Nathaniel let her slip from his grasp. “Like our own hearts sometimes.” His face grew solemn, even sorrowful. His voice sounded choked. “Deborah, are you going to marry Friend Smith?”
Deborah shook her head. She turned and watched the mare and foal. “No, Nathaniel. He is so much older than me.”
“He has a lot to offer. A big farm and a beautiful home.”
She shook her head. “One of my greatest fears is to be widowed. He might have many things, but he can’t turn back time. I want—if I ever marry—I want to build a life together.”
He nodded again. “If we are speaking the truth, then Deborah Wall…” He reached out and took her hand. “I have to confess, I can hardly think of anyone or anything but you. All these weeks seeing you at meeting, the times your family invited me over, how we talked about horses—wondering if we could have a future together.”
Her heart leaped, and she gazed into his face. His brows were drawn. He put one hand up and rubbed his eyes. Maybe this was the answer to her prayers for leading. She held his one hand in both of hers and looked down at his big, tanned, work-worn hand. “I’ve wondered the same thing. But thee has said nothing of it until now.”
“I’m trying to build my business and learn to be a better Christian. I felt I had no standing, no right to speak to you.”
“Thee shouldn’t think so little of thyself. Thee’s precious in God’s eyes.”
Nathaniel took a deep breath. “What about in your eyes? Deborah—” He took another breath. “Deborah, I’ve been falling in love with you for weeks. I never thought I’d ever feel this way for anyone, like there’s a future and hope.”
She touched his warm, tanned face then nodded. “I felt the same way.” Was this true or a dream? The two of them together could clear new ground, build a cabin, start a farm of their own, and have a family. Tears of joy welled up in her eyes. Someday they might have a farm as beautiful as the Smith place.
He smiled, his eyes widening and his ruddy face giving his eyes a sky blue gleam. He twined his fingers through hers then raised her hand to his lips and kissed the back of it. His lips felt so warm and soft that she longed to be in his arms.
His face clouded. He looked so forlorn. “What of the Society?”
Deborah’s heart raced. Surely they could work this out. “Thee only has to condemn thy misconduct.”
He dropped his head. “I’m not convinced I’d be joining it for the right reasons. I question some of the Society’s teachings.”
She gasped. “About what?”
“Plain or lofty speech, plain dress or not, makes no difference to me.” He took another deep breath. “I’ve been out in the world and am not convinced that a man can be completely nonviolent.”
Deborah tried to understand him. “If thee trusts the Lord to keep thee—”
He nodded. “I see the logic in that. But I’ve seen bad things, Deborah. I wish I could trust the Lord that much.”
“Perhaps such grace is given day by day, like manna in the wilderness.”
“You might be right.”
She took a deep breath. Her tears came from despair now. “Thee spoke the truth. I do not feel led to leave the Society.”
“And I doubt my reasons for wanting to join.” He rested his forehead against hers. “Oh Deborah, my hope and prayer is, someday, I’m going to marry you.”
She closed her eyes, and her tears spilled over now. “But thee needs to count the cost. Both of us. I think we should speak no more of this, Nathaniel.” Her breath was ragged as she shook her head. “Speak no more of this, I beg of thee.”
Chapter 13
Seeing Deborah now was bittersweet for Nathaniel. On summer days when he wasn’t busy, he helped some of the neighbors with wheat harvest and putting up hay. As summer faded into fall, corn ripened and dried down. The fields faded from green to gold. Sometimes the slaves fled north at times like this, when they could easily hide in the cornfields and find cover in the woods while the trees still had leaves.
Nathaniel listened intently in meeting, and as was said in the book of Acts, like the Bereans, he searched the scriptures daily to see if these things were so.
With the Lord’s help—because he’d learned to lie so fluently while in the world—he always told the truth and began rebuilding his integrity. When Uncle George remarked that Nathaniel’s father would have been proud of him, his encouraging words were like a stream in the desert.
The Friends made him feel welcome, and some of the older ones even knew of his parents. But how could he be sure he was joining the Society for the right reasons, not just to win Deborah?
Deborah’s life seemed to go on as before. She participated in women’s meetings and kept busy helping Katy Coffin and her family. She was beautiful as ever. Her brown dresses along with her big dark eyes reminded him of a deer.
As soon as frosts came, the trees in New Garden blazed red, gold, yellow, and orange against the clear blue sky. When the tenth month arrived, the filly would be six months old. One First Day, after meeting, he conferred with Deborah’s family about the horses. “I’ve finished the barn and fences at my uncle’s, Friend Wall, so I can bring the mare home for weaning the filly.”
Deborah remembered how frantic the mare had been for the filly earlier in the summer. Perhaps the process would be faster and easier if the two were separated.
Papa nodded. “Tonight might work, when we bring Deborah back to the Coffins’.”
“I’ll meet you at the shop.”
As soon as the sun went down, the air cooled rapidly. Deborah and Papa tried to soothe the mare as they led her out of the barn and hitched her to the back of the farm wagon loaded with wood.
Papa chirped to the team, and they rolled forward.
The filly whinnied for her mother. The mare dug in her heels. The wagon rattled to a stop, and the horses snorted with surprise. “Get up there,” Pa called to the team.
Deborah turned on the seat and looked back. The mare’s eyes were wild, and lather coated her neck and chest. Her nostrils flared as she snorted. She braced her legs, and the team dragged her a few steps. “Oh Pa, I don’t think this is going to work.”
“Try once more,” Papa said. He urged the team forward. The mare went a few steps then pulled back as hard as she could. Her halter broke, the tailgate cracked, and part of the load clattered to the ground. Just as the boys came out, she disappeared into the dark barn, whinnying for the filly.
They got down and picked up the spilled firewood. Papa sighed. “Tomorrow I’ll hitch up the oxen. We can’t take any more time tonight.”
In town they stopped at Nathaniel’s shop and told him what happened. He went around back and looked at the tailgate. “Did I mention she could be stubborn?” he said with a grin.
Deborah turned toward them, her arm over the back of the seat. He looked handsome even in his work clothes, a blue calico shirt, linsey-woolsey trousers, and tall boots. She liked his appearance better in those clothes than anything. “I have heard animals reflect their owners.”
He arched his brows. “Might not be so bad.” He gazed into her eyes then gave her a quick smile. “If I have my mind made up, I might be as determined as the mare.”
Deborah opened her mouth but closed it again, saying nothing. He might have meant marrying her. She’d told no one, not even Mama, of his offer and her refusal. Perhaps life would be easier if he carried out his original plan and moved farther West, somewhere beyond the Friends’ community. Life would be easier if she never saw him again, never saw him marry someone else.
The next day as she worked, Deborah watched for Pa, the oxcart, and the mare.
They could hear the mare before they saw her, neighing loudly for the filly every step of the way. When she tried to dig in her heels, the oxen kept going.
Deborah and Little Catherine watched from the porch.
Little Catherine studied the scene. “She has her saddle and bridle? Is Nathaniel going to ride her back to his uncle�
��s?”
“I suppose he might.” Deborah paused for a moment. What if he were hurt?
Pa and Nathaniel both took the mare’s rope, fastened to her halter over her bridle. They looped it over the hitch rack and tied her. Nathaniel and Pa conferred.
The mare whinnied so loudly that she shook.
“What if they can still hear each other?” Little Catherine asked.
“Surely not.”
“I believe their hearing is better than ours,” Little Catherine said as the mare froze with her ears pointed to the east, toward the farm.
“Thee might be right.”
Cousin Katy put her hand on Deborah’s shoulder. “I know thee would like to go talk to thy papa. Why not go along now? Little Catherine can help me with a few things.”
Deborah nodded. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.” She grabbed her wraps and darted out the door.
Both men seemed glad to see her. She held Papa’s hands. “We heard thee coming.”
He nodded. “She is very upset. But thee knows now, Nathaniel, she’ll work out well as a broodmare for thee.”
The blacksmith winced and ran his hand through his tousled hair. “If she survives weaning this one.”
Pa put his arm on Deborah’s shoulder. “Take care, now. I’m going to the mill to see about our corn. Soon be time to pick it. I hope all goes well for thee and the mare, Nathaniel.”
He nodded. “Thank you, Friend Wall.”
Deborah watched Pa as he picked up the ox goad and ordered the team to walk on. They started up the street between the edge of town and the creek, heading to the gristmill.
The mare whinnied again, and Nathaniel stood by her and tried to soothe her. He turned to Deborah.
Deborah gazed up at Nathaniel. Over the summer he’d filled out, shoulders broadened, forearms rippled with muscles. Work had marred his hands though. They were larger and more callused, but still gentle as he took one of hers. She cleared her throat. “Does thee plan to ride her back to thy uncle’s house?” The sound of galloping horses interrupted them, and a posse rounded the corner from the main road. The dogs barked, chasing after the running horses.
“Wagner,” Nathaniel said. “You run along. This is no place for a lady.”
A crowd of men on lathered horses slid to a stop. The leader jumped off his horse. He reminded Deborah of a snake—lean with hard unblinking eyes. “Fox, you need to reshoe this horse quick as you can. We’re in hot pursuit.”
“Of what?”
“A quadroon woman worth a thousand dollars to her owner. She’s a trained singer.” He swung round and pointed at Deborah. “You seen anyone like that?”
Nathaniel took a half step between Deborah and Wagner.
Deborah smiled wryly at the slave hunter. “Not at my father’s farm. I can’t recall the last time an opera singer lodged with us.”
“Never mind. Fox, put this shoe back on this horse.”
“I need a dollar first.”
“What? Pay you first!”
“Yep. I’m thinking of other bills left unpaid.”
“All right, all right. In a hurry after all.”
He nodded.
Deborah backed away. She walked up to the crossroads, thinking to go around the corner and be hidden by the buildings. There might be someone at the Coffin place who needed a hand.
Loud voices came from behind her. She looked over her shoulder.
Nathaniel set down the lame horse’s foot then held up a twisted shoe. He shook his head and pointed to the horse; the horse rested the one bare foot on its toe. Even that was too much weight. It lifted its injured foot and held it in the air, trembling.
Wagner waved his hands and pointed.
Nathaniel folded his arms across his chest and shook his head.
The other men laughed and jumped back on their horses. Apparently they intended to capture the slave woman and, if they found her, cut Wagner out of the deal.
Wagner swung a punch at Nathaniel.
Deborah gasped. Would he fight back? Use violence?
He grappled with Wagner but didn’t hit back. Instead he held the slave hunter at arm’s length.
They thrashed through the blacksmith shop. Tools, supplies, and firewood went everywhere. Wagner flailed like a windmill but was an inch or two away from reaching Nathaniel, who kept grinning.
Men ran to the shop, including Papa, Levi Coffin, and the town constable.
Wagner grabbed a hammer off the anvil and swung it at Nathaniel’s head. The blacksmith staggered and went to his knees.
Wagner untied Nathaniel’s mare and jumped on her. As soon as she was free, Brandy put her head down and bolted for the farm. A cloud of dust hid them a moment later.
Deborah hitched up her skirts and raced down the hill to the blacksmith shop. She found Nathaniel sitting up, his back against one of the porch posts, his arm held over his head. With his other hand, he mashed his shirtsleeve into a cut above his eye. Despite that, blood ran down his face.
“Deborah,” he said in tired voice. His eyes rolled back in his head, and he slumped over. She rushed to him. She pulled off her apron, rolled it up, and put it under his head. Perhaps he had only fainted.
He shivered. “The mare!” He tried to sit up but winced.
The constable strode after the runaway horse but turned to Levi Coffin and Deborah’s father. “Men, encourage those ruffians to leave town as soon as possible. That last one though, I am taking to jail.” He muttered under his breath, and his long white mustache twitched. “Can’t come to my town and hit good citizens over the head and steal horses in broad daylight. That arrogant buffoon. Nathaniel Fox, are you alive or dead?”
Nathaniel groaned. “I’ll be all right.”
“Peace, be still,” Deborah said, gripping his shoulder.
He put his bloodstained hand over hers. “I didn’t hit him.”
“I saw that, Nathaniel.”
“Thee saw—”
“Yes. Thee did the best thee could.”
“Hard not to hit him.”
“I’m sure it was. Thee was sorely provoked.”
“Supposed to turn the other cheek. I reckon holding him off was about the same.”
The doctor arrived on his pacing horse and jumped off, quite spry for a man his age. “Well. We meet again, neighbor. May I see him, Deborah Wall?”
She moved out of the way, but Nathaniel kept her hand.
“Scalp and facial injuries do bleed considerably,” the doctor announced. “Nathaniel, did thee faint for any length of time?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Did thee see, Deborah Wall?”
“Yes, he did faint.”
“We will treat him as though he has a concussion. Someone needs to be with him for the next several hours, so he doesn’t go to sleep and fail to wake up.” The doctor looked toward the road. “Now, who’s coming?”
“Some men went after that Wagner and Nathaniel’s horse,” Deborah said.
The doctor stood up, folded his arms, and watched horses and riders approach. “Well this doesn’t look good.”
Chapter 14
Nathaniel’s head pounded with his heartbeat, but his double vision slowly returned to normal. He sat in the parlor with Levi Coffin. A cool autumn breeze stirred the curtains at the open windows and doors.
“I haven’t had a chance to converse with thee as I would’ve liked, neighbor,” the older man said and smiled at Nathaniel.
“We’ve all been quite occupied.”
“The Lord works all things together for good,” Friend Coffin said. “Even giving me an opportunity of operating in my gift of talkativeness.”
From their chairs and benches on the other side of the room, the Coffin girls giggled.
Deborah came in with tea. Over the summer, even though she surely wore a bonnet, more freckles had appeared. They only added to her appeal. Now that he’d met all of her family over the past few months, he could see she got her height and long arms from her fath
er but had a pretty face like her mother. Friend Coffin was saying something. Nathaniel shook his head. “I’m afraid I wasn’t paying attention.”
The older man chuckled then grew more solemn. “How well was thee acquainted with Octavian Wagner?”
Nathaniel sighed. “Only slightly. But to think he came to such a sudden end…” The mare had thrown Wagner as she bolted for the farm in search of her filly. Wagner died shortly afterward.
“Perhaps he remembered something of the Gospels at the end,” Little Catherine said.
Nathaniel shook his head. “If he’d ever heard them.”
The little girls grew solemn. “Could anyone have never heard?”
“I fear so,” Nathaniel said. “I hope I never leave something so important unsaid again.” He was silent for a long grim moment. But today’s incident had cleared up something else for him. He did try to live by the Society’s teaching on his own, not just when Deborah might be watching or listening. “Almost everyone in the township needs horses shod, or hinges or plow points or trammel hooks for the fireplace. In my situation I should have many opportunities to speak of our hope.”
Deborah poured tea, and when she looked at him, her big eyes were solemn. But something else glimmered there. Was she proud of him?
Eventually Katy Coffin and the girls went to bed.
“Thee knows he must not sleep,” Levi Coffin told Deborah. His eyes twinkled. “Perhaps thee might be troubled to talk with him until someone else can sit up with him.”
She sat in the rocking bench on the other side of the parlor and picked up her knitting. “How is thee feeling, Nathaniel?”
“Tired. Head hurts. Nothing new though.”
Her knitting needles clicked rapidly as mittens took shape. “I have something I need to say to thee.”
Plain speech slipped out. He must be dazed still. “Please, speak thy mind. I know thee needs little encouragement.”
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