves well.”
“No.” The word exploded from Adria. “I want Louis to be free. He deserves to be free.”
“Do you think you could convince Carlton of that?” Ruth looked doubtful of that being possible.
“I don’t know. Perhaps with the proper encouragement.” A yes to Carlton’s marriage proposal in exchange for help in securing Louis’s freedom. That wouldn’t be a terrible exchange, since she had been considering that yes anyway. If only she could be sure that yes was the right answer for her.
Pastor Robertson held up his long slender hand. “Wait, ladies. Let us give this more thought and prayer.”
“We prayed yesterday.” Adria wished the words back as soon as she said them. A Christian should always be ready to pray. Believing.
“Yes, indeed we did.” The preacher only smiled. “And we will need to continually pray for the Lord’s intervention. But consider this, ladies. If others in town feel as Mr. Abshire did, it could be that they, these others, would be willing to contribute to a freedom fund for this man, Louis.”
Adria felt a ray of hope at the preacher’s idea. “Do you think so?”
“No, I don’t think so, I believe so, and I’m going to keep believing so as I pray this week.”<
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“Who would ask for the money?” A worried frown wrinkled the skin around Ruth’s eyes.
The preacher blew out a long breath. “I doubt I would be well received in that role.”
“I’ll ask.” Adria was already making a list of shop owners in her head.
“I’m not sure that would be seemly. A woman asking businessmen for money. Especially a young woman like you.” Ruth shook her head slightly at Adria before she went on. “Perhaps if I went with you.”
“But you would hate that, Aunt Ruth.” Adria knew how hard Ruth tried to stay away from any kind of controversy.
“True, but sometimes a person has to do hard things.”
“You would do that for me?”
“For you.” Ruth reached to touch Adria’s hand. “And for Louis. You aren’t the only one in Springfield or in this family who owes a debt to Louis.”
“If there are many, then that bodes well for our plan,” Pastor Robertson said. “Plus, you might be surprised at the help you may get. Even from the young man you mentioned. Carlton Damon. A man anxious to impress a certain young lady.” The preacher smiled. “And there was another young man Sunday who appeared to want to win your favor. Someone told me he was a newcomer to town. Rather like me, I suppose. He slipped out before I had a chance to say anything to him yesterday morning. What was his name?” The preacher’s brow wrinkled as he thought. “Oh yes. Logan Farrell.”
“I don’t think—”
Before Ruth could get any cautionary words out, Logan Farrell came around the house.
“Did somebody say my name?”
He was smiling and his eyes zeroed in on Adria. Something about the man just seemed to pull the light to him. Or perhaps he brought the light with him, because suddenly everything around Adria seemed brighter.
“Miss Starr.” Logan nodded toward Adria and then turned his smile on Ruth and the pastor. “Mrs. Harmon. Reverend.”
“Mr. Farrell, to what do we owe the pleasure of your company?” Ruth gave him the look she used to freeze misbehaving students in her classroom. It was obvious she didn’t welcome him showing up without an invitation, and that invitation wasn’t likely to come from her.
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