The Promise of Morning (21 page)

She shook her head. “You’ve got too many people depending on you. Quincy’s a long ride.” Then fear overrode stoicism. “But if you know of someone who might go . . .”

Karl removed his hat and combed his fingers through his blond hair. After a moment’s thought he said, “I’ll ask Griffiths’ son Daniel. That fellow could track a snake over a pile of rocks.” He reached into the buggy and handed her the cake. “He’ll find him.”

Ellie brushed moisture from her forehead and placed the cooled flatiron on the stovetop, exchanging it for a heated one. She looked longingly out the open back door at the balmy June afternoon, then glanced at the pile of clothes still waiting to be ironed. If she could get through her chores before suppertime, she’d go out and sit with Uncle Arthur. It was too pretty a day to spend indoors.

She’d sent Maria and Harrison to the cornfield to pick worms from the stalks. Jimmy and Johnny were mucking out the barn. Ellie sighed and smoothed another dampened garment over the short-legged board resting on the kitchen table. Curls of steam rolled out under the path of the hot iron, scenting the room with the clean smell of the outdoors.

Dust rising from the road caught her attention.
Matthew?
Ellie dropped the iron back on the stove and hurried to the porch in time to see Mr. Beldon’s phaeton rattle across the plank bridge and into the farmyard.

Upon seeing Ellie, he pulled his team to a halt and jumped from the carriage. “I came as soon as I heard.”

He strode toward her. As usual, he wore a well-tailored coat and trousers, which emphasized his muscular physique. He didn’t look like a man who ever rushed anywhere.

“Heard what?”

Behind Mr. Beldon’s back, Ellie noticed her twin sons walking toward them. Both were almost as tall as Matthew, and already possessed a goodly share of his strength. They covered the distance between barn and house and stopped next to her.

Mr. Beldon’s eyes met Ellie’s. “About your husband’s disappearance. I came to see if I could be of any help.”

Johnny stepped closer to his mother. “Uncle Karl’s already got Daniel Griffith out looking. You’re not needed, sir.”

“Don’t see what a city man could do, anyhow,” Jimmy muttered.

Shocked, Ellie’s mouth dropped open. “Boys! Remember your manners.”

“It’s quite all right.” Mr. Beldon took her hand, ignoring the twins. “Children tend to get overexcited when their normal routine is disrupted.” He spoke in a soothing tone. “My offer stands, if you need me.” He squeezed her hand, then turned and strode toward his carriage.

16

The morning after Matthew’s arrival at Meechams’, he overheard Barton Meecham and his mother talking in the kitchen.

“What do you reckon brought him clean over here?” Mrs. Meecham asked.

“Don’t know. He said he wanted to talk to me, so we’ll find out soon enough.”

“I’ve said this before, Son. You need to visit the churches in your district more often. This poor boy had to ride all this way to talk to you.”

“Ma.”

Matthew heard exaggerated patience in the man’s voice.

Meecham continued, “In the first place, Brother Craig is hardly a boy. He’s near to my age. And in the second place, if he’d stayed put, I’d of gotten to him in another month or two.”

“Humph. Maybe what he has to say couldn’t wait until you got around to traveling.”

Matthew pushed himself up on the cot with his left arm, grunting at the pain that flared down his right side.

“You awake in there?” Meecham called.

“I am. I’ll be out directly.”

The door swung wide and Meecham entered, carrying a garment over his arm. “Let me help you get a shirt on. Likely you aren’t wanting to move that arm any more than you must.”

“Thanks, but I can manage.”

The smell of fried ham filtered in from the kitchen. Matthew’s stomach growled, reminding him how hungry he was.

Ignoring his objection, Meecham leaned down and slipped one sleeve onto Matthew’s left arm, then draped the shirt over his right shoulder. No one had helped him put his clothes on since he was a child, and the intimacy of the act embarrassed Matthew. Further, the difference in their height left him feeling like the boy Mrs. Meecham had said he was. He grabbed his pants before Meecham could think of helping him with those too.

When Matthew entered the kitchen, platters of fried ham and eggs waited on the table, next to a pan of steaming biscuits.

Mrs. Meecham glanced at him. “Dig in, young man. We always eat good for breakfast—you never know what a day might bring.”

He didn’t need to be told twice. He tugged a chair away from the table with his left hand and lowered his weight onto it. Mrs. Meecham filled his plate, cutting his ham into bite-sized pieces while he watched, half amused. Dressing him, cutting his food. The next thing he knew, they’d offer to feed him.

She pointed at his plate. “Want me to help you with that?”

Matthew shook his head, awkwardly manipulating his fork with his left hand. “Sooner I get the hang of this, the better.”

Once he’d wiped the last of the egg yolk from his plate with a biscuit, Matthew eased his body back in the chair. Feeling strengthened, he decided to divulge his mission before his courage deserted him. “Brother Meecham, I came to ask you to assign me to another church in the Quincy district.”

He looked surprised. “You don’t beat around the bush, do you? Want to tell me why you’re giving up on Beldon Grove?”

“It’s the other way around. Beldon Grove is giving up on me.”

Meecham shifted in his chair to allow his mother to clear the table, then leaned toward Matthew. “Start at the beginning.”

Matthew told him about Marcus Beldon’s arrival in Beldon Grove and the man’s belief that the community was his rightful heritage. He related the deaths of his and Ellie’s four infants and the whispering campaign that had sprung up in town, claiming that the deaths were God’s judgment against him as a preacher.

Mrs. Meecham turned from the basin. “Don’t you believe it, young man. Barton’s papa and me lost all our babies ’cept this one.” She pointed a soapy hand at her son. “Wasn’t a judgment. God weeps when his little ones pass on, but he weeps for us, not them. They’re in a better place.”

Tears formed in Matthew’s eyes at her gentle tone. He looked at the ceiling and blinked hard to keep them from spilling. “Yes, ma’am, I believe that too, but there’s plenty of folks in Beldon Grove think otherwise right now.”

Meecham’s expression softened. “I understand this has been hard on your family. But it doesn’t sound like enough reason to give up your church. Is that all?”

Matthew started to lean forward, but the pain in his ribs stopped him. Drawing a thin breath, he again rested against the chair back. “There was one other matter. About the same time Beldon got to town, handbills went up about a Shakespeare play that would be coming.”

“All the way to Beldon Grove? Which one? I’m quite fond of Shakespeare myself.”

Nervous sweat prickled Matthew’s forehead. “Uh,
Macbeth
.” If it weren’t for his sore ribs, he would have squirmed in his chair. Ben was right. Everyone was right. He felt his skin flush under his beard. Why hadn’t he listened?

“
Macbeth
. One of my particular favorites. And how was the performance?”

Matthew gulped. “I didn’t go.”

At Meecham’s look of surprise, he told him the whole story of his opposition to the play, how Beldon had used it against him, and how eventually it had split his congregation. “But it wasn’t the play itself. I worried about actor folk corrupting our young people.” He jutted his chin forward. “Turns out I was right. My wife’s aunt ran off with one of the performers.”

“How does that make you right? Your wife’s aunt is probably old enough to know what she’s doing. You can’t blame the acting troupe for her decision. Might’ve happened another time with someone else.”

Speechless, Matthew blinked. He hadn’t considered that possibility.

Meecham tilted his head, a skeptical light in his eyes. “I’m wondering if you’re exaggerating your problems with this Mr. Beldon, as well.”

“No. I’m not. He claims her adultery proves I can’t manage my own family.” Matthew’s left hand curled into a fist. “I need to leave the Beldon Grove church for the good of the body.”

One eyebrow raised almost to his low hairline, Meecham folded his arms and studied Matthew for a long moment. “The good of the body? Sure it’s not your wounded pride that’s making you run?” He pushed back his chair and paced the length of the room. Then he turned toward Matthew, shaking his head. “You owe fidelity to your congregation. You’ve led them for years. Now you want to leave when things go sour?”

Matthew felt like a child being scolded by an angry parent. He stood. “What’s to be gained by my staying? Beldon has most of the congregation gathering at the hotel now. No one comes to the church on Sundays.” In the background, the stove brush scratched as Mrs. Meecham scrubbed the surface of the squat range.

After glancing at his mother, Meecham stepped next to Matthew, placed a gentle hand on his left shoulder, and directed him toward the parlor. “Let’s go in here. It’s quieter.”

Cold air in the unheated room struck Matthew’s face like a damp cloth. Rather than sit in the chair Meecham pointed out, he walked over to the bookshelves and leaned against them. If his ribs hadn’t been so painful, he’d have crossed his arms over his chest. As it was, he slipped his left hand in his pocket and waited.

“No one comes on Sundays?” Meecham repeated Matthew’s statement back to him. “Your family is there, and you mentioned several other people in the community who are standing with you. Are they of no consequence?”

“They’ll understand. They’ve seen what’s happened.”

“So you’re leaving them to worship at a hotel? Have you thought about that?”

In his mind, Matthew saw a vision of his family and friends smiling up at him as he stood behind the pulpit. He bowed his head. “Maybe you could trade me to another station, and someone else could minister in Beldon Grove.” Put into words, the idea sounded lack-witted, even to him.

Meecham’s dark eyes flared. “Uproot two families to salve your wounded pride? Brother Craig, I expected better of you. You were recommended for the Beldon Grove church based on the strength of your good work on the circuit. No one mentioned you’d cut and run when you encountered difficulties.”

“I believe I’m doing what is best.” A nagging thought surfaced.
Like opposing the play was for the best?
His ribs throbbed, and he sank into a chair. He’d run out of arguments. He only knew he’d lost most of his congregation to Marcus Beldon, and all of Meech–am’s persuasive words wouldn’t bring them back.

Frowning, Meecham walked across the narrow room and stared down at Matthew, regret in his eyes. “There are seven missions in the Quincy district, and except for Beldon Grove now, all the pulpits are filled. I have no place to send you.”

Matthew opened his mouth to reply, but Meecham cut him off. “If you really feel you have to leave, you can go back to riding circuit. There’s a need for an itinerant preacher in the southern part of the state.”

Riding circuit was the last thing he wanted. How could he look after his family if he was gone all the time? He remembered long days in the saddle in all sorts of weather. No set place to sleep most nights. Poor food.

Trapped, he choked out, “What are the boundaries?”

“We can go over that later, when you’re fit to travel.” Meecham opened the kitchen door and spoke to his mother. “I have calls to make this morning. You look after Brother Craig.”

After the front door closed, Matthew continued to sit in the unheated parlor. He’d won the argument, but at a high price. How would Ellie react when she found out he’d be riding circuit? He shook his head. What had he gotten himself into?

As the days of Matthew’s recovery slipped by, Elder Meecham treated him with restrained courtesy. Occasionally, Matthew would sense that he was being watched and look up to find Meecham studying him with a speculative expression. But the subject of the Beldon Grove church was not raised again.

The following Sunday he felt well enough to walk to church with them and attend services. As they covered the distance, Matthew’s thoughts were far from the steepled building down the lane. Instead, they centered around his wife and family—they were bound to be frantic at his prolonged absence. If only he had a way to get word home quickly.