Page 27

C lara sat through the tea with poise and polish. She was, after all woman of money and manners. Mary Winters sat opposite her with, no doubt, the same kind of self-assurance. Mrs. Ramshaw dared not let such an invitation go unreturned.

Clara had not forgiven Mary or the others. The fact that it was Mary’s idea to dangle things before her face to test her sight, made this proper tea all the more comical. How could she punish her? The darkness was forcing her to become more creative.

Ah, she had the perfect idea. “Mrs. Ramshaw, the ribbon I brought home from my outing, the one to go on my bonnet...what color is it?”

“Why don’t you know? It is a yellowish-green, I would say. Don’t you agree Jenny?”

“I reckon so, Ma’am.” The words came out slowly.

Clara sipped her tea with a smile. Mary was likely shocked over Jenny joining them for tea. “How odd. Mary here assured me it was as brilliant a blue as could be found.”

Mary coughed. “Perhaps you mixed the ribbons up, Clara, at the counter? You merely need to complain to Mrs. Young. She’ll return your money.”

“If you had not taken the green from my hands yourself, I would have agreed. ”

Mrs. Ramshaw cleared her throat. “I’m sure it was a simple mistake. Here, have some gingerbread. I think green a fine color at any rate. Blue reminds me of bruises.”

“How ghastly, Mrs. Ramshaw,” laughed Mary.

Clara folded her hands in her lap. “I am in a unique situation, you know. While I’ve lost sight, my other senses seem to have grown stronger. I hear more than I used to, Mary. At church, on the street...I hear how my friends amuse themselves.” She bit into the gingerbread.

Mary wasted no breath ignoring Clara’s comment. “Have you heard of Lucy’s engagement? Mother received a letter. The wedding is set for next spring. I’m to be a bridesmaid, what do you think?”

“Indeed? Next spring...” Lucy’s letter had not been a formal announcement. She’d only heard a hint of the possibility. Lucy would not reveal her engagement until Clara had been informed. Would she?

CLARA PUT HER OLD GOWN on and lay the tea dress aside for Jenny to hang. Christian’s affections were based solely on money. She should be glad to avoid getting caught in such an empty marriage.

The fact that her family left her out of Lucy’s news made her feel as though her feelings and opinions had no importance. None whatsoever.

If only there were some way she could appeal to her parents—write them a letter of her own accord. She twisted her fingers, mad for something to do. Something to bring them home. But did she really want them back? Weren’t they planning to be away for a year?

If she had her own news to tell, they might come rushing home. Alice could stay behind at Grandmother’s in disgrace. She could tell them about Morrie’s escape. Clara drummed her fingers on the bed. What if Morrie wasn’t the only one who escaped? What if the plan was much bigger?

If she could somehow get word to her father, he would gain her trust...and maybe listen to her about other things. Include her once again. Treat her as a daughter.

Mrs. Ramshaw knocked on her door. “Clara, Reverend Merrick is here. Says he needs to see you in private. I do hope you haven’t been encouraging him.”

“Why not?”

“You aren’t ready for a gentleman yet. You bemoan that Grant boy.”

“I do not.”

“You don’t? Oh, good. I am ever so glad to hear it.”

“You don’t have to worry, Mrs. Ramshaw. I do not flirt with any man.”

“Even so, you are elegant, Clara. Men notice you even if you cannot see them. You should join the Shakers and be plain the rest of your life.”

The panic in her heart must have rushed to her face.

“I was joking, dear. You’d never fit in over there! Hurry, now. He says he doesn’t have much time.”

A moment later, she sat in the parlor.

“You need to speak with me?”

“I have a confession to make. It was wrong of me, I know. I didn’t like seeing you so hurt. I did not read the entire contents of that letter aloud.”

“That was not your decision to make.”

“I’ve come to ask your forgiveness. I will tell you what it contains if you still wish to hear it.”

“You speak of trust and forgiveness. I wonder how. ”

He ignored her jab. “The letter informed you that Lucy has set a wedding date after all, and she and Mr. Grant plan to reside on your father’s farm...”

“I have already heard this from Mary Winters at tea time. Lovely way to hear such news.” To reside on the estate?

“There’s more.” He released a long breath. “She asks that...you not attend the wedding.”

A twist of the knife. “That would be awkward, wouldn’t it?” She needn’t worry. There would not be a wedding if she could help it. Lucy would be grateful. Pausing, she waited to see if he’d confess to the rest. Apparently not. “You told Mrs. Ramshaw about the letters. Why?”

“I wasn’t thinking. Long, tiring day. I know that Mrs. Ramshaw cares for you. She feels what you suffer.”

No one could know what she suffered. “I chose to trust you because you are a man of God.”

“If I were God, I wouldn’t be so human. Humans fail, Clara. Over and over. Humans will never get over being humans, you know. Mistakes are made, evil is done.”

“Mrs. Ramshaw keeps hinting at the contents of those letters. I desired privacy.”

“I am so sorry. Truly.”

A silence hung between them. Forgiveness hovered, hopeful. She had no strength to give it.

“Clara, I hoped to talk to you about the other night.”

“About Morrie?”

“Yes.”

“What’s to discuss? Morrie’s a slave. She belongs to my father.”

HE WOULD NOT DISCUSS such matters with her again. Clara had been more than clear. If Mrs. Ramshaw wanted to make plans, she needed to do so away from home. Out of earshot.

He had to let God change Clara’s mind. Daniel kicked a rock to the side of the road and looked up. The sky made no promise of being blue, nor giving rain. Just dull gray.

He stepped into the kitchen and resumed his seat by the fire. He picked up the cane and ran his hands along the length. It had taken all day, but now it was smooth and ready for his carvings.

His father had been fond of creeping vines. So was he. As he pierced the hard wood with his knife, words came to his mind. The Word above all words. “In the beginning was the word, the word was with God and the word was God...” Words connected, linked like vines, truth upon truth.

How many times had that passage stunned him into worship? He longed for others to know.

So far, his congregation appeared duly dutiful. Mrs. Ramshaw was the only soul that showed any outward work of faith. She told him that there were other women that participated in her abolition efforts. Who were they? And was it the Holy Spirit that propelled them?

He prayed so. If God were absent even in good work, only ill would come of it. Good works, without love, a clanging cymbal. Mere noise, never music.

He thought of Morrie as he shaped the wood. She had to be no more than fifteen years old, and already several months pregnant by the man who attacked her. Her pain must be far- reaching.

His thoughts returned to the one in need of the cane. If only Clara were compassionate beyond herself.

A word formed on the staff. He hadn’t meant to do it, but the way the vine curled to spell “love.” He traced over it with his finger .

Mrs. Kilgore peered over his shoulder. “Some old soul will be glad of that. It’s a kind thing you’re doing, Reverend.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Kilgore. It is for Miss Stanton, however. Help her get about.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Will it now?”

“Of course, Mrs. Kilgore. You know I am not courting her.”

“I know no such thing, but I daresay you wouldn’t lie to me. A preacher doesn’t lie.”

“Not this one.”

“My husband knew one that lied before. I never did.” Her mouth hung open, her cap strings dangled limp.

“That is unfortunate.”

“My niece is being courted. None of us like him. You might try Miss Gray.”

Heat dashed up his collar. “How very kind of you to consider me a worthy candidate. However, I am not sure she would welcome my attention.” He swallowed at the hope of one tiny chance with the beauty.

“You’d be a better match and her mother’ll open the door to you for sure. We’ve already discussed it. Miss Gray’ll be made to give the othern’ up.”

“Thank you for informing me. I find myself much too busy to court at the moment.”

“If you say so.” She winked at him. “I’ll have you to my house for dinner soon. I’ll see that she’s there.”

Mrs. Kilgore would likely forget that promise. He smiled and bowed his head.

Daniel pressed his small knife into the wood once more. This was a labor of love. God’s love, not his.

If only he could banish those beautiful sightless eyes from his mind.