Parker went on, seeming to read Junior's mind. He stepped down from his stump, and paced back and forth.
"Did the Spirit of God ever bring your sins together in remembrance, and make you cry out to God, 'Thou writest bitter things against me?' Did your actual sins ever appear before you, as though drawn in a map?"
He stopped and faced his listeners. He examined the Manning family, hesitating on each one of them.
When his eyes were freed, Junior looked around, hoping that others weren't staring at him, feeling heavy with remembrance.
"Father, when the Comforter comes into a sinner's heart, though it generally convinces the sinner of his actual sin first, yet it leads him to see and bewail his original sin, the fountain from which all these polluted streams do flow. The sin that lay with Eve. 'In Adam we all have died.' That original sin from which all these polluted streams do flow."
Junior's heart was beating faster. He no longer looked about the crowd. He was caught up in the message he was hearing for the first time.
"…which exalteth itself is immediately thrown down and he is made to cry out 'Who shall deliver me from the body of this death?'"
Reverend Parker's voice had risen to a thunder. He was back on the stump, his fist pounding into his hand. He rose to his toes, then stamped his foot on the stump.
"You are conceived and born in sin and God would be just if He damned you though you never committed an actual sin in your lives!"
He went on until Junior was convinced of the worthlessness of his life, and that a gaping hole of fire awaited him in eternity.
"And was this degree of conviction ever wraught in any of your souls? Were you ever made to lie at the feet of sovereign Grace and to say, 'Lord, if they will, thou mayest save me; if no, thou mayest justly damn me; I have nothing to plead, I can in no wise justify myself in Thy sight; my best performance, I see, will condemn me; and all I have to depend upon is Thy free grace?"
Parker stood silent, his arm held by his side.
Junior's hands were clasped in the way his mother had taught him to pray. He was helpless, lost, and sinking with his sins.
"But there is a sin which our Lord mentions as though it was the only sin worth mentioning. It is the reigning as well as the damning sin of the world. It is that cursed sin, that most of all other sins, the sin of unbelief."
At the sound of the word "belief," the young scoffers set up a howl. Baptist dissenters and their emphasis on belief were as humorous to them as the comical display of "dipping" was for baptism.
"Perhaps you may think you believe because you repeat the Creed, or subscribe to a Confession of Faith, because you go to church, receive the sacrament, and are taken into full communion. I put this question to you, 'How long have you believed?'"
One of the young men called out, "As long as I can remember," another, "I never did disbelieve!"
"Unless you were sanctified from your infancy there was a time when you did not believe," Parker answered them. "None of us believe by nature. After the Holy Ghost has convinced us of our sins, that we are utterly helpless to save ourselves, and that we must be beholden to God for everything. Including our faith, without which it is impossible to be saved by Christ. 'Dost thou believe on the Son of God?' is the question which the Holy Ghost now puts to our soul."
By then, most were caught up with Reverend Parker. Junior was fixed on the preacher and his words. He knew he was a helpless sinner and that everlasting punishment awaited him. He had come to the service thinking Mathias Manning was only angry about his sinning with Mary, but he saw that his sins were deeper, beyond the law and anger. His very soul was sinful. He despaired of all the evil he'd committed in his short life, and he despaired of the deserving punishment he'd receive in payment.
"…that is the especial gift of God, and without this special gift we can never come to Christ…"
Junior wanted the special gift. He wasn't deserving, he knew, but he longed for salvation.
"…and when, therefore, the Spirit places the sinner naked before the judgment bar of a sovereign, holy, just, and sin-avenging God…"
A woman screamed with terror of her judgment, and then another cried out, "Holy Jesus!" and fell to the ground.
"Then, then it is, when the sinner's soul, having the sentence of death within itself because of unbelief has a sweet display of Christ's righteousness made to it by the Holy Spirit of God…"
As Reverend Parker held out the possibility of salvation through belief, Junior began to know it: the truth. A sense of freedom came to him; liberty; lightness, the promise of salvation. He believed in the power of God to relieve him of his sins and guilt. The Holy Spirit had descended to him and taken that weighty load from his conscience. His body trembled.
"…now justified by faith has peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ, and can triumphantly say, 'It is Christ that justifies me, who is he that condemns me?"
"Thank you, blessed Jesus, thank you!" Junior cried.
The preacher continued, but Junior didn't hear. He was on his knees crying, holding Mary's hand as she, too, knelt in tears. Mathias and Elizabeth stood above them, each with a hand on one of the young peoples' shoulders. Elizabeth was crying from happiness, and Mathias looked down with satisfaction and wet eyes.
The body of believers at the service welcomed Junior's profession of faith and that of other new believers. They were passed among the brethren for embracing and a kiss of fellowship. Junior would be baptized on the same day as his marriage. Itinerant preachers traveled large areas, and a meeting every five weeks was as much as any location could hope for. Preaching, weddings, and baptisms were arranged so that these Sundays were long, happy days for everyone.
For the next four Sundays Parker was to announce the intention of the engaged couple in the meetings where he preached around the county. At the Little Sapony, it was a joyful month for the new convert as he basked in his newfound status in the family and with strangers who came to visit.
Junior was the first, that Sunday morning, and he dug his toes into the sand and pebble beach that edged this favorite spot on the river. He wore a new pair of knee breeches that Elizabeth Manning had made from material she'd brought from Norfolk County. She was making baby clothes from his old breeches, now soft with wear.
Reverend Parker prayed, as he stood in the water up to his waist, then motioned for Junior and the eight other new converts to approach. Junior looked up to the heavens. He didn't know what to expect, but surely the Lord would make instant changes in him when he hit the water. His lustful thoughts were still there, and he was hesitant to have them leave.
Reverend Parker held him about the waist, the other hand atop his head. With no warning other than the words "…Father, Son, and Holy Ghost," Junior was dunked backwards into the water three times amidst shouts of joy and celebration from the shore. He sloshed back to the riverbank and slipped to the ground on the muddy bank, causing him to cry out, "Be damned!" People tried to ignore his blasphemy, for the moment, and looked to Mary.
Mary wore a dress that had been loaned to her by Nan Tucker, the wife of John Tucker, and a neighbor. Nan Tucker had been sufficiently ample in her youth so that the dress could be arranged to make Mary's belly less visibly obtrusive. But there was no embarrassment in the crowd for the union of Stephen Williams, Junior and Mary Manning. The couple had realized their sin and God had forgiven them, in His grace, so what could people say of them?
Junior wore no waistcoat for the wedding, but he did have on a coat. It belonged to Mathias Manning, and had seen better days. The black material fit closely at the waist then fell away, flaring from the hips. The front skirts curved back slightly, and buttons covered with the same black wool were sewn as decoration at the tops of side vents where pleats were stitched. A folded neckerchief was tied around Junior's neck and fell down the front of his best linen shirt. He wished his mother were here.
Laws of the province didn't recognize Baptist weddings, but that was of no consequenc
e to those in attendance. The saved and baptized didn't recognize all the province laws, anyway, and few of its rules of behavior.
"Will you, Stephen, take this woman, Mary, to be your wedded wife, to live together after God's ordinance in the holy state of marriage, to love, honor, and cherish in sickness and in health, in prosperity and adversity, and forsaking all others, keep only under her so long as both should live?"
Junior smiled at this first use of his real name, Stephen, and said, "I will."
The same question was asked of Mary and she quickly blurted, "Yes," and then, more modestly, "I will."
Reverend Parker then took their hands and held them together saying, "These whom God hath joined together let no man put asunder." He then pronounced the lovers man and wife, "in the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost."
Junior knew that now he was a man, and recognized as such by the congregation. He saw in Mary's eyes that she recognized it, and the lustful groom was eager to shed his fancy clothes and exercise his prerogative as husband.
***
The summer continued with slow and satisfying work. Mathias Manning and the other small farmers of western Edgecombe planted little more than was needed for their own consumption. That little extra was used for trading. Much of Edgecombe's land was too weak for good tobacco, and the markets were too distant for most to transport excess corn or wheat. Some men drove their hogs or cattle to Virginia; some struggled with hogsheads of corn, or even of tobacco, but generally, the effort was not worth it. Few of the settlers had need of goods produced in the worldly community, having learned to become self-sufficient and desirous of few luxuries. The excess grain of Manning and his neighbors was traded to Duncan Lamon for his services in grinding their wheat or corn. The barrels and hogsheads Junior made were traded to friends who brought the family salt, fish, or, one time, a goodly length of black satin ribbon for Mary. No one needed for essentials. Anything that couldn't be bartered for was given away in the community of saved Christians; a community, despite the distances between individuals.
Still, Believers came together for meetings when the pastor came, or they gathered for house-raisings or barn-raisings. They celebrated births and deaths with food and prayers. Junior had heard stories of his mother and father's youth, when there'd been regular gatherings for church, or court, or general musters for militia. He'd missed that himself, but as a new Christian, living among the Faithful, his life was filled with joy and daily expectation of great happiness to come, while thinking less of his present wants. He eagerly joined in family prayers and began to love his new family, forgetting his own.
The baby was born in December and named Samuel, for Elizabeth Manning's father. After a wet and confining winter, with much disputing and plotting aimed at Junior by the Manning brothers, John and William, Mathias suggested that the community be called upon to build the young couple their own house. Stephen accepted smugly and quietly. He'd begun to think the Manning cabin was crowded too, very crowded.
The next November, William was born, named for Mary's and Junior's Grandfather Manning.
Mary lost a child the next year, but in 1750 she bore Stephen III, finally a son named for his father. Stephen had lost the intensity of feelings against his distant father, and lacked an argument to the curious. Solomon was born in 1751 and, to the joyous celebration of all, Mary, a longed for daughter, was born in 1752.
The children were adored and pampered by their parents and their grandparents. They could do no wrong, and all the boys were singled-out by their father or uncles for separate time and instruction, with patience that the men had never known themselves. At church meetings, the children were comforted, not scolded, when they screamed in terror at the emotional and frightening conversions of new believers. Junior remembered being fed hard spirits to quiten him when he was a child, but a screaming Sam or crying Billy were spoken to as a young vessel of God. When Billy was recovered after running off down the road, Mary had only spanked him, in her tears, then Junior had stopped working to take the boy fishing. When he was a child, Junior had often disappeared, strolling aimlessly about the woods or down a path. His father had beaten him for leaving chores behind, not for concern about his safety.
In the five years before the birth of little Mary, Junior had become more and more restless under the watchful and censorious eye of his father-in-law. Time was not his own, and Mathias Manning had a condemning word to say about most any detail or action of the young couple's life. He and Mary began escaping to the fields and woods to be alone and free to make love with the abandon that they excited in each other. At first, they'd suffered with remorse and guilt for their lust, for keeping their sinful excursions to themselves, and for failing to confess to them in public prayer. But their love was no sin, they decided, and held their passion closely to themselves. Junior did own up to other weaknesses of the spirit, but he had no more luck in controlling those than he did the weakness of the body. Evil thoughts about his brothers-in-law were other sins he usually held to himself.
John and William Manning had married Pittman girls and lived in houses on the far reaches of the farm. Both couples remained childless, and jealousy of Junior replaced the old antagonisms. Junior had voiced his feelings about the brothers to John Tucker, saying he "didn't give a damn" for the Manning brothers, and he was glad to see them move. In fact, he wished they'd join the movement of some dissatisfied and disheartened further west toward the mountains. Tucker urged a Christian resolution to the conflict, and publicly revealed Junior's sentiments at a church meeting.
Although there were apologies and prayers for forgiveness and forbearance, Junior left that meeting with new resentment. The community was too close, even though the members were so scattered. The family and community that Junior had prayed for as a child were suffocating him. He often prayed to God for guidance, but he missed the liberty he'd had as a child.
In the weeks after the birth of his daughter, Mary, Junior's thinking was pulled more and more towards the worldly life. Base urges grabbed him, at times, and when a "kiss of fellowship" was shared at meeting or on visits, lately, his mind might turn to un-Godly thoughts. It had been four weeks since he'd been alone with his wife, and base thoughts drove him to seek distraction.
He rode Manning's horse, Salvation, down the bed of the Little Sapony to where it joined the main stream and spread out into the large pocosin of the Sapony Swamp, then back between its banks before draining into the Tar River. It had taken Junior a fortnight of cutting and sawing that first year, pulling and digging like a slave, to clear the creek and straighten it a bit. Sometimes he'd used the chore as an excuse to get away from the noisy family. Sometimes Mary came with him to help pull out limbs that storms or age had thrown across the bed. That was when the lovers had first stripped and bathed in the clear water. The picture of her naked body burned his mind and he forced it away.
Manning's part of the creek was clean, as was their neighbor, Pittman's, and Pittman's neighbor, Bryant's. As Salvation splashed down the creek, Junior's thought of the good times he'd had on the Roanoke as a boy. He and Tom had raced and brawled and bet at cockfights. Tom Biggs would never rest under the thumb of a father-in-law. Junior wondered why he remained so compliant.
He stopped to drink from the jug of brandy he'd taken from Mother Manning's chest, admiring the red and burgundy leaves of black gums, and the hand-sized yellow leaves on poplars. The holly trees and pines were still green, but the other trees were turning. Two hard frosts had already hit, and he knew that winter would soon be back, locking him inside the cabin with Mary and the five children. He knew that by springtime she would be pregnant with another. Two squirrels argued in a yellow chestnut and he urged Salvation up the creek bank to the path that followed the river to Lamon's Ferry.
Duncan Lamon was a short man with a massive upper body that he'd developed in his trade as ferryman. The river was no more than fifteen yards across at his crossing, but five years of pulling at the rope and tackle gave
him arms and a chest that looked top-heavy above his short legs. Despite his size, it said that he had trouble with his tiny wife, a pretty, redheaded woman who was known to nurse her babies while riding back-and-forth on the boat across the river.
Any traffic of goods and equipment heading north or south along the fall line of the province had to use Lamon's services. Some individuals did swim their horses over, and some others jumped into the muddy water and swam it themselves. Some crossed at a shallow ford five miles upstream, but Lamon's Ferry was the necessary crossing for commerce on the Halifax Road.
As population in the colonies had pushed westward, Lamon's Ferry became an essential link in the movement of people and information. Lamon had been granted a license to operate a tavern for travelers and he'd constructed a gristmill made with stones taken from the rocky mount of the falls. He was a loquacious, sociable man who enjoyed the company—rough-edged or elegant— who passed through on travels, or dropped-in to have corn ground, or for a drink of his choice ales and spirits. Lamon had grown prosperous.
Duncan Lamon had arrived in the early rush of Scotch Highlanders. After the rout of "Bonnie Prince Charlie" in 1745, the vanquished Scots flocked to America, and particularly to North Carolina. Cross Creek, on the upper Cape Fear, was their center, but those who didn't stop there pushed westward. A few, like Lamon, had gone a few miles further north, into the mostly English area. With the eager help of Governor Johnston, a loyal Scot himself, the Scots' industrious habits brought success to most.
Becoming Americans Page 54
