At the top of the stairs, she picked up her basket and straightened, only to find Nathaniel Fox watching her.
“I can help you peel potatoes, Miss Wall.” After such a long string of words, he had to catch his breath.
“Well—all right.” She sat at the dining room table, trimming eyespots from a potato and handing it to him. She glanced at him after trimming the next potato. He was almost done with the first. A thin, brown ribbon of peel spiraled away. Deborah’s work looked clumsy and wasteful by comparison. “Thee must have had a great deal of practice at that.”
He smiled, his face brightening. “I have.”
They peeled and cut potatoes for several minutes, dropping chunks into a bowl of cold water. Every time she glanced up, she found him studying her. Even John Moore, the weaver, never more than stole a glance, never stared at her in such a forward manner. Heat rose to her face. But of course, she’d been up and down the stairs many times and had sat near the fire.
Cousin Katy came in. She must have noticed Deborah’s tense posture. “My husband told me thee was a blacksmith, Nathaniel.”
Deborah looked up at Cousin Katy. “If I were a man, I believe I would shoe horses.”
Cousin Katy chuckled. “Thee and thy horses.”
“I did enjoy it.” Nathaniel smiled, his countenance softening, perhaps with happy memories.
“If thee had work that suited thee…” She shook her head, what a puzzle he was.
His expression hardened, his eyes narrowed, and his lips tightened. “Why did I ride with slave hunters?”
Deborah looked into his eyes and nodded.
He concentrated on a potato, elbows on the table. “Money, my dear. I was told I could get rich quick.” One corner of his mouth quirked up. “No one told me what the trade was really like.”
“Does thee regret it?”
“Maybe.” He dropped more potato chunks in the bowl then raised his head and gazed into her eyes. She couldn’t look away. “I should have counted the cost. Never reckoned on losing my horse or going lame myself.”
Another coughing spell seized him; he looked miserable. She’d never seen such a worldly person, yet Christ died even for one such as him.
As Cousin Katy left them, she said over her shoulder, “Neighbor Fox, thee must rest.”
He took a shaky breath. “Yes, ma’am.”
Deborah slipped potato chunks into the kettle of steaming water and swung it back over the fire. She stole a glance at Nathaniel. Had she ever met someone so contradictory?
Chapter 5
Dinner with the Coffin family and Deborah was torture for Nathaniel.
Beautiful Deborah Wall helped her gray-haired cousin Katy set the table, while Mr. Coffin came into the dining room from his office in the front of the house. He helped Little Catherine wash up at the stand by the door. Grandmother Coffin came in from the parlor, where she’d been knitting. She and Mr. Coffin talked and laughed about something to do with samples for his paint business.
The Lord hadn’t spared a miracle for the Coffin girl or one for Pa in his accident or Ma in her last illness. The Lord had no good reason to let good people suffer and die. The Lord also had no reason at all to save Nathaniel, just out of His great mercy. But Ma and Pa were in heaven now. Perhaps part of believing was trusting the Lord to make all those losses worthwhile somehow.
The littlest girl didn’t seem to mind her condition. She stared at Nathaniel as Deborah ladled potato soup out of a large tureen. Deborah, with her long slender arms, could reach across the table and serve everyone within moments—almost as quick as a gambler stacking a deck of cards. He should tell her that sometime—when he felt well enough to enjoy seeing her dark eyes sparkle and cheeks turn pink.
Mr. and Mrs. Coffin and Grandmother Coffin talked about how soon the neighbors could rebuild the bridge. Little Catherine bumped her water cup with her shaky hands, and Nathaniel grabbed it before it spilled. The two of them smiled at each other.
“Are you home from school today?” he asked.
Little Catherine looked sad. “Maybe someday I will be strong enough to go with Sarah and Elizabeth. I pray so.”
He nodded, unsure what to say next.
A moment later the little girl brightened. “In the summer Jesse and Henry might come home.”
Nathaniel tried to place them.
“My older brothers,” Little Catherine added.
Deborah Wall glanced at them out of the corner of her eye. When she’d served them all, they bowed their heads for a silent prayer.
How long had it been since he was in such a home? At table with a family for a meal, not having something charred over a campfire or served half raw at some tavern. So much like home in North Carolina, when Ma and Pa were still alive. Nathaniel’s eyes burned, and his throat seized up. Tears? In front of these strangers? God help him. He kept his head down.
He looked up to find Mr. Coffin studying him. “I hope thy business with the Lord is profitable, Nathaniel Fox.”
They all looked at him.
Should he tell them of the change in his life? Not just yet. He might give way to tears. He shook his head. “You’re right. I do have business with the Lord but am not sure of His terms. I’m at a crossroads.”
Mr. Coffin set his spoon down. “The Lord has said if thee loves Him, He will send the Comforter to be with thee and guide thee.”
Nathaniel looked down to hide his expression. For some reason that brought him close to tears again. He nodded and cleared his throat. “I hope to be well enough to travel soon.”
Mr. Coffin nodded. “Has thee anywhere to go?”
Nathaniel hesitated. How would following Christ change his plans to move on? “No, sir. Well—I don’t know.”
Mr. Coffin paused before speaking. “Tell us thy mind, Nathaniel.” He added a pinch of salt to his soup.
He watched them eat. The soup looked and smelled better all the time. “Maybe I will have some of that soup, Miss Wall.”
She nodded and smiled briefly, mostly with her dark eyes, still looking bemused by him.
The hot soup eased the congestion in his chest, and its buttery scent reminded him he hadn’t eaten for almost a whole day. He’d been raised with better manners but scooped it up like a hog eating corn. He let their conversation go on without him until he’d emptied his bowl.
He gathered his nerve and glanced around at them. “About someplace to stay… I do have family around New Garden. Somewhere. My uncle is George Fox.”
Little Catherine raised her head. “Oh. Who founded the Society of Friends? I did not guess thee was that old, neighbor.”
Nathaniel had to laugh. “No dear, they have the same name. My uncle is about Friend Coffin’s age.”
The older man smiled slightly. “As the storekeeper of course, I know most everyone, and everyone else knows even more people. I took the liberty of inquiring of Friend Fox and his wife. They said they are missing a nephew who is a blacksmith.”
Nathaniel looked up from his soup again. Telling the truth made him feel free. “That would be me.”
Little Catherine had more questions. “Neighbor Fox, didn’t thee say thy mare was in foal to Messenger?”
Deborah had passed bread to Nathaniel, who was mopping up the last of his soup. He paused. “You overheard?”
Little Catherine looked down, her face turning pink. “Yes I did.”
He chuckled. “You must be able to hear as well as an owl. Yes, she was in foal to him. But—I have little if any hope of seeing her again.”
“If the Lord wants thee to have her…”
“I hope so.”
Mr. Coffin spread apple butter on a piece of bread. “How did thee come to own her?”
For a long moment, Nathaniel stared into his soup bowl. “I bought her after a claim race. She didn’t look like anything, and no one else wanted her. Despite her bloodlines.”
“At a horse race.” Mr. Coffin blinked.
Nathaniel took a deep breath. Othe
r than drinking establishments, there were probably no places more worldly. “That’s not how I was raised. My parents were Friends. I fear they wouldn’t be proud of me at all now.”
Little Catherine and Mrs. Coffin gasped and stared at him. Deborah Wall stopped, the ladle in midair, and stared at him, too. Now that they knew some of his past, they would give up any notions that he could be civilized.
Nathaniel felt worn out and ill. “Excuse me.”
Katy Coffin nodded.
He got up and hopped over to his chair by the fire. The chair creaked and cracked under his weight. He couldn’t sit still as his shivering grew more pronounced.
Deborah Wall left the dining room. Her brown dress swirled around her. Watching her gliding walk was almost worth getting sick again. He would love to see her expression if he compared her to a dancer.
She fetched some quilts. He managed to catch her eye and smiled at her. Even though his teeth were chattering, he had to tease her. “I thought you might throw those coverlets at me, Miss Wall.”
As he’d hoped, her cheeks colored. “The thought crossed my mind, but that is not how the Lord would want me to act.”
“Of course. Do unto others.”
“Not quite. Rather my kindness to thee is like heaping coals of fire on thy head.”
He stared up at her. His teeth chattered. “Coals of fire sound good right now. You d—d—don’t have to wait on me.”
“I would do the same for anyone else.” She fetched out a hot brick covered in ashes from the fire and, with a pair of tongs, carried it over to him. Muscles in her slender forearms corded from the strain. “Pick up thy feet.”
She arranged it for him then stood back. “Warmer now?”
He shook his head, feeling dizzier. Shivering overtook him. The hot brick felt no better than a chunk of ice. “No, not yet.” He raised his head slowly. It felt like it weighed a ton. He searched her face. What would it be like for beautiful Deborah to look kindly on him? He could start by being honest. “I don’t feel well at all.”
Chapter 6
Ice crunched as Deborah stepped through puddles hidden by wet snow. In these few minutes between cleaning up after dinner and starting supper, she’d begun searching the creek banks for Nathaniel’s missing horse.
Every few minutes the sun broke through the torn gray clouds, their white edges glowing like molten silver against the blue sky. Red birds flitted in and out of clumps of willows. Along the creek banks, the sycamore trees’ white branches contrasted with the dark clouds. The water still sped along far beyond the banks, rushing around the trees and bubbling over smaller obstacles, such as fallen limbs or the wreckage of the bridge.
Her foot slipped and went through the ice up to her ankle, over her boot top. The sting of icy water took her breath away. She was about to fall. She held on to a tree branch until she got her balance.
Perhaps that best illustrated her spiritual life: Trying to balance on her own but needing the Lord. He was the Vine; she was one of the branches. … And apart from Him, she could do nothing. If the Spirit guided her words and deeds, Nathaniel could see and respond to “That of God” in her.
The Spirit might not lead her to tell Nathaniel that he was a wicked sinner. That work most likely belonged to someone else. Strife and accusations were the products of worldly wisdom, not of the Lord. She needed so much help. Lord, speak to my condition.
She might have put the good work of helping runaway slaves ahead of following the Spirit. Perhaps she’d made an idol of helping the fugitives, since it took her mind off the looming possibility of never marrying for love. Who in the Bible was distracted with much serving?
She found a better place to stand, on a fallen log sprinkled with icy, half-melted snow. No sign of any animal up or down the creek, although she saw deer tracks and the paw prints of rabbits and foxes. Being outdoors helped her find peace. “Cumbered about much serving…” Mary and Martha hosted Jesus at their home, and He told Martha that.
Perhaps butting heads with Nathaniel Fox showed her where she’d gone wrong, how she’d lost sight of her first love for the Lord.
Out of the abundance of the heart the mouth speaks. Lord, I had no idea I cherished such iniquity. Lord, Thou knowest how I need Thee. Forgive me for my anger. Search me, O God. … Guide me in right paths. Even if that means trying to show kindness to that man. Thou hast commanded us to pray for our enemies. Precious heavenly Father, have mercy on that man. Heal his leg, so he can go away soon.
She put her hand to her eyes and studied the woods and creek banks as far as she could see. No sign of the missing horse.
The creak of a door woke Nathaniel. He opened one eye as Deborah Wall came into the dining room, her cheeks rosy from the cold. “I looked for thy horse, neighbor, but found nothing.”
“You went clear out to the creek? I appreciate it.”
She nodded and hung up her cloak and bonnet. “Oh yes. I was glad for a chance to go outside. And I took the liberty of bringing this for thee.” She held out a dripping cheesecloth bag stained from years of berry preserves. “Ice. Plenty of it, right now. If thee is going to break something, winter is a good time to do so.”
He smiled. “It hurts, but I don’t think it’s broken.” He took the bag and draped it over his swollen, throbbing knee. The splint helped to hold it in just the right place. “Thank you, Miss Wall.”
“I wish only to treat thee as I would want—or how I was treated the last time I got thrown by a horse and hurt.”
Nathaniel wondered if he were dreaming. She was beautiful, she liked the outdoors, and she liked horses. He had to pause and remind himself to breathe. He could foresee falling in love with Miss Wall and embarrassing himself if he wasn’t careful. What had happened to the hard-drinking, gambling bounty hunter he professed to be? “You got thrown by a horse?”
She smiled ever so briefly, but a real smile it was. “Oh yes, we used to ride all the time before there were roads. When my folks came, Indians still lived around here. As long as the Friends wore their plain clothes, the Indians recognized them as peaceable people, even during the War of 1812.”
“Was your family from New Garden? In North Carolina?” What if Deborah’s family or the Coffins knew of his family? He could almost feel connected here.
“My family came in 1808, I think. The Coffins came later.” She studied him and the ice pack. “I think thee could use a towel or two.”
Someone rapped on the door that faced Mill Street. She strode across the room, her brown skirt and white apron swirling, peeked out, and then threw open the door. “Pa!”
A tall, thin, dark-haired man came in, took Deborah Wall’s hands, and kissed her cheek. “Hello, dear one.”
Nathaniel stared. Did he know the man?
Then he recognized the voice—one he thought he’d heard last night.
Deborah’s father was purposeful. “Hello, neighbor. I’m glad to see thee looking well.”
Nathaniel gripped the sides of his chair and tried to stand up, but the room slid sideways and started to go in circles. Deborah and her father lunged forward and grabbed him. They helped him back to his seat. “Not perfectly well, sir, but better than last night.”
Mr. and Mrs. Coffin joined them. “Friend Wall, how good to see thee,” Mrs. Coffin said.
Deborah’s father smiled in return. “I brought these. We prayed thy guest would soon be well enough to use them.” He held out a pair of crutches. “I trust our Deborah won’t need these again for a while.”
She looked down and shook her head at some memory.
“Thank you, sir.” Nathaniel propped them near his chair.
Mr. Coffin cleared his throat. “The goods thee received recently, Friend Wall—”
“Oh yes. Loaned them out already.” Mr. Wall smiled.
Mr. Coffin nodded as though that pleased him.
What did they mean by that?
Mr. Wall, still wearing his coat and hat, focused on Nathaniel. “I also believe I have g
ood tidings for thee. A stray horse came to the farm—a brown mare with a star. She looks like she might be in foal. Would that be thy horse?”
Nathaniel sat up. “Must be her! How did you know?”
“I caught a glimpse of her last night.”
Nathaniel put his hand over his eyes and took a deep breath. That led to a coughing spell. “Answer to prayer,” he sputtered.
They all looked at him with a variety of puzzled expressions, except for Deborah Wall, who looked at him suspiciously. She must think his change of heart was an act. Maybe someday she would know that he wouldn’t turn away from his heavenly Father. He’d made his decision and finally felt peace. Thank You, Lord.
Mr. Wall cleared his throat. “We have room in the barn and plenty of hay. I would be glad to keep her for thee until thee is more settled, neighbor.”
“Thank you, sir.” He smiled wryly. “I don’t know how long that will take or where I’ll end up.”
Chapter 7
After supper Friend Coffin and Cousin Katy got ready to go to an antislavery discussion at the meetinghouse. Deborah and the girls waved to them as the horses leaned into their collars to pull the buggy through the mud. Ordinarily they would take one horse on such a short drive, but the roads were so heavy from all the rain that they needed two.
Little Catherine linked arms with her sisters, Sarah and Elizabeth. “I wish we could have gone to hear the speaker tonight.”
“I do dislike having all of us scattered like this,” Grandmother Coffin said. “I wish we were all under one roof. I think keeping everyone at home is best.”
Deborah wondered if the older lady was thinking of the other children. The older boys had been apprenticed out.
“I am curious though, what the visitors will say,” Little Catherine said.
Deborah closed the curtains. A chilly north wind rattled the windowpanes, making the gingham curtains shiver. As she put more wood on the fire, she said, “Perhaps another time when the weather is better. Come sit with Grandmother by the fire, girls.”
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