The Lord chastises those he loves. Another of her father’s oft-repeated verses. Her father was quick with punishment in the face of the smallest infraction. Carlyn had learned early to stay beyond his reach. To hide away from his sight. At times she wanted to do the same with God, even though she knew such was not possible.
But Ambrose had introduced her to a gentler faith. One where God was love. An ever-present help in trouble. She could embrace that vision of God when she was with Ambrose, but it leaked away without his strong presence beside her. If the Lord was a help in trouble, then why wasn’t he helping her now? Why hadn’t he let Ambrose come home?
Carlyn looked up at the sky, blue as Ambrose’s eyes when he told her goodbye. Blue as the dresses of those odd Shaker women in the village a few miles down the road. Those women who never married. Her father had railed against them as heathens who rebelled against the natural order of life and God’s instructions to go forth and be fruitful. Not only that, the Shakers danced in church.
The thought of that amazed Carlyn. What kind of church would encourage, even compel dancing? No church she’d ever sat in to hear a sermon. At those churches, dancing was roundly condemned as leading one down a sinful path to certain destruction. Akin to drunkenness, card playing, and other riotous living. And yet, the Shakers danced in their worship. Or so it was said.
When her father ranted about the Shakers’ odd religious ways, Carlyn had tried to imagine the people in their church dancing. Wouldn’t the pews be in the way? Did they dance on them? The very idea of that seemed too weird to consider. But the aisle would allow only a few jigging feet and surely no one would be so blasphemous as to dance around the pulpit. Yet, her father claimed even the Shaker preachers stomped and spun and shook.
Her father had been known to stomp his foot from time to time or pound on the pulpit to keep his listeners awake, but he declared in no uncertain terms that he’d never give his feet over to the devil for dancing. Feet were for walking the somber path of service and staying on the road of “thou shalt nots.”
Once, while reading the Bible, Carlyn had come across the verses in Second Samuel that said King David danced as the Ark of the Covenant was carried into the City of David. He whirled and leaped, but nowhere did Carlyn see where the Lord condemned that. So could it be the Lord didn’t mind holy dancing? Maybe that was the kind of dancing the Shakers did.
Carlyn mulled over that for weeks before she found the courage to ask her father about King David’s dance. As soon as the words were out in the air between them, her father’s face tightened into a thunderous frown. Carlyn’s mouth went dry and her legs trembled. She could do nothing but stand and wait for judgment to fall down on her.
“It is sinful to search the Scripture to pull verses out of context in a vain attempt to excuse sin.” Her father’s voice was that of condemnation from the pulpit. “Is that what you have done, daughter?”
She inched back from him, but he reached out, gripped her shoulder with his bony fingers, and pulled her closer to him. His angry breath wrapped around her. His eyes demanded an answer.
“N-no,” she stammered.
Across the room, her mother looked up from her sewing and surprised Carlyn by coming to her defense. “The child simply asked a question about something she read in the Bible, Joshua.”
Her father’s left eyelid twitched then, a signal that normally would send Carlyn running for a hiding place, but his hand still gripped her shoulder. He lifted his head to stare at his wife. Out of the corner of her eyes, Carlyn could see her mother looking back at him. Not with anger, but a resigned weariness.
“Wife, do not encourage wrong thinking in our offspring. There is much the female brain cannot comprehend. It is best to leave interpretation of the Scripture to those chosen by the Lord for understanding.” He glared at Carlyn’s mother until she looked back down at her sewing, her sigh audible across the room.
At the sound, her father’s fingers tightened on Carlyn’s shoulder and his eyes bored into her. “You have asked your question for wrong motives, but I will explain.” His voice was stern. “King David was a sinful man, who gave into lustful desires and was punished for his sins.”
A new question tickled through Carlyn’s brain. How, if that was so, could King David be a man after God’s own heart? She’d heard her father say that, and other preachers too. But didn’t her father also say how much God hated sin? And what about all those psalms David wrote? Could that kind of praise be written by a man lusting after sin?
But she bit her lip and stayed silent. Her father’s eyelid continued to twitch even as he narrowed his eyes on her and went on in a voice too calm. “You’d best copy out the Ten Commandments fifty times so that you can remember the way to act. Think hard on that one about honoring your father and mother.”
Carlyn breathed a little easier then in hopes he would forget his anger at her mother speaking up. “Yes sir,” she managed.
He shook her so hard she lost her balance and fell against the table next to him when he let go. The candle spilled over, the flame catching in her hair. She beat at her head while her father watched without moving to help. With a shriek, her mother dropped her sewing and raced across the room to smother the flames with her hands.
Her mother pulled Carlyn close then against her bosom and held her as she hadn’t for years. “Would you sit there and let our child burn?” She seemed to almost strangle on the words.
“She lost naught but a bit of hair. It is well to remember that the fires of hell will be a thousand times hotter than any fire here on earth. Our daughter needs to learn not to reach beyond herself.” He turned his eyes back to his Bible. “Now leave me to my studies. I must be prepared to save souls.”
The next day after he rode away to yet another circuit of preaching, her mother sat Carlyn down in a chair on the porch to trim the burnt ends from her hair. After she trimmed a little here and there, she sighed. “Best just cut it short.” She grabbed the hair that had escaped the flame and snipped it off to match that burnt away. “If it doesn’t grow out before your father comes back from his journeys, you’d best stay out of his sight or wear a bonnet to hide your head. He won’t be pleased. The Bible says a woman’s hair is her glory.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Carlyn blinked back tears as she felt her mother cut off another hank of hair. The kids at church would be sure to make fun of her with hair cut like a boy’s. Maybe it would be best to stay out of sight of everybody.
Her mother gently combed back her hair and then let her hand linger on Carlyn’s head. She was not a woman given to affectionate gestures. Life was hard and had to be faced with steely determination. But now her voice gentled. “It would be best if you didn’t question the Scripture to your father.”
“Is it wrong to have questions?” Carlyn asked timidly.
“No. I think not. “
“Then who can I go to for answers?” Carlyn turned her head a bit to look at her mother. “You?”
“I have few answers.” Her mother began combing Carlyn’s hair again. “But there is one you can always ask.”
“Who?”
“The Lord. He will supply every answer you need.”
Whining softly, Asher bumped his cold nose against her hand to bring Carlyn away from her memory and back to the problem at hand. She would not willingly go back to live under her father’s roof, even if his house were still just down the road instead of in Texas.
Carlyn stared out at the empty road and spoke aloud. “I’m asking, Lord. What am I to do?”
She stood very still as though she expected to hear a voice falling down from heaven, but all was silent. All but the thump of Asher’s tail against the chair behind them. The chair the sheriff had pushed under her when she felt faint.
Carlyn let out a sigh and went out the door and around the house to the garden spot. Whether she would eat the beans or not, they needed picking. It was not good to let food go to waste. She could carry them to church in the morning. Pe
rhaps someone there needed a servant. She almost smiled at the thought. No one in their church had that kind of money. Then again, they might give her a cot in the corner of the kitchen in exchange for her labor.
The Lord will supply every answer you need.
4
Sunday morning Carlyn woke early to be sure she got to church on time. The church house was only four miles down the road. An easy walk. The hard part was going without Asher. Always before, he went along and waited outside the church. Then last month, one of the boys had pulled his tail and gone crying to his mother when Asher rumbled a warning at him.
The preacher came to her house the next week to ban Asher from the churchyard.
“I realize he’s probably harmless.” Reverend Baskin looked at Asher, but made no move to pet him even though Asher was right beside him, wagging his tail, friendly as anything. “But he is a big dog, and seeing him there by the church steps makes folks nervous. We can’t have people being nervous about coming to church.”
She hadn’t been to church since. Not because of Asher. She’d not felt well that one Sunday. Then it had rained the following Sunday. Four miles was a long way to walk in the rain. And after missing two Sundays, it just seemed easier to stay home the following Sunday too and read her Bible at the kitchen table with Asher stretched out on the floor beside her.
Not forsaking the assembling of ourselves together. That bit of Scripture from Hebrews had circled in her mind, but she wasn’t forsaking going to church forever. Just for a few Sundays. Just until she figured out how to keep Asher from following her.
“We’ll have to figure it out today.” Carlyn looked at him in the mirror as she twisted her hair into a bun. “I won’t be gone that long, but I can’t not go.”
Asher tilted his head as though asking why.
“You know why. Curt Whitlow is why.” She shut her eyes and pulled in a breath. “No, that’s not fair. Money is why. Our lack of it.”
As if the dog had any pockets for money. But he knew when she was bothered. He whined and nudged his nose against her leg.
“You’ll be fine here in the house.” Carlyn glanced at the clock and settled her bonnet on her head. “I have to go. To see if the Lord will supply an answer to our dilemma.”
She needed an answer and soon. The sheriff would be back. It was his duty. But even if he didn’t come, Curt Whitlow would be there. He’d give her another chance to surrender herself to him or, failing that, vacate his house.
Asher’s tail thumped against the washstand. He followed her to the door, but when she held her palm out toward him to stay, his ears flattened against his head as if she had struck him.
“You can’t go. Stay here and pray.”
She shook her head at her foolishness in suggesting Asher pray. She should be the one praying, but she felt empty of prayers. Empty of faith that she would find an answer or at least an answer easy to accept. Besides, no matter how her father had preached on the sinfulness of pride and no matter how much she believed that preaching was backed up by Scripture, she still did not want to stand in front of the church and admit her dire straits.
She sighed and rubbed Asher’s head. “Would that I could stay here with you, but what other choice do I have other than begging for help?”
She pulled the door shut on the dog’s sad eyes. He would be fine. But how fine would she be?
At least the sun had come up bright, promising yet another day of summer before autumn appeared. But here and there leaves were going brown. No color yet. Not enough chill in the night air to begin that cycle.
Life was a series of cycles. Some good turns. Some not. But it went on. She had to go on too, putting one foot in front of the other even if despair trailed along with her on this day. If only Ambrose were there beside her.
She pushed away thoughts of Ambrose. While she couldn’t desert her marriage vows until she knew for sure what had happened to him, neither could she deny the truth that he might never walk beside her again. The war was long over. Maybe she should quit fighting the title Widow Kearney and accept it, at least while she was appealing for charity. After all, the Bible did say helping widows and orphans was a Christian duty.
Even thinking that felt like a betrayal of Ambrose, as though keeping him alive in her mind insured he was still breathing somewhere in the South. She sighed. Wherever he was, the thing she could be surest about was that he was not there with her.
It was best to stop wishing for what wasn’t and think about who might be at the church. Would the Lord point out one of them as her answer? She considered the Jacksons. Every Sunday one or another of the seven Jackson children sat in her lap or leaned against her shoulder. Mrs. Jackson might offer to take her in, but the family was barely getting by. Carlyn could not take their children’s food.
There was the preacher, a man of God sworn to help his sheep. She thought of her own father. He’d had little time for temporal needs. Worry not about feeding the body. Feed the spirit. That would be his answer. Reverend Baskin seemed more understanding about physical needs, but even if he were of a mind to help Carlyn, his wife wouldn’t allow it. She came from a big city to the north and didn’t bother hiding her disdain for the country ways of the local women.
One by one, Carlyn went through the names of the people at church and mentally crossed off each and every one for some reason or other. It was useless. The Lord had no answer for her. She hadn’t prayed enough. Hadn’t had faith enough. Could this be the Lord’s punishment on her? But Ambrose had always believed. He was forever pointing out the blessings of the Lord. His faith should have protected him.
She quickened her pace. If she kept dawdling, she wouldn’t get to church until the preacher was ending his sermon. But that might be best. She wasn’t sure she could sit through the worship hour as though this was a Sunday like any other.
Deep in thought, she failed to hear the horse behind her until it was almost upon her.
“Shouldn’t you be packing?”
She spun around to see Curt Whitlow urging his horse toward Carlyn. She looked for an escape. But the ditch beside the road was deep, and she couldn’t outrun his horse, even if it was overburdened with Curt’s weight. So she kept her feet planted at the edge of the road. Curt turned the horse until he was looming directly over her, his bulk blocking the sunlight.
She backed up a step to the very lip of the ditch. That made her feel off balance. That and not having her gun or Asher with her.
“It’s Sunday.” She was relieved her voice came out without a tremble. “A day of rest and worship.”
“So the preachers would have us believe.”
“And the Bible. ‘Remember the Sabbath day to keep it holy.’” She stared up at him and wished him gone. “You do read the Bible, don’t you?”
“You have doubt of that?” He laughed and didn’t wait for her answer. “Of course I do. It says when your ox is in the ditch you can break the Sabbath to rescue it.”
“You have no ox in a ditch.” Carlyn let her eyes drift from him for a second to seek an escape. She could leap into the ditch if necessary, but her dress would be the worse for it. She couldn’t show up at church in a mud-covered dress. Perhaps it would be best to simply walk on in spite of the horse so near she could feel its warmth. She did not like thinking about being that close to Curt.
“Oh, but I do. A very lovely ox.”
“Then I’ll leave you to rescue it.” She pretended not to know what he meant as she started on up the road.
He walked his horse beside her, pushing her closer to the ditch that was getting deeper the farther up the road they went. Suddenly Curt yanked the reins to turn his horse in front of Carlyn. She had no recourse but to stop.
“I really must get to church.”
“I can give you a ride.” He was a wall she couldn’t get past.
“I prefer to walk.” She stepped back to move around his horse, but Curt swung his leg over to dismount directly in front of her. He was more of an obsta
cle than his horse.
“I can give you so much, lovely Carlyn. A woman like you shouldn’t be alone.” He reached to touch her face.
Carlyn knocked his hand away. “Go home and take your wife and children to church.”
He laughed then, entirely too sure of himself. “The missus knows I have many business opportunities that keep me occupied. She is accustomed to getting to church on her own.”
Carlyn gave him a cold stare. “As am I. So please step aside.”
Instead he moved closer. “You look a little desperate, my dear. Are you thinking if you can only get to the church house, you will find help for your problems?”
“The Lord is a present help in trouble.” Carlyn held her ground even though everything in her was screaming to run.
“That is what the preachers tell us. But if you think I’m your trouble, you are so wrong. I am the answer to your troubles. I am your help, Carlyn.”
The smile lingering on his face made her insides clinch. She would have to jump in the ditch to get away from him. Then again, surely he wouldn’t attack her in broad daylight.
“I think not.” She backed a step away from him. The ground on the lip of the ditch felt soft under her feet.
“You’re not afraid of me, are you, Carlyn? I don’t want to hurt you. Only help you. All you have to do is be nice to me.”
“Shall I bake you an apple pie, then?”
“I was thinking of something a bit more interesting than that.” His smile broadened into a leer. “A few favors. That’s all I’m asking. No one else has to know. I’ll tell the sheriff I was convicted that it was my Christian duty to be generous to a widow.”
He reached toward her again. She leaned away from him. “Don’t touch me.” She put force behind the words.
“But I want to, and I get what I want. Always.”
The Innocent Page 3
