She crossed her arms.
Cousin Katy put her hand on Deborah’s shoulder. “Thee seems troubled.”
She breathed deeply and let it out. “I am wondering. … Would the Lord redeem even someone like him?”
Cousin Katy gasped. She put her hand over her heart and stared at Deborah.
Friend Coffin glanced up from the fireside. “Tell us thy mind, Deborah.”
The slave hunter’s conscience must be seared as hard and black as coal. “Perhaps drowning is the Lord’s judgment on him for his evil ways—and should he recover, he knows all about thy affairs.”
Friend Coffin shook his head. “I’m sure the Lord would want to redeem this man, but will he accept the Lord’s grace? If he lives. We should pray that the Lord’s good, acceptable, and perfect will comes to pass in this young man’s life.” He stood and gazed into Deborah’s eyes. “In all of our lives.”
She looked down at the clean clothes she’d wadded into a ball. She nodded as she smoothed out the linsey-woolsey shirt and pants and hung them over the fire screen. “I’ll take his wet clothes if I may.”
Someone pounded at the door then opened it. “I brought the doctor,” Pa said, stamping snow from his feet.
Friend Hiatt followed Pa. His brow furrowed at the sight of the injured man.
Deborah took their coats and hats then put the stranger’s dripping clothes in a basket. His riding coat alone would have weighed him down. Pounds and pounds of wool soaked with water and mud made her arm ache.
The doctor got down on the floor by the victim. “Yes, yes, keep him warm.” He looked up at Friend Coffin for a moment while assembling his stethoscope, a wooden trumpet-shaped instrument. “We could write an article for the medical journals about reviving patients from exposure, Friends.”
“Yes indeed.”
He went to work, leaning over the patient and listening. He nodded. “Wonder of wonders. Heart is still beating.” He shook his head. “A great deal of fluid in the lungs.” He used his thumb to gently raise one eyelid. “Ah. The pupil still contracts. Good sign. Friend Coffin, he needs a warm bed as soon as one can be prepared. Hot water bottles, too. Does anyone know if the horse trampled him? There is something amiss with his knee.”
“It’s anyone’s guess,” one of the runaways said. “Didn’t see the horse after they fell.”
Deborah shivered. That beautiful mare had been swept away in the flood? And the man nearly drowned. No matter who suffered that end, it would’ve been cold and terrifying.
Pa took her arm. “These fellows and I want to try to cross the creek again. I expect we can cross south of town. Out of our way, but we can make it over.”
Cousin Katy looked troubled. “Thee’s welcome to spend the night.”
Deborah hoped Pa and the others would stay here. Traveling by the morning light would be so much safer. She added up how many that would be for breakfast: Levi and Cousin Katy Coffin, their three girls, Grandmother Coffin, herself, Pa, two fugitives, and the slave hunter, if he survived. Eleven for breakfast. Cornmeal mush would work out the best.
Pa shook his head. “I have too much to do at the farm. I appreciate the offer though.”
Deborah put down the clothes basket and leaned against him for a moment. “Thee has had quite a trip. Take care. Give my love to Mama.”
He nodded, putting one arm around her. “I know thee likes working here. Just now is the first time thee has seemed troubled.”
Deborah sighed. “I’ve been exercised over the wisdom of helping such a one,” she admitted, nodding toward the slave catcher.
Trust Pa to simplify it. “God’s will is that none should perish, but repent and live.”
Deborah gazed at the young bounty hunter’s face. Could someone like that repent?
Chapter 4
Warm, dry air filled Nathaniel’s lungs. He was alive, still. For a long time, he didn’t know any more than that.
Voices echoed then faded away. He must be in someone’s house. Whose? Voices spoke of a general store, the road to Richmond, the washing for that day, mending the next, and always about the weather. Children’s voices, too, came and went. From somewhere came the steamy scent of laundry. Must be daylight.
His eyelids weighed too much to open, but he could feel his heart beating, hear its slow thump in his ears. Alive— alive—alive. If Nathaniel had died, he would’ve faced God’s judgment without Christ. He shivered. How would he account for himself? For all the wrong he’d done since Ma and Pa died?
But the Lord had mercy on him, and someone had rescued him. For no other reason than mercy, because Nathaniel deserved nothing from the Lord’s hand.
If the Lord gave him back his life, what was Nathaniel to do? Too much to think about. His knee throbbed with every heartbeat, but the pain testified that he’d survived. He struggled to breathe. If only he could fill his lungs. His splinted leg felt heavy as a log.
Footsteps thumped on the floorboards, and someone walked over to him.
“Well, well, well. Look at that color,” a man said. “Very, very encouraging.”
“Indeed it is, Friend Hiatt,” another man said. “Thanks be to God.”
Nathaniel’s eyelids felt heavy as pig iron. When he finally pried one open, he found himself on a pallet on the floor of a warm room with many windows and doors. It was a dining room, with a crane and cooking utensils in the huge brick fireplace, a table and chairs off to one side, and a braided rug on the polished floor. Not a log cabin like home, but a modern house. The blue-painted woodwork around the fireplace and chair rail looked cheerful against the white plaster walls. Nearby two middle-aged men studied him, a tall thin man with twinkling gray eyes, and a short stout man. Both wore plain clothes: white shirts, dark coats with no lapels, vests buttoned almost to the throat, and trousers of the same dark material. Nathaniel’s voice sounded old, like a rusted hinge. He propped himself up on his elbows for a moment, but dizziness overtook him and he lay back down. “Why would anyone thank God for me?”
The tall man’s smile showed mostly in his eyes. “For His great mercy. I am Levi Coffin, thy host, and this is Friend Hiatt, the town doctor.”
Nathaniel nodded. He recognized their names. Not only had the Wagner gang spoke of them, but so had his uncle and aunt, months ago, in one of their last letters inviting Ma and him north.
The doctor asked, “What is thy name?”
He gathered his strength. “Nathaniel Fox.” After taking another breath—no matter how hard he tried, he could not get enough air—he asked, “What happened to my leg, Doctor?”
Doctor Hiatt shook his head. “I believe it is not broken, but I do suspect damage to the joint.”
Nathaniel’s heart dropped. If he were crippled, he’d have no way to make a living. “How long will it take to heal?”
“Several weeks. Thee must give it enough time. If it heals imperfectly, thee might always have trouble with it.”
Nathaniel stared in horror at his splinted leg. How could he lose weeks of work? Stranded here among the Friends meant the Wagner gang had left him behind. Some friends they were. At least his horse had some value. The mare, his pistols, and his money sewn in his coat lining—no, wait—all of those were gone, too. He sighed.
Levi Coffin watched him, tapped his forefinger over his lip. He looked off into space as though mentally going through a list of names. “Is thee related to George Fox?”
Nathaniel sighed again. His aunt and uncle now lived near Newport, but he wanted no contact with them. “Who founded the Quakers? I don’t think so, Mr. Coffin.”
“Who are thy people?”
“All dead, sir.” He refused to use plain speech. “You wouldn’t know them anyway.”
Dr. Hiatt sat down by him. “May I see thy hand?”
It weighed a ton, but Nathaniel reached out to him. The doctor took his pulse then looked at Nathaniel’s hand. “Thee must be a tradesman of some sort.”
“Was a blacksmith for a while.”
&nbs
p; “Why did thee leave thy station to run with the Wagner gang?”
Nathaniel’s eyelids felt heavier. “Money, Doctor. Each slave is worth hundreds of dollars.”
The two pious old souls studied each other as though taking a moment to hide their disgust. No matter.
“The love of money is a source of great evil,” Levi Coffin pointed out, as one of them was sure to do. “And so thee has pierced thyself with many sorrows.”
Nathaniel shook his head. It felt as big as a pumpkin. “That’s as may be. My choice.”
“Let us help thee sit up to ease thy breathing,” the doctor said. “He will need to put up his leg, too.”
The two of them moved a couple of chairs closer to the fireplace. They each took an arm and, grunting, tried to help Nathaniel up.
Pain shot through his knee. The room tilted and whirled around him as they dropped him into the chair. The doctor propped Nathaniel’s injured leg on another chair and padded it with a folded coverlet.
Light footsteps pattered, and that girl appeared in the doorway across the room. Nathaniel forgot about his knee. Even in a plain brown dress, she was the prettiest girl he’d ever seen. A white cap covered most of her shiny dark brown hair. A white cape and apron made her waist look tiny. Her eyes were dark, her face freckled from time outdoors. His heart started to race, but that made his ribs hurt.
She asked the doctor, “Does thee need anything from the kitchen, Friend Hiatt?” She glanced at Nathaniel. Even though he tried to smile, her dark eyes narrowed slightly at the sight of him. She concentrated on the other two men. Her cheeks turned pink. A moment later her glance flickered back toward him. He tried another smile. She looked wary and turned away.
“Is thee hungry or thirsty, neighbor?” Mr. Coffin asked.
Nathaniel had to pause in admiring the dark haired girl. “No thank you, sir. I want to know what happened to my horse though.” Perhaps the runaways had stolen his coat and the horse. “Even if it’s bad news, I wish I knew what became of her.”
She looked over her shoulder at him before she slipped out the door.
Nathaniel tried to concentrate on Mr. Coffin and Dr. Hiatt, but he struggled to keep his eyes open.
Mr. Coffin shook his head. “As yet, there’s no sign of the animal. I wish I had better tidings for thee.”
“We should let thee rest now,” the doctor said.
Nathaniel could hear them talking as they went into another room. He closed his eyes and sighed. He wasn’t welcome here because of his wicked ways. He stared into the fire. Aside from his health and his money, the mare was the most valuable thing he owned. No one knew if his knee would heal. His whole future—gone. What would he do now?
If his father were alive, what would he say? Nathaniel let himself remember until sorrow overcame him. There was only one book in their log cabin, Mother’s cherished copy of the Bible. Pa might have repeated a Bible verse… “Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid.” From somewhere the remainder of the verse welled up. “Peace I leave with you, my peace I give unto you: not as the world giveth, give I unto you.”
Nathaniel had tried to find peace in the world, but his wild ride ended here. He bowed his head and prayed silently. Oh Lord, everything I have touched has turned to dust.
Everything that Ma and Pa believed about God came back to mind. God never changes. He would be Nathaniel’s unchanging Father—one who never grows old or weary, never leaves him desolate, always guides him, always with him, always knows the right way to go. Jesus came into the world to seek and save the lost, even a wretched sinner like Nathaniel, or that thief on the cross beside Jesus. He remembered a verse his mother liked—“Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn of me; for I am meek and lowly in heart.”
Everything he’d depended on had been swept away— health, strength, money, and his horse. Only the Lord is forever.
Nathaniel finally knew peace, and it felt like that first breath of air after almost drowning. Oh Father, heavenly Father, take me back. … But what do I do now? Will anyone ever believe I am Thine?
Downstairs, Deborah checked on the laundry.
The slave hunter’s buckskin breeches were probably ruined, shrunken from getting soaked and dried. Colors from his bright-colored vest had run all over his white shirt. His wool riding coat might come out better than his other clothes. As it dried it appeared a streaky dark blue. Dye had splotched the brick floor as water dripped from his coat. It might dry better closer to the fire. She grabbed it, but it was so heavy she dropped it. The coat clinked as it hit the floor. When she picked it up, things spilled out.
What on earth? Gold coins glittered on the floor.
She hung the coat closer to the fire, put the money in her apron pockets, and trudged back up the stairs.
The slave hunter dozed in a chair with his splinted leg propped up. Deborah paused and studied him. The old clothes he wore were too short for his arms and legs, but the homespun fabric made him look more like an ordinary farmer with wide shoulders, muscular arms, and big hands. His shoulder-length wavy hair had dried to a chestnut brown. A thick brown beard and mustache framed his mouth. Frown lines still showed between his brows. Before his dissolution he might have been handsome, but his countenance was hardened, as though hunting humans like animals troubled him not. How would they see “That of God” even in one like him?
She cleared her throat and kept a wary distance. “Good morning, neighbor.”
His eyes flashed open. They were a clear blue-gray. A brief smile brightened his pale, gaunt face. “Yes, miss—”
She held out the gold coins. “These fell out of thy coat.”
He grabbed them and stared at them. “All there. Good.”
Deborah clenched her fists and held her breath to calm herself. “Does thee think I would take anything of thine? Of that blood money?”
He closed his eyes for a moment. “I beg your pardon. I meant no offense. I feared some of it must have been lost when I fell in the creek.”
Of course. Deborah felt petty and mean. If the Lord meant to redeem this man, perhaps she needed to show more of the fruits of the spirit, including patience. “Forgive me.”
He smiled quickly. “Think nothing of it.”
Deborah stole a glance at him from the corner of her eye and watched him run the coins through his hands. Why did he do that?
Cousin Katy and Grandmother Coffin joined them in the dining room. “Deborah, perhaps our guest would like some tea,” Cousin Katy said. She focused on the stranger. “Good morning, neighbor. I am Catherine Coffin. This is my mother-in-law, Prudence Coffin, and my cousin, Deborah Wall. Can thee tell us thy name?”
Deborah poked up the fire, lay on more wood, refilled the kettle, and swung it back into the fireplace. She watched the stranger from the corner of her eye.
He braced his arms against the chair seat and levered himself to an upright posture but winced as he disturbed his knee. “Nathaniel Fox. Thank you for taking care of me.”
Deborah gave him a curious glance as she took the teapot and cups to the table. “‘An Israelite indeed, in whom there is no guile.’”
He gazed at her for a heartbeat or two, his blue eyes narrowed with a guarded expression. “Yes, at one time.” He paused. “But then—” He shook his head and said no more.
Deborah pressed her lips together and tilted her head. At least he was familiar with the Bible verse. “Cousin Katy, thee must forgive me for taking so much time with the washing.”
“Thee had some extra work, with the rain and all.” Cousin Katy was so long-suffering, so kind with everyone.
“Mrs. Coffin,” Nathaniel Fox said, the coins clinking in his hand.
“Yes, dear?”
He sighed and held out the money. “You need this. You had the doctor out on my account, and I’m another mouth to feed… and it bothers me how I came about it.”
Cousin Katy took it and stared a
t the money in her hand. “If that is how thee feels led…”
He nodded. “I do.”
Deborah stole a glance his way as she helped Cousin Katy with the tea. She hadn’t expected him to give up all his money. Grandmother Coffin, tiny and drab as a sparrow in her gray dress, watched him with her bright eyes but said nothing.
Cousin Katy urged Nathaniel to have plenty of tea to help fend off illness. The mantel clock chimed nine as Deborah helped with the cups and saucers. The pink china cup looked as fragile as an eggshell in his big hand. “I thought to make potato soup for dinner.”
Cousin Katy smiled and nodded. “Very good. Will thee have some soup later, Nathaniel? Our Deborah is a gifted cook.”
“I’m sure she is, Mrs. Coffin.” He watched Deborah. “Quaker ladies are so domestic.”
Deborah wondered if he was trying to tease her. “Thee may call us Friends. Quaker is a term of mockery.”
He nodded, and for some reason he chuckled. “I have heard that.”
“Then why—” Perhaps he fully intended to give offense. A wise man overlooked such things. She set her jaw. “Does thee want any soup or not? I need to plan.”
He shook his head. “No thank you.”
Cousin Katy followed her to the basement stairs and took her arm. “I would like thee to cook it up here, my dear. The kitchen is clear full of laundry. Make some extra. I hope the scent will bring his appetite back.”
“But I will have to step around him.”
Cousin Katy carried the tea tray and followed Deborah down the stairs to the kitchen. As she washed the tea things, she said, “The sooner he is well, the sooner he can leave.”
That did make sense. Deborah weaved in and out of the dripping laundry, gathering what she needed into a big basket. With all the rain, they had no choice about where to hang the clothes, some in the kitchen and some on the side porch. As she climbed up, to manage the sharp turn in the stairs, she put the basket on the floor above her for a moment. The angle was most unhandy for someone as tall as her. One would think the stairs could be made differently in a new house—but that might have added to the cost.
Quakers of New Garden Page 8
