One eyebrow arched as Beatrice took in the small black woman. “I’d rather dine in hell.”
She turned to leave, then swung back around. “And, Lily, don’t think I’ll let you go so easily. You’re all I have. You’re my dearest friend. I won’t let your grief and these conniving people tear us apart.”
Lily watched in dismay as Beatrice marched toward the wagon. It was true—they were close friends and had been comrades through many hardships. Beatrice Waldowski had believed in Lily when no one else would. Beatrice had helped Ted Nolan covertly marry and then spirit away the forlorn young woman who had appeared at their show night after night in Philadelphia. Elopement, escape, freedom. Beatrice had promised Lily a new life, and she had delivered.
True, they’d often gone hungry and unwashed. The show had been run out of many towns. No one but Beatrice had really appreciated Lily’s soliloquies and arias. And then there had been Ted—a vain man, a drifter, a womanizer. But he hadn’t beaten Lily, as her own father had, and he had given her Abigail. Beautiful Abigail.
“Hoo, I’m glad she’s gone,” Mother Margaret said. “That woman flat gave me the willies.”
“Beatrice is my friend. She may appear harsh at times, but she has a kind heart.”
“Uh-huh.” The old woman sounded unconvinced. “Let me tell you about some kind folks. You see them lights a long way off, child? That’s the home of Rosie and Seth Hunter. They’ve got a little boy named Chipper, and they’re gonna have a new baby come autumn. Down the middle of town is the mercantile. Miss Caitrin Murphy lives in the soddy nearby, and she’s fixin’ to marry Mister Jack. The Cornwalls built them a place near the smithy, and my boy Ben put our house on the other side. Come on, now; I can smell that cobbler.”
Reluctant to stray so far from her friend, Lily moved slowly up the road toward the smithy. Where would she be without Beatrice Waldowski? She’d be back in the brick house in Philadelphia, living under the thumb of her father and probably preparing for marriage. No doubt her parents would expect her to marry a man like Reverend Hardcastle’s son, who was planning to take his father’s place in the pulpit of St. George. Lily groaned. The last thing she wanted to do was marry a preacher.
“Mrs. Hanks?” Elijah Book stepped out of the small frame house and held up a lantern. “Did you find her?”
Lily stopped in her tracks. “What are you doing here? Is this some kind of a trick?”
“Brother Elijah is eatin’ supper with us, same as you,” Mother Margaret said as she headed for the front door. “Folks has got to feed the preacher, don’t you know. It’s mannerly.”
Unbudging, Lily watched the tall man approach. He took off his hat, clearly as ill at ease as she. “Mrs. Nolan,” he began, his blue eyes intense in the lantern light, “I was hoping you’d come to the Hankses’ home.”
“Why? Don’t you trust me to take care of Samuel in my own wagon?”
He shifted from one foot to the other. “Well … as a matter of fact, it does make me a little uncomfortable.”
“Because I’m an actress.”
“But that doesn’t mean I want you to stop feeding Samuel. Sam needs your help. I just thought maybe if you’d be willing to stay here with the Hanks family for a few days—”
“Do you mean to tell me you sent that poor old woman all the way across the prairie to rescue this baby?”
“No, it’s not like that. Mrs. Hanks suggested it. I was over here visiting with the family, and I got to talking about the wagon and how maybe you’d like someplace quieter. I know you live in a traveling show, and that means—”
“What does it mean, buster?” Lily took a step toward him. “That wagon is my home, and Beatrice is one of the kindest people I’ve ever known. She took me in, and she gave me food and a bed and honest work—and don’t you ever, ever—”
“I’m just thinking of Samuel.”
“You’re thinking of your own high-and-mighty reputation!” she snapped. “You want to make sure nothing around you looks too bad or too shameful because then it would reflect poorly on you. I’d wager you took in this baby just to prove to everybody how righteous and holy you are. ‘Oh, the poor traveling preacher with his little orphan baby,’ everybody will say. ‘How sweet, how kind! Why, let’s feed that preacher some dinner. Let’s flock all around him like hungry little chickens. Let’s give him our money.’”
“Now, listen here, ma’am,” Elijah growled, his forefinger jabbing toward her. “I accepted that baby because God gave him to me. You think I’d be crazy enough to want to haul a squallin’ kid around with me? I can’t sleep, I can’t think, I can’t even pray with him hollering his head off every minute of the day and night. But I’m going to give that boy all I’ve got as long as I live because he’s my responsibility, and I don’t care what anybody thinks about it. Especially you.”
As he spoke, Elijah advanced on her. Shoulders squared and head thrust forward, he was menacing, terrifying. “And as for the notion that I take folks’ money,” he barked, “I’ll have you know I was supposed to go to China, but I gave all my money to you. That’s where the money’s gone—to you!”
Lily couldn’t listen. She had to hide. Had to find that place inside herself where she could escape the anger.
“And if you think I’m so righteous and holy,” he went on, “well, I’ll tell you a thing or two about that. Not too long ago, I was just where you are. I was roaming around, doing whatever felt good to me, living my life just the way I liked it. I know how an actress in a traveling show lives. I know the kinds of things you do to earn money….”
He was coming now. Closer and closer, he was coming. And soon, very soon, it would begin. Lily sank to her knees and covered the baby with her body. Both hands over her head, she squeezed her eyes shut and began to listen to the music inside herself. Golden melodies poured through her heart and filled her mind. The music lifted her up and away from his words, taking her far from the fear, the rage, the pain.
“Miz Nolan?” his voice asked.
She shrank from his touch, willing the music to keep her alive. Silver harmonies. Crystal notes.
“Are you all right, ma’am?” He was crouching in the grass beside her, his big hand gently laid on her arm. “I didn’t aim to scare you. I’ll admit I was a little frustrated, but … are you okay under there? You can come out. I won’t do a thing, I swear.”
Lily lowered her hands and lifted her head. It wasn’t her father after all. It was Elijah Book. The preacher gazed at her with blue eyes full of concern. His Stetson had tumbled to the ground. A lock of hair had fallen over his forehead.
“You can keep Samuel in your wagon if you want,” he said in a low voice. “I’m sorry. I’m sure sorry I scared you.”
Unable to stop trembling, Lily straightened and held out the baby. “Take him. I can’t do this.”
“Please. I need you.” He slid his hand down her arm and touched her fingers. “Don’t be afraid of me. I would never hurt you.”
“Mercy, mercy, mercy!” Mother Margaret’s small feet appeared at the edge of Lily’s vision. “What you two doin’ down in the grass? I went in to check on the chicken, and next thing I know, you done disappeared. Everything all right?”
“Yes,” Elijah Book said, his eyes locked on Lily’s face. “It’s going to be all right.”
“Lemme see what you got there, Brother Elijah,” Mother Margaret said as she and her family joined their guests outside on the front porch after the sumptuous meal. “You got the biggest, fattest Bible I ever did see. And what is that other book?”
Elijah showed the old woman the Holy Bible he had purchased right after his call to preach the gospel. He had traded his life’s savings for the leather-bound volume, and he considered it a treasure. But the small hymnal he now placed in Mother Margaret’s hand ran a close second. His mother had once owned the slender book of music, and she had sung the hymns to him as he sat on her lap. Elijah had found it in her trunk many years after her death. Even before he c
ame to understand the message in the Bible, he had read those songs again and again. Their words had lit his path.
“That’s my hymnbook,” he said. “I can’t carry a tune in a bucket, but I know every song by heart.”
The old woman turned through the worn pages one by one. Her son, Ben, leaned over and examined the book with his mother. Elijah pushed back in his chair, hooked one boot over the other, and locked his hands behind his head. He could see Lily Nolan three chairs down on the porch, rocking the baby and humming some little tune. Maybe this was going to work out all right after all, though he never would have believed it.
That woman sure brought out the worst in him. She seemed to know exactly how to pull the anger right up out of his chest. Before he could stop himself he had been hollering at her, shouting in her face, and scaring the living daylights out of her. He’d never felt such shame in his life as when he saw her cowering in the grass, her arms over her head and her body sheltering the baby. As though he would hit her!
Sure, in his old saloon days, Elijah had been a rough and rowdy fellow, but he’d never touched a woman with a harsh hand. Now that he was walking in Christ’s footsteps, he’d surrendered his old notion of “an eye for an eye, and a tooth for a tooth.” He was working hard on turning the other cheek.
“This songbook ought to go to somebody who can use it right,” Mother Margaret said. “Here, Miss Lily, you take it.”
Elijah sat up straight. Lily stopped rocking the baby. Everyone in the gathering turned to the preacher as if awaiting his response. Ben Hanks, a strapping man with arms like tree limbs, gazed at him with soulful brown eyes. His wife, Eva, looked up from her darning. Mother Margaret just grinned as she held out the precious hymnbook.
“Miss Lily,” she said, “you have the voice of an angel. Take this book, and keep it. You sing the baby every song in there, and he’ll grow up right.”
“Mother Margaret,” Lily said, “the hymnbook belongs to the preacher.”
“He don’t need it. Can’t carry a tune in a bucket; he said so himself. Take it, girl. And sing us somethin’, would you? Sing the first song in the book. What’s it called? You know, I can’t read worth beans. Can’t even sign my name.”
Lily took the hymnbook and opened it. Elijah swallowed. That was his mother’s book, his only memento of her. He didn’t want some no-account actress—he caught himself and took a deep breath.
“Holy, holy, holy!” Lily began to sing.
“Lord God Almighty!
Early in the morning our song shall rise to Thee;
Holy, holy, holy! merciful and mighty!
God in three Persons, blessed Trinity!”
“Mmm,” Mother Margaret said. “Ain’t that the prettiest voice you ever heard, Ben?”
“Yes’m,” her son agreed.
“Sounded like a funeral dirge to me,” put in his wife.
“Eva!”
“Well, it did. Miss Lily, sing the verse about the darkness. Here we are out under the stars, and I can just feel the presence of the Lord. Sing it, Miss Lily. Sing it with joy.”
Elijah studied the young woman as she gripped the hymnbook. Her fingers skeletal, Lily seemed mesmerized by the book. She swallowed twice, as though the words must be forced out of her throat.
“Holy, holy, holy!”
Her voice began slowly, and then grew stronger as she sang. High, clear, perfect—each word formed on her tongue. Every note sounded like the ringing of a single crystal bell.
“Though the darkness hide Thee,
Though the eye of sinful man Thy glory may not see;
Only Thou art holy—there is none beside Thee,
Perfect in pow’r, in love and purity.”
“Thank you, Jesus!” Mother Margaret exclaimed. “Love and purity. Yes, sir, that about says it all. The Lord of love is in my heart— holy, holy, holy. And he is pure! Amen!”
“Amen,” chorused Ben and Eva.
Elijah eyed his mother’s hymnbook, his chest tight and his heart dark. He didn’t want Lily Nolan to have the book. It wasn’t hers. A woman like her didn’t deserve such a gift.
“Oh, Miss Lily, you have a voice that can rival the tongues of angels,” Mother Margaret said. “You need that book. Take it with you, and sing to everybody far and wide. Sing to that baby God gave you. Sing to the preacher. Sing to God hisself!”
Lily lifted Samuel to her shoulder and began to pat his back. “I know plenty of songs by heart,” she said. “I don’t need Mr. Book’s hymnal.”
“It did belong to my mother,” Elijah said, leaning forward.
“Belong?” the old woman said. “Nothing belongs to nobody but God. Everything we got is here on loan from the Almighty. This house, that songbook, even that young’un over there. You better start listenin’ to the Spirit of the Lord, Brother Elijah. Don’t act on your own will, now. You listen. Listen good.”
Elijah stared at his mother’s hymnbook and tried to listen to the Holy Spirit. But all he could think about was the afternoon he had discovered the book in a trunk and had realized that his own mother’s hands had touched its pages. She had died when Eli was only four or five years old, and he mourned her to this day. She had sung to him out of the book, held him in her arms and sung hymn after hymn….
He lifted his focus to the young woman cradling baby Samuel. Nothing belongs to nobody but God, Mother Margaret had said. She was right. The child had been given to him by God. Even this woman had been sent to him by God. He had to believe that. Hard and bitter as she was, Lily Nolan needed the words in that hymnbook more than Elijah needed a physical memento of his mother.
“You keep it,” he said to Lily. “Sing to Samuel.”
“That’s right,” Mother Margaret intoned.
“Well,” he said, standing, “I reckon I’d better get going.”
Eli settled his Stetson on his head and picked up his Bible. After thanking the Hanks family for their welcome, he walked toward the rocking chair. Lily Nolan was a vision out of a fine oil painting. Her golden hair glowed like a halo of holiness around her head. Her pale blue gown swept to her feet, and her slender arms enfolded the sleeping baby. With skin the color of fresh milk and eyes like a pair of bright bluebonnets, she could warm the heart of any man.
Lord, why does she have to be an actress in a traveling show? Elijah prayed silently as he approached her. Why does she have a sharp tongue and a stiff spine? Why can’t she be the kind of woman I asked you to send into my life? Elijah longed for the gentle touch of a righteous woman whose eyes and heart were committed to the Lord. He envisioned someone sweet and pure. Why couldn’t God have sent someone like that to tend Samuel?
“Mrs. Nolan,” he said, “I’ll be over at the church, in case the baby needs anything. You could send Ben Hanks to fetch me.”
She gave the baby a pat. “You’ll be preparing sermons, I guess. Make them good. I need the money.”
He recoiled from the cynicism in her words. “Maybe you’d like to suggest a subject?”
“Hellfire and damnation, I should think. Isn’t that what you preachers like to talk about the most? How about the thirty-second chapter of Deuteronomy as a text? ‘For a fire is kindled in mine anger, and shall burn unto the lowest hell, and shall consume the earth with her increase, and set on fire the foundations of the mountains—’”
“Mrs. Nolan—”
“Or maybe something from Psalms? How about this, from Psalm 55?” She lifted her chin, narrowed her eyes, and recited in a venomous voice, “‘Let death seize upon them, and let them go down quick into hell: for wickedness is in their dwellings, and among them.’”
Elijah shook his head in confusion. The woman knew the Scriptures better than he did. And yet her pain and anger were overwhelming. How could someone who had taken the Word of the Lord into her heart be so empty of his holy presence?
“I guess I could preach about hell,” he said. “But I’d rather preach on the love and forgiveness of the God who sent his own Son to die for us
.”
“Hell is much more effective.” She gave him a frigid smile. “If you haven’t learned this lesson yet, Preacher-man, you soon will: fear is a great motivator. Humiliate, shame, and terrify a person if you really want to get something from him.”
“Not if you want his love. Or hers.” Eli bent down and ran his fingertips over the baby’s velvety forehead. “Good night, Samuel. Good night, Mrs. Nolan.”
He turned to leave, but her words stopped him cold.
“Love?” she said. “What would you know about love? You didn’t even kiss your baby good night.”
Eli squeezed his fists together in anger at her taunting words. Kiss a baby? What for? He was a man, and Sam was just a little pup—asleep, at that. Who would know the difference? Eli’s own father had never kissed him. Not once.
Lily’s voice was more gentle when she spoke again. “Please come and kiss your baby, Reverend Book.”
Eli turned and walked back to her side. His father had never kissed him—and Eli had never felt his father’s love. In fact, he hadn’t understood what love was until Christ came into his life. If the woman Christ had sent was instructing him to kiss Samuel, then he’d do it.
Hunkering down on one knee, Eli set one hand on each arm of the rocking chair and bent over. He gave the baby a swift peck on the forehead and then drew back. “There,” he said. “Done.”
“Very good, Reverend Book. A truly loving gesture.”
He frowned at her. “You kiss him then.”
“All right,” she said. As she gazed at the sleeping baby, her face transformed. Her blue eyes grew soft, her lips tilted into a smile, and her voice gentled. “Sweet Samuel,” she whispered, “precious baby. Sleep softly, little one. Rest in comfort and hope. I love you, Samuel. I love you so much.”
A tear slid from her eye as she pressed her lips to the baby’s cheek. Then she kissed his little forehead. And then each of his eyes.
Prairie Storm Page 4
