Mississippi Brides

by Diane T. Ashley,Aaron McCarver

  “It will be, Mama. You are the perfect hostess, and I’m certain you’ll soon have the new pastor eating out of your hand.”

  “As could you if you would only apply yourself.”

  “Mother!” Abigail used the tone of voice she reserved for indicating disdain. “I have no desire to endear myself to any man, pastor or not.”

  “Sometimes I think your papa and I did you a disservice when we let you talk us into sending you to Elizabeth Female Academy.”

  Abigail frowned at her. “How can you even think such a thing? Would you have preferred someone like Violeta Sheffield, a simpering debutante with no accomplishments beyond needlework and watercolors?”

  “Of course not, but you should not be so patronizing about Lowell and Dorcas’s daughter. She is a sweet girl whether she has earned a degree or not.”

  Her cheeks heated up at the criticism. Abigail knew her mother was right. “I’m sorry, but I get so tired of hearing everyone talk about how accomplished and biddable she is. Does no one in this town appreciate a female who has a little sense?”

  Her mother’s dark eyes flashed. “You outshine Violeta in every respect. Never doubt that for a moment. But as your mother, I have the right to be concerned about whether or not you will experience firsthand the joy of having a family of your own.”

  “I spend enough time at the orphanage to give me a good idea of what it’s like to provide guidance for children. Besides, you are the one who has always cautioned me to avoid placing all my dependence on a man.” Abigail grabbed a cloth and attacked the dust scattered across a rosewood accent table.

  Her mother picked up a broom and began sweeping. “I didn’t want you to make the mistake of thinking marriage is the only goal a female should have. Your first dependence should always be on God, then on the talents He gave you—”

  “Exactly. So why should I want to bury my talents in order to be subservient to some man?” A strand of hair loosed itself from Abigail’s tight bun. She pushed it back with one finger as she continued her work. “Besides, most of the men in Natchez would think I’d lost my mind if I tried to talk them into freeing their slaves and adopting the sharecropping methods we use here.”

  “That’s true, dear, and perhaps that is why the Lord is sending us a young pastor.” Her mother stopped sweeping and looked into the distance, a tender smile on her face. “A godly man who will see you as the treasure you are.”

  “I don’t understand why you feel it incumbent on me to marry at all. I am perfectly content to live here with you and Papa.”

  “That’s because you don’t know how wonderful marriage to the right man can be.”

  Her mother’s words struck a chord in Abigail’s heart. She had ample evidence of the joys of a successful marriage, but she didn’t think any man as perfect as her father existed. Jeremiah LeGrand was smart, hardworking, thoughtful, and loving—a kind father and a good provider. But most of all, he was a man who put Christ first in his life. She knew her parents had faced hard times because of their beliefs. Even now, some in Natchez chose not to associate with the LeGrand family. But her parents had never seemed to care what others thought. They did as their faith dictated.

  “Everything looks very nice.” Mama surveyed the gleaming parlor with a smile of approval. “I hope Brother Pierce will be happy here.”

  “I’m sure he will be, Mama. No one has ever been disappointed here.”

  “There’s always a first time. And this pastor is so much younger than most of the men we have hosted in the past. He might prefer to live closer to town.”

  Abigail rolled her eyes. “What man in his right mind would prefer the noise and dust of town to all of this?”

  “I pray you’re right.”

  “You worry too much.” After giving her mother an affectionate hug, Abigail picked up her gardening shears and a shallow basket. “I’ll be back in a few minutes with enough magnolia blossoms to freshen every room in the cottage.”

  “Be careful, dear. Some of those blooms may be too high for you to reach.”

  “Yes, Mother.” Abigail sighed. Would her parents never cease treating her as a child? She was a full-grown woman, a confirmed old maid by most people’s estimation. At the ripe old age of twenty-three, Abigail believed she had learned how to rely on herself.

  Shaking off her irritation, Abigail concentrated on her self-appointed task. Spring was her favorite time of the year. Dozens of magnolia trees surrounded the grounds, their large, dark green leaves the perfect background for the fragrant white blossoms that had begun to flower in the past weeks. As she moved from tree to tree, selecting the prettiest flowers to scent the pastor’s cottage, thoughts of God filled her mind. What a beautiful world He had created. And she was blessed to have the leisure to appreciate it. Why would she ever want to leave Magnolia Plantation? The answer was simple: She wouldn’t.

  She filled her basket and wandered back across the shade-dappled grounds toward the cottage. It looked exactly like the main house, only smaller. The corners and sides of the cottage were red brick broken by wide windows that let light and cooling breezes into the front parlor. Steps led up to a shady verandah supported by a pair of white columns. The front door was almost wide enough to drive a carriage through and framed by sidelight windows and a transom. Besides the front parlor, the cottage boasted two bedrooms, a dining room, and a small study. Perfect for a single minister or one with a small family.

  Abigail climbed the steps and pushed the door open. “I’m back, Mama.”

  “We’re here in the parlor, dearest.”

  We? Who was in the parlor with her mother? A groan escaped her as she realized the probable identity of the visitor. She put a hand to her hair. Working outside had done nothing for her coiffure. It probably resembled a rat’s nest. So much for making a good impression on the new pastor.

  Abigail took a deep breath and pinned a welcoming smile on her face. At least her mother wouldn’t pester her anymore about trying to make a match with the man.

  Nathan stood as a young woman entered the room. At first glance he might have mistaken her for a scullery maid. Her dress was dirty and torn, her auburn-hued hair was tangled, and she was carrying a large basket of white flowers. Yet something in her carriage, some look in her wide, dark eyes drew his attention.

  “Brother Pierce, I would like you to meet my daughter, Abigail.” His hostess retained her seat on the sofa, nodding toward the woman who was putting her basket on a table that stood inside the door.

  He stepped forward with a bow. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss LeGrand. Your mother has been saying some nice things about you.”

  She looked past him with a frown. “I see.” She executed a graceful bow in spite of her appearance. “I hope you will make room for a parent’s bias as I doubt I can ever measure up to whatever she has told you.”

  Nathan’s mouth dropped open. So much for the demure young woman he’d pictured. While Mrs. LeGrand was the epitome of grace and refinement, it was obvious to him that she had failed to instill the same qualities in her offspring. Even though he had been raised in a far more rustic environment than this young woman, he was surprised by Abigail LeGrand’s lack of sophistication. Or was she merely flouting parental control? She was certainly old enough to have a household of her own. The Shakespearean tale of the shrew came to mind. Perhaps all she needed was a strong man to take her in hand as Petruchio had done with his Katherine. He wished the man the best of luck.

  “Come sit down, Abigail,” her mother admonished her rude daughter. “All I told the pastor was how much we were looking forward to making his acquaintance and that we were ready to do whatever we could to make his stay here more comfortable.”

  Nathan waited until she did as her mother requested before he returned to his seat in a padded chair next to the fireplace. “Perhaps you ladies would be so kind as to tell me a little about the people in the area I will be expected to reach. Are there many lost souls hereabouts?”

 
; “I’m sure we have our fair share of nonbelievers, Pastor.” Mrs. LeGrand answered his query, so he turned his attention to her. “But we also have several ministries in the area that try to reach out to them.”

  Nathan was eager to get started. The more people he baptized, the more worthy he felt. Perhaps he could eventually wash away the sin he’d once committed. He rubbed his hands together. “I can hardly wait.”

  Mrs. LeGrand smiled at him. “Perhaps Abigail can introduce you around to some of the townspeople.”

  A snort from the daughter let him know how she felt about her mother’s suggestion. “All you have to do is visit Natchez Under-the-Hill, Brother Pierce. You will find enough lost souls there to keep you busy for quite some time.”

  Nathan waited for her mother to once again reprimand Abigail, so he was surprised when she nodded.

  “Yes indeed.” Mrs. LeGrand’s words held a note of approval. “Natchez Under-the-Hill is almost a separate town and offers many opportunities for evangelism. We are all involved in a ministry to give aid, hot meals, and blankets to the immigrants and others in need. Perhaps you’d like to join us on Saturday afternoon?”

  “It sounds like a wonderful idea, but I suppose I should speak with the church prior to committing my time.”

  Abigail raised her eyebrows, making Nathan wonder if she ever asked for permission before plunging into a project. He rather doubted it.

  Well, part of his duties as a pastor was to provide a good example to the members of the community. He might as well start now by driving home his meaning. “I have an interview with the bishop in Jackson on Wednesday. I should be able to give you a more definitive answer by Thursday.”

  “Where do you come from, Pastor?” Abigail changed the subject.

  “I studied under Pastor Douglas Feazell in Indiana for the past year, but I was born and raised in the southeastern corner of Tennessee. The town’s now called Chattanooga.”

  “I’ve heard of Chattanooga. And of the poor Indians who were driven away from their homes because gold was discovered nearby. Tell me, Pastor, is it as wild an area as the newspapers report?” Abigail’s question had an edge to it. “I have read of gunfights and lawlessness to rival anything that happens in Natchez Under-the-Hill.”

  Nathan’s stomach clenched. Had she heard something of his past? His heart beat so hard he was surprised his shirt was not moving. How could he have dreamed someone so far away would have heard of his crime? He didn’t know how to answer the girl. Should he admit his guilt? Or gloss over the past? After all, the people who were there that day had proclaimed him innocent of murder. The silence in the room lengthened as his mind bounced back and forth like an out-of-control stagecoach.

  Mrs. LeGrand must have realized how uncomfortable he was. She stood up and straightened her skirts. “Why don’t we leave Mr. Pierce alone, Abigail. I’m sure he’d like some time to wash off the dust of the road and settle into his new home.”

  Abigail hesitated a moment before nodding her agreement.

  Mrs. LeGrand walked toward the door but turned back to him before she exited. “I’ll ask John to bring you some hot water for a nice bath. He’s Mr. LeGrand’s personal gentleman, and he’ll know exactly what to do to make you more comfortable.”

  “That’s not necessary.” He didn’t want to be a burden to the LeGrands. “I haven’t been waited on in a long time.”

  She smiled at him. “Then I have no doubt you will enjoy his help. Oh, and don’t worry about being late for dinner. We never sit down before eight o’clock to give my husband time to wash after he returns from the fields.”

  “Dinner?” Nathan shook his head. “I’d not thought to dine with you—”

  “You might as well acquiesce gracefully, Brother Pierce.” When Abigail smiled, he could see the family resemblance. “I assure you my mother will not take no for an answer.”

  Nathan sighed as he followed the ladies to the front door. He had the feeling life here at Magnolia Plantation would not be without its challenges. He only hoped he could navigate his way through the choppy waters of the LeGrand family relationships. As an only child, he didn’t have a lot of experience in such matters. Perhaps he would be best served to avoid the members of the family altogether.

  With a nod he made his decision. He would spend most of his time at other communities in his circuit. After dinner tonight, the LeGrands would hardly ever see him.

  Chapter 3

  I wish my hair was as thick as Mama’s. It would make it so much easier to style.” Abigail looked at Jemma’s reflection in the mirror. Jemma had been part of the LeGrand household since Abigail’s parents got married. Even though she could have left early on, when they gave her her freedom, she had opted to remain here and work as a lady’s maid. Although the housekeeper was supposed to be the manager of the household staff, everyone turned to Jemma to solve household problems.

  Jemma had dressed her mother’s hair for as long as Abigail could remember, and she also helped Abigail on special occasions. Not that this was a special occasion. It was only dinner, after all. The same meal she took with her parents every evening. The only difference would be the presence of the new pastor.

  “It’s not like you to envy others, Abby.” The pet name Jemma had given her since she was born gave her a feeling of familiarity and calmed her nervousness. “But never fear. Your hair looks quite nice. See how it gleams in the light of the candles. Everyone at dinner will notice.”

  Abigail caught the look in the family servant’s gaze and blushed. She was grateful Jemma didn’t comment on how out of character it was for her to request help to dress for a family dinner.

  She cleared her throat and turned her head this way and that to marvel at the hairstyle. Jemma had swept her hair back and up, forming intricate swirls and weaving into them a strand of emerald beads to match Abigail’s dress. “You are a genius, Jemma.” She stood up and hugged her. “I don’t think anyone else could do as good a job as you.”

  “Go on with you.” The maid returned her hug and stepped back. “Let me help you with your dress.”

  “No thank you.” Abigail waved her away. “I appreciate your offer, but I’ll be fine.”

  After Jemma left, Abigail walked over to the bed and stared at the green dress lying across it. She’d had a hard time striking the perfect balance between an informal family dinner and a dinner party with guests. The last time she wore this particular dress, her dinner partner had remarked on the way it enhanced the color of her eyes.

  She wandered back to the mirror to stare at her face. Reddish brown hair, brown eyes. She wrinkled her nose and stuck out her tongue at the dull reflection. She looked like a washed-out copy of her mother. Expelling a sigh, she clipped a pair of emerald earrings to her earlobes and removed her wrapper. Then Abigail returned to the bed and slipped her dress over her head. After twisting this way and that, she managed to fasten most of the buttons. Perhaps she should not have sent Jemma out so quickly, but it was too late to call her back now.

  The casement clock in the hall chimed the quarter hour, reminding Abigail of the time. She tugged at the full sleeves to bring them down to her wrists and tied them quickly, hoping they were secure enough to stay out of her soup bowl. Something about her dress felt odd, but she didn’t have time to check for problems. Instead she searched in her bureau for a shawl which she draped over her shoulders to hide any imperfections and made her way to the dining room.

  As she reached the doorway, she heard her father’s deep voice welcoming the new pastor. She hesitated a moment in the hall and put a hand to her chest. Why was her heart beating so? “It’s only a family dinner,” she whispered to herself. “No reason to be nervous. He’s a man like any other. His opinion means nothing to you.” After a few deep breaths, she pinned a smile to her lips and stepped inside the room.

  Her father turned and opened his arms. “Good evening, daughter.”

  Abigail walked into his embrace. “Hi, Papa. How has your day been?”r />
  “Excellent. I trust yours was as well.” He stepped back and looked down at her. “Are you cold? I see you are wearing a shawl. Do you think I should light a fire?”

  “Oh no, Papa. It was a bit cool in my bedroom and I thought I’d better bring my shawl to ward off any drafts.”

  “If you’re sure.”

  Abigail wished she was not the center of attention. “Tell me about your day, Papa.”

  He shrugged. “I was telling Brother Pierce here about my idea for cultivating a new strain of peas.”

  Abigail turned to him. “I didn’t realize you were a farmer.”

  His look turned sheepish. “I’m not, but I have some friends who are well versed in planting and harvesting crops.”

  “I see.” She glanced upward and wondered how tall Nathan Pierce was. He easily topped her father, who was nearly six feet tall. She wondered why such a handsome man had not married. Was he so devoted to God that he’d not found time to court? Or had his heart been broken in the past by some coldhearted debutante, causing him to avoid romantic entanglements?

  “What did you do prior to answering the Lord’s call to the ministry?” her father asked.

  “I owned a dry goods store back home.”

  Abigail’s mother walked in. “I apologize for my tardiness.”

  “Don’t worry about it, my dear.” Abigail’s father left her standing next to Nathan and kissed her mother on the cheek. “You are always worth waiting for.”

  “And you are ever the gentleman, dearest.” She turned her attention to their guest. “I am so glad you were able to join us, Brother Pierce. We would have been devastated if you had not, wouldn’t we, Abigail?”

  Abigail looked up at the pastor. His cheeks had darkened at her mother’s words. How she longed to say something that would ease his discomfort. But nothing came to mind, so she simply nodded.

  “Since we are all arrived, why don’t we take our places?” Abigail’s mother put her hand on her husband’s arm and allowed him to lead her to her seat at the foot of the table.