The Promise of Morning

by Ann Shorey

  Ben closed the cash box and led the way to the back room. Matthew saw two chairs pushed against a wall, dwarfed by flour and vinegar barrels, crates of merchandise, and stacks of pots and lanterns.

  With a sigh, Ben sank into one of the chairs and pushed the other one toward him. “Take a load off, Matt.”

  Without preamble, Matthew launched into the reason for his visit. “Any idea what’s happening with the church? Last Sunday I could count attendance with my fingers and still have a thumb to spare.”

  Ben nodded. “It’s Beldon. He started a Wednesday night prayer meeting over at the hotel, and he’s got folks convinced that God doesn’t want you preaching his word.”

  Matthew felt like he’d just fallen through a hidden trap door. “But . . . folks around here are my friends. You know how hard we worked on the church building. How could anyone convince them God doesn’t want me as their pastor?”

  “Beldon hasn’t tried it on me, but I hear he uses scriptures like the ones where God casts down unworthy priests like Eli’s sons.”

  “What does that have to do with Beldon Grove? There’s no point of comparison.”

  Shaking his head, Ben said, “I know that, and you know that. But take a person like Orville Carstairs, for instance. I doubt he’s able to read the Bible for himself, so he takes the word of someone like Beldon. Lots of folks in this town can’t read much more than their name. Many of them don’t even have Bibles.” He shifted in his chair and looked directly into Matthew’s eyes. “I think when Ruby and then Arthur disappeared, that’s what drove the final nail in your coffin. Scripture says a church leader should be one who rules his own house well, and Beldon is holding Ruby and Arthur up as proof that you can’t even maintain order in your own family.”

  13

  Ellie faced Molly and Charity across the quilt frame. While she worked her needle around a piece of blue calico, she studied the progress they had made over the past months. The quilt top resembled a flower garden in riotous bloom. Yellow, pink, blue, green, and violet pieces joined together like the cells of a honeycomb. “Why isn’t Luellen in here helping with the stitching? This is for her bridal chest, isn’t it?”

  Molly shook her head. “She said she’d rather read. She’s not interested in being a bride.”

  “At eleven years old, I expect she’s not,” Charity said. When she smiled, her expression gave a hint of the carefree girl she’d once been. Eyes twinkling, she continued, “But she needs to learn to quilt right along with baking and cleaning—and reading.”

  “I know that,” Molly said. “It’s Luellen you need to convince.” She focused her attention on stitching a double pink piece to the background fabric.

  The women worked in silence for a few minutes, then Ellie turned to Molly and said, “It’s been over four weeks since James left. Has he sent word?”

  “Nothing yet. But I’ve found a way to learn where he is.”

  Charity and Ellie both stopped sewing and stared at her. Almost in unison, they asked, “How?”

  “I happened to see Mr. Beldon outside the mercantile one day. Somehow he’d heard about James’s leaving and asked about him.” Molly tucked her needle into the quilt top and laced her fingers together. “He offered to contact officials in Decatur. Turns out James was a bit hasty—the militia hasn’t been officially called up yet.”

  “How can you remain so calm? I’d be frantic.” Ellie looked at Charity. “Wouldn’t you?”

  Charity tilted her head to one side. “After what happened with Franklin, perhaps she’s learned to trust.”

  “I have, indeed. But another part of what I learned is that the Lord sends help from unlikely sources. And I believe Mr. Beldon will be able to tell us where James is, and perhaps persuade him to come home.”

  Ellie leaned forward, intrigued. “When will he let you know?”

  “He said to come to his office in a couple of weeks. There should be a reply by then.”

  The colors of the quilt top danced in front of Ellie’s eyes. “You would go to the hotel . . . alone?”

  “It’s perfectly safe. I’d be in one of the parlors, not his private rooms, for goodness’ sake.”

  “I’m not sure that’s wise,” Charity said.

  Molly lifted her chin. “I’ll do anything to find out where James is.”

  Ellie nodded, a plan forming in her mind.

  By the time Matthew arrived to take Ellie home, the women had finished the section they had been working on and scrolled the frame to the next. Molly draped a linen sheet over their work to keep it clean until the following Thursday.

  “Supper’s almost ready, Matt. How about you stay and eat before your trip to the farm?”

  Ellie glanced up at him, hoping he’d agree. The rich aroma of stewed meat and onions had been making her mouth water all afternoon.

  “We’re having cider cake,” Molly added.

  Matthew shook his head. “Not today, thanks. I want to get back.” His skin had lost its ruddy color. His lips were bloodless.

  “What’s wrong?” Ellie scrutinized her husband. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

  “Nothing. There’s nothing wrong.” He stepped outside the house and called the children. “Hurry up. We’re leaving.”

  Ellie and Molly exchanged glances. It wasn’t like Matthew to be so abrupt. Whatever happened during his visit with Mr. Wolcott had left him profoundly upset.

  They rode home without speaking. Ellie longed to pry information out of him, but knew he’d want to wait until the children couldn’t overhear their conversation. In the back of the wagon, the boys made screeching noises with whistles they’d hollowed out of sticks. About the time she thought she couldn’t stand another piercing squeal, the buggy rolled over the plank bridge and into the farmyard.

  Once the wagon stopped, Matthew looked over his shoulder at their sons. “You boys get to the milking.” He turned his head to include Maria in his commands. “You help Mama with supper.”

  Ellie frowned at him, irritated by his peremptory behavior. “Supper won’t be much. I was counting on eating with Molly and Karl, so I didn’t leave anything on the stove.”

  “Doesn’t matter. Cornbread and milk will do.” Matthew took her hand and helped her from the wagon. “I’ll see to the horse.” Without another word, he led Samson toward the barn.

  That evening, once they had donned their nightclothes, Ellie perched on the edge of the rocker next to the bedroom fireplace and folded her arms across her chest. “Something dreadful happened in town today, and I want to know what it is.”

  Matthew sat on the bed. The candle on the nightstand cast shadows across his face, hiding his deep-set eyes. “Looks like my ministry here is finished.”

  “No.”

  “You’ve seen the attendance the past few weeks. I found out today that Beldon is behind it. He’s telling people that I’m not fit to preach God’s word—and they believe him.”

  “That sounds like pure gossip to me. Why would someone like Mr. Beldon care about you or your church? Surely an important man like that has bigger things on his mind.”

  Anger flashed across Matthew’s face. “You’d defend him? Against me?”

  She walked to the bed and laid a hand on his shoulder. “I’m not defending him. I see what’s happening in the church, and my heart breaks.” Ellie took a deep breath and held it for a moment. “I just think you’re wrong when you blame Mr. Beldon. It’s not like you to be so unfair. What proof do you have?”

  Matthew shrugged her hand away. “Is it fair when all my years of pastoring the Beldon Grove church are ignored, like so much chaff after harvest?” He moved to the window and pulled the curtain aside. The blackness of the night reflected his face on the windowpane. Even in the imperfect image Ellie saw the anguish written across his features.

  “I’m leaving for Quincy tomorrow to talk to the presiding elder of our district.” Matthew spoke into the void. “I’m going to resign.”

  Shock rolled throug
h Ellie. She couldn’t imagine Matthew as anything but a preacher. His devotion to his calling had been one of the things that had drawn her to him when they first met. She loved sitting at the front of the church and listening while he taught from the Word of God. Ellie had seen many lives changed under his caring guidance. He couldn’t throw it all away.

  She clasped his limp hand in both of hers. “Matt, don’t. Please don’t. This will pass, you’ll see.”

  “And in the meantime I go to a near-empty church and preach to my family? I’d look like a bigger fool than I did preaching against the play. You saw where that got me.” He pulled his hand free and walked to the bed. “Let’s get some sleep. I want to leave early.”

  The sound of creaking floorboards awakened Ellie. She opened her eyes and saw Matthew bent over the blanket chest, pulling something out of its depths. Pale gray light filtered through the curtains.

  “What are you doing?” she asked, keeping her voice low so she wouldn’t rouse the children.

  He startled. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.” When he turned he held his saddlebags in one hand. “Getting things together for the trip to Quincy.”

  Ellie rubbed the sleep from her eyes. “It’s way before sunrise. Why not have a good breakfast and think things over? There’s no need for you to go tearing out of here.”

  Matthew flopped the saddlebags onto the bed, stuffed a few items of clothing into one side, and pulled the buckle tight. “Sooner I leave, sooner it’ll be done.”

  “Matt—”

  “Don’t start in on me. I’ve been awake most of the night thinking and I keep coming back to the idea of just being a farmer.” His mouth twisted sideways. “Least that way our livelihood won’t depend on what people say about me.”

  Fear rode up Ellie’s spine. She slipped out of bed and hurried to her husband’s side. More than anything she ached to wrap her arms around him, but she knew how unfair that would be considering the bargain they had drawn. Instead, she reached out and slid her hand over his cheek, his beard coarse beneath her fingers. Everything they’d built over the past fourteen years trembled in the air between them.

  “You don’t know what Brother Meecham will say. Maybe he won’t release you.”

  He captured her hand in his. “When he hears what’s happened to the Beldon Grove church, it’s likely he’ll expel me from membership.” He brushed his lips across her fingers. “I’m going. I expect to be back by this time next week.”

  Desperate to keep him with her, she asked, “But what about Sunday’s service? You can’t just ignore it.”

  “Already talked to Ben. He’ll open the doors and preach to whoever shows up.”

  Until that moment Ellie hadn’t realized how much of herself was bound up in the respect that came with being a pastor’s wife. “But what about me? Don’t you care what I think?”

  He turned, one hand on the latch. “I care, but I won’t let it stop me.”

  Frustrated and angry, Ellie spent the hours after Matthew’s departure scrubbing floors as though she could scour away the events of the past several weeks. But her usual cure-all for misery failed her this time. Somehow Matthew’s presence made itself known even when he was in the barn or out in the fields. Today had a hollow feel, like answering a knock and finding no one there. In her heart she cherished the hope that he would change his mind en route and be back before supper.

  But supper came and went, and once the children were in bed Ellie faced her first night without Matthew since he went to Missouri to get his sister Molly after her husband died. Then she’d had Aunt Ruby and Uncle Arthur. Now they were gone too. She walked out onto the back porch in her wrapper and slippers and gazed at the sky. A crescent moon hung overhead, surrounded by a wilderness of lights.

  I wonder if Matthew is counting stars tonight. In their early days together they used to sit outside on summer evenings, competing to see who could spot the first glittering pinprick overhead. How long had it been since they’d sat and watched the heavens? Ellie couldn’t remember.

  Banners of gauzy clouds unfurled above her head. A slight breeze rustled through the cornfield and slid over her bare legs. Even after the wind shifted and the air chilled, she remained huddled on the top step, reluctant to go indoors and face the empty bedroom.

  Ellie leaned into the kneading trough, folding the heavy mass of dough toward her and then pushing it away. She wondered how much longer they would have the luxury of wheat bread. The small salary Matthew received from the conference wouldn’t have supported them without their farm’s production, but it did allow a few extras such as coffee, sugar, tea, and wheat flour. Giving the dough one last fold, she wiped her hands on her apron and placed a linen towel over the trough.

  Harrison wandered in the back door. “Sure is quiet without Papa.”

  “It is.”

  “When’s he coming back?”

  “In a few days.” Ellie looked at his dusty brown feet. “You can’t be finished with the hoeing so soon.”

  He slouched over to a chair. “Jimmy and Johnny were making fun of me. They said I’m too slow to be any help.”

  Ellie planted her hands on her hips. “Does Papa think you’re slow?”

  “No.”

  “Well, neither do I. There’s acres of corn to be hoed. If the twins are bothering you, go down by the creek and work. Maria and I will come out and help you after dinner.”

  She brushed a trickle of sweat from her forehead. The morning already felt hot and sticky. Once she heated the stove for bread-baking, the kitchen itself would turn into an oven. Ellie gazed out the window at clouds piling up in the western sky, hopeful that a good rain would clear the air.

  Harrison dipped a cup of water from the crock next to the door and took his time drinking it. Then he headed back to the fields, his lower lip protruding in a sulky pout.

  At mid-afternoon Ellie and Maria donned sunbonnets and walked through foot-high corn plants to the place where Harrison labored at his task. Maria was too young to safely handle a hoe around the tender stalks, so Ellie gave her a bushel basket to use to pick up fallen weeds.

  Harrison looked at his little sister critically. “Papa never tells us to pick up the weeds.”

  Biting her lip, Ellie gazed at her younger son. “Do you want help or not?”

  “Yeah.” He kicked at the dirt.

  “All right then, be nice to your sister.”

  Ellie pulled her skirt up past her bare ankles, tying the extra fabric into a knot. Gripping one of the hoes, she chopped at the spindly weeds filling the rows between corn plants. Working in silence, they completed a row and started down the next one. Ellie’s back ached. Sweat stung her eyes. She leaned on her hoe for a moment, fanning her face with her hand. In the distance, she noticed a cloud of dust growing larger as it approached the farm.

  Dropping the hoe, she ran for the road. “You children keep working,” she called over her shoulder. “I’ll be right back.”

  Once Ellie got close enough to see who it was, she wished the corn were high enough to hide her completely. She’d hoped to see Matthew, but Mr. Beldon drove over the plank bridge, his stylish carriage spraying dust as he entered the farmyard. Rooted to the ground, she watched in dismay as he tied his horse to the rail and walked toward her. Dripping with sweat, dress hiked up to reveal dirty bare feet, she’d never felt less like entertaining a visitor, especially one as sophisticated as Mr. Beldon. Ellie felt her face grow hotter than it already was.

  “Mr. Beldon,” she squeaked. “I . . . I thought you were someone else.”

  He walked toward her as though he greeted damp, dirty women as a natural course of life. “Mrs. Craig.” He bowed slightly. “I apologize for the interruption. I came by to have a talk with your husband.”

  “He’s not here.”

  “Indeed.” His glance swept over her. “That would be why you are working in the fields?”

  “We can’t let the weeds get ahead of the corn.”

  Ellie di
dn’t want to tell him the reason for Matthew’s absence. Grabbing at the knotted fabric of her skirt, she managed to pull the extra length loose and let it drop to cover all but her toes.

  Reaching for composure, she said, “I’m sorry you drove all the way out here for nothing. Could I offer you a cool drink before you start back to town?”

  “That’s kind of you. Yes, I’d like that.”

  She pointed to two caned rockers sitting on the covered porch. “I hope you’ll be comfortable there.”

  “Quite comfortable. Thank you.” He followed her up the steps.

  “I’ll just be a moment.”

  She whisked inside, tugging off her limp sunbonnet as she sped through the kitchen and up the stairs. In front of the pier glass in her bedroom, she ran a comb through her damp hair to smooth back straggling tendrils. After brushing dirt off her feet, she shoved them into leather slippers and hurried back downstairs. Quickly she dipped two cups of water from the crock and arranged them on a tray with a plate of gingerbread cakes she’d been saving for the children’s supper.

  Mr. Beldon stood when she emerged, taking the tray from her hands and placing it on a low table between the chairs. “This is very kind of you. I fear I’ve come at an awkward time.”

  “Not at all.” She settled herself and picked up a cup of water. Dirt showed under each fingernail. Hastily, she put the cup down and folded her hands in her lap. “Where is Mrs. Beldon?” she asked, more out of politeness than any real interest.

  “Unfortunately, she’s plagued with severe rheumatism. She’s having an especially pain-filled day today.”

  “I am sorry. Does she mind being left when she’s so ill?”

  “I wouldn’t call it ‘ill’ precisely.” He turned, fixing dark-lashed eyes on her face. “In fact, she’d rather be left alone than fussed over.” Mr. Beldon picked up one of the cakes, dwarfing the slice with his broad fingers. Taking a bite, he closed his eyes and smiled. “Delicious. Reminds me of sweets my mother made when I was a boy.”