The Promise of Morning (39 page)

He slipped on his trousers and work shirt and hurried down to the kitchen. The smoky aroma of fried ham greeted him, making his mouth water. Maria and Graciana stood beside Ellie, watching while she stirred something on top of the stove. Matthew blinked and took a closer look.

“Uncle Matthew.”

“Papa.”

Graciana and Maria ran across the room and wrapped their arms around him. “We thought you were going to sleep all day,” Maria said.

Matthew scrubbed his hands over his face and grinned at them. “Sun’s not even all the way up yet.” He pretended to turn toward the stairs. “Guess I’ll go back to bed.”

Graciana giggled. “No, stay here with us.”

His heart turned over at the happiness in her voice. The idea of taking her to the Carstairs filled him with sorrow.

“Breakfast is almost ready.” Ellie paused in her stirring. “We’re having cornbread and ham gravy.”

“Sounds good.” He hugged the girls and headed for the wash basin on the back porch, his thoughts in turmoil.

Mounted on Samson, Matthew held the reins and looked down at Ellie. “I’ll be gone most of the afternoon. When I’m done at the post office, I want to go to Molly’s and see James for myself. It’s answered prayer to have him home safe.”

“I felt the same way when I first saw him. Thankfully, Molly and Karl have been able to dissuade him from trying to enlist again.” She moved closer and lifted her face in the way she used to do when she expected a good-bye kiss.

He hesitated, then bent and brushed her lips with his. She placed her hand on his cheek, holding the kiss for an extra second. When he straightened in the saddle, he saw a light in her eyes that he hadn’t seen for months.

Matthew nudged Samson’s side with his heels and backed away. “While I’m in town, I’ll stop at Carstairs’ too. Hope Orville’s home so I can talk to both of them.”

Ellie’s smile faded. “Tell Penelope I said hello.” Her voice sounded flat. She turned and hurried into the house.

On an impulse, Matthew directed his horse into the churchyard instead of continuing to the post office. The promised quiet of the sanctuary beckoned. When he tied Samson, he paused to study the compact white church that he and many other townsfolk had built. It felt as much like home as the farmhouse he’d left two miles back.

When he walked in, he noticed footprints and bits of debris on the dusty wooden floor leading up the center aisle. Matthew moved toward the platform, his eyes skimming over the empty benches, the cold iron stove, the half-burned candles in their sconces. Flies bumped and buzzed against the whitewashed ceiling. Being inside felt like visiting an old friend whose health had deteriorated in his absence.

Matthew strode to the cloakroom, where he found a broom leaning in one corner. While he was there he could sweep the floor. He noticed a stack of rags in a bucket and tucked one into his back pocket, planning to polish the altar.

As he left the storage area, the door to the church creaked open, laying a bar of sunlight across the rear benches. He turned to see an unmistakable figure silhouetted in the doorway.

“Mrs. Beldon?”

She stepped inside. Tipping her head in her characteristic way, she looked up at Matthew. “It’s time you and I talked.”

He glanced over her shoulder to see if her husband had followed her.

Evidently reading his action, Mrs. Beldon’s mouth twisted into a smile. “You’re wondering how I got here? I walked. I’m not quite the invalid my husband makes me out to be.” She slid onto a bench and patted the space beside her. “Do sit.”

Matthew complied, wondering what she felt they had to talk about. He leaned forward and rested his hands on his knees. “What can I do for you?”

“You can listen. There’s something you need to know.” She lifted her head and he looked directly into her penetrating brown eyes. “I’ve watched while my husband has done his best to become the most important man in this town. He saw in you an influence that he had to suppress, and unfortunately it seems he has succeeded. But I can’t sit by and let it happen.” Mrs. Beldon tapped his hand briefly. “Marcus didn’t come here because he believed Beldon Grove to be his birthright, or whatever twaddle he may have told you. He came here because he failed at everything he tried back home, and my father gave him a stake for one last chance.” A flush tinted her cheeks.

“I recognize how difficult this is—”

“Please do me the courtesy of listening until I’m finished.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Now it seems he’s failing at his scheme to take over your congregation. Some of the members called on him last week and told him to cease preaching in this church.”

A feeling of relief swept over Matthew. “So he won’t be back?”

“Marcus ignored them. He ignores everyone who doesn’t agree with him.”

Matthew looked down at his cracked and dusty boots. He’d be willing to preach at Wolcott’s store every Sunday if he had to. But then he thought about the towns he’d visited on his circuit, and what church division had done to their inhabitants. He couldn’t allow the current situation to continue. He closed his eyes.
Lord,
guide me.

In the silence, Mrs. Beldon drew a deep breath and held it for a moment, then released it in a sigh. “Marcus only married me because of my father’s money. Who else would want me, with this crippled body?” She held up a twisted hand. “For a long time, I pretended he loved me, but I can’t lie to myself any longer. I’ve sent word to my father to come take me home.” Tears pooled in her eyes.

Matthew’s heart softened toward the woman he’d always believed to be cold and withdrawn. Seething at Beldon’s arrogance, he cradled her hands in his. “I’m sorry.”

She pulled away, assuming her former brittle tone. “Don’t feel sorry for me. I allowed it.”

She stood and moved toward the door. With one hand on the latch, she turned and looked back. “Whatever happens, don’t let him intimidate you. You belong in this pulpit.”

Ellie sat near the kitchen window, removing the stitching from the cloth body of Graciana’s doll. The child watched as tufts of cotton dropped onto the table. Once the stuffing in the arms and legs was removed, Ellie plucked at the batting that surrounded the doll’s stiffened middle section. Sliding her hand inside, she closed her fingers around a wooden cylinder and drew it out.

Graciana leaned forward. “That’s what Papa gave Aunt Polly to sew into Nora.”

The carved object rested in Ellie’s palm. A wax-covered cork closed one end. Ellie’s fingers tingled with the desire to open the container, but she hesitated and then handed it to Graciana.

The child turned the cylinder over in her hands and tugged at the cork. “Do you think there’s treasure in here?” Her eyes sparkled.

Ellie caught her excitement. “Why don’t you find out?”

The cork held fast, no matter how hard Graciana pulled at it. Defeated, she gave the container back to Ellie. “There’s too much wax on the outside. It won’t open.”

“Well, let’s help it along.” Ellie stood and selected a knife from a drawer in the worktable. Before cutting through the thick layer of wax, she glanced at the stove where a kettle filled with soapy water waited.

She set the knife aside and moved the kettle to the worktable, then lowered Nora’s grimy fabric body into the water. After placing the cylinder on a cutting board, she rolled the wax under the knife blade. Using a twisting motion, she removed the cork and poked inside the opening with her index finger.

Graciana crowded close. “What is it?”

She plucked the cylinder from Ellie’s hand and peered inside, then turned it upside down and tapped it on the edge of the table. A tube-shaped bundle of paper slid out. Once freed, it tumbled over and dropped to the floor, unrolling as it fell.

Disappointment clouded Graciana’s features. She held the paper in one hand and studied the writing that filled the page. “No treasure.” Her brown eyes met Ellie’s. “I hoped maybe gold or silver.”

Ellie concealed a smile. “Maybe this paper is a treasure map. Was your papa a pirate?”

“No!” Graciana looked offended. She thrust the paper at Ellie. “Read it to me, please.”

Glancing over the closely written lines of text, Ellie saw it was a letter. She moved to the rocking chair beneath the stairwell and opened her arms. “Come sit on my lap. We’ll see what it says.”

Instead, Graciana walked to the worktable and peered at her doll soaking in the kettle. “I think she’s clean enough. Can we get her out and dry her off first?”

Ellie laid the letter down and joined Graciana. Rolling up her sleeves, she tested the water temperature with one finger, then squeezed the soapy mixture through the fabric. After rinsing, she carried the wet, limp Nora out to the porch and draped her over the back of a chair.

“As warm as it is today, she’ll be ready for new stuffing before suppertime.”

Graciana examined the doll. “She does look better. Thank you.” She took Ellie’s hand. “Now, let’s read.”

The rocker creaked when Ellie settled Graciana onto her lap.

My very dearest Graciana,

The child smiled and snuggled closer.

When Aunt Polly takes you to my old home,
you will hear stories about me. I wanted to tell
you those stories myself when you were older,
but I don’t have much time left, so I have to
write this down and hope you will understand
someday.

A long time ago, when I was a young man,
I had another daughter. Her name was Eleanor.
Her mama died when she was very little, just
like your mama did. I didn’t know how to take
care of a child. It shames me to tell you this
now, but I left her behind with my family and
followed Mr. Austin’s men to Texas. I never saw
her again.

Hot blood rose in Ellie’s cheeks. “‘Eleanor’?”

“What?” Graciana asked.

Instead of replying, Ellie bent closer to the paper as though she could draw hidden meaning from the script. Tracing the lines with her finger, she read rapidly to the end of the page.

Then you were born in my old age, a blessing
from God. After your mama died I promised
I’d never leave you, but now I can’t keep my
promise. It makes me very sad to know that I
won’t see you grow up.

After I’m gone, always remember I love you.

You are my heart.

Your papa.

Ellie leaned back in the chair. He couldn’t be the same man, could he? Her heart pounded as she reread the words.
Eleanor.
Austin. Texas.
She drew a quivering breath and squeezed Graciana close to her chest. He must be.

“Aunt Ellie? What’s wrong?”

“What was your papa’s name?”

“Everyone called him Largo. Just Largo.”

Palms sweating, Ellie studied Graciana’s face, taking in the shape of her eyes, her slender, high-bridged nose, her soft, rounded lips.

She cupped the child’s chin in her hand. “Do you remember me telling you my papa was dead?”

Graciana nodded.

“He died last winter.” Ellie had trouble getting the words out.

The child patted her hand in a sympathetic gesture. “So did my papa.”