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D aniel stood stock-still behind the pulpit. Mrs. Ramshaw had done it, blast that woman. He was not ready to know the darkest sins of his congregation. He wanted to look upon them in innocent love. Admiration, even. But one stare, and a simple head turn followed by a quick nod had said it all.

Now his eyes kept roving toward the man whom she considered Hell’s bait.

The organist punctuated the moment with a rather loud muddled run, sending chills up his spine. That man? Him? Not likely. Perhaps he’d read Mrs. Ramshaw wrong. Mr. Hamilton had been one of the kindest people he’d met thus far.

He apparently donated funds for the church upkeep, funds to keep him in decent cloth, and further funds to whitewash his picket fence. Seemed to be the gift people admired most. Granted, a slave was being offered for the chore.

His heart thumped rapidly behind his chest. His sermon had been a good one, if only he had not stumbled. And Mr. Stanton too? The father of that poor blind girl. Dear God.

Mrs. Ramshaw continued to look at him, and repeated her body language. There was no mistaking the message.

Think on good things. Things of good repute. Let Mr. Hamilton’s and Mr. Stanton’s inborn conscience—and God alone—judge them. There. Daniel felt better already .

Think on...He searched for his post in the center of the church. Time for the benediction. He repeated the holy words from memory, without an intentional thought. The organist played the final hymn.

His eyes found Miss Stanton’s. He could stare forever and she would never know. Her lips pursed against one another. Her head slightly bent downward. Rather pale. How would it be to have such a father as Mr. Stanton? He avoided looking in Miss Gray’s direction

Quick! He must decide. If Mrs. Ramshaw offered luncheon, would he accept? The menu would certainly be a plate full of home-stirred goodness with a side of confrontation. He wasn’t sure if he could stomach it this day. Perhaps he would be asked by another.

About thirty handshakes later, he reached for Miss Gray’s hand before he thought. He gulped down his nerves. Lord, this should not be a problem . “Good day, Miss Gray.” She gave him an amused smile and nodded her head as was proper. Then, too soon, the floating flower walked away from him.

He found his hand replaced into another. “Miss Lucy Stanton, good day to you.”

“I’d like you to meet my sister...I...” Lucy had lost Clara’s hand to their father’s arm.

Blind Clara was being led away again before she could finish a sentence. Would he ever have a chance to do some good for her?

Lucy spoke, “Forgive me. I thought she was right beside me. Have a good day, Reverend.”

For Heaven’s sake, Mrs. Ramshaw was last.

“You’ll come keep me company this afternoon, won’t you?” She lent him a knowing smile. How much did the older woman see? How much did she miss might be the more pertinent question.

“Ah. It will be my pleasure.” He lied. And fresh from the pulpit too .

She leaned in and spoke in low tones. “I trust you noticed my silent communication?”

He nodded. How many more of these silent communications should he expect?

“And” she wagged a finger between them. “You know what it is in regards to.”

He sighed and let her take his arm. He watched his congregation fade into the background, toward their homes.

How did he appear to them? And did they know of Mrs. Ramshaw’s political leanings? If they did, his association with her could become an issue. One that could make a poor jailbird of him. The incident in New York seemed like a child’s game compared to the complexity of what loomed before him.