Honor in the Dust (10 page)

“No, sir, I do not.”

“You don't have it, do you?”

There was such triumph in Hyde's voice that hatred rose in Claiborn's heart. As a Christian he knew he was supposed to love his enemies, but if he had trouble doing that with any man, it was with Rolf Hyde! Claiborn had never forgotten that Hyde had called his wife a vile name in public, and though he had withdrawn it, Claiborn knew it was because he was afraid of his sword. He was not afraid now, for he had the upper hand. “I'll bid you good day, Mr. Hyde.”

“Day after tomorrow. Not an hour after sundown.”

Standing at the closed door, Claiborn knew there was a duel going on in his heart. One part of him wanted to believe that God would answer the prayers that he and Grace had uttered, asking for help to pay for the land—but part of him doubted.

That night after supper as the three of them sat around the table, he read to them out of the Bible.

Grace loved this. “I'm so glad your father made you learn Latin.”

“I hated it. My master had to beat it into me with a cane.”

“I believe you're the only man in the village aside from the priest who has a Bible.”

“Why don't we have a Bible in English, Father?” Stuart was sitting with his hands clasped before him. His eyes had that inquisitive look that his parents had often seen. He was an imaginative boy full of questions and always interested in learning.

“Well, the leaders of the church feel that only the priests are able to interpret the Scripture.”

“But that's not so!” Stuart protested. “I can understand it. It's easy when you read it to me and explain it.”

“Perhaps I ought to go into the church's employ as interpreter.” Claiborn smiled, for he knew nothing was further from his mind. The tragedy was that many priests could not read Latin, even if they had access to a Bible. Claiborn shook his head
and said, “Someday there will be a Bible in English, but it will be over the protest of the church in Rome.”

“What if we don't get the money?” Stuart asked, abruptly changing the subject.

“God will help us,” Grace said. She reached over and patted Stuart's hand and then held it. “We have to believe God.”

“That's right. You remember the verse I've read to you several times. ‘Without faith it is impossible to please God.' When you come to God you have to believe that he exists and that he's going to provide the help that we need. That's what we're hanging on to, Stuart.”

It was one thing, Claiborn had learned, to speak words of faith, but another to face harsh realities in a world that seemed to be filled with such things. He had been full of assurance when Stuart had asked his question, but when he'd gone to bed, doubts came trooping in like armed men, and he found his faith challenged. It took all of his spiritual strength to cling to what he believed was truth.

The day before the payment was due, there was still no money. No one in the Winslow household mentioned the deepest fear or the struggle with doubt. Each of them cried out to God. Claiborn spoke to God throughout the day and knew Grace did the same. It was harder to read Stuart, for he did not share everything. He had a depth, this boy who had had to grow up before his time. Claiborn often found it difficult to gauge Stuart's spiritual life. He was fascinated by the Bible stories that Claiborn read to him, but who could really know what went on in the heart of an eleven-year-old.

There was little work to do now. They had plenty of sod, and the cow had been milked. They had had an early afternoon meal, and afterward they sat around not mentioning the danger that they faced on the morrow.

Suddenly Stuart lifted his head. “Somebody's coming.”

“You have the hearing of a horned owl, boy! I don't hear a thing.”

“I think I can,” Grace said. “Though I can't imagine who could be out in this kind of weather.”

Indeed, it was bitter outside. The house itself was scarcely bearable, even with the peat burning at an alarming rate.

“He's stopping outside.”

Claiborn heard hooves ringing on the iron earth. He hobbled across the room and opened the door before there was a knock. A man stood there. Claiborn did not recognize him. “Good day, sir.”

“Mr. Winslow?”

“Yes, indeed.”

“My name is Oliver Butler. You might have heard of me.”

“I—I think I have, but I can't sort the memories out. Come in, Mr. Butler. You must be frozen.”

Butler stepped inside. He was wearing a long, thick wrap lined with fur and a fur cap that covered his ears. His nose was red with the cold, but he seemed hale and hearty for an older man. His hair was silver, and the lines in his face spoke of years of life.

“I take it this is your good wife and son.”

“Yes, sir. This is my wife, Grace, and this is my son, Stuart.” Uncertain, Claiborn finally said, “Sit down, sir. My wife has been brewing a drink out of a root. She's the only one who knows how to make it, and you might take a liking to it.”

“Something hot would be good.” Butler sat down and smiled at Stuart. “How are you this morning, young Winslow?”

“I'm fine, sir.”

“You'll never have to wonder what your father looked like. Just look in a mirror or in still water and you'll see his face.”

“Most of my family are like that,” Claiborn said, picking up the idle conversation. “There's always a family resemblance in Winslow men.”

“Well do I know that. I knew your grandfather, you know, and your great-grandfather too.”

Instantly a memory came back. “I remember you now!” Claiborn exclaimed. “I met you when I was a small boy.”

“Ah, you remember that, do you? It was Christmas, if I remember, and I gave you a fine knife.”

“I do indeed remember that.”

“Well, I don't suppose you kept the knife.”

“No, sir, I'm sorry to say it wore out years ago, but I kept it for a long time.”

“Try this, Claiborn. See if it's to your liking.” He handed Claiborn a knife from his belt.

Grace set down a cup of the root tea she had brewed. Butler picked up the cup, sipped it cautiously, then nodded and smiled. “This is very good.”

Butler seemed to be studying Claiborn in an intense way. “You're wondering why I'm here in the middle of this bad weather. Well, I came at the command of an old friend of mine.”

“Indeed, for what purpose?”

“To bring you something. Two things really. One is the good word from a lady named Leah Winslow.”

“My mother! You are in contact with her, sir?”

“As much as possible. As a matter of fact”—a smile suddenly turned the weathered lips up at the corners, and his eyes seemed to sparkle—“I did my very best to persuade her to marry me instead of that rascal of a father of yours.”

“You courted my mother?”

“With everything in me,” Butler said. The memory seemed to please him, and he turned his head to one side. “If I'd had my way, you'd be a Butler instead of a Winslow. I would have liked that very much indeed.”

“My mother sent you, then?”

“Yes, she did.”

“Tell me all about Stoneybrook. What's happened in my absence?”

“Well, things are going well enough, I suppose …”

The three of them listened as he spoke of home. Edmund had continued to expand his holdings but had failed to produce an heir with his new wife, a cold woman by all accounts. Leah was as strong as ever, continuing to ride each afternoon regardless of the weather. Stuart had never seen Stoneybrook or known his uncle or grandmother, but he listened eagerly all the same.

“We don't get much news here. It's very kind of you to come and share it with us. What about the new king?”

“King Henry? Well”—a frown creased the old man's face, and he shook his head sorrowfully—“he's bound and determined to go to war.”

“That's a mistake. With France, I assume?”

“Of course. He's heard the tales of Henry V going over the water and soundly defeating the Frenchmen. We lost most of the territory that he won, but now this Henry is quite a romantic. He jousts, and he knows all the stories of knights and fair ladies. He's quite a man.”

“I'd like to see him.”

“You'd be very impressed. He sings. He likes music. He dances. Now he wants to be a soldier, and he's determined to be a soldier. I expect that by the time I get back there will be some progress toward a war.”

The old man sat silent for some time and finally said, “I have brought you this from your mother.” He opened a bag that was tied to his belt and pulled out two items, one a paper folded over, the other a heavy bag.

“It's money!” Claiborn exclaimed.

“That it is. Your mother will probably explain, but as for me, I must be on my way.”

“Won't you stay for a meal?”

“No, I am on my way to see one of my nephews, still a good
distance from here.” He rose to his feet and despite their urgings would not stay.

At the door he stared at Claiborn and said, “You have the look of your father. He was quite a man. But your mother should have married me.” He laughed. “I've been telling her that for forty years, it seems.”

When they had sped Butler on his way, they opened the bag and counted the money.

“God and Mother be praised, this will see us through.”

“See what the letter says,” Grace said.

Claiborn pulled open the brief letter and read it to them. “‘Claiborn, I hope this finds you well. God has told me that you must return to Stoneybrook with your family. I have been praying for you and feel that this is God's plan for you.'”

“Why does she say that we're to come to Stoneybrook?” Stuart asked. “That's your old home, isn't it, Father?”

“Yes, indeed, but I would not be welcome there to anyone but my mother.” He returned to the letter. “‘Please consider it. We will find a way for you to make peace with your brother. God will see to it, if it is his will. I would find much joy in your return and in meeting my grandson at last. Please, my son. Make haste and return home, where you and your family belong.'”

“We must fast and pray tonight,” Grace said firmly. “We will wait on a word from God.”

They did fast and pray through the night, though off and on they perhaps dozed.

The sun was coming up when Claiborn, who had been sitting at the table with his face in his hands, said, “Grace, I feel God has spoken to me.”

“What did he say? I have a feeling about this too.”

“I feel we must honor the word that my mother has received.

She always was a woman who could go to God and find out things.”

“But how will we go? After we pay our debts, we won't have much left to reach Stoneybrook.”

“But we'll have God. We'll go to my home again, my boy,” he said to Stuart, who had just risen from his bed. “If my brother won't have us, at least we'll know that we were seeking to do God's will.”