That was the reminder Will impressed on the people two days ago. Remember when fear clutched your hearts and death stole your loved ones away. Remember how you were too afraid or too sick to do what needed to be done for those loved ones. This good man, with God-given strength, stepped into that gap, and now that man needs our help. The special offering taken up at the end of the church service gave Ruth hope. Not that they had nearly enough, even with the money Ruth had saved for Adria to go to a finishing school. Not something Adria wanted to do anyway. Perhaps that was a dream Ruth had more than Adria, who chafed at the idea of being a lady with servants to do her bidding. She wanted nothing to do with any of that.
The desire to elevate Adria to a more privileged position in society could have come straight from Ruth, who had never had the opportunity to be a lady. Even if Peter had lived, she would not have had a life of ease. Not on a schoolmaster’s pay. But she would have had a completely different life as a helpmate to Peter and mothering their children. Perhaps she could have raised one of those imagined daughters to embrace the gentle life of a lady.
Instead, she had Adria, whom she had treated more as a sister than a child. Matilda had mothered Adria. Dear Matilda, who had desired freedom more than food and water but had never tasted it here on earth. Ruth, in many ways, owed her own freedom to Matilda. Without learning to bake bread and cakes to sell, she would have had to marry one of the suitors who showed up at her door, whether she could bear the thought of living with one of them or not.
But she had learned to bake in the old chimney ovens and then had invested in one of the newfangled cast-iron stoves. What a wonder that stove was turning out to be, especially in the summer when a lesser fire was concentrated to heat the oven chamber.
She lightly ran her fingers over the scrollwork on the top warming oven. Simply looking at the stove made her feel rich. A strange thing to think, when she had to spend hours in the kitchen baking every week to satisfy orders. No lady of leisure with naught to do but toy with writing poetry. Any time for poetry writing had to be chiseled out of her day.
Now she banked the fire in the side chamber. More bread was rising to bake later. But Ruth needed to take some raisin cinnamon bread to Mrs. Gregory, who had cornered her at church on Sunday and insisted she couldn’t wait until Friday for the bread. When Ruth had suggested Adria deliver the baked goods before work, Mrs. Gregory insisted that wouldn’t do at all.
“Gracious, no. I wouldn’t be up to answer the door at that hour.”
“Sally will be there, won’t she?” Ruth had not looked forward to having tea with Mrs. Gregory more than once a week, and she knew the woman would still expect a pie on Friday.
Mrs. Gregory put her hand on Ruth’s arm and ignored her mention of her servant. “Oh, you must come and sit awhile to talk. You can’t imagine how very lonesome it is when no one takes time to visit an old lady.”
She had pulled a sad face, but the twinkle hadn’t disappeared from her eyes. The old lady was up to something. Still, what could Ruth do except smile and agree to bring her the bread? She was one of Ruth’s best customers, after all, and generous with her payment. Besides, with the hotel in flux with the sale pending, Ruth hadn’t received any orders from Bet. She didn’t like thinking about the cook, one of the listed slaves for sale.
All her life she had been around people who owned slaves and had never looked askance at the institution until she knew Matilda. Even then, because Matilda had an owner who gave her a great deal of freedom, she hadn’t really understood the black woman’s unhappiness with her state.
Some things were too hard to think about. Slavery was one of those. Ruth couldn’t change things. She had no vote. No power. She simply had to tend her little corner of the world and try to keep Adria from doing something foolish to endanger her future. Perhaps her life.
Ruth packed three loaves of the bread in her basket. The parsonage wasn’t far from Mrs. Gregory’s. Ruth wouldn’t go into his house. Not with him there alone. It wouldn’t be proper, but she could step up on his porch to offer him a loaf of bread the way she had taken him a pie that first week. She’d truly had no ulterior motives then. She was simply a church member welcoming a new pastor.
But now when he came to mind, he was Will, not Pastor Robertson. And she liked hearing her given name fall from his lips. The very thought of that warmed her cheeks. She gave herself a mental shake. Best not to get carried away. As she had truthfully told Adria, she wasn’t worried or apprehensive about what might come of their friendship. The right word for how she felt hadn’t surfaced in her mind, but it was not a bad feeling.
Even so, she needed a purpose to knock on his door. And more reason than bringing him a loaf of bread. She wouldn’t want him to think she was plying him with baked goods to gain his favor. No, but she could ask him about the money collected for Louis and whether he had approached the Sanderson family to see if they might lower the five-hundred-dollar price.
Five hundred dollars. An amount that sounded beyond hope. Not hope. Prayer. Pray believing. That was what they had decided at the very beginning. She had prayed, but belief had lurked on the edge of her prayers. Perhaps now with such a good beginning, she could grab hold of belief and pray with confidence the Lord would reward Louis’s faithfulness.
Mrs. Gregory came to the door herself. “Oh, my dear Ruth. I am so pleased to see you. Come in. Come in.” She reached out and pulled Ruth into the hallway. “Having you here brightens up my day.”
“How kind of you to say that.”
“I’m afraid I must impose on you to come into the kitchen and get the tea tray. You can slice some of that delicious bread for us too. I’m guessing you rarely eat any of it yourself since you stay so slender.” The old lady beamed at Ruth as she led the way down the hall to the kitchen that was in a state of disarray, with dishes sitting on every surface.
“I do apologize for the untidiness.” Mrs. Gregory brushed a scattering of crumbs off the table.
“Where’s Sally?” Ruth asked.
“The dear girl is ill. Dreadfully so.” It was odd to hear Mrs. Gregory call Sally “girl,” as she wasn’t that many years behind the old woman in age.
“I’m sorry to hear that.” Ruth set the basket down on one of the chairs and lifted out a loaf of bread. “Do you have a knife?”
The old woman looked in several drawers before she found one. “I fear I have forgotten any domestic skills I once knew. At least I can make tea.” She indicated the tray with the teapot. “After Charlene from next door came to manage my fire. You have one of those new stoves, I’ve heard. You wouldn’t be interested in selling it, would you?”
“I’m afraid not. It makes my baking so much easier.”
“I suppose it would.” She looked over at the fireplace with the pothooks over the coals. “I used to be a fair hand at cooking, but then I got Sally.”
“What seems to be her trouble?” Ruth arranged the slices of bread on the plate Mrs. Gregory handed her. “Is she up in her room? I could take her a plate.”
“Oh, dear, if only you could, but you see, I had to call in the doctor for her, and he prescribed bed rest for days, perhaps weeks.” Mrs. Gregory glanced toward the door that opened to the stairway leading to servant’s quarters. “Some sort of lung ailment, he said. I couldn’t take care of her. Not and climb those stairs. So there was nothing to do but send her to my cousin’s farm, where they have people enough to spare someone for Sally’s care. Of course, I’ll have to pay the cost. But one does have to be responsible for one’s servants.”
“I hope she recovers soon.”
“Yes, that would be good, but Dr. Adams says that even if she gets better, he doubts she’ll ever be useful again. Rather like me, I suppose. But at least I’m still afoot.” She reached for the plate of bread. “Here, let me carry that and you can bring the tea tray. When I tried to carry it earlier, I set the cups to clattering in their saucers.”
“Certainly.” Ruth picked up the tray. “You h
ave three cups. Are you expecting someone else?”
“You never know who might drop in. Always best to be prepared,” the old lady chirped as she headed back toward the parlor.
After Ruth sat the tray down on the small round table in the parlor, she poured a cup of tea to hand to the old lady. “What are you up to, Mrs. Gregory?”
Mrs. Gregory sat down and reached for the cup. “My dear girl, you make me sound as mischievous as a child. But I’ve long since left those years behind. That’s why I must find a new girl to hire or buy.”
Ruth perched on the edge of a brocade chair near the tea tray with her own cup of tea. The tea was weak and already losing any semblance of warmth. “You could see the Sandersons about Bet, the cook at the hotel. She’s always been so helpful when we dropped cakes off there. Quite capable, I’m told.”
“That’s certainly something to consider, even though an experienced cook will surely fetch a good price.”
“But you wouldn’t have to teach her to cook.” Ruth took a sip of tea.
“Are you wanting to set her free too?” Mrs. Gregory peered over her cup at Ruth. “The way you do Louis?”
“I don’t think I said that.”
“No, no, you didn’t.” She sat her cup down and took a piece of the raisin cinnamon bread. “You’ve never had servants, have you? Even when you were a child?”
“I have not.”
“Then you don’t understand that those people can’t make it on their own. They need someone to give them a place to work. To feed and clothe them. To see that they are cared for when sick, as I am doing for Sally. I fear that your plan with Louis, although surely a grand idea thought up with well-meaning intentions, might very well be a disaster for him.”
“Louis will be able to find work here in Springfield. There are other free blacks in the town.”
“Perhaps so. But enough about that.” Mrs. Gregory waved her hand as if to clear the air. “Tell me about dear Adria. Has she finally said yes to that sweet Damon boy? She really should, you know.”
A knock on the door saved Ruth from making up an answer.
Mrs. Gregory’s smile got brighter. “My dear, would you mind terribly to see who that might be? I do struggle so getting up from this settee.”
“Of course.” Ruth set down her cup and went out into the hallway. She didn’t see how Mrs. Gregory would be able to manage without a servant.
Ruth was surprised when she opened the door and Will was standing there, his hat in his hand. She shouldn’t have been. She knew Mrs. Gregory was up to something and the old woman loved to play matchmaker. She had tried similar tricks with Ruth in years past, but this time Ruth didn’t mind.
“Pastor Robertson. I assume Mrs. Gregory invited you to tea.” Ruth was smiling almost as much as the old lady no doubt was back in the parlor.
An answering smile lit up Will’s face. “That she did, but she didn’t tell me it was going to be a party, Mrs. Harmon.”
Thank goodness he followed Ruth’s lead to stay formal with Mrs. Gregory’s sharp ears listening. “Mrs. Gregory does enjoy her tea. Won’t you come in?”
“With pleasure.” He stepped across the threshold, his gaze not leaving her face.
Warmth flooded Ruth’s cheeks. Something Mrs. Gregory’s sharp eyes would notice and gossip would soon be circulating the town that Ruth was attracted to the preacher. But was it gossip if it was true?
When he turned to hang his hat on the hall tree, Ruth blew out a soft breath to pull herself together. While he did appear to be as attracted to her as she was to him, they had only known each other a very short time. The idea of letting this feeling grow was definitely reason to pray. But should she pray believing? Sometimes it was difficult to know if your heart’s desire was best for your life.
“I’m so glad you’re here, Mrs. Harmon. When Mrs. Gregory invited me on Sunday, she said she wanted to talk about our campaign for Louis.” He spoke loudly, obviously wanting to be sure Mrs. Gregory heard every word. “I feel sure she summoned us both here to assure us of her support. I’ve heard so much about her kindness.”
Ruth feared he might be laying on the praise a bit too thickly, but when they went back into the parlor, Mrs. Gregory was beaming. “Ah, Reverend. It is so nice of you to come. I know you must be busy out hunting souls to win, but it’s good at times to tend those sheep already in your flock, is it not?”
“Indeed, Mrs. Gregory.” He went over and leaned down to put his hand over hers for a moment. “Tending my sheep is an important part of my ministry, and I am blessed to have you as one of them. So what is it I can do for you this day?”
“Don’t be in such a rush. Sit down and relax a moment, Pastor.” Mrs. Gregory looked at Ruth. “Pour the man some tea and give him a slice of that delicious bread. You did know Mrs. Harmon was an accomplished cook, didn’t you, Pastor?”
“Actually I do know that. Her pies are delicious.” He took the cup of tea from Ruth. It was cold now, but the day was warm. Perhaps sipping her own cold tea would keep her cheeks from flushing again.
“Oh yes, you did take him a pie once, didn’t you, dear?” Mrs. Gregory peered over at Ruth with her face practically aglow at having orchestrated them both being in her parlor.
“A welcome to the community gift,” Ruth murmured.
“And a very appreciated one.” Will didn’t seem bothered at all by the old lady’s obvious matchmaking.
Ruth sipped her tea and realized she didn’t mind either.
“Yes, yes, I can see it was,” Mrs. Gregory said.
“But I thought you had something about which you wanted to speak with me.” Will put his cup on the table and leaned toward the old lady.
Ruth started to stand up. “I can go straighten up your kitchen while the two of you talk.” She looked at Will. “Her servant is ill.”
Mrs. Gregory waved her back down in the chair. “Don’t worry about that. Mrs. Minton next door will send her servant back over later. Charlene will have it all straightened up in no time, but I do need to find a replacement for Sally. Perhaps I will talk to the Sandersons.” She nibbled on the raisin bread. “But I hear Bet lacks some when it comes to making desserts and you know how I love my sweets.”
“Should you decide to rescue Bet, I will bake you a pie or cake every week.” Ruth stood up to refill the woman’s cup.
“You already do that.”
“Free of charge.” Ruth couldn’t believe she promised that, but she didn’t try to take the words back. Sometimes a person had to put feet to her prayers.
“That’s a proposition I will have to consider.” She raised her eyebrows at Ruth and then turned back to Will. “I think our dear Ruth is becoming an abolitionist. What about you, Reverend? Do you think we should free the slaves?”
“It is an issue that needs much prayer. However, I have no doubt at all we should work for the freedom of our fellow church member, Louis. You are going to help us with that cause, aren’t you, Mrs. Gregory?”
She put down her plate with a little laugh. “Will that get me into heaven?”
“No price we can pay will achieve entrance into heaven, madam. The Lord has already paid that price for us all and requires only belief in that truth, as you surely know.” Will’s smile didn’t waver. “However, we often have the opportunity to be used by the Lord and become an answer to prayers.”
“I think you’re preaching to me.”
“Not only to you, but to myself as well. The Lord expects us to be his feet and hands at times to help our fellow man. Don’t you agree?”
Ruth heard the echo of her thought from moments ago in Will’s words. The Lord did have a way of reinforcing his messages. She watched Mrs. Gregory over the top of her cup to see how she would respond. She was not a woman who liked being told what to do, but it seemed she was more open to what a preacher might suggest.
The old lady’s smile didn’t waver. “A very convincing sermon.” She slipped her hand down into a pocket of her skirt and pulled ou
t several bills to hold out toward Will. “I do hope we are doing the right thing for Louis.”
Will took the bills and handed them to Ruth, which brought a frown to Mrs. Gregory’s face. “I thought you would safeguard the money collected, Pastor Robertson.” She hurried on as though she realized how that sounded. “I know Ruth would keep it well too, but if it becomes known two women alone have cash hidden in their house it might put them in danger.”
“You are right.” Ruth spoke up. “I’m just keeping a record of the money given and by whom in the unlikely event we are unable to raise the amount needed. Should that happen, we would return the money to those who gave it.”
Ruth counted the bills quickly and handed them back to Will.
Will tucked the money into his coat pocket. “Very considerate of you to be concerned about Mrs. Harmon and Miss Starr. We agree completely. I will keep the money donated by our church members, and Mr. Billiter has agreed to accept donations at his store and keep them in his safe until we can deposit the money at the bank.”
“Oh, well, it seems you have it planned out.” Mrs. Gregory picked up her teacup again. “Except what might become of poor Louis once you give him his freedom.”
“I feel assured the Lord will have a plan for him as he has for all of us,” Will said.
Ruth hoped it was true. No, not only hoped. She would pray believing for that truth.
Twenty-four
Will carried Ruth’s raisin cinnamon bread home. He tried to pay her for it, but the roses had bloomed in her cheeks as she insisted the bread was a gift. He hadn’t argued. In the Bible, Paul told his followers the Lord said it was more blessed to give than to receive. But in order to have the blessing of giving, someone must receive and not turn away the giver’s blessing.
He would have felt especially blessed if the giver had allowed him to walk her home, but Ruth had seen him to Mrs. Gregory’s door and sent him on his way. At least she did promise to come early to prayer services the next day at church to tally up the money collected for Louis. The thought of seeing her again so soon had his step light as he went toward his house.
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