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D aniel Merrick sat before the chairmen of his church. He’d been invited to a hot supper but instead cold inquisition was on the menu. While homemade aromas scented the air, Daniel doubted he would enjoy a bite tonight.

Mr. Hopkins had given his side of the story, and now, all eyes bored into him. Daniel spoke through clenched teeth. “I did nothing. Those women connived against me.”

The man’s glare could burn down a house. “We know good and well what men are capable of, both minister and tradesman alike.”

“The girl threw herself at me. I wanted none of it. I would have run like Joseph, but,” he gestured, “she knotted her hands around my neck.” He rubbed the spot. “Her vulture mother was there a moment later. What was I to do?”

“You say a very sick woman, whom you wrongly call a mere “girl” rose out of her weakened state and was able to keep you pinned in place?”

Mr. East lifted his hand. “Hopkins, give the man a chance. Let’s not accuse him yet.”

“I didn’t say she pinned me in place.” He said through gritted teeth. “I was trying to get her grasping hands away from my neck. See, her fingernails left scratches.” Daniel turned his collar back. No response.

Hopkins continued. “The story made news on the streets. In the papers, here, I have one.” He unfolded the newspaper and pointed to the condemning words.

“It says, ‘Reverend Merrick of the acclaimed Archibald Methodist Episcopal Church fairly ruined the reputation of one Effiene Griscomb while on an ecclesiastical visit. Miss Griscomb, known to be ill for some time, will not long be known as spinster. The good Reverend denies any wrongdoing.’”

Mr. Henries wagged his aged, knotty finger. “What kind of news is that? You know better than to get facts from the social column. We must go straight to the source, which is why Reverend Merrick is here tonight.” He nodded to Daniel and offered an encouraging smile.

Mr. Wallace smacked the table, jarring the cups. “A young woman’s reputation has been ruined. The fact has spread all over New York, greatly reducing her chance for happiness and marriage.” He pointed. “All because Reverend Merrick was careless with his affections.”

Mr. Crandall snickered. “Aw, haven’t we all been careless when we were young lads?”

Mr. Stonington glanced up from the newspaper he’d borrowed from Hopkins. “Not careless enough to end up in the news. That’s sheer stupidity.”

Daniel fumed. “I have no affection for her, nor was I careless. I fail to see why I should suffer for Mrs. Griscomb’s underhanded ways. Come now, gentlemen. I think we all know how she plots and schemes within the church.”

Stonington nodded. “Aye, Reverend Merrick. Enough plotting to hire a full-time gardener and reroof the church. Among other improvements, which I believe I’ve heard you mention with admiration.”

So, it came down to that? From their perspective it came down to a choice between his truth and her money. He’d been cautious, as warned by his seminary professors. A man in his position had higher rules to follow. Just so, but truth was truth .

“If I was foolish in any regard, it was to allow Mrs. Griscomb to guide me to Miss Effie’s chamber to administer sacred communion. I should simply have left the bread and wine on the tea tray in the hall when I realized we’d be alone.” Daniel could kick himself.

Wallace huffed. “I understand that you are upset, son, but let’s try to be reasonable. And compassionate. A man like yourself could use a wife anyway. Miss Griscomb might be a bit faint, but her health is improving and I’ve no doubt her fine blood line and all that goes with it might cheer you.”

Daniel made a face. “Are you telling me I should marry that vixen?”

Hopkins glared again. “You dare defame the name of a good girl.”

“I assure you, she was far from honorable.” Daniel spat the words. This group of men, save a few, didn’t want the cold truth. They cared only about keeping the church pockets brimming with old Griscomb money.

As was his way, East filled the frustrated pause. “Whether you did what Mrs. Griscomb claims or not, we’ve a serious situation on our hands. It requires action, or our esteemed church and her minister will be the laughingstock of New York.”

Daniel shook his head. Didn’t they know? Christians could be persecuted, laughed at—for Christ’s sake. “What kind of action?”

Always quick with the bottom line. Hopkins answered. “Marry her or leave.”

East held his hand out again. “Now, let’s not be so cold-hearted. Sometimes a man will find himself in a web he didn’t tangle. Maybe this’ll just blow over.”

“I sincerely doubt that, East,” Hopkins said.

Daniel stood and planted both hands on the table.

“I will leave you with my own proposition. Find it in the goodness of your hearts to believe me. But if you still cannot let truth win out, I will leave my post willingly.” He felt their stares.

“But bear in mind, I am also responsible for a widowed mother and siblings. Miss Griscomb will have done more damage than she realizes. I pity her. I ask you, at the very least, do not allow me to go without a clean reference letter.”

The men sat in thought while Daniel’s head pounded. Of all the stupid things to happen...

The much-wrinkled Mr. Trent cleared his throat and smoothed his hands flat across the table as though sweeping away the problem. “You need a fresh start.”

“Pardon?”

“I have still some acquaintances in the Southern Convention.” He tapped his fingers on the polished wood. “How do you feel about living in Kentucky?”

It was over. They wanted the money. And they weren’t only sending him away, they were making him hop wide the fence of a denominational split whose arguments still loudly reverberated arguments among those in seminary and beyond.

A few years ago, the Methodist church had broken in two.

Then, as now, profit had caused the schism.

Slavery, the back on which fortune had been delivered.

While those within his church sought to do right on one hand, on the other, they’d failed completely. Did wealth always carry sway?

His moment had passed. Servants filled the table with platters of food. He hardly knew what. Plates were filled and the chairmen moved on to more agreeable topics. Daniel shook Trent’s hand, and took his leave. He had no appetite.

DANIEL ROLLED A SHIRT and stuffed it atop his brimming trunk. He glanced around his childhood room, looking for anything he might have missed.

His sister, Francine, thumbed through a book. “Take this one too.”

“I have too many as it is, and besides, this one’s your favorite.” He shoved the trunk lid down and snapped the lock in place. “You keep it.”

She smiled. “I will be too busy for pleasure reading, you know. I’ll be grading papers and wiping runny noses.”

He pressed it back into her hands. “School’s not forever.”

“But...” She seemed to panic slightly, her smile wavered. “Daniel. There’s something I must tell you,” she whispered.

Daniel’s two younger brothers ran up the stairs and flung open the door. “Mom says to hurry. She’s got your lunch tin ready.”

“Carry my trunk down, will you?”

“Aw,” they said in unison.

“You’re right. Only the strongest men could handle this job.” Daniel bent to grasp both ends.

“We’ll do it,” said fifteen-year-old Harper. He grabbed one end, twelve-year-old Elias the other. They grimaced. “What’s in here, Sally May’s biscuits?”

Francine put her hands on her hips. “Don’t let her hear you say that.”

Harper and Elias seemed overjoyed at his departure. They had secretly gambled for room rights last night thinking he couldn’t hear them.

Daniel winked at Francine. “Yes, dear sister. This room shall do very well for you. Looks over Market Street and has a perfect window for a suitor to croon beneath...ouch!” Elias stepped on his toe.

She smiled. “No suitors, Daniel. I doubt there ever will be.”

He raised his brows up and down. “Don’t forget about Crawley. Stared at you a good ten minutes last Sunday. You know I can see everything from the pulpit. ”

“Daniel!” Mother called from the bottom of the stairs. Her feet thumped upward.

Francine pointed to the book, opened it to reveal a letter inside, shut it again, and slipped downstairs.

Some thirty minutes later, Daniel tapped the train’s rain-speckled window with his finger.

His mother looked back and forth from the platform, but failed to see him through the glass.

A flood of people welled up around her. A group of well-dressed men tipped their hats to elegant ladies and received parting curtsies.

His mother looked like a simple violet amongst so much pomp.

Her bonnet would never be graced by plumes or such, not that she couldn’t have them.

Once, she could have had twelve such bonnets if she wanted.

But no, she desired simplicity. If his sister were to have any excess ornamentation on gowns or bonnets, she had to spend many nights fireside learning the crafts that most families of their standing could buy with cash.

His father had been no different. As the eldest son, Daniel had to shovel his fair share of coal. His hands were not soft like the others in his private school. By day, he fenced and learned Latin. By evening, he carved and sanded new walking canes for the poor.

He kept the last one he and his father had made together.

The cane his father would never use in his dotage would be used for Daniel’s, Lord willing.

He didn’t plan on dying an early death. His inheritance, long spent, saw him through seminary.

His new salary would hardly keep them afloat.

He’d squirreled away some savings and prayed nothing would happen that he’d have to use it.

But his brothers were still so young. Still needed an education.

And Francine’s income was less than half of his, no matter that she worked just as hard.

He closed his eyes. It wasn’t fair. He didn’t deserve to be sent away as a rogue. He’d turned the situation over and over in his mind. What could he have done differently ?

He remembered how Effiene’s eyes had locked onto his with strange longing.

In truth, he thought her in pain. He drew close—she’d seemed so weak, near death perhaps.

All he knew in that moment was that she shouldn’t feel alone in the world.

He sought to bring calming comfort, instead, her hands had suddenly locked behind his neck and jerked him to her lips. He swiped his mouth at the memory.

The train lurched forward. He must think on other things. Many hours of track ahead. Too bad his sister’s letter had been locked within the trunk. In the rush to catch the train, he mindlessly packed the book.

Perhaps she confesses her affinity for Mr. Crawley after all. He laughed and shook his head. He would miss his sister. Miss the grandness of New York.

But without a doubt, he felt the call to be the arrow of his parent’s quiver, meant to be sent into flight. That was the story he would share in any case. Who was he kidding? This kind of flight belonged to the guilty. Forced and bitter.

His mother, sister, and brothers would have to live on what pittance he could send and not off the overflowing tithes of Archibald Methodist Episcopal.

Hours, towns, and farmlands later, the train chugged into his final stop. He stepped down and gazed about him. New York was far, far away and the hazy sky above seemed endless.