Texas Angel, 2-in-1 (13 page)

“Rebekah, we have come to a fine land. Truly a promised land.”

“As you say, Benjamin.”

He hated to rebuke her yet again, but her attitude was once again affecting the children. “Rebekah . . .”

Just then the man they had hired to guide them to their destination of Cooksburg approached.

“Morning, Reverend Sinclair.” His name was Walt Ramsey, and he was a seasoned frontiersman, dressed in worn buckskin with a beaver hat perched over long, unkempt hair. “Got the horses and mules all ready down at the stable.”

“Thank you, Mr. Ramsey. I’ll get my family together and meet you there.”

Fifteen minutes later the Sinclair entourage was gathered in the stable. Benjamin had purchased two horses, a dapple-gray mare, which was young and sturdy, and a bay gelding that was a bit older. These he would need for use on his circuit as well as for his family. He and Rebekah and Leah would ride these on the journey. He had also hired another horse and four mules to carry Micah and Isabel and all their belongings. He had been told when he arrived that wagons were out of the question because the roads, where there were roads, were little more than dirt tracks through rough terrain. In addition to these animals, he had also made the purchase of a milch cow. He felt certain they would want for nothing in their new home.

“We’re getting a good early start,” Ramsey said when they were all mounted up. “I’ll bet we can get to Cooksburg by tomorrow afternoon.”

“I don’t bet, Mr. Ramsey. I trust God,” Benjamin replied.

“Well, then. God willing”—Ramsey’s tone held a hint of a sneer— “we’ll make good time.”

Benjamin groaned inwardly at the prospect of traveling two days with another uncouth specimen. He was disappointed his brother had not been in San Felipe to greet them. But then, Haden knew nothing of Benjamin’s decision to come to Texas. After asking around town, Benjamin learned that Haden was off somewhere exploring the country. Benjamin had left a message with the storekeeper, so he hoped that in due course Haden would catch up to him. True, Haden could be as uncouth as both Ramsey and Fife together, but he was family.

Benjamin reminded himself, as he had been doing frequently since their journey began, that each unsaved soul he met was just further proof of the great need here for his ministry. And this urged him forward. For the next two days, he was constantly several lengths ahead of the group. It took all his restraint to keep from charging forward at a full gallop.

The last leg of the long journey from Boston had just the opposite effect upon Rebekah. Two days of jostling on the back of a horse made her wonder how she would bear another minute, much less a lifetime, of this wilderness. Even in San Felipe there had been other women and social activities. The day after they left there was to be a ball, not that Benjamin would approve of dancing. The wife of the storekeeper had invited her to join the few women in town for their weekly sewing circle. But she had had to refuse because they would not be staying.

Rebekah’s misery was compounded by their arrival at the settlement of Cooksburg. It seemed euphemistic to even bother attaching a name to a place that consisted of nothing more than a tavern and a trading post. Albert Petty, the proprietor of both establishments, extended to them a rather stilted welcome. He seemed a dour, introverted man, and Rebekah sensed he felt awkward having a man of the cloth invade his premises, where the odor of ardent spirits was quite strong. He did offer directions to the cabin that had been occupied by Benjamin’s predecessor, Rev. Meredith. Presumably this would be the Sinclairs’ new home. It was seven or eight miles northeast of Cooksburg.

Mr. Petty also had some disturbing news. “Hope you have better luck in these parts than Meredith.”

Ignoring the frivolous reference to
luck
, Benjamin inquired, “What happened to him?”

“He was arrested about a year ago. The fool started preaching to the alcade himself. Made a right nuisance of himself, as I heard tell. Well, he was no young man, and he died in prison down in Saltillo.”

Benjamin’s eyes skittered toward Rebekah. Had he known this all along and withheld it from her? A closer look at her husband showed he was just as shocked at the news as she. The bishop, no doubt out of Christian kindness, had been the one to withhold this information. Rebekah felt bitterness wrap itself more firmly than ever around her heart.

They arrived at the cabin after dark. Benjamin managed to find a candle upon entering the log structure, but Rebekah was almost sorry he had, for the small flame justified her worst fears. The crudely built cabin consisted of only one room. And that room was not even as large as the typical Texas dwelling, which usually contained two rooms with an open-air corridor, often called a dog run, between them. Rebekah did not even want to think of how it compared to her cozy little home in Boston!

Rev. Meredith had been a widower, a fact quite apparent in the shadowed view of the place. There were no furnishings to speak of save for a coarse table, crudely built, with two matching benches on either side. There was not even a stove. A blackened kettle hanging in the hearth indicated where Meredith had done his cooking. Rebekah’s lip quivered as she thought about cooking for a family of five over an open fire.

The sleeping arrangements brought a lump to her throat. The one bed in the cabin was nothing more than a pile of weeds covered with a filthy blanket. It looked as if wild animals had recently enjoyed its use. The cabin was not just untidy—it was downright dirty. The women in San Felipe had jokingly referred to Texas dust, but this place seemed to be the source of it all. Benjamin had to chase out a family of raccoons that had taken up residence since Meredith’s absence. The animal odors were horrendous.

Rebekah burst into tears.

“By adversity we are made strong,” Benjamin said.

She did not respond, knowing if she uttered a single word, it would be to scream things at her husband that were unfit for the tender ears of their children—not that she even knew such words. Silently she began chastising her worldly innocence.

Benjamin continued in an annoyingly buoyant tone. “You have a wonderful, God-given talent for housekeeping, Rebekah. You shall have this place transformed into a cozy abode in no time. Think how blessed we are to have a house already built.”

Still silent, she opened one of her carpetbags and took out a quilt her mother had made for her wedding. With as few words as possible she instructed the children to lie on the weed bed, then she covered them with the quilt. Isabel had begun to weep also, but Micah was stony. She knew she should comfort them, but she simply had nothing to give.

“You have given the children the only bed in the place,” Benjamin pointed out.

Ignoring him, she forced her attention to the sleeping Leah, whom Ramsey had taken from Rebekah’s arms when she had dismounted her horse.

Silently, but with tears still flowing from her eyes, she found an empty wooden box no doubt used for firewood that she deemed would be a suitable cradle. Into this she placed a second quilt, the only other one she possessed, then took the sleeping baby and laid her in the box. Sitting down on the rickety bench by the table, Rebekah blew her nose into her handkerchief, avoiding her husband’s eyes.

“Rebekah, I demand that you answer me!” He moved around to face her, but she kept her eyes fixed upon her hands folded in her lap.

Sniffing back a fresh flow of tears, she dabbed her eyes. Maybe she would never speak to him again. That would serve him right for dragging her to this nightmarish place.

“All right, wife! I will bring in the bedding from the trip. Perhaps by the time I return you will have come to your senses. I suggest you seek God for wisdom and strength to accept the lot He has bestowed upon you.”

She wanted to yell that she would never accept it, but she said nothing as he exited. Neither did she pray. Stubbornly she refrained from all thoughts of God and faith. She loved God as much as anyone, but for the moment it galled her to obey her husband, even if it kept her from doing the one thing that really might help.

Instead, she nursed her anger and self-pity. When Benjamin returned and spread out the bedding they had used on the trail, she silently lay down and closed her eyes.

Benjamin wisely made his bed across the room from her.

CHAPTER

16

B
ENJAMIN AWOKE WHILE IT WAS
still dark. Quietly he pulled on his boots, then made his way outside. Walt Ramsey had bedded down outside and was still asleep. Benjamin was glad to slip away without having to socialize.

He walked about fifty yards into the woods surrounding the cabin and knelt to pray in a small clearing. He did not lift his bowed head until the sun had fully risen. It did not concern him that Rebekah would be worried over his absence. Morning and evening prayers had been his habit since he had entered the ministry. But this time when he finished he did not return directly to the cabin. Instead, he took a few minutes to walk around in the woods and assess their new surroundings by the light of day.

Whoever had built this cabin had chosen a pretty spot. He could hear the sounds of a creek not far away. Standing on a little knoll, he could see scattered groves of trees—oak, pine, hickory, magnolia—in a sea of undulating grass. The sky overhead was clear and a vivid blue.

A rider approached from the west, and Benjamin waved vigorously. The fellow waved back and soon reined his mount before him.

“Good morning, sir,” Benjamin greeted.

“Morning!” The rider looked Benjamin over carefully. “You wouldn’t be the new preacher, would you?”

Benjamin hesitated before answering, taking a moment to scrutinize the rider first. After all, if this man was an agent of the Mexicans, it could cause no small amount of trouble to disclose his calling. Yet he could not have much of a ministry in this new land if he cowered in fear with every stranger he met. Luckily, or rather by the grace of God, the man spoke up again.

“You don’t need to be a-feared of me if’n you’re the preacher, though I sure can understand if you are, seeing as how I’m a stranger.”

“I fear none but the Lord God, sir.” Benjamin held the man’s gaze steadily. “But for the sake of His mission, I feel prudence is required.”

The man grinned. “I reckon you don’t need to say more, Preacher.”

Benjamin shrugged. He had already decided not to lie to anyone. “Does mere chance bring you this way, sir?”

“No, as a matter of fact, it don’t. I came to the trading post last night to trade some furs, and Al Petty said you was here. There’s a mighty lot of folks in these parts that’ll be right glad to know you’re here.”

“I’m pleased to hear that.”

“Well, anyhow, I got me a couple hours sleep at Petty’s, then rode on up here as fast as I could in order to find you.” The man paused, dismounted, then thrust out his hand. “Name’s John Hunter.”

Hunter was a man of about Benjamin’s age; short but powerfully built, with a broad, beardless face and heavy freckles. The addition of red hair gave him the look of an Irish leprechaun. His dress was suitable to the frontier—worn denim trousers, a coarsely woven brown shirt, and a leather vest.

“I’m Reverend Benjamin Sinclair.” Benjamin shook Hunter’s hand. The man had a strong, firm grip that impressed Benjamin. He often used this means to make initial judgments of a man. “Can I be of service to you?” he asked.

“That you can, Reverend. You see, my mother’s been ailing for a couple of months now, and I honestly think the only reason she’s hanging on is in hopes of seeing a man of the cloth so’s she can make her peace with God. When I heard you was here, I knew I better not go home unless I had you with me. Not that I’m anxious to see my ma die, but if she’s got to go, then I reckon it better be with a contented heart.”

“That would be preferable. Is she not a Christian?”

“She’s as God-fearing as they come. It’s just that . . . it ain’t never set well with her what she done when she came to Texas. She only did it for my pa. He was set on having land and—”

“And he converted to Papism in order to do so?” Benjamin’s words were far more an accusation than a question. Logically, he could understand the difficult position of the settlers, but in his heart he could not abide the choice they had made in rejecting their born faith for material gain. Perhaps these people had little choice, yet he saw them as weaker for it.

“In our hearts we’re still Methodists, Reverend.” Hunter’s tone was understandably defensive. “It’s just on paper that we are Catholic.”

“You minimize both faiths by your actions.”

“We had to have land. What else could we do?”

“Whatever you did in the past, Mr. Hunter, you must now turn from those things. Humble yourself before God and implore His mercy.”

“That’s just what my ma wants to do, Reverend. That’s not to say I oughtn’t to do it, too, but right now she’s my main concern. Will you come to my place and speak to her? It’s been a powerful long time since we seen a preacher. There ain’t even been a priest through here since . . . I can’t remember when.”

“I will come, Mr. Hunter. Where do you live?”

“Northeast of here a mite. If we leave now and ride hard, we’ll get there late this afternoon.”

For the first time Benjamin hesitated. He could not forget, though he almost had, what awaited him at his own home. “I don’t know how soon I can leave,” he said, desiring to do the right thing. “We only just arrived last night, and I don’t like leaving my family alone in this strange place so soon.”

“I hate to be pushy, Reverend, but I just don’t know how long my ma’ll hang on.”

Benjamin chewed on his lip in thought. “Come back to my cabin with me.”

By the time they arrived at the cabin, everyone was awake. Isabel was playing outside in the front yard, and Micah had passed them on the path carrying a bucket in order to fetch water from the creek. Ramsey had gathered a load of firewood and was carrying it to the cabin. Benjamin relieved him of the wood and, asking both men to wait outside, headed toward the cabin. He deemed it wise to confront his wife outside the earshot of strangers.