A feeling not unlike emptiness filled the pit of her stomach. He was leaving? “How long will you be gone?”
He shrugged. “I don’t really know. I have met with my predecessor several times this week. He says he generally spent ten days to two weeks on the circuit, but he suggested I curtail this trek and return in time for Sunday services.”
Abigail realized her shoulders had drooped at some time in their conversation. She straightened them with an effort and forced her mouth up in a smile. She was not some young girl to moon over the handsome pastor. “Then I’ll wish you Godspeed.”
He nodded and turned to go into the ballroom.
Even as she greeted other guests, she had a difficult time concentrating on their conversations, her gaze often straying to the people in the ballroom as though she was trying to catch a glimpse of a certain tall, blond minister.
When her parents deemed it time, they joined the others. As soon as she entered the ballroom, Silas Ward stepped forward. Had he been watching for her?
His dark eyes glowed in the light of the chandelier. “You look so beautiful this evening. The color of your apparel is only eclipsed by the bloom of your cheeks.”
Raising an eyebrow at his effusiveness, Abigail looked past his right shoulder and met Brother Pierce’s serious gaze. “Thank you, Mr. Ward. You are most kind. I trust you are making yourself at home in our busy town.”
“Yes, yes. Natchez is a beautiful and interesting town. From the muddy banks and saloons of Under-the-Hill to the stately mansions like your home, I have found this town to be welcoming.” He stroked his mustache.
“I’m glad you like our little piece of the world. Things are not perfect in Natchez, not by any means. But for the most part, all of these people have their redeeming qualities.”
She turned to slip past him, but Mr. Ward put a hand on her arm. “I was wondering if you would honor me with a dance.”
Although she had planned to make a quick round of the people in the room, she could not resist the plea in his dark brown eyes. “Yes, of course, Mr. Ward.”
As if on cue, the musicians began playing a waltz. Mr. Ward held out an arm and escorted her to the center of the room. His arm went around her waist, and Abigail assumed the proper position as he swept her into the dance. At first she found it a little difficult to follow his lead, but then the music caught her. Abigail forgot the awkwardness and allowed him to twirl her around the room to the strains of Johann Strauss’s “Viennese Carnival.”
“I have not seen you at the orphanage this week.” His voice tickled her ear.
Abigail pulled away a little. “I generally go by there in the morning. Deborah always needs help with the youngest children while she is teaching the others reading and arithmetic.”
“I see. Perhaps I should make it a habit to drop by and help you.”
She concentrated on the lapel of his coat. “I’m not certain that’s a good idea. Deborah has been telling me how much she appreciates your afternoon visits. She says you are very good with the older boys.”
“I don’t do much.”
She could not fault his modesty. Deborah said Silas had been teaching the boys how to whittle. “At least what you’re teaching them will keep them occupied and out of trouble. At best they could learn skills for future employment.” Abigail glanced up at his face, surprised to see that his cheeks had flushed. “I hope I have not spoken out of turn.”
His hand tightened around her waist. “Of course not. I appreciate your compliments. I would be quite disturbed if I thought you did not approve of my feeble efforts to make a difference. Those poor boys. At the risk of losing your good opinion, I must admit that their circumstances disturb me greatly.”
Her eyebrows climbed up toward her scalp. She stiffened in his arms. “Are you saying Deborah’s not doing a good job?”
“Oh no.” His jaw dropped open. “That’s not what I meant at all. In fact, the orphanage is exemplary. And Miss Trent is a capable matron. If all orphanages were as well run as this one, our world would be a much happier place.”
The waltz drew to a close, and Abigail stepped away from him. “I enjoyed our dance, Mr. Ward, but I fear I must leave you to attend my duties as hostess.”
He bowed. “Of course. But I hope to speak with you again on this matter. I cannot have you thinking I do not approve of the orphanage.”
“That’s not necessary, Mr. Ward. You have explained yourself quite admirably. I appreciate your kindness to the children and your compliments concerning Miss Trent.” She felt his gaze on her as she crossed the room and could not decide if she liked the attention or not.
Charlotte Thornton stood next to her mother, Susannah Hughes, and Abigail’s mother. She joined them and spent the next hour listening to their discussion of the trials and joys of motherhood. Charlotte had a way of giving a humorous bent to her children’s escapades. Soon they were all laughing as she described her daughter’s attempts to whistle back at a yellow warbler perched on a tree near her bedroom window.
Standing with her back to the ballroom, Abigail felt rather than saw someone standing close to her. She turned and almost buried her nose in a starched shirt. Her breath caught as she looked up into the new minister’s blue gaze. His eyes reminded her of summertime—long, warm afternoons spent rocking in the shade of the front porch and watching the boats pass by on the ribbon of river at the base of their bluff. Heat from her memories might be the reason her cheeks were so flushed.
“Can I tear you away from your friends long enough for a dance?”
“She would love to dance with you, Brother Pierce.” Her mother answered his question for her.
It wasn’t that she didn’t want to dance with him. The problem was feeling as though she was being pushed in that direction. Abigail held herself stiffly during the opening bars of yet another waltz. Did this orchestra know any other types of songs?
“Thank you for agreeing to dance with me, Miss LeGrand.”
“The honor is mine, Brother Pierce.” She gave the acceptable response although what she really wanted to do was slip away. How dare her mother put her in this predicament. Brother Pierce probably thought she was desperate for a husband. Bad enough that every time he showed up her tongue tied itself in knots.
He cleared his throat, causing her to look up into his eyes once more. The whole room seemed to disappear around her as she fell into their blue depths. Why did his eyes have to be such an arresting color?
“I wish you would not call me Brother Pierce.” He smiled down at her, and the blue color deepened. “It makes me feel so old…and responsible for giving the right answer all of the time.”
Abigail’s heart melted at the vulnerability exposed by his words. She had never considered what it might mean to be a pastor. Of course she knew he would have to prepare sermons and visit the sick. Her mind went back to the days when she was a child and the pastor visited. Her parents had turned to him for reassurance and advice on any number of topics. Sometimes they had even sent her from the room so she would not be privy to the more adult problems they faced. “All right, Nathan. But I have a couple of conditions.”
“What conditions?” His smile wavered.
“First, you must call me Abigail.”
He nodded. “Agreed, Abigail.”
“And the second is that you must help me at the orphanage whenever you are in town.”
He hesitated a moment and almost stumbled. “I suppose so.”
“Good. Strange things are occurring there, and Deborah and I would like to talk to someone about them.”
The music stopped before she could elaborate further. He escorted her back to her mother. “I don’t know if I’ll see you before I leave tomorrow, Abigail, Mrs. LeGrand. But please rest assured you will all be in my prayers.”
“That’s very kind of you, Nathan.” She could feel her mother’s approving glance on her as he strode across the room. How would she ever explain their conversation without raising her parents
’ hopes?
Maybe it had been a bad idea to agree to Nathan’s request. But how could she have refused the plea in those piercing blue eyes of his? The answer was simple. She couldn’t.
Chapter 8
I really enjoyed your preaching, Brother Pierce.” The woman’s gap-toothed grin reminded Nathan of the jack-o’-lanterns he had carved as a child. “We been needing a good preaching. There’s folk here what turned from God and is going to burn in hell when they die.”
He was sure her words were meant to encourage him, but they had the opposite effect. He felt the weight of responsibility settle firmly on his shoulders. If he was not effective in explaining God’s Word, others would pay the ultimate price. “Thank you, ma’am.”
A sigh filled him before he turned his attention to the last few people waiting to greet him. Doubt seemed to chase after him each day on his circuit. Was he doing the right thing? Was he bringing converts into the fold? Was he good enough to preach God’s message of salvation and forgiveness? If he told these people what he’d done, would they turn from him in shock and disgust? He didn’t know the answers to the questions that dogged him. And no matter how hard he prayed for answers, God remained stubbornly silent.
The day was growing warm, and his coat was beginning to itch. Nathan promised himself a quick bath in the nearby stream before getting back on his horse and heading for the next town. But before he could enjoy that, he would have to see what these people needed. He smiled at the couple, a man about his own age and a pretty young woman who looked about five years younger. “What can I do for you?”
The man rolled the brim of his hat between his hands as though he was nervous. “We…uh…we was hoping you could marry us, Preacher. We been waiting for someone to come by who could say the words over us and make everything all legal-like. My name’s Frank Horton and this is Abigail, the woman I love more’n anything.”
Of course she looked nothing like the LeGrands’ daughter, but Nathan couldn’t stop his mind from conjuring up a picture of the engaging woman he’d danced with on his last evening in Natchez. The girl in front of him was dressed in a plain shift that had been mended many times. Her eye color was much lighter than his Abigail’s ebony gaze.
His thoughts halted. His Abigail? Where had that come from? Abigail LeGrand did not belong to anyone, least of all a traveling preacher with a shameful past.
He dragged his wandering thoughts back to the couple. “I would be happy to do so.” He smiled at them, opened his Book of Common Prayer. “ ‘Dearly beloved: We have come together. . .’” The words flowed around them, timeless and wonderful.
When he finished, he closed his eyes and bowed his head, waiting a moment to make sure the couple followed his lead. “Lord, here I stand next to Frank and Abigail, who present themselves humbly before You and ask that You bless their union. They have deep feelings of commitment and love for each other and pledge that they will always cling to You first and each other second. Please guide and direct them, keep their hearts tender one to the other, and may their union bring glory and honor to Your name above all else. In the name of Your precious Son, Jesus, the one who died so that all of us might have eternal life, amen.”
“Amen and thank you, Preacher.” The man put his crumpled hat back on his head and shook Nathan’s hand with enthusiasm before turning back to Abigail. “I guess we need to get back to your ma’s house. She’s gonna need you to help with the young’uns.”
Nathan walked with them to the edge of the meadow, where he’d tethered his horse. “I’ll stop in at the county courthouse on my way out of town and ask them to record your names.”
They nodded and thanked him once again before walking away hand-in-hand. He watched them for a moment, surprised by the yearning in his heart as Frank pulled his new bride close and planted a gentle kiss on her cheek.
What would it feel like to fall in love and marry? He had once believed he loved Iris Landon, and he had even wondered if he loved Margaret Coleridge. But that had been before he murdered a man. The stain on his soul because of that terrible deed would likely prevent him from ever really falling in love. And it would certainly stop any self-respecting young lady from wanting to marry him.
Nathan tucked his Bible into his saddlebag and removed his coat. The sooner he got that through his thick skull, the better. Maybe soaking it in the creek would help clear his head. He certainly hoped so.
“It must be here somewhere.” Abigail could hear the frustration in Deborah’s voice.
She put a hand on her friend’s shoulder. “Don’t worry, we’re going to find it. It’s probably been mislaid.”
Having arrived at the orphanage late, Abigail had been surprised to find the children barely controlled by Sheba, the young black woman who cooked and helped care for the orphans. Deborah, she had explained, wouldn’t come out of her bedroom.
Concerned that the capable administrator was sick, Abigail had gone upstairs and found a scene of chaos in Deborah’s usually orderly room. The rocking chair had been pushed away from its corner, the padded cushion dangling from one corner of the seat. Blankets and pillows made a pile next to the bureau. Clothing hung haphazardly from the drawers suspended at precarious angles, and Deborah’s water pitcher and bowl were upside down. The hand-knotted rug Abigail had helped her make had been rolled up and leaned against the wall between the pair of windows overlooking the street. Even the drapes had not been spared—they had been pulled down and now lay in heaps like discarded rags.
“I know I’m being silly about an inexpensive piece of gaudy jewelry, but that bracelet is the only reminder I have of my mother. It has no intrinsic value. I know I left it somewhere in my room last Sunday after the service.” The distraught woman jerked the drawer out of the bureau and dumped the entire contents on the bed, grunting with the effort.
Abigail helped her comb through gloves, handkerchiefs, and cotton pantaloons. Something glimmered in the light from the window. “Is that it?”
“Where?” Deborah pounced at the spot Abigail indicated. “No.” She lifted a shiny button up. “This came off of my walking dress and I have not had time to sew it back on.”
“Your bracelet doesn’t seem to be in here.” Abigail surveyed the bedroom. She had never seen Deborah’s room in such a state of chaos. “Perhaps you laid it down somewhere else because one of the children interrupted you. Wait and see. As soon as we discover it, you will remember what happened.”
Deborah tossed the contents back into the drawer without folding them. “I hope you’re right.”
After helping her slide the drawer back into the bureau, Abigail sat down on the rumpled bed. “Have you looked anywhere else?”
“No, I cannot imagine it would be anywhere else. I always send the children up to change out of their Sunday clothes, and I do the same. That’s when I take the bracelet off and put it away.” Deborah covered her face with her hands.
Abigail got up and put her arms around the distraught woman. She pushed back her concern about finding the bracelet. Now was not the time to voice her doubt. Deborah needed comfort. “Never fear. We will find it if it’s anywhere in the house. Have you talked to Sheba? Maybe she has seen it.”
Deborah shook her head. “I have not said anything about it. I’m sure they wonder if I’ve lost my senses, but I’d rather they think that than to feel accused of thievery.”
“Only a guilty conscience would make someone feel accused.” Abigail squeezed Deborah’s shoulders before stepping back and pointing to the bed. “Why don’t you sit down over there while I straighten up the room a little? Who knows? Maybe I’ll find the bracelet as I put your things away.”
She bustled about putting order to the room while Deborah followed her suggestion. As she worked, Abigail tried to come up with other locations where her friend might have left the bracelet, but every suggestion she made was answered with a breathy no or a shake of the head. By the time she finished tidying the room, her list of possibilities had been exhausted.<
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“I don’t see any way around asking the others if they have seen your jewelry. I understand your reservations, but it must be done.” She perched beside Deborah and handed her a handkerchief. “Would you rather I asked? That way you can place the blame on me if anyone’s feelings are bruised.”
“No, I’ll do it.” Deborah scrubbed at her face with the square of lace. “I had to make sure it wasn’t in here first. In all the years I’ve been here, nothing has ever been stolen. But I suppose I’m going to have to face facts. Someone in this house is a thief.”
“Let’s not jump to conclusions. I am still hoping we will find it in the kitchen or lying on the hall table.” She met Deborah’s forlorn gaze with a smile she hoped was comforting. “Let’s check, and if we do not find it, we’ll move forward from there.”
The children were finishing their breakfast as the two women went downstairs and looked around for the piece of jewelry. When they still could not find it, they called the children and Sheba together and explained what had happened. Being very careful to avoid accusing anyone, Deborah asked if her bracelet had been seen. Worried stares and shakes of the head answered her. No one knew where it could be.
“I’ll bet the ghost took it,” said one of the older boys.
Fear radiated from the younger children, and even one or two of the older ones looked over their shoulders or shuffled their feet.
“Don’t be silly.” Abigail stood up to get their attention. “Ghosts don’t exist.”
Mia nodded her head. “Yes, they do. We hear them at night, Miss Abigail. They pull chains around in the attic and moan like the wind.”
“And they walk around in the halls sometimes,” another girl added in solemn tones. “But I hide under my covers so they won’t see me and take me away.”
A little boy began to cry at her gloomy words.
Deborah clapped her hands. “That’s enough. All of you know better than to frighten each other. We are a family in this house, and families don’t scare each other with tales of imaginary spirits.” She opened her arms to the little boy who was crying. He ran to her and buried his head against her shoulder. “Don’t worry, Timmy. Everything’s going to be all right.” She gathered him up and walked out of the parlor, murmuring comforting words in his ear.
Mississippi Brides Page 22
