“No,” she said. “It feels the same, but it brought back memories. For a second, it felt like I was back in that cage.” Her eyes were moist, and her grip tightened; Eli had to stifle a wince. She turned her head and stared at the pattern painted along the edge of the shuttered window.
“Do you need me to stop, Ada?” Jed asked.
“The marks need to be covered. You can’t stop,” she insisted.
He continued to work on her tattoo, and Eli was impressed with how long she withstood the pain before needing a break. Jed gave her several short rests throughout the day. It was a slow process, but eventually the outline of the flowers and leaves was finished.
As Jed began to fill in the first flower, Eli was relieved to see her marks covered by the fresh dark ink. When he started the second, Ada finally asked if they could stop for the day. He suggested she take a few days to heal before they worked on it again. Rosa mixed a small amount of grain alcohol in some water and washed Ada’s arm with the solution. She spread ointment over her skin and wrapped it in clean, gauzy fabric.
“We’ll start on yours tomorrow,” Jed said to Eli as he and Rosa cleaned up.
While they ate supper with the others, Eli felt empty—drained of all his energy. Ada was the one who had suffered the most that day, but having to watch her relive their time in the rock quarry opened a hole in his center, and everything poured out of him. He wonder how tired Ada must be! He wasn’t surprised when she went to bed early. It didn’t take long for him to follow.
ADA
The Johnsons, who owned the mercantile in town, lived in a beautiful two-story house. Ada tapped their bronze knocker lightly. It was time for the women’s prayer meeting, and she wasn’t sure what to expect. The caravan didn’t set aside a formal time for praying; they didn’t have to because they were always together. If someone needed prayer, they would stop what they were doing and pray as a group. After Ada’s second knock, Nora Johnson opened the door and ushered her to an elegant table spread out with tea cakes, preserves, and a crystal pitcher of rose water.
“Please help yourself to some refreshments and join the women in the sitting room,” Mrs. Johnson said.
Ada poured water for herself and chose a chair in the corner. Glancing around the room, she was disappointed to find that Grace and Hannah were not among the others. “When will Grace Duncan be here?” she asked.
“Oh!” Mrs. Johnson said, shaking her head. “Mrs. Duncan rarely attends. Pastor Duncan holds a meeting for the men as well and insists that she stay to serve them. Hasn’t Eli received an invitation to the men’s meeting?”
“Yes, Marcus invited him when we first moved here,” Ada said. “But he hasn’t mentioned seeing Grace there.”
Mrs. Johnson pursed her lips. “Well, Pastor Duncan would have her stay in the kitchen until the men are ready for their pie,” she stated. Ada noted her condescending emphasis on the propriety of using titles. That tone remained when the woman added, “Perhaps he was too focused on his dessert to notice who had served it.”
As more women arrived, the small talk continued. Mrs. Turner turned to Ada. “I understand Eli is doing odd jobs for Ray Larson,” she said just as Ada lifted her water glass to her mouth. Ada nodded, and Mrs. Turner pressed her mouth into a flat smile. “Hmm…well, I’m sure he must be grateful for the work.”
Nora Johnson clapped her hands quickly to get their attention. “Ladies,” she said, “let’s get started, shall we? Why don’t we start with our newest guest tonight? Ada, do you have anything you would like us to pray for? Please don’t be shy.”
Ada looked up, unprepared. “Oh, let me see,” she said. “I’ve been praying that Eli and I will make some meaningful friendships here.” The group nodded and continued to stare at her, as if expecting her to continue. What else was she supposed to say? She let out a nervous laugh. “That’s all, really. Thank you for praying with me about this.”
“Isn’t there anything else you’d like us to pray for, dear?” Mrs. Turner asked. “Your husband spends more time at the bank than he does at the Larson farm. Perhaps you need financial prayer.”
Ada’s mouth dropped at the woman’s assumption. “I’m sure we’re fine,” she said. “Eli has lunch with David once a week. They get along well and are becoming good friends.” Her eyes darted between their disbelieving gazes.
“Well,” Edith Taylor said, “husbands don’t always tell their wives about their money problems.” She looked at Ada with raised eyebrows.
Mrs. Turner inhaled loudly through her nose. “Oh, Edith, that is so true! Now then, Ada,” she persisted, “you must tell us when you find yourself in need. We will want to know—so we can pray for you, of course.”
Ada’s stomach tightened along with her jaw. She nodded and forced a polite smile. When she remained silent, they moved on to the next woman.
Each of them spoke in great lengths of their prayer requests, most of which included complicated backstories of the people involved. Ada wondered when they were going to finally pray and if she would remember what to pray about when they did. The women listened to each other and shook their heads, asking leading questions. The stories and inquiries went on until Ada realized that many of these women were using their prayer requests as an excuse to gossip.
Their attention soon turned to Helen Blake, whose husband owned the post office. She sighed heavily, preparing to share some troublesome news. “We need to keep Evelyn Russell in our prayers,” she told the curious listeners. Ada scanned the group of women; Evelyn was missing from the circle. Mrs. Blake continued, unable to hide her enjoyment. “The poor woman has just received a telegram. Her son has been sent to prison! She is greatly afflicted and has confined herself to her bed tonight.” The others gasped, lamenting over Evelyn’s trial. Ada didn’t even know her neighbor had a son.
“Oh, dear! What has he done?” Mrs. Martin asked.
Mrs. Blake sat up straight, assuming a well-informed attitude. “Apparently, he started a fight—in a tavern, no less—and beat a man within an inch of his life! He was sent straight to the Middletown Penitentiary and will be there for two years.” The women all patted their chests and shook their heads. Edith Taylor sanctimoniously commented on how embarrassing this was for the entire town.
“Evelyn must be so sad,” Mrs. Martin observed. “Two years is such a long time.”
“Well, it isn’t that long,” Nora Johnson chimed in, “considering he’s been away for longer. I don’t know what I would do if my little Eddie was sent to prison! Just between us ladies, I’m not sure how comfortable I will feel if Evelyn’s son ever does come back. I am so glad Edgar keeps his gun behind the counter at the mercantile!”
Ada was disgusted with Nora’s callous comment. She wondered how Evelyn would feel about what was being said. Her neighbor might be outspoken and narrow-minded, but no one deserved to have their hardships talked of in this heartless manner. Not interested in hearing any more of their gossip, she leaned forward to stand. But then Edith Taylor said something that shocked her even more and caused her to sit back down.
“Goodness! He will probably come out of there all covered in…” Edith stopped short, catching herself. “Um…” She glanced at Ada.
“Tattoos,” Ada finished for her. There was an uncomfortable hush as the women peered around the room. Some looked nervous, while others looked curiously entertained.
“I was going to say scars,” Edith said after a long pause. “A penitentiary is a vicious place, full of violent men.” The silence stretched on until Agnes Miller finally broke it.
“Has Eli ever been in prison?” she asked.
Ada blinked at the brashness of the question. Her stomach flipped this time, and a tired frown dusted the corners of her mouth as a painful memory of the rock quarry cages flashed in her mind. “No, Mrs. Miller,” she whispered, “he has never been in prison.”
The judgmental looks of the women bore holes into her heart. She longed to be anywhere but here. Ada stood and excuse
d herself, promising to take their requests home with her. She would pray about them later. Unfortunately, she was developing a headache and felt as though she ought to leave. Nora Johnson, Edith Taylor, and Agnes Miller raised their eyebrows as they glanced at each other.
“Well, Ada, we hope you feel better soon,” Edith said over her shoulder as Nora walked her to the door. “We’ll be sure to keep you on our prayer list.”
“Thank you,” Ada managed to say and walked out the door.
ELI
The summer was passing quickly. It was already early August, and the evening air was warm and heavy. After leaving Clackton at the end of June, the caravan had traveled first to Westmill and then to Orston before moving on to Linland and beyond. Jed explained to Eli that they would stay at each town for approximately two weeks. They had just arrived at Briggmoore, the second to the last town in their summer market circuit. After that, they would travel to Woodhurst and then home to Oak Springs and the West Woods, where their winter camp was. The West Woods was part of a large property owned by a well-to-do widow. In exchange for living on a corner of her land, the men of the caravan helped the widow’s hired workers with her harvest and other small projects.
As Eli sat with the others by their small cooking fire, he tried not to scratch the newest section of his tattoo. Ada’s had only taken a couple of days to finish, with a week in between, but his was taking longer. He didn’t mind; he liked what Jed was doing. He had used the idea of the plant from Eli’s dream, the one that had started to grow around his wrists, and made it look better than the sketch Eli had drawn to explain it. Jed designed a thick, twisting vine that started on the top of Eli’s hand, close to his wrist, and branched in several places as it spread up the front of his arm and wrapped around the underside.
He was going to make the branches coil together randomly to cover the marks on the inside of Eli’s arm. But one day, Eli confided in Jed that it was hard to believe Jesus was around when their parents were killed or when they had been locked away in those cages. Jed suggested having two of the branches twist together into a cross that covered Eli’s marks. It might help him remember that Christ had never left them alone in their troubles.
Eli agreed, and while Jed pricked the cross into his arm, memories of their time on the run flooded back into his mind. They weren’t the bad memories, though. It was as if God were using his memories to say, “See, I was right there.”
Eli remembered how easy it was to break the bar free from his cage and how well he fit through the space it made. The fact that all the men except one had left the rock quarry on the night of their escape was a detail he couldn’t ignore. He recalled feeling the urgent push to keep moving, and the circumstances around finding the coin raced through his mind. Finally, he remembered the perfect timing of meeting up with the caravan just as they were about to leave Ashbrook.
As Jed worked on his tattoo, he told Eli that Jesus had often used images of vines and branches, as well as crops and harvests, to teach about God. When Jed finished the cross, Eli asked if he could work on his other arm too. Over time, he hoped Jed would continue to add to it, and if he didn’t mind, they could talk more about the things Jesus said. It was Eli’s way of letting Jed know they planned to stay with the caravan.
He started to lightly scratch his arm again, but Ada grabbed his hand. She shook her head at him and smiled. “Don’t scratch,” she reminded him. Eli could see that she was happy, and that encouraged him. She rarely had nightmares anymore, and when she did, she would only sit up and gasp in the dark. The screaming had not returned since the night before their wedding.
He sighed as he looked at the group of people with him. Like Jed, this was their family now—and they were good people. In this peaceful moment, Eli could feel Christ sitting right there among them, and he didn’t need to look at his tattoo to know it was true. He felt himself relax for the first time in months. Maybe he and Ada were finally safe.
DAVID
David Holden locked the bank doors at three o’clock every weekday. After three, he would take off his banker’s hat and put on his accountant’s hat. He and his son Daniel managed the books for most of the farms in East Haven, including the Larson and Miller farms. It took many hours to balance ledgers, fill out purchase orders, track wages paid, and record accounts received—each with three hand-written copies. Father and son rarely left the office before six o’clock, but neither of them minded working the late hours. David’s wife had passed away several years ago, so there was no need to hurry home.
Despite the long hours, there was always a rush to finish the paperwork at the end of the week. So, on Fridays, David hid in his office all day and only took a break during the lunch hour, which he usually spent with Eli Gardner. Daniel worked with the customers while his father was in his office, and he knew not to disturb him until Eli’s arrival.
David looked forward to their weekly lunch; he had liked the young man from the moment they met. Both Eli and his wife displayed an enjoyable blend of excitement and politeness when David showed them the Colebrook house. He didn’t care about their eccentric style; he liked the couple. After deciding to buy the house, they went back to David’s office to talk about payment options and fill out some forms. He could easily see Eli’s tattoos but didn’t even bat an eye. Tattoos were nothing new to him.
David grew up in a small town similar to East Haven, but he had moved to a busy port city when he attended the university. After finishing his education, his first banking job was in that same city. Many of his customers were sailors, and they almost always had several tattoos. He could tell, though, that Eli was not a sailor. He also knew that the young couple was not easily defined by normal standards. In some ways it seemed as though they had a small-town feel to them, but maybe that was from their earlier past—surely not recently. He did know, however, that they were not from a large city either. During their first meeting, he couldn’t quite put a finger on what made the Gardners so unique. But there was definitely something different about them, and David delighted in it.
When Eli returned on the following Thursday to pick up his house key, he brought the information David needed to transfer his account from Bradford’s bank to East Haven’s bank. While the men conducted their business, Ada walked across the street to the mercantile to buy a few items for their pantry. After she had left, Eli hesitated, not wanting to hand over the account ledger that Harold Ross had provided.
“David,” he said with a slight furrow on his brow. “When I decided to buy my wife a house, I asked Mr. Ross to recommend some towns with good banks owned by decent men. You were at the top of his list. He told me you run your bank honestly and efficiently. He also said you know how to be discreet.” He continued to hold onto his paperwork. “I would like to know if he was right. I already come into this town with a disadvantage. I know what people will think of me, and I know what I’m asking my wife to endure by moving here. I don’t want to give the town any more reason to judge me.”
David assured him that he was bound to privacy, not only legally but morally as well. It wouldn’t have made a difference to him what kind of mess was on that ledger; he was unquestionably impressed by Eli’s straightforward and honest manner. No matter what challenges the young man faced, he had good character. From that day forward David considered him a friend, and when they started to have lunch together on Fridays, their friendship grew.
Eli told him about their time with the merchant caravan. It sounded like an interesting life and was probably what made the young couple seem so unusual. Living in such a close and dependent community gave the Gardners an ease with others that David found refreshing. Perhaps this relaxed and informal manner had contributed to why they were so misunderstood. Personally, he felt comfortable around Eli’s casual nature; it was the reason they had become friends so quickly.
It was now eleven o’clock and there was a light tap on David’s door. After opening it, he greeted Eli with a handshake. From the doorway, he c
ould see the counter where his son was working. John Miller was there, making his weekly withdrawal four hours earlier than usual.
David nodded at the farmer. “Good morning, Mr. Miller. You’re here early.”
“Yeah, well, I have to pick up some supplies in White Falls,” John explained. “And as you know, it’s payday. I want to make sure my men get their wages before I head out.” He paused as he peered at David’s guest. “Eli,” he said, nodding coolly. “Didn’t expect to see you here. I thought you were working for Ray Larson these days. Guess he ran out of work for you.”
“No, I’m still working with Ray. I was there earlier.” Eli replied.
“Oh? I didn’t realize the workday was already over,” John said. “But then, Ray has always been more laid-back with his hired help than I am with mine. A little too laid-back, if you ask me. I sure could show him a few things about efficiency that would put some profit back in his pocket. It’s too bad he’s so set in his ways.”
“Ray’s a good employer,” Eli said. “His men appreciate working for him, and they keep his farm running well. I’m heading back this afternoon.”
“Well, you’re pretty lucky to have such a long lunch break, aren’t you? Especially if he’s paying you daily wages.” John made a subtle scoffing noise as he dismissed Eli and turned his attention back to Daniel.
Eli looked as though he might say something but chose to remain silent. He watched John for a moment longer before shaking his head and turning away.
“Have a good afternoon, David,” John called over his shoulder to the banker only.
“You too, Mr. Miller.” He motioned Eli into his office. After closing the door, David glanced at his friend. “John doesn’t like you,” he pointed out.
Eli laughed. “No, he sure doesn’t, but I don’t really care…and besides,” he said, changing the subject with a grin, “Ada packed us some cookies.”
“Ah, your wife is very thoughtful!” David replied as they walked to his desk. “Now, let’s see those cookies.”
Painted Vessels Page 10
