Page 9

A ny hope of discussing satin and lace with Mother melted away at breakfast. Yesterday’s action was today’s consequence, and perhaps tomorrow’s too.

The declaration was made that she should be taken to church for her childish behaviors could only be eradicated by a long, strong sermon.

Alice had thought this exceptionally humorous.

Last night’s dream of unequalled beauty seemed childish now. She’d still try, but her mother’s sharp tongue, though despised, shared sense.

Perhaps the fall had ruined her looks. Yesterday’s run-in with Christian’s horse surely had done damage to her complexion. A shot glass of vinegar or any amount of Marie’s powder puff doubtfully whitened any of it. Oh, the horror of being seen without seeing.

A few hours later, Clara found herself ushered with her family into their regular pew.

Of that she had no doubt. Heat seared her cheeks.

The entire church must be staring. Clothing rustled past and voices rose higher than a whisper.

Her first time back in the pew should have been a happy occasion but she felt as if she was on display.

Somewhere a hymnal or a bible slapped to the floor and she jumped. The next second, a cold hand took hers from her lap and patted it. “Poor child. I’m right sorry for you.” The quaking voice could only be Mrs. Black .

Clara stiffened. “Good morning, Mrs. Black, how are you today?”

“Ach, she knows me, she knows me...” Another hand patted her cheek.

No one else approached. Pitiful murmurings from the pews behind her snaked into her ears. “She must be clumsy now... Do you think she’s pretending?” Somewhere, on the other side of her parents, Alice giggled. A whisper of Mr. Grant’s name met her ears.

Did everyone know about her broken engagement as well? She swallowed at the bitter pain that pressed against her chest. His behavior towards her had been so confusing, a dagger plunged deep into her spirit. She was broken, valueless. He didn’t want her anymore.

The gossip ceased and moved on with anticipation about the new minister, even her mother joined in. Yet she knew they silently searched her face for a glimmer, as if peeking into a room one is not supposed to enter. A sightless stare, that’s all she had to show.

Did Belle see her? She twisted a glove finger into a knot. Mother smacked her hand as she would a child’s. Good manners mocked her panic. Her insides twisted. She needed to go home. Or somewhere other than home. But where? England to see Grandmother. Yes, soon. Think on Grandmother...

Everyone silenced their chatter as a new, calming voice floated above her. “Let us pray.” She couldn’t join in but his words roared in her ears. “We cast our cares upon You, for You careth for us...”

The words were an insult. Mother was right to bring her here for punishment. She shifted in her seat to catch the warmth of the light on her face and neck that flowed through the windows and dreamt of climbing on the back of her horse again. Over hill and valley, they’d both run and never stop.

DANIEL’S COLLAR ITCHED . Shaving with a dull blade hadn’t helped. He swept a slow gaze around his new congregation, taking them in singly, yet as a whole. These were His church, these were the ones he was sent to teach and love. No exceptions.

They stared back as though to read his entire history in one sitting.

Did they know how hard it was to keep a welcoming grin on his face?

An older lady in black smiled, revealing bright, even teeth.

And there was Susanna-who’d-riffled-through-his-things not wearing pink.

No, he wouldn’t search her face. If he found a smirk there on this first morning, how would he get through the sermon?

He found the center post, slathered in white paint. The perfect point of focus. The organist pumped and began a hymn, the countdown began. Too late to run for a fistful of Mrs. Ramshaw’s mint. His pulse began to rise and flood his veins, and with a pounding heart, he preached his first sermon.

Some forty minutes later, he took a long fresh breath of air.

Indeed, they seemed to truly hang on to his every word.

Thank you, Lord. He sat in a chair on the platform and waited out the organist’s final song.

He glanced around the room. The Stanton girl everyone pitied—that must be her.

My, but didn’t her eyes look weary? And not at all pleased to be here. Perhaps she still suffered.

Looked like she had a run in with something—even so, she was rather becoming, but not at all like Miss Gray. Bosh, quit the daydreaming , Fisher-of-men...

The final note played and he stood for the benediction.

Moments later, his position at the door was so crowded that he couldn’t move.

His vestments grew heavy around his neck.

Enthusiastic and blunt members had already diagrammed the sermon into sections of importance, doctrine, and whatnot and told him so.

One man promised detailed notes to be delivered as promptly as he could make them.

Daniel humbly nodded, his only goal to get out of that stifling robe .

The Stanton family wove through the crowd to exit. No chance of meeting the blind one. She probably wanted to be left alone. How would it feel to—

“You will come to dine for luncheon?” A woman with a longish face and gray bun appeared before him. Wrinkles pulled at her lips and smiled at her eyes.

“You are too kind, Miss...?”

“Mrs. Ramshaw.”

Ah, the lady with the mint patch. “Up the hill from the parsonage, I believe?”

“If you are ready, you may escort me there.” She put out her arm to be taken before he’d offered his.

A confident woman. His last meeting with a woman of her caliber had devastated his future. A wrinkled deepened between her eyes. He’d paused too long. Not all women—thank the Lord—were like Mrs. Griscomb. “Thank you, I’d be delighted.”

So long as she didn’t have a single daughter in need of a husband. He closed the church doors and pulled her waiting hand onto his arm. His debut behind him, and a free meal before him. At least that was the hope.

THE COACH JOSTLED HOMEWARD on the long, graveled roads she’d never see again. Lewis, ever careful, avoided the muddy holes. She’d made a decision. “I never want to go to church again, Mother.” This wasn’t a matter for debate.

“Oh...you want to go to hell and live with the devil, do you?” Alice’s nasty question bit through the air.

Alice knew nothing of hell or of darkness. Church couldn’t pull her out of this pit, no. The people assembled would bury her beneath her own weight. She couldn’t bear any more .

“Hush, Alice,” Mother said. “Hold your tongue. Why, Clara, would you say such a foolish thing?”

Clara needed them to understand. “If you were in my shoes, would you understand? Would you want people constantly staring? You know I heard everything they said. My ears work fine.”

“Really, Clara, you should give people more credit. You weren’t the only subject of interest.”

“I’ve heard you too, Mother.”

Her father’s voice rumbled. “Respect your mother, Clara. Think about her feelings instead of your own for a change.”

“What? Her feelings? Has your daughter died? Has she ruined herself? Eloped? What has she to grieve? Surely, Mother was not in love with Christian, only to be rejected...” She felt a large, calloused hand slap her face, the side where bruises hadn’t already formed.

Father. How could he? A thousand needles pricked her heart and tears dropped without restraint. He’d not struck her since...

Lucy reached for her arm. “No more, Clara. Lean on me and rest until we get home.”

Must she forever live in shame? Clara gripped the edge of the seat. He’d not struck her since she’d accidentally wandered into the slave quarters. So many years ago—she but ten years old.

Moments later, Father spoke as if no great wrong had just occurred. “No flowers in the sanctuary today. Unacceptable. I’ll need to speak with Daniel.”

DANIEL FEASTED ON COLD roasted chicken and hot potatoes.

Hot potatoes, Mrs. Ramshaw had said, did their own work with no labor on her part, so she wasn’t breaking Sabbath.

Biscuits had been left warming on the stove and were none the worse for waiting, and that apple cake: he greedily wanted twice as much as he was offered.

The fact that the entire meal was followed by hot coffee filled his being with a contentment he hadn’t felt since being kicked out of New York.

Food offered such blessing...such power. ..

He crossed one leg with the other. If he enjoyed a spread like this each day, he’d be truly successful.

And possibly overweight. Never mind the martyrs of the past being burned at the stake for the sake of the Gospel.

That kind of thing wouldn’t happen here.

Then again, didn’t some of those early church leaders also cross their legs under tables of satisfaction only to be brought to some kind of reckoning?

He uncrossed his legs. People always had a motive.

A Queen Esther move with a non-debatable truth.

The way to a man’s heart through food, and all that.

He’d better get going before the request came.

“Mrs. Ramshaw, I thank you. The fare was most refreshing.”

“I confess I’ve an ulterior motive for inviting you.” She winked.

The last biscuit he ate dropped in his stomach like a rock. Of course, she had a motive. He tossed his napkin on the table and waited. Another opportunity to practice patience.

She cleared her throat and looked him in the eye. “I find it my duty to inform you about certain...past incidents.”

He’d have not part in gossip. “Are you certain these incidents must be shared?” The remnants of the feast on the table no longer seemed so heavenly.

She held her knobby hands up in defense and a heaven-forbid-him-think-it glance. “I do not intend to gossip, mind you.”