When Silence Sings

by Sarah Loudin Thomas

  “What is it? Will it end this misery?”

  “A tea from hollyhock root. It helps with . . . bowel issues.” She pinked, but Colman couldn’t even summon the strength to feel embarrassed.

  The roiling in his guts eased, and he breathed long and deep. When would he be fully restored? He’d thought the worst of his problems at an end once he escaped the cavern and determined to do what God wanted. Yet this lingering illness wore him down and stole his determination.

  “You didn’t mention seeing Mack McLean.” Ivy turned from Colman to her grandfather. “Either of you.”

  “Didn’t want to worry you,” Colman muttered. “Nothing much happened anyhow.”

  Hoyt barked with laughter. “It was a sight, but not one for your tender eyes.”

  Colman felt a wave of heat wash his cheeks.

  “This young feller stood his ground like a true man of faith,” Hoyt said.

  Ivy looked at him as though taking his measure, her pale face serious. He realized he wanted to meet her expectation, whatever it was.

  “I’m not happy about my cousin dying,” he said, propping up on one elbow so he didn’t feel quite so much like an invalid. “But I’m supposed to turn the other cheek, and I mean to do it if I can.” His speech made him feel even better than the bitter tea Ivy had given him.

  “I reckon he means it, too,” said Hoyt. “Leastways he stood up to ’em like a man of integrity would. Although he might have chosen a different outfit given the chance.”

  Colman cast a baleful look at Hoyt, who began to snicker. The humor of the situation didn’t escape Colman, and he soon found himself chuckling along with him.

  Ivy looked mystified, then finally broke into a radiant smile of her own. “I don’t quite understand what you two are laughing about, but I’m glad being braced by a member of the McLean family can tickle your funny bone.”

  “It sure does,” said Hoyt. “Especially when a man finds himself exposed for all the world to see.”

  After several days of rest and a steady diet of Ivy’s tonics, Colman thought he might be able to venture into town and get the lay of the land. If he was going to preach to these people, he would need a time and a place to do it.

  After breakfast he set out for Hinton but hadn’t gone even a mile on foot when he realized there was a steady flow of traffic turning onto a lane up ahead. And since sweat was beading his brow and his feet felt like lead in spite of the comfortable spring weather, he decided he might ought to see what the hubbub was about rather than walking all the way to town.

  As he approached a plain house, he saw a laughing group of women circled up underneath dogwood trees fluttering with pink and white blossoms. He approached the cluster of women, forcing what he hoped was a confident smile. Some of the ladies were mending clothes while others sifted through a basket of jars with what looked like dried twigs and leaves inside them. He thought he recognized the basket from Ivy’s cottage.

  “Good day, ladies. I hope I’m not intruding.”

  An older woman with gray hair twisted behind her head stood and considered him. “You that feller from over Thurmond way what got lost in the caves?”

  Colman felt his smile slip. “That would be me. I’m a preacher. I aim to share the Good News with folks wherever I can.”

  The woman grunted. “A preacher and a Harpe too, the way I heard it.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  She eyed him from the crown of his head to the toe of his boot. “You look too puny to cause trouble, and I ain’t never heard nothing bad about you in particular. I guess if Hoyt hasn’t sent you packing, you must be alright. Come sit a spell if’n you ain’t too proud to mingle with womenfolk. I’m Lena McLean.”

  He ambled over and sat down on a chunk of wood destined to be chopped into pieces for the stove. “Ladies,” he greeted.

  They nodded and smiled. They ranged in age from young mothers to grannies.

  “Preacher, is it?” Lena settled in a ladder-back chair, a gleam in her eye. “Well now, my girl Nell was just pondering a question you might could help us with.”

  Colman felt his pulse quicken. So they wanted to test his Bible knowledge. Well, he’d read the Good Book enough times, he hoped he could satisfy them.

  Nell, a pretty young woman with golden hair, blushed and focused on the child’s shirt she was mending. “I’ve just been wondering where Cain got his wife.”

  Colman brightened. He could answer this one, although not everyone liked the answer. “Well, after Cain murdered his brother, Abel, God made him a fugitive and a vagabond, and he ran off to the land of Nod to the east.” He leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his knees. “Now, the Bible doesn’t name every child Adam and Eve brought into the world. It just says that Adam ‘begat sons and daughters.’ And it tells us those sons and daughters begat children of their own. So, Cain’s wife had to be one of them—likely a niece or a cousin.”

  Lena snorted. “Or a sister for that matter.”

  Colman grinned. “Or a sister. That notion doesn’t always sit so well.”

  “Hunh. Guess they weren’t as particular back then,” she said.

  “Nor did they have as many suitors to choose from,” added Nell. “Not that there’s a pile of ’em around here.”

  “Nonetheless, if you read Genesis, you’ll find there was plenty of begetting going on,” said another gray-haired lady, sparking a wave of blushes that might have even washed over Colman’s cheeks.

  From there, the conversation turned to pending nuptials in their own part of the world, much to Colman’s relief. He sat back, leaning against the trunk of a tree and letting the easy conversation of the women wash over him. From weddings, their conversation moved to children, and then to the herbs and roots in the basket that had, indeed, come from Ivy.

  “Why isn’t she here?” Colman asked. Heads snapped his direction. He wondered if they’d forgotten about him.

  Nell rushed to answer. “She just sends her herbs and such for us to pick through. We leave our payment in the basket and send it back.”

  Colman furrowed his brow. That was no answer.

  Lena grimaced and folded her knitting into a sack. “I know you can see she ain’t like other women. You being a preacher and all, surely you know it’s best not to mix the races. That’s what got Israel in trouble over in the land of Canaan. Ivy’s a good girl and a dab-hand at cures, but it’s best she not mix with folks overmuch.” She looked around the group and lowered her voice as the women leaned in of one accord. “Word is her daddy was one of them moon-eyed people. That’s why she can’t stand the light.”

  Colman forced his eyebrows back down. He’d heard stories about a race of small, pale people with big blue eyes who’d been run out of western North Carolina and fled all the way to West Virginia, but he’d never seen one. He was torn between calling the story about Ivy utter nonsense and wondering if there might not be some truth in it. She surely was different from anyone he’d met before. Still, he felt the urge to defend her.

  “Be that as it may, I suppose the thing to do is to love your neighbor no matter what she looks like.”

  Nell piped up. “Oh, we love her fine. She’s sweet as she can be.” She lowered her voice. “We just can’t risk her around the children, being as she’s marked and all.”

  Lena nodded. “That’s right. Children are too tender and innocent to defend themselves. Especially wee babes. Ivy may be alright, but it’s not worth the risk.”

  While Colman felt uncomfortable with the conversation, he didn’t want to upset the apple cart with this being his first time talking to these folks. He’d ponder what to say and save it up for the next time. Best not to speak in haste and repent at leisure.

  “Dogwood tea,” a woman said, leaping to her feet and touching a flowery branch. She spoke to the woman to her right. “Ivy says it’s good for easing sore muscles if you use it externally. But taken by mouth, it can break a fever. I just remembered. Try that for Avery next time he takes a fev
er.” She snapped off a flower and resumed her seat, examining the creamy petals.

  “Can I see that?” Colman asked, seeing a way out of the conversation about Ivy.

  She nodded and handed him the flower. He looked at it closely, remembering what his grandmother told him when he was a boy. “I guess you all know the legend of the dogwood?”

  All eyes turned to him with expectant looks. He supposed at least some of them knew the legend but didn’t want to get in the way of hearing a good story. He smiled.

  “Dogwood trees used to grow big as oaks,” he began. “As a matter of fact, they were so big and strong and had such good wood, the Romans used one to make the cross they crucified Jesus on.” The ladies were still now, almost reverent in their attention. “But after His resurrection, Jesus took pity on the tree and said that never again would it be used for such a purpose. From that day to this, dogwoods don’t get much bigger than this one here.” He stood and patted the trunk he could easily circle with both hands. “And this”—he held up the flower—“is shaped like a cross with two short petals and two long. And at the tip of each petal is a nail scar.” He showed them the crimped pink-stained petals. “While in the center rests a crown of thorns. I guess, if we take the time to look around, reminders of God’s gifts and graces are all around us, just waiting for someone to notice them.”

  A gentle breeze wafted through the trees and set the branches of the dogwood to stirring as if in approval. Colman looked around the group and saw smiles softening faces that likely saw more than their share of grief as the women struggled to raise families and support their husbands in this hardscrabble mountain land.

  Nell dimpled at him. “That’s the nicest sermon I’ve heard from a preacher in a long time.”

  Colman felt a surge of pride and noticed Nell had soft brown eyes to go with her golden hair. He looked through the branches of the tree to the cloud-dotted sky beyond and thought maybe it was the nicest sermon he’d preached ever.

  Harrison Ash was late. Serepta drummed her fingers, caught herself, and moved to touch her ever-present pearls instead. Thurmond’s police chief was supposed to have arrived twenty minutes earlier, and she was eager to get this meeting over with. She started to open the drawer holding her cashbox but stopped. She knew perfectly well the money was there. No need to fuss about.

  She blamed Colman Harpe for her agitation. He was still hanging around with the Gordons, and word had it he’d begun to preach. She guessed that wasn’t the worst thing he could do, but she didn’t like it all the same. Made it seem like he was settling in, getting comfortable. It was one thing to let a tired, toothless bear pass through her territory. It was quite another to let him stick around and grow new teeth. She would have to do some investigating to see if Colman was on the mend—to see if he might prove a threat after all.

  Charlie appeared in the doorway of her office. “He’s here.”

  “Alright. Sit him down in the entry for five minutes before you bring him in.”

  Charlie winked. “He’s already been sitting there ten.”

  She wanted to frown at the liberty Charlie was taking. Instead, she decided to keep her expression blank. “You’re awfully sure of yourself.”

  He smiled and eased back down the hall. Moments later, Harrison stomped into her office like a grizzly bear wearing a Stetson hat. She thought the hat—not to mention his notched pistol—unnecessary embellishments, but the large man enjoyed his cowboy swagger. At well over six feet and built like a bull, he dwarfed Serepta. And yet they both knew she held the power in their relationship.

  “How’s Mrs. Ash?” Serepta asked.

  His forward momentum came to a stop, and he narrowed his eyes. “The same,” he growled.

  “I suppose you haven’t changed your mind about taking her to task.”

  “Is that why you sent for me? To remind me you know I was the one she was trying to shoot that night?”

  Serepta let her lips curve. “Perhaps if you had wed a woman closer to your own age, she would be easier to manage.”

  Harrison took his hat off and slapped it against his thigh. “State your business, woman.”

  “Several shipments of liquor have been taken. If I can’t trust you to protect my merchandise, what am I paying you for?”

  Harrison dropped his bulk into a chair. “Where’d they go missing?”

  “On the way to Cincinnati. I know perfectly well that Webb Harpe intercepted one shipment, but there have been two others since.” She opened a desk drawer. “I need you to do more than look the other way. I need you to help me learn who is stealing from me.”

  Harrison ran a hand through his thick, dark hair and let one side of his mouth lift. “Whoever it is must be a fool to trifle with you. I might have notches in my pistol”—he ran a thumb over the butt of his gun—“but you . . . you’ll do worse than kill a man.” He stood and jammed his hat back on. “I’ll see what I can find out.”

  Serepta withdrew several bills from her cashbox. She slid them across the desk. “That would be most appreciated.” She gave a catlike smile. “Tell Mary I send my best.”

  Harrison grunted. “You can be sure I will. I may not be the sharpest stick in the forest, but I know she didn’t decide not to take another shot at me on her own.”

  “Isn’t it fortunate you’re more valuable to me alive?”

  Harrison barked a laugh, tipped his hat, and left the room.

  Even as she heard the front door close, Charlie stepped back inside her office and set a lunch tray on the corner of her desk. She leaned back and sighed. “There are too many unknowns in my world at the moment.”

  Charlie stood waiting for her to continue.

  “Between merchandise being taken and Colman Harpe setting up camp in my territory, I feel uneasy.”

  “Might be time to give up either the bootlegging or the feuding,” Charlie said. “Maybe both.”

  This time she didn’t hold back, but frowned at him. “That’s a little more sass than I expect, even from you.”

  Charlie let out a sigh. “I just hate to see you all eat up worrying about this.”

  “The world is filled with worry, and I prefer to choose my share.” She picked up half of an egg salad sandwich and nibbled a corner. “When you take Emmaline to Ivy’s, do you see much of Colman Harpe?”

  Charlie scratched his chin. “He’s often about the place.”

  “Does he look well?”

  “He looks better than he did. But I’d say he’s still puny.”

  “I hear he’s been preaching to folks even so.”

  Charlie’s face cracked into what might be called a smile, which was a rarity for him. “Not preaching exactly. I guess what he’s doing is storytelling. Gets up the Bible stories like they’re mountain yarns. Makes Noah sound as though he lives the next holler over. And the way he tells it, ole Goliath is a corn-fed mountain man what stands two feet taller than anyone else around.” He chuckled, dry and rusty. “Even Jonah’s tale turns into a fishing story gone sideways.”

  Serepta pressed her lips together, even though she knew it made them look thinner and harder. Or maybe because she knew that. She’d given up caring if others thought her pretty a long time ago, and Charlie . . . well, he saw her in a way no one else did.

  “Where is he telling these stories?” She injected as much disdain into the word as she could summon.

  “Mostly in Lena McLean’s garden. You know how the women gather there sometimes with their mending.”

  “It’s just the women and children, then?”

  “Seems like.” Charlie pushed her tray closer, probably worried that she hadn’t been eating enough lately.

  Serepta took another bite of her sandwich to appease him. “I suppose that’s alright for now. So long as he’s not stirring folks up.”

  Charlie looked almost pleased. He reached out and touched her wrist, a light caress, then turned and left the room. Serepta laid the sandwich back down. The few bites she’d taken felt like l
ead in her stomach. What with her worries over Jake, the threats from Webb Harpe, missing liquor, and now wondering what Colman was up to, her appetite had faded.

  She’d always considered herself a shrewd woman of business, so this state of affairs was doubly frustrating. And she really didn’t have anyone she could discuss it with. Charlie was the only man she trusted, and his solution was for her to play it safe. She should be able to take one of her sons into her confidence, but Jake was a hotheaded fool, and Mack—well, if he knew money was getting short, he’d push even harder to sell out the liquor business.

  No, she would have to solve this problem on her own. She sipped from the glass of tea Charlie had included on her tray. It was thin and watery with the bits of ice chipped into it long melted.

  She looked to the door as she heard a car pull up, followed by a door slamming and the patter of little feet across the wide front porch. She tucked two cookies from her tray into her pocket and went to meet Emmaline, welcoming the interruption.

  chapter

  fourteen

  Colman exited the shed after yet another soak in water that smelled of rotten eggs. He hardly noticed the smell anymore, which worried him. What if he smelled that bad when he got back to Ivy’s place? Of course, she was the one who “prescribed” his taking the waters every other day, so she could hardly complain that he stunk as a result.

  He still had sick spells, although he told himself they weren’t happening as often and weren’t as bad. Even so, when he looked in a mirror he thought his face was leaner than it had been, and he longed to look hale and hearty again. He walked the short distance back to the Gordon cottage at a brisk pace, hoping the exercise would improve his health. By the time he drew near, he was panting and well aware that he was still a long way from fit. He paused to catch his breath, not wanting Ivy to see him struggling.

  As he waited for his heart to slow and his breathing to steady, he realized there was an aroma much nicer than sulphur in the air. He closed his eyes and inhaled, drawing the sweetness in. Looking around, he spotted a white lilac bush, its blossoms nodding in the breeze. He whipped out his pocketknife and cut a bouquet of them.