Texas Angel, 2-in-1 (3 page)

Now Benjamin’s forbearance of the man was wearing thin. Fife’s foul tongue, his crude manners, and his constant interference in matters involving Benjamin’s family were trying even Benjamin’s vast reserve of Christian tolerance. After two days on the road, he had forbidden his family to have any contact with Fife. Micah had taken a liking to the trapper and spent the days after Benjamin’s edict sulking. It didn’t help that Fife constantly defied Benjamin by continuing to socialize with the children, telling them stories, giving them treats, or performing other indulgent acts.

No, it had not been easy following God’s will in uprooting his family and transporting them hundreds of miles from their civilized home in Boston to this wild, godless land. Some had called Benjamin crazy or even heartless to impose such a fate upon a genteel woman and two helpless children. But God must always come first, and His will must always supersede the desires of the flesh.

Nevertheless, Benjamin would never reveal to another human, not even his wife, that he often feared what lay ahead and was sickened at the thought of what he had left behind—a comfortable frame house, a pastorate in a small but fine church, his ailing parents, whom he knew he would never see again. And yes, in the privacy of his prayer closet, he even at times doubted the very calling of God.

Benjamin glanced covertly back at his family huddled together on the hard wagon boards with only a few blankets to pad them against the bouncing and jolting. The children, even Micah, were clinging to their mother. Five-year-old Isabel looked especially helpless, but she had always been a frail child.

Rebekah, thank God, was asleep, but her eyes fluttered beneath the thin, pale lids. It was almost impossible now to see through her weari.ness the lovely woman she was. Creamy skin with a small smattering of freckles across her nose was the inevitable legacy of her voluminous auburn hair. It had always given her such a vibrant appearance, but now it only emphasized frailty. She had never supported her husband’s caprice, as she often called it. She tried to tell him that one did not have to go to the wilderness to serve God. There were sufficient sinners in Boston to keep a man of God occupied honorably. She had wept every day for two weeks before their departure. She had several sisters with whom she was quite close and a younger brother whom she adored, not to mention parents she loved. Then there were scores of friends and a pleasant life filled with social gatherings, ministrations to the needy, sewing circles, and the like. She had been a minister’s wife to be proud of, happily active in the church, submissive to her husband, and beloved by her children.

Benjamin knew more than ever that because of her sacrifices, he must never allow his fleshly doubts to surface. He had to ignore them and stand firm in his convictions. She must never know that he wavered at times.

In that spirit, he turned his face forward again, setting his jaw, gathering his resolve around him like a shield. He had always lived by the strength of his convictions, so why should now be any different? He was wearing the mantle of God, and that mantle was large enough to cover his family as well.

Natchez, located on the Mississippi River, on the border of the states of Louisiana and Mississippi, was a thriving port town of several thousand inhabitants. Here the Sinclair family would take passage on a riverboat, which would transport them to New Orleans. From there it was but a five. or six-day sea voyage to Texas. With the end of the long journey finally within sight, Benjamin was feeling hopeful once more.

“Rebekah,” he called to the back of the wagon, “we have come to a city at last. We shall rest a night here in a hotel on a real bed.”

Rebekah wearily pulled herself up so as to peer over the sideboards of the wagon. She nodded her head without enthusiasm. “As you say, Benjamin.”

Benjamin was silent. He did not wish to rebuke his wife in front of the children or their heathen driver, but he would speak to her privately later regarding her attitude. Her negativity was affecting the children and making it difficult for him to hold to his vision. It was difficult enough for him to present an optimistic front, especially as he began to observe the town of Natchez more closely.

It hardly warranted much enthusiasm. Nearing the docks, he viewed a squalid and unsavory expanse of saloons, crowded even in early afternoon. Dirty, foul-mouthed dock workers and disreputable women roamed the streets, as did characters who looked like the very highwaymen Benjamin had feared on the trail.

“This ain’t no city,” Micah piped up sourly. “The slums of home looked better’n this.”

“Hold your tongue, Micah.” Even if Benjamin agreed with his son, he would not abide such insolence and had no qualms about rebuking his son in public when it was deserving. How else would the boy learn humility?

“Are we gonna live in a slum, Papa?” Isabel asked in a tremorous voice.

“I will tolerate no more impudence from either of you children. Say no more until I give you permission to speak.”

“I reckon the young’un asked a fair question,” Fife said.

“No one asked you, sir,” Benjamin barked.

“Well, I don’t need no permission to talk, Reverend,” Fife sneered, his curling lip revealing yellow and rotten teeth. “And I says ’tis a fair question, especially from someone who’s only knowed the likes of civilized Boston. But this is a long way from Texas, Issy,” Fife added pointedly to Isabel in a more tender tone. “And you can be thankful this ain’t your final abode.”

Benjamin was perturbed that he had to agree with Fife. “That is true, Mr. Fife, but it is the very sin and immorality here that confirm the urgency of my calling.”

Fife shrugged but said nothing. Benjamin knew the man was avoiding a discussion of spiritual matters. They had already engaged in several such discourses while on the road. Benjamin had made faithful attempts to convert the driver’s godless soul, but to no avail. Knowing such a debate would be useless, Benjamin fell silent also. No use wasting his breath. If Fife burned in eternal damnation, it could not be laid to Benjamin’s account.

Five silent minutes later, Fife said, “I reckon I’ll take you to one of the steamship company offices where you can find out ’bout buying tickets.”

“Thank you, Mr. Fife. That is most kind of you.” Benjamin spoke stiffly but politely, for he had yet another request to make of the driver.

“Could I impose upon you to take me and my family from the office to a suitable hotel?” At Fife’s momentary hesitation, Benjamin added, “I know you are anxious to take your leave from us, but it should only mean another half hour of your time. I would not ask, but in a place like this it is difficult to know whom to trust.”

“I’ll do it for the lady and the young’uns, but if ’n it were just you, Reverend, nothing would get me to go another mile with you! I would’ve deserted you like the last man if ’n it weren’t for your family. When I first heard what that feller done I was steamed, but I know now he just couldn’t take another minute of your uppity holy attitude, not to mention your durned—”

“Please, Mr. Fife, watch your language in the presence of a woman and children!”

“You drive me to it, Reverend! I been a patient man because I had no choice, but now I’ll tell you what I really think. You treat them sweet children like they was criminals. I ain’t seen you smile at them since we started. And that poor sufferin’ woman! What would possess a man to drag her away from home and hearth?”

“Stop this wagon immediately!” Benjamin shouted. “I’ll hear no more of your abuse. You have no idea of what you speak. You are a godless fool and have no right to judge a true man of God.”

“I said I was gonna take you to the steamship office and then to the hotel—and that’s what I’m gonna do! But before I do, I’ll say one last thing. I may be ignorant and no highfalutin eastern-educated minister. And I may be ten kinds of fool, but I ain’t godless, and I’ll not be accused of being so by anyone!” Fife took a sharp breath, then snapped his mouth firmly closed, jerking his gaze forward and urging the horses on at a faster pace.

Benjamin focused his eyes stubbornly forward also. The man had incredible nerve. If he were a Christian man as he claimed, he would not treat a servant of God in such a manner.

A few minutes later the wagon came to a stop before a building with a sign over its door reading
St. Louis Steamship Company
.

“Here we are,” Fife announced tightly.

Benjamin went inside and made arrangements for passage on a riverboat, which would be departing in two days. Benjamin was disappointed at the delay, but he supposed Rebekah could use the extra rest. He returned to the wagon and unloaded the goods that would be stored at the office until departure. Then Fife drove them to an inexpensive but respectable-looking hotel.

After a room was reserved, Benjamin returned to the wagon and reached into his coat pocket, withdrawing his wallet and counting out ten dollars, the amount he and Fife had agreed upon at the beginning of their journey together.

Fife looked at the money Benjamin held out but made no move to take it. “Never mind that,” he said instead.

“We agreed—“ Benjamin protested.

“I only agreed because I figured you’d be too pigheaded to accept my assistance otherwise.”

“But—”

“Listen, Reverend, I ain’t never yet taken no money from a servant of God, and I sure don’t intend to start with you, even if you did make me earn it more than most folk. Keep your money, Reverend. I don’t want it.”

“As you said, you earned it.” Benjamin didn’t know what else to say. He didn’t know what to make of this man he had traveled with for over a week.

Fife shook his head, then jumped from the wagon. “Come on, young’uns.” He turned his attention to his other passengers. “Let ole Tom help you out of this hard wagon.” Setting each one upon the street, he gave them a warm smile, so incongruent with his grimy, unkempt countenance. “I’m gonna miss you kids.”

“We’ll miss you, too, Tom,” Micah said with a fleeting glance toward his father. Benjamin chose to ignore the defiance in that glance.

“Well,” Fife said, “I might take myself to Texas one of these days, so I reckon our paths could cross again.”

Isabel reached up and gave him a hug. Fife picked up the child and planted a kiss on her forehead. Benjamin pretended not to see as he helped his wife from the wagon, then busied himself with unloading their carpetbags and other belongings. Finally, however, he could avoid the driver no longer. Decency demanded he bid the man a proper farewell.

“Mr. Fife, thank you again for your generous assistance. We couldn’t have made it without you.”

“I doubt that, Reverend. Whatever else you may be, you are tough.

You ain’t one to give up easily.”

“Nevertheless . . .” Benjamin paused, then added hesitantly, “And about what I said before . . . perhaps I spoke harshly. God bless you, Mr. Fife.”

“And you, too, sir.”

CHAPTER

4

O
NE BY ONE THE WOMEN
shuffled out of the low-ceilinged, dimly lit room and followed a big male slave carrying a cast-iron pot of greens and ham.

Elise shrank back into the shadows, clutching her baby, little three-month-old Hannah, tightly to her breast, feeling no comfort from the contented sucking of the child. She had no appetite herself. The filth and smell of the slave quarters were only part of the reason, but that was nothing compared to the humiliation Elise felt at her circumstance. An outcast in the only world she had known, she might have hoped this new world would at least open up to her. But many of the slaves resented and despised her almost as much as did the Hearne family. She had shown her disdain for her Negro blood by trying to hide it, and thus the Negro community shunned her as well.

“At least dat baby do eat good” came a woman’s voice from the doorway of the hut. She entered, closing the door behind her. She came up and held out a bowl of greens. “Here you go. I don’t want no niggers dyin’ in my hut.”

“I’m not hungry,” Elise said.

Hattie was a kindly woman, middle-aged with graying hair and a soft, intense voice. She worked in the sewing hut. Unlike many of the others, she had been less hostile toward Elise. It still made Elise shudder when she thought of the last three nights. Since she had not been put to work, she spent her days mostly alone, caring for Hannah and preparing the evening meal for the slaves. She dreaded the nights most, when all the slaves returned from their work. Not that they mistreated her—if it were only that! The cold silence was far more disturbing. Even Carrie, who had been her maid for a year, had changed. Elise had always been kind and considerate to the girl, but now Carrie acted as though Elise had whipped and abused her.

Elise almost wished Thomson’s lawyer would arrive quickly and rescue her from this existence. Not that she could hope for anything better from Thomson.

“Lookee here, girl,” Hattie scolded, “your milk is gonna be weak if ’n you don’t eat. Den what of de chile?”

“What do you care?”

“I know we ain’t be welcoming of you, girl. You ain’t one of us, even if de massa says so. But I been thinkin’ it ain’t your fault neither. . . .”

“How do you know of these things?”

“You think folks don’t talk?” She chuckled, a low sound that barely broke through her lips. “Why, der ain’t nothin’ dat happens in de big house dat we darkies don’t know ’bout.”

“What have you heard?”

“Your mama was a quadroon dat passed for white. You didn’t know till jes’ before you married wid de massa’s boy. I guess anybody would of done what you did.”

“That’s not the impression everyone here has given me. They act as if I have betrayed my race by trying to pass as white.”

Hattie shrugged. “Dey gots to say dat. But I’ll wager der ain’t a person here who don’t wish every day dere skin was white as snow. A person’s got to do what a person’s got to do, dat’s all.”

“What do you want, Hattie? Why are you talking to me now?”

“I got da conviction, dat’s all. Jesus done tole me to show you Christian kindness. So I’m obeying.” She pushed the bowl toward Elise.