“I understand desperation and loss.”
“Of course you do.” Her eyes softened on him. “But then the Lord did send me signs. Louis brought me Adria. I was encouraged to teach at the school in Peter’s place. Life went on. I couldn’t stop living. Or believing.”
“But you never married again. I’m sure you had opportunities.” Many opportunities, he thought. It would be good to know why she turned them aside, even as he hoped she would not as summarily turn him aside.
“None I wanted to entertain. Adria and I were all right on our own. With the Lord’s help, of course.”
“I’m not all right on my own. I thought I would be, but even before my sister’s husband brought me Willie, I wasn’t all right. I need a helpmate. Willie merely made that need more acute.”
“What sort of helpmate?” Ruth lifted her eyebrows in question. “Are you proposing a marriage of convenience?” Her cheeks reddened, but her gaze didn’t waver.
“That would not be my first choice.” He’d gone this far, he might as well be truthful. Still, she might not have the same feeling, so he went on. “But if it is a choice that suits you, then we could have such an arrangement. If you have a couch.”
“I rather doubt it would be long enough for you.” A little smile sneaked into her eyes.
“I am rather used to that. I haven’t had a bed long enough since I was fourteen.”
The smile spilled out of her eyes down to her lips. “What did you tell Willie when she asked why you were so tall?”
“That the Lord made me that way.” Her smile gave him hope. “The same as he gave me a heart that needs to love again.”
Her smile faded. “Then perhaps we should wait and pray for that sign.”
“If that is what you want. I can wait and pray.” He could give her time. As much as she needed if the answer turned out to be yes. He wouldn’t think about any other answer. Not after baring his heart to her. “But meanwhile, would you have a loaf of bread I can buy? Willie says she likes biscuits, but I fear my cooking skills are lacking. So I am hoping bread and butter will be an acceptable substitute.”
Her smile came back. “Of course. Let me get that and I’ll add a few cookies as a treat for you both.” She turned to go back in the house.
“Ruth.” The sound of her name surprised them both. It was Willie calling out as she ran straight toward Ruth across the yard with a few dandelion blooms clutched in her hand. “Ruth. Dandy flowers.”
Ruth stooped down in front of Willie. “For me?”
Willie nodded and held out the flowers. The heads of a couple of the dandelions were already drooping and another barely had a stem to hold. But Willie looked very pleased with her bouquet.
“Thank you.” Ruth opened her hand to receive the flower gift.
“I like dandy flowers.” Willie looked from the dandelions to stare at Ruth’s face as only a small child can. “Do you?”
“I do.” Ruth smiled at her.
“Mama Hazie likes flowers. She got sick, so Daddy A brought me here. He told me not to cry, but I miss Mama Hazie.”
Willie’s bottom lip jutted out and a tear slid down her cheek. Will wanted to go comfort her, but he stayed where he was. It seemed a moment between Willie and Ruth he shouldn’t disturb.
“Sometimes it’s hard not to cry.” Ruth’s voice was soft and a little shaky, as though she were near tears herself. “But God gave us tears because he knew that sometimes we would need to let out some of our sadness.”
Willie’s lips quivered then and more tears came. Will started to reach for her, but Ruth opened her arms to the child first. Without a second’s hesitation, Willie stepped into Ruth’s embrace. Ruth sat back on the steps and pulled her up into her lap as the child sobbed.
“It’s going to be all right, Willeena.” Tears wet Ruth’s cheeks as she kissed the top of Willie’s head.
Will gently touched Willie’s back. His heart seemed to be swelling too big for his chest, and then his own eyes were awash with tears.
Ruth looked up at him. “Sit with us, Will.”
He settled on the steps beside her and his child. It seemed the most natural thing in the world to put his arms around them both and hold them.
Perhaps shared tears were the sign he’d asked from the Lord.
Ruth watched Will and his daughter leaving. The little girl’s head was barely above Will’s knee as she clung to his hand and took three steps to his one. She was smiling again, her tears forgotten in an instant, as only possible for someone that young. Two and a half, Will said. Her language skills were advanced for her age.
Just before they turned the corner out of sight, Willeena twisted around without letting go of her father’s hand to wave. Her face was still tear-streaked, but her smile was as bright as the dandelions she’d brought Ruth.
She gathered up the little flowers that she’d dropped on the porch while she held the sobbing child. The yellow petals were curling in, already losing their brightness.
The child calling her name and running toward her with the little bouquet had seemed the sign Will said they needed. But then, perhaps the wilted flowers were the sign instead. Fading so quickly. Even if she put them in water, which she would, they wouldn’t regain the beauty they showed blooming amid the green grass of the yard.
Other dandelions were scattered about like sun drops in the yard. They bloomed low to the ground, but then their fluff balls shot up in the air for the wind to catch their seeds. Nature’s way of ensuring the cycle of life continued.
That could be her sign. She shook her head. Was she going to see signs in everything? Bright flowers. Wilted flowers. Flower seeds. Or perhaps she didn’t need to see signs like that. She could simply remember the good feel of Will sitting beside her, his arms encircling both her and his child. The tears they’d shared. The way her heart had bounded up in her throat when he had said he needed a wife. He needed her.
Yes had been on the tip of her tongue, but she hadn’t let it out into the air between them. She had to be sensible. She needed to think. Watch for signs. Wonder what those signs meant.
Inside, the kitchen was still stifling, even though she had finished her baking for the day and the fires were dying out. She would keep a few coals banked in the ashes in order to heat the ovens again come morning for the next batch of baking. The same routine every day when school was not in session. Up early to bake and then other chores or sewing in the afternoon. Sometimes she had to fetch supplies or make deliveries. Now and again, she gave herself the gift of reading or writing poetry.
She and Adria had long been settled into that routine. Just the two of them. As she told Will, they had managed. Without a male presence in their house. Did she want to change that now? Whether she chose to or not, change would come. Adria would marry and start her own family. Perhaps with Carlton. Perhaps with someone else.
Then Ruth would be alone. A woman widowed for many more years than she’d been married. That made her feel old. Yet that morning she had welcomed the joy that was awakening in her heart. A new love in the offing. What about the promise becoming a reality made her tremble? It was so sudden.
He needed a mother for his child. But that hadn’t been all. He said he needed a helpmate. For himself as well as the child. The thoughts circled in her head as she washed her baking dishes.
After she finished cleaning up the kitchen, she hung up her apron and went into the sitting room. Her eyes went to the couch. She couldn’t keep from smiling at the thought of Will trying to sleep there. No way could he fit.
But could he fit in her bed? Could she after twelve years of widowhood welcome a man back into her bed? The thought sent a tingle through her. A not completely uncomfortable tingle. She was only thirty-two.
Are you proposing a marriage of convenience? She’d asked the question. He’d answered, his eyes saying more than his words. Not his first choice, but if it was hers . . .
She looked at the couch again. She would fit. Easily. Will and his d
aughter could have her bedroom. She pulled in the reins of her runaway thoughts. She hadn’t said yes to any sort of marriage. Or to being the mother of yet another motherless child.
But the very memory of the child cuddled in her arms brought a sweet smile. She went into her bedroom to her desk. Perhaps she could still capture a bit of the poem that had wanted to spring from her thoughts as she looked at the morning sky. But before she picked up her pen, she laid her hand on Peter’s Bible. Through the years his Bible had continually been a comfort. She never opened it without remembering how Peter depended on the Lord, using the Scriptures to guide him in all he did. In all they did. Even at the end when every word became a struggle, he had spoken the words from Psalm 23. Yea, though I walk through the valley of death, I shall fear no evil.
As she had many times since Peter died, Ruth opened the Bible and leafed through pages. She stopped at Isaiah 30, where Peter had marked verse 21.
And thine ears shall hear a word behind thee, saying, “This is the way, walk ye in it, when ye turn to the right hand, and when ye turn to the left.”
“But I don’t hear your voice.”
The words ran through her mind. Did you not hear me in that child speaking your name? And catch a glimpse of me in the flowers she brought you?
“Doesn’t your word also say to wait on the Lord?” she whispered.
Ruth stood still and listened. Maybe not for an audible answer, but she didn’t doubt the Lord could put that word in her mind. Or in front of her in the Scriptures. She ran her hand across the Bible page as though she could absorb the verses’ wisdom through her fingertips.
She closed the Bible and then hugged it against her breast. How many times had she done so since Peter died? Perhaps too many times. Was she still leaning on Peter’s faith? It could be she needed to step up to the Lord’s throne on her own as a beloved child of God and trust him to direct her steps.
She put down the Bible and pulled a straight chair up to the desk. She picked up her pen and dipped it in the pot of ink.
Joy cometh in the morning. She wrote the Scripture words that had come to her that morning with the sun. She stared at those words of promise until they blurred on the page. Could she open her heart and her arms to that promise?
She turned to look at her bed. She couldn’t help but smile. Will was right. It wouldn’t be long enough for him either, but he could adapt. She could adapt. More telling, she wanted to find ways to adapt.
Suddenly she could hardly wait for the afternoon to pass for it to be time to go to church. So that she could see Will. And Willeena. Another woman’s child, but such a very sweet one. Had not Adria been a blessing sent to Ruth from tragedy? Willeena was the same. A child without a mother.
This is the way, walk ye in it.
Twenty-eight
When Adria left the store after work, she looked around. She wasn’t sure if she was glad or disappointed when she didn’t see Logan Farrell stepping out of some doorway or shadow to join her on the walkway. She had to admit she was attracted to him, but at the same time she was sure a sensible girl would run the other direction at the first sight of him.
She had intended to go to church, but several customers right at quitting time kept her late. Then she had counted the money collected for Louis. She could hardly believe they had enough to purchase Louis’s freedom even without whatever had been collected at the church. Some had been left at the bank too. Perhaps enough to help Louis get started on a life of freedom.
She couldn’t quit smiling as she put the money back in the safe. In the morning, Pastor Robertson could take the money to the hotel to purchase Louis. He’d be free after years of slavery.
The thought put a spring in Adria’s step as, instead of going home, she turned down Walnut Street. Elias Brown had sent word to ask her to come by his shop. She had no idea why. Perhaps he wanted to order a cake.
Elias was banking the forge’s fire to leave for the day when she got there. No one else was in the shop.
When he heard her behind him, he turned around. “Miss Adria, glad you got here before I left for the day.”
Adria stepped closer to Elias. “What do you need, Elias? Some baked goods?”
It was warm in the shop, but welcoming somehow. His hammers were all hung along the wall, and the anvil was smooth and dark, waiting for more metal to be pounded into shape on it. A place where things were made.
“No, no. The missus does all her own baking. She’s a right fine cook, as you can see by the size of me.” He touched his broad middle, but it was more muscle than fat. “What I’m wanting to talk to you about has to do with Louis.”
“You don’t need to worry about giving more,” Adria said. “We’ve collected enough to buy him from the Sanderson family.”
“But what is he goin’ to do then? A man, any man, needs a job.”
“Louis will be able to get work. Mr. Sanderson has hired him out to half the people in Springfield.”
“No need to tell me that. I’ve given George Sanderson a fair share of coin over the years for Louis to swing his hammer here. That’s how I kept the shop going after my rheumatism got bad.” He rubbed one of his shoulders. “Truth is, I’m ready to lay down my hammers and sell my shop.”
“So do you want to put up a notice at the store?” She wasn’t sure why he was telling her his plans.
He shook his head. “I’ve been hearing folks talk about how everybody was giving to buy Louis, and I figured you might get more than his price. That got me to thinking maybe you could use any extra money in that collection of yours to buy my place here and turn it over to Louis. He’s a fine smithy. I’ll price it better than fair. For Louis.”
Adria could hardly believe her ears. That was exactly what Louis had told her he would want to do. The Lord was answering prayers she had been too timid to even voice.
“That would be wonderful.” She wanted to hug Elias, but a look at his smithy apron kept her at arm’s length. “If we have enough.”
“Long as it’s some. Then Louis can pay off the rest over time. When you know what you’ve got, send that new preacher of yours by and we’ll figure out a deal.”
Adria was practically dancing when she stepped back out on the street. She couldn’t wait to tell Ruth and Pastor Robertson. She wanted to run and tell Louis, but best not do that until it was a sure thing. Even if he wouldn’t be surprised. Not after he told her to pray believing. But she could hardly believe this.
Everything was working out. Earlier that day she’d heard Mrs. Gregory had bought Bet. Maybe in time she would set the cook free. Maybe in time all slaves would be freed. Adria had just received a letter from Abigail talking about how the abolition movement was growing in the east. As she did in every letter, she offered Adria a place to live in her home if Adria wanted to more actively join the fight. But Boston seemed as far away as the moon.
Then there was the truth that she did want to marry and have a family. If not tomorrow, then someday. She’d written that to Abigail, who had written back to suggest she might meet forward-thinking men in Boston who not only believed in freedom for slaves but spoke up for the rights of women. What a wonder that might be! Even if there were such men, that didn’t mean Adria would fall in love with one of them or him with her. But simply thinking about the possibility seemed to open new ways of thinking for Adria.
Here in Springfield, she had always assumed that someday she would take the expected path and marry Carlton. She would, as Ruth had pointed out, not want for anything. Carlton claimed he loved her, but Adria couldn’t help thinking he might love the woman he hoped she was instead of the woman she was. Long ago, she should have been honest with Carlton. Made him understand marriage was not going to change how she felt about slavery. She would not, could not, have slaves in her household.
As if she had summoned him with her thoughts, Carlton was waiting in front of her house when she turned down Elm Street. As soon as he saw her, he started up the street toward her. Even before he
got close, she could see he was upset. When had they lost the fun of being together? She liked him. She really did. But when he got that frown in his eyes, he changed from the boy she once thought she might love enough to marry to a man she didn’t know.
“Carlton.” She smiled as if she didn’t notice his frown. “You didn’t go to church.”
“I came to go with you and Ruth, but now the service will be half over.” He stopped in front of her, nearly blocking the walkway.
“I’m sorry. You should have gone on with Ruth. Some people came in right at closing time.” She did her best to look genuinely sorry in hopes of appeasing him.
Instead his frown got darker. “You always have an excuse, don’t you?”
“Not an excuse. A reason. You have a job. If you need to, don’t you stay late to finish whatever needs to be done?”
“I work for my father. I can leave whenever I want.”
“But your father doesn’t, does he?” Adria raised her eyebrows at him as she eased past him to move on toward her house.
“No, he’s probably still working.” He turned to walk along with her. “Mother says he’s going to work himself to death. That he should hire more people or teach some of our slaves to work at the shop. Father says he’d rather pay his workers. He thinks that makes them have more pride in making a good hat.”
“Do you like to make hats?” It wasn’t something she had ever asked Carlton.
“I hate making hats. I’ve surely told you that.” Carlton sounded cross that she had to ask.
Adria stopped at the front gate and looked toward the small house that was in need of paint. A little feather of smoke rose from the chimney where Ruth must have been baking earlier. She wanted to go on inside, sit down, and take off her shoes, but she couldn’t invite Carlton into the house. It wouldn’t be proper without Ruth there to chaperone.
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