Sissy closed her eyes. “Ain’t sure I wanna live in such a world.”
Euphanel leaned closer. “Oh, my dear friend. I can’t bear to think of my life without you in it. I know your pain is great, but God has kept you here. Surely there’s a reason. We have to trust that He will show us that purpose.”
“Ain’t gonna be easy. I . . . ” Sissy’s voice faded into silence.
Clutching Sissy’s hand to her breast, Euphanel began to weep anew. It wouldn’t be easy. Loss never was.
Someone touched her shoulders and Euphanel looked up. Arjan gave her a sympathetic smile. “You need to get some rest.”
“I can’t leave her, even to just go next door to Deborah’s room.
I don’t want her to be alone.”
Arjan nodded. “I kind of figured you’d say something like that. I’ve brought one of the camp cots. I’ll set it up on the other side of the bed.”
Euphanel tucked Sissy’s hand under the covers and got to her feet. “Thank you. You were good to think of such a thing.”
“No problem.” He paused, as if trying to figure something else to say, then nodded and walked from the room.
Euphanel glanced back at Sissy and felt a helplessness she’d not known since the logging accident had taken Rutger. God seemed so far away – so silent.
CHAPTER 3
Sissy remained too ill to attend the funeral services for her husband and son. Dr. Clayton was encouraged by her strength and signs of recovery, but he forbade her to move from bed. Mother decided to remain at the house and care for Sissy, while the rest of the family attended the burial.
Deborah looked at the plain wooden coffins. They were simple and sturdy – much like the men who filled them. These had been good men – dependable, trustworthy – and now they were gone.
She felt great comfort that Pastor Artemus Shattuck had offered to lead the services. The black church was currently without a minister and relied on the elders to take charge of the services. It was a bold statement to the community that a white minister would think this a serious and important enough matter to officiate.
The black community stood to one side, while the whites were on the other. The two groups seemed in opposition to each other – just as the world would have it be. There were looks of accusation and anger on the faces of some of the blacks. Others bore tearstained expressions.
Deborah had learned that some of the former slave women had dressed the bodies, and the men had put together coffins with wood supplied by Mr. Perkins. Thankfully, the coffins had been closed to hide the hideous damage done to the men. Deborah had no desire to remember George and David as the nightmarish image she’d overheard her brothers describe. Instead, she forced herself to remember the men as they had been in life.
A group of women began to sing. Deborah recognized most as former slaves who had been good friends to the Jackson family. The women had strong voices and the words of the song rang out, demanding her attention.
“Steal away, steal away, steal away to Jesus!
Steal away, steal away home, I hain’t got long to stay here.”
A chorus of “amens” and “glory be’s” rippled through the congregated blacks. But it was only when the verse was sung in the powerful, mournful wail of the women that the crowd was really stirred up.
“My Lord, He calls me, He calls me by the thunder; The trumpet sounds within my soul, I hain’t got long to stay here.”
Deborah felt deeply moved by the emotion of the song and its singers. These were people who had seen so much oppression, had endured great pain and misery. Their freedom had come at a high price – a price that left many bitter and angry. George and David had died because of such animosity.
The haunting melody and lyrics reached deep into Deborah’s heart. She closed her eyes as voices from the congregation joined the singers. The music bound them together in a way that nothing else could.
“Green trees are bendin’, Poor sinners stand a-tremblin’; The trumpet sounds within my soul, I ain’t got long to stay here.
Steal away, steal away, steal away to Jesus!
Steal away, steal away home, I hain’t got long to stay here.”
The voices faded and muffled sobs took their place. Deborah opened her eyes and swayed ever so slightly. The moment – the deep spiritual intensity – overwhelmed her. Uncle Arjan put his arm around her shoulders as if to steady her. She glanced up to meet his concerned face, but said nothing.
“There is great sorrow in our community,” Pastor Shattuck began. “Great sorrow in the death of good men – good men who were undeserving of such punishment.”
Deborah looked around at the handful of whites in attendance. She was rather surprised to see Margaret Foster and some of her family. The Fosters had never been overly friendly with the former slave population, and in fact had spoken out against the blacks being given jobs that should go to whites first. Perhaps it signaled a change of heart. Deborah hoped so.
Christopher was there, along with her brothers, Uncle Arjan, and some of the men who had worked alongside George and David at the logging camp. Other than that, only Mr. and Mrs. Perkins represented the town officially. Constable Nichols was nowhere to be seen, and neither were the Huebners or Greeleys. Deborah frowned and lowered her head.
God, are you here?
The prayerful question nearly brought her to tears. How could God allow such pain? Surely He loved His dark-skinned children as much as He loved those with fair complexions.
You do love them, as you love me – don’t you?
She glanced skyward as if expecting a booming reply, but God was silent.
“So often we are faced with adversity and conflict. We are left to wonder where God is when such things happen to the innocent.”
Deborah started and raised her face to stare hard at Pastor Shattuck. It was as if he had read her mind. Could he possibly understand her feelings of confusion?
“Evil reaches out to quell the happiness of good people – Godfearing people who would do acts of generosity in the name of Jesus.
Where is God when that evil overcomes as it did with George and David Jackson?”
The gathering was strangely quiet. It seemed as though everyone was silent with anticipation, awaiting the pastor’s words.
“In the Psalms, David cries out to the Lord.” He lifted up his well-worn Bible. “The thirteenth psalm speaks thus, ‘How long wilt thou forget me, O Lord? for ever? how long wilt thou hide thy face from me? How long shall I take counsel in my soul, having sorrow in my heart daily? How long shall mine enemy be exalted over me? Consider and hear me, O Lord my God: lighten mine eyes, lest I sleep the sleep of death; Lest mine enemy say, I have prevailed against him; and those that trouble me rejoice when I am moved.’ ”
Pastor Shattuck paused to look across the sea of faces. “ ‘But I have trusted in thy mercy; my heart shall rejoice in thy salvation. I will sing unto the Lord, because he hath dealt bountifully with me.’ ” He lowered the Bible and closed it gently.
“We have trusted in God’s mercy. We rejoice in His salvation. He has dealt us great bounty – great love. We do not face this sorrow alone. We do not put our eyes on the enemy at the door, but instead keep our vision fixed on God alone. This world will pass away and with it will go the sadness and injustices that Satan has imposed. God will not be mocked – nor will He be ignored. David and George will have justice – the Lord will avenge their blood and comfort our hearts. We have only to trust in His mercy. Let us pray.”
Deborah bowed her head but heard very little of the pastor’s prayer. Instead, God’s presence surrounded her like a comforting breeze on a stifling day, like a glass of iced lemonade to quench her thirst. Uncle Arjan’s embrace supported her, but it was God’s powerful presence that engulfed and strengthened her spirit.
You’re all we truly have – the only constant in a troubled world. Yet the pain she felt seemed to smother that small flicker of peace. Why did you let this happen, God? Why?
Deborah took a deep breath and wrestled with her thoughts. God had not left them as orphans – He was here – He would always offer his comfort and strength. There was still a world of evil with which to contend, but they would not face it alone. She knew this somewhere deep in her soul . . . so why did it feel so hopeless?
After the service concluded, Deborah longed to get away. She had thought to start walking home but found that her brothers and even Christopher objected to the idea.
“You can’t walk home alone,” Christopher stated firmly. “After what happened to George and David, it would be too great a risk.”
“Why in the world would you say that, Doc?” one of the Shaw brothers questioned.
G.W. answered before Christopher could speak. “Klem, it’s not just the people of color who have to worry about the deeds of evil men.”
“Seems to me, this was just a matter of dealin’ with some old slaves.”
Deborah’s expression changed from peaceful to angry. “They weren’t slaves anymore. They were free – just as we are.”
“Besides,” Christopher said, eyeing the man, “Miss Vandermark has dark hair and eyes. Her skin is tanned from the sun. Someone from the White Hand of God might mistakenly think her to be of mixed-blood or Mexican descent.”
Christopher’s words took Deborah by surprise. She’d never once considered that someone might think of her as anything but white.
“That’s downright foolish,” Klem’s brother Kale declared.
“Ever’one knows Miss Deborah. Ain’t nobody gonna think her a Negro or Mexican.”
“People make mistakes,” G.W. said, drawing Lizzie close to his side. “Not every white woman sports blond hair and pale skin as my wife does. Seems to me, Doc makes a good point. In the heat of a moment – in the fading light of the forest – someone just might make such a mistake.”
By this time, the few other white men had gathered around them. There was a general cry of disapproval at G.W.’s statement.
“Ain’t no one gonna lay a hand on a white woman,” Matthew Foster declared. “That ain’t the way things are done around here.”
“I wouldn’t think that a woman, black or white, would have 34 to fear for her life in these parts,” Rob threw in, “but we got proof that ain’t the case.”
Several of the men muttered curses under their breath. Their attitude took Deborah off guard. “I can’t believe that you could be so callous. A woman lies near death in my home. A loving woman – a dear friend to my mother.” Deborah pulled away from her uncle’s side.
“I thought the men of this community to be honorable – to look beyond a person’s skin color – but I see I was wrong. Perhaps some of you even participated with the White Hand of God to kill George and David.” Her statement took everyone by surprise and seemed to momentarily stifle their ability to reply.
G.W. looked at her and then to Lizzie. Deborah read fear in her brother’s expression. Did he also think there were people here capable of doing such heinous acts?
“I believe it does little good to speak in anger,” Pastor Shattuck said, coming to intervene. “We are all disturbed and wounded by what has happened. The attack on one family from our community is an attack on all. No matter the color or gender.” He offered Deborah a smile, then turned back to the men who seemed none too happy with her comments.
“Let us retire to our homes and pray for wisdom. Our town has suffered enough. It’s time for forgiveness and peace.”
For a moment, no one uttered a sound or moved to go. Then the crowd dispersed in an eerie solemnity.
Christopher watched the Vandermarks depart the funeral service and felt an immediate sense of loss. He longed to follow them back to their house, knowing he’d be welcome to do so, but he fought the urge. He would call on them later and check on Sissy. Otherwise, it seemed only right to allow them some privacy in their mourning.
He crossed the railroad tracks and walked slowly back to the white side of town. There was an unusual stillness in the air; Mr.
Perkins had actually closed down the sawmill for the afternoon funeral, a rare occurrence. A dozen or so men were gathered on the porch of the still-open commissary, while a great many others milled around the hardware store.
At home again, Christopher poured a cup of lukewarm coffee and served himself the last slice of pecan cake. Mrs. Perkins had sent the cake as a gift, by way of her two silly daughters. It was clear that the girls thought him a good catch, and it didn’t seem to discourage them that he was paying court to Deborah. Of course, he hadn’t exactly gone out of his way to make his intentions clear. He supposed they might, in fact, question the validity of the courtship since Christopher had done nothing overtly public to inform the community. Perhaps the girls thought him only casually interested in Deborah. Maybe they thought if they were coy and flirtatious, he might well change his mind and court one of them instead.
He settled down to the table and picked rather absentmindedly at the cake. He supposed he had no one but himself to blame. Even though he and Deborah had agreed to court with an intent to one day marry, they had agreed to keep their courtship rather casual. The townsfolk were used to seeing them together, but then, too, they knew of Deborah’s interest in medicine.
Not that this interest had been well received. It was one thing for a middle-aged healer to be a woman, but for a young, vibrant, unmarried lady to take up doctoring met with some discomfort in the little town of Perkinsville.
Christopher had said nothing to Deborah about the comments, but he was somewhat concerned. He’d had more than one family tell him that they did not wish to have Deborah involved in their medical needs. As the only doctor in the town, he felt he had to honor their desires, but it grieved him. Deborah was a quick learner and her passion for science knew no bounds. He hated to stifle her interests.
“Maybe I was wrong to come here,” he said, pushing the cake aside. He gave a heavy sigh and abandoned the coffee, as well. Getting to his feet, he decided the best thing he could do was head on out to the Vandermarks’ after all. He wouldn’t have any peace of mind until he did. Whether that stemmed from his concern for Sissy or his desire to be close to Deborah, he couldn’t be exactly sure.
He thought of his family as he crossed the road to the livery. He hadn’t seen his mother in some time. Her last letter had been full of worries and woes. She wrote of his younger brothers, fearing friends were leading them astray. His father remained distant and withdrawn. He’d never been the same after the accident that had left him paralyzed.
Despite his turmoil he forced a smile and motioned to a young boy who worked at the stable. “I need my horse. I have to make rounds.” He tossed a coin to the child.
“Yes, sir.” The boy easily caught the money and smiled. “I’ll be real quick.”
Christopher waited patiently while the boy went to the back of the livery to collect the doctor’s mount. The heady smell of horses, manure, and straw mingled in the air, which today was strangely lacking the normal smoke and dust from the mills. The air wasn’t of good quality on most days, and Christopher was glad to see that prevailing winds took most of the fumes away from the town.
“Here ya go, Doc,” the boy announced, leading a sturdy sorrel gelding. “He’s all ready for a run.”
Christopher thought the boy reminded him a bit of his youngest brother, Thomas. “How old are you, Robby?”
“Thirteen. Be fourteen next month.”
Smiling, Christopher nodded. “I have a brother just your age.”
“Truly? Does he have a job?” The boy pushed back his shoulders and eyed Christopher quite seriously. “Pa says by my age a boy needs to be workin’.”
“I haven’t seen him in a while,” Christopher replied, “but last I knew he was in school.”
Robby spit and shook his head. “Pa says there ain’t nothin’ I can learn in books what will beat life itself.”
Christopher knew that was the attitude of half the men in the count
y. There was no use demeaning the boy’s father and suggesting he was wrong. “Say, it’s been kind of chilly out – where are your shoes?”
The boy laughed. “Don’t wear shoes, lessen I have to. Ain’t no shoes I like.”
“Well, you don’t want to catch cold or worse.”
“Ma says I’m too ornery. My sisters both had scarlet fever and measles, but I ain’t been a bit sick.”
Christopher climbed atop the back of the horse and took up the reins. Without waiting for the boy to reply, Christopher urged the horse out of the livery and onto the road. The boy’s zest for life again reminded him of his siblings.
Memories of his family washed over him and the image of his petite mother, standing over a steaming pot of dirty clothes, immediately came to mind. She was aged beyond her years and would no doubt die young, as most overworked women did. The very thought caused him great sorrow. Never once in her life had she had it easy. Never once had she known a carefree day of rest. Even on the Lord’s Day, there were children to care for and meals to put on the table. He knew the money he sent home helped, but it wasn’t enough. Nothing would please him more than to hire a nurse or housekeeper to help his mother with the workload, but there wasn’t any extra cash for such things. Not that his mother would ever allow for the frivolity.
He smiled and pressed on toward the Vandermarks’. Deborah reminded him of his mother. In fact, she reminded him of her a great deal. They were both hardworking and more than a little ambitious, and both had a special place in his heart.
CHAPTER 4
Pastor Shattuck called a community meeting at the church to discuss the Texas Independence Day celebration. The yearly event in March was anticipated very nearly as much as Christmas. Just thinking about the roasted meats and wonderful music put a tremor of excitement in Deborah’s stomach. She hadn’t been to an Independence Day celebration in some years and only now realized just how much she missed it.
Hearts Aglow Page 3
