by Judith Pella
The first day of the meetings Benjamin preached two services, both with rousing sermons on repentance, exhorting the people to give up their evil ways and come to God. He felt at times as if he were speaking to a wall. Faces stared stonily back at him, appearing to have no concept of their precarious position on the edge of eternity. The only excitement roused that day was when five Indians showed up.
Several women screamed, and one fainted. The men were obviously regretful they had not been allowed to carry their guns into the service. Benjamin had seen only a few Indians during his travels, and those from a distance. What he knew of the Indian population of Texas was that the two tribes thought to be the most dangerous—Apache and Comanche—were far to the west in regions largely unsettled. The tribes here in the eastern settled regions were for the most part peaceful.
John Hunter sidled up to Benjamin. “They ain’t Tonkawas.” Benjamin knew the Tonkawas were a rather docile tribe who did little more mischief than steal and drink whiskey. “I think they’re Karankawas, though they are a mite far from their usual habitat along the coast. But they sure smell like Karankawas.”
Benjamin had noted a sickening odor emanating from the new arrivals. “What is that smell?”
“They rub their bodies with fish oil as protection from mosquitoes.”
The smell, of course, was the least of Benjamin’s concerns even if it was the most pungent. “Are they dangerous?”
“They ain’t as hostile as the Apache, but they ain’t the most friendly, either. It’s said they are cannibals.” But in response to Benjamin’s shocked expression, Hunter added quickly, “They won’t do nothing in a crowd like this.”
Because of his place of leadership—and also because he knew he had the most to lose if the meeting broke up—Benjamin strode boldly up to the Indians.
“Do you speak English?” he asked.
“Speak white man’s tongue,” said one, a tall, stately man, though all the Indians were quite tall.
“You are welcome to join us.”
“You have party?”
“This is a church service.” Benjamin had never felt a calling to minister to the Indians in Texas. For the most part, his hands were so full with the needs of the whites that he simply had no time to consider the dark-skinned residents. But he certainly was not opposed to converting a few natives. Perhaps they would be more receptive to the Word of God than the lackadaisical settlers. He added, “Sit down and hear the Word of God.”
The Indian said something to his companions in their language, then the group sat on the ground, keeping at the edge of the gathering. Several of those nearest the Indians scooted discreetly away from the visitors.
After assuring everyone that there was no need for alarm, Benjamin continued with his program, pausing in his sermon to lead the group in a few hymns before getting back to preaching.
Whether it was the disruption and distraction of the Indians or simply the ambivalence of his audience, he felt the day was a complete disappointment. He had only two converts.
Benjamin prayed and fasted all that night, and when the gathering came together the next day, he felt in top form. The Indians had returned, but by now the people had grown accustomed to them and no longer feared them. Nevertheless, Benjamin made sure his audience had more to capture their attention than a few Indians. That day he delivered what he believed was the most inspired sermon of his life.
“ ‘O generation of vipers, who hath warned you to flee from the wrath to come?’ ” Benjamin waved his worn black Bible in the air as he quoted from memory the Scripture. “ ‘Bring forth therefore fruits meet for repentance. And think not to say within yourselves, We have Abraham to our father: for I say unto you, that God is able of these stones to raise up children unto Abraham.
“ ‘And now also the ax is laid unto the root of the trees: therefore every tree which bringeth not forth good fruit is hewn down, and cast into the fire.’ ” He laid great emphasis on the word fire, and his voice shook.
He spent the next two hours in that vein, expounding on the fires of hell, the wrath of God, and the prospects of eternal damnation. He went on delivering Scriptures and impassioned speech until his voice became raw. Only then did he let the people have a break, but they were called back after the briefest of midday meals, and he continued his harangue for another two hours.
He was trembling with exhaustion by the time night fell, but when he delivered the altar call, twenty people came forward. Many were weeping; two were slain in the Spirit; even the Indians seemed excited, though none came forward. It was the kind of day Benjamin and every preacher dreamed of. He felt he stood at the very threshold of eternity. These people had come face-to-face with the wrath of God in the person of Benjamin Sinclair and had turned from their wicked ways.
CHAPTER
20
NO ONE CAME RUNNING OUT into the yard to greet Benjamin when he rode up to his cabin. He was alone, having sent Micah home with John Hunter after the revival so that Benjamin could continue his circuit and visit those who had failed to attend the meetings.
A stream of smoke belched from the cabin chimney, so he knew they must be home. He would have thought at least someone might have come to the door to see who was approaching. Perhaps something was wrong.
Quickly dismounting and tethering his horse, he hurried to the cabin and threw open the door. He was greeted by a scene of quiet tranquility. Rebekah was bent over the hearth stirring a kettle. Isabel was playing with her doll in a corner, and Leah was lying peacefully in her cradle. Only Micah was missing.
Rebekah straightened her back. “Oh, you are home.” There was no smile, no warmth, hardly even a greeting in the statement of pure fact.
“Yes.” He bit back any words about his welcome, or lack thereof. He put his rifle up in the rack under the one he had left for his family, then he strode to Isabel, bent down, and kissed her cheek. “Your papa is home.”
Her brow knit, as if she wasn’t quite certain what kind of response was expected, then said quietly, “Hello, Papa.”
He did the same with Leah and was pleased to note that she appeared to be thriving. Then he approached his wife, secretly and somewhat bitterly hoping she noted her place in the succession of his greetings.
“That smells good.” He leaned over the kettle, inhaling. “What is it?”
“Stew.”
“After days of hardtack and jerky, it will be welcome.”
“Your parishioners didn’t feed you?” Finally she was making conversation, albeit stiff and stilted.
“Yes, occasionally, but no one’s cooking compares to yours, Rebekah.” He made his tone gentle, hoping somehow to break through the barriers between them.
“It will be ready soon. You have time to wash the dust of the trail off first.”
“Where’s Micah?” He poured water from a pail into a basin and, after stripping off his coat and waistcoat, began to wash.
“He found a grove of pecans and has been checking daily to see when they will ripen.”
“Very industrious of him.” Benjamin took a towel and wiped his hands and face.
“How good that you approve.” Her tone was still cool.
Ten silent minutes later, Micah returned. His greeting mirrored his mother’s, respectful, reserved, distant. Benjamin tried to bridge the gap between them by telling stories of his experiences on the circuit, but he stopped when there was little response from his listeners. There was not even enthusiasm over his successful camp meeting. Micah acted as if he hadn’t been there.
Benjamin ached inside. He could hardly eat the meal set before him but forced it down so as not to offend further. Afterward, Rebekah told Micah and Isabel to take the pail to the creek for more water. It was immediately obvious Rebekah wanted to speak with him alone.
She sat down heavily on the bench by the table. “I’m pregnant,” she said flatly.
“You are sure?” Though lame, he could think of no other response. Any enthusiasm on his part w
ould surely have been tossed back in his face.
“Of course I am sure.”
He tried to think of some way to comfort her. “Rebekah, the Word of God says that a quiver full of arrows is a blessing—”
“Don’t preach to me, Benjamin Sinclair! I’ve had enough of your sanctimonious blatherings.” She jumped up. “The only blessing will be if I die giving birth to this baby.”
“Rebekah—!”
At that moment a racket outside interrupted his impending rebuke.
“Mama! Papa! Look who’s here!” Micah’s tone was full of a glee that had never been bestowed upon Benjamin.
The door burst open, and three figures bounded into view.
“Uncle Haden’s here!” piped in Isabel, ending with a giggle as the object of her announcement caught her up in his arms and gave her a tickle.
Haden Sinclair made quite a picture standing in the doorway of Benjamin’s cabin; Isabel was tucked under one arm, laughing, and Micah stood at the man’s side, grinning. Benjamin swallowed back the bitter taste of gall in his throat.
“Haden.” Benjamin rose and held out his hand in a formal but polite greeting.
Haden took the hand, then jerked his brother into an exuberant bear hug. “Dad burn, if you aren’t all a sight!”
“Haden, please!” Benjamin said, scolding his brother’s profanity.
“Oh . . . I’m sorry. Been out in the wilderness so long, I’ve forgotten how to act with civilized folk. But boy, have I the stories to tell.”
“Tell, tell, Uncle Haden!” urged both children.
“Later, children, I’m sure Uncle Haden must be starved,” Rebekah said, also offering the man a smile, which Benjamin drank in, even if it were not meant for him.
“I could eat a horse, but not before I get a hug from my favorite sister-in-law." He took Rebekah in his arms and swung her up off her feet.
Rebekah tittered. The small glow in her eye seemed not to belong to the woman who only moments before had declared she wished to die.
Haden finished off the stew and told stories for over an hour. Everyone, even Benjamin, listened avidly. Haden Sinclair had been exploring places few white men had ever seen.
“I went as far west as a place called Palo Duro Canyon. Most of the Indians there ain’t never seen a white man.”
“You really seen Indians?” Micah asked. His own encounter with Indians at the camp meeting must have faded from his memory.
“Comanche. And they aren’t like the Indians around here. They are mean—” A sharp look from Benjamin forced Haden to rephrase his words. “They are wild and tough. They were too curious about us to fight us, but I pity the whites when the Comanche do decide to fight.”
“If I recall my geography,” Benjamin said, “the Palo Duro is so far west it is doubtful any white settlers will venture there.”
“Don’t bet on it, Ben.” Haden was the only person who got away with the use of that nickname. “Soon as Texas is independent of Mexico, I don’t doubt Americans will start pouring in. And they will press west. That’s just the nature of men with adventure in their blood.”
“Do you think independence is imminent?”
“When I passed through San Felipe and Brazoria, it was all the talk. Won’t be long.”
“But Austin supports conciliation and appeasement toward Mexico.” Benjamin had also heard much talk on the subject as he traveled his circuit.
“Prison is likely to change his tune. But if it doesn’t, there are men in the colony who will take up arms anyway. Bill Travis is a strong leader and proponent of independence. Ever hear of Sam Houston?”
“Yes, I’ve heard the name. Never met him.”
“There’s the man to watch. An Indian fighter and seasoned military man. Bureaucrats like Austin have had their day. Now it’s time for them to stand aside for men like Houston and Travis. Texas is destined to be free, and it isn’t going to happen on paper. Santa Anna will fight to hang on to Texas.”
“For once I agree with you, Haden. Texas must be liberated from Papist tyranny.”
Haden laughed. “Knew you’d find a way to put a religious bent to it, Ben!”
“Uncle Haden,” put in Micah, obviously growing bored with talk of politics, “you said when you first came that you had some presents.”
“That I did, boy. Why don’t you run out and fetch my saddlebags?”
“Wait, Micah,” Benjamin said. “Perhaps the presents can wait until morning. It is well past your bedtime.”
“But Papa—”
“Don’t talk back, Micah.”
“Come on, Ben!” Haden countered. “Ease up a little. Presents can’t wait. Especially when I have just ridden miles upon miles to bring them.”
Benjamin shrugged and nodded his consent. What else could he do? He already felt like a stranger in his own house. He didn’t like adding villain to that as well.
The presents were distributed. A real Comanche tomahawk for Micah. “I had to trade my canteen for that—in the middle of a desert!” A beaded Indian necklace for Isabel. “A Comanche princess gave this to me to thank me ’cause I helped her carry water. Comanche men don’t ever help their women.” For Rebekah, he had a pouch of thread and a new thimble. “The store clerk in San Felipe said he heard you say you were low on thread.” Then he turned to Benjamin. “This is for you, bro. It’s a medicine pouch I got from the tribe shaman. Thought you two had a lot in common.” His grin revealed he was making sport of Benjamin.
Benjamin grimaced at the pagan item. He felt like tossing it directly into the fire. But he knew his brother would ridicule him for that as well, and he simply did not have the heart for it at the moment. So he shoved it carelessly aside and took his cup of coffee in hand.
After receiving joyful hugs from the children, Haden shooed them off to their beds in the corner of the cabin. The adults continued to talk in low tones.
“I didn’t know about the new baby,” Haden said, “or I would have brought her a present.”
“She wouldn’t be able to appreciate it now anyway,” Rebekah replied. She went to the cradle and lifted Leah, who had begun to stir.
“I’ll bring something next time I visit.”
“Then bring something for two.” Rebekah’s eyes skittered toward Benjamin, then turned quickly away. She concentrated on Leah.
“Two?” Haden grinned. “You have another on the way?”
Rebekah nodded.
“Well, well, well . . .” He slanted a sly glance at Benjamin. “You don’t like to waste time, do you, brother?”
Benjamin jerked to his feet. “I better bed the horses down for the night. I’ll see to yours also, Haden.”
Benjamin was outside only a few minutes when Haden joined him.
“Here, let me give you a hand,” he said.
Benjamin was in the roughly fashioned enclosure for the horses not far from the cabin. It had three walls and a flat roof with a split rail gate across the open wall. He had led both his and Haden’s horses inside and was removing the bridle from Haden’s chestnut mount.
“I hope to build a proper stable soon.” Benjamin laid aside the bridle and took a brush and began running it along the flank of the horse.
“I can stick around for a while. Be glad to help.”
“I wouldn’t want to keep you from your adventures, Haden.”
“Talk about adventures!” Either Haden had not heard the ire in Benjamin’s tone, or he was ignoring it. “Was I surprised to learn you had come to Texas! Didn’t ever think you’d do it, Ben. Guess you’ve got a streak of adventurer in you, too, eh?”
“I came in response to the call of God.”
“Sure, if that’s how you have to put it.”
“What does that mean?” Benjamin’s ire was now too apparent for anyone to ignore.
With a responding sneer, Haden replied, “It makes it easier for you to justify dragging Rebekah all this way against her will.”
“What do you know?” Benjamin snapped. H
e’d nearly had enough of wonderful Uncle Haden.
“It’s plain to see she is unhappy. And then to be pregnant again so soon. What were you thinking, Ben? Do you realize what it will be like for a woman like Rebekah to give birth out here in the wilderness?”
“And you, who never made a proper commitment in your life, are such an expert on women!” The chestnut twitched restively under Benjamin’s too vigorous brushing.
“Give me that brush!” Haden grabbed the brush, then cooing gently in the animal’s ear, brushed with gentler strokes.
“And a horse expert to boot!” Benjamin mumbled.
“Ben . . .” Sighing, Haden stopped his work and turned toward his brother, gazing not with anger but rather with expansive benevolence. “Come down off that high horse of yours, will you? You and I used to be friends, remember? We used to raise Cain together.”
Benjamin remembered well the days of his youth, and if he chanced to think of them fondly, he reminded himself that they had been days of godless frivolity. For a time he had rebelled with Haden against their father’s iron hand, but at least he had finally repaired his wayward instincts. If he longed for the close relationship he’d once had with his brother, he quickly reminded himself of the scriptural adjuration not to be unequally yoked to an unbeliever.
“I remember, Haden. I remember because it makes me appreciate all the more the deliverance of God—”
“Forget God!”
“I’ll not stand for blasphemy, not from you, not from—” He stopped, reddening as he recalled the painful exchange with his wife.
“From who, Ben? Not Rebekah!” Now the benevolence turned to unabashed pity. “Oh, Ben, what’s happened to you?”
“Don’t you dare use such a tone with me!” Benjamin ordered. “I am not the one to be pitied. What happened to me is wonderful, glorious. I’ve been saved, sanctified, and delivered. It is you who should be pitied—and Rebekah if she continues upon her road of rebellion. You are lost, Haden. And what is worse, you don’t even care.”
