by Ann Shorey
When she climbed the steps, she was aware of her family’s stunned expressions, but she was beyond caring.
Matthew closed the bedroom door behind him. Ellie sat up, pushing one of the feather pillows against the headboard for a backrest. He walked around to her side of the bed and scrutinized her bandaged hand. Faint traces of blood showed through the linen strips. “How’s your cut?”
“I think the bleeding’s stopped. It’s not as bad as it looked at first.” She disengaged herself from his grasp.
“Maria can wash dishes for you while your hand heals.”
“Yes.” Silence settled between them. After a moment, Ellie cleared her throat. “Well? What happened in Quincy? Did you resign?”
The candle flame on the bedside table guttered as Matthew sank into the chair beside the fireplace. “No, I didn’t resign . . . exactly.”
“What’s that mean?”
“It means I’m still a pastor in the church.” He dropped his head and began fiddling with the buttons on his shirt.
“Our church? Oh, that’s wonderful. I’ve been praying that’s what you’d decide.” She threw the covers back and slid to the floor, ready to wrap her arms around him. Before she reached the rocker, however, he held up a hand to stop her. Ellie stood still, floorboards cold beneath her feet.
“Not in Beldon Grove. I told him I couldn’t go back there.”
“What?”
“I asked to be assigned to a different church.”
“But we can’t leave this farm after all the work we’ve—”
“We’re not leaving. He’s assigned me to the southern circuit.”
The room swayed. Ellie pushed herself back up onto the bed and stared at her husband. Her frustration flared into hot anger. “When we got married, you said you were finished with circuit riding. You promised.”
His shoulders drooped. “Try to understand. This was my only choice. It was either go back to the circuit or leave the ministry altogether.”
Heart pounding in her throat, Ellie spit the words at him. “It wasn’t your only choice. You could’ve stayed right where you are. Beldon Grove needs you. You always said God put you here. How can you walk away from his will?”
“Now you’re God’s messenger? Leave me be.” Matthew rubbed his eyes. “I have to work this out for myself.”
“No, you have to work this out for all of us. How do you expect me to take care of the house and crops and children without you?”
“Arthur’s here, isn’t he?”
Before she realized what she was doing, Ellie had flung herself from the bed and raised her hand to slap him across the face.
Matthew seized her wrist and stared at her, shock in his eyes. “What’s come over you?”
“I don’t need Uncle Arthur. I need you.” She crumpled to the floor at his feet, sobbing. Blood from her cut oozed onto her nightgown.
“Stop it. Please.” With difficulty he rose from the rocking chair and helped Ellie stand, then led her to the bed. “Get some sleep. We’ll talk tomorrow.”
He left the room, taking the candle with him. When the door closed, Ellie wrapped her arms around her middle and rocked back and forth in the silent darkness. Tears of remorse slid over her cheeks.
After a sleepless night, Ellie rose at daybreak and tiptoed downstairs, searching for Matthew. When she slid open the parlor door, she saw he’d propped himself into a half-sitting position on the divan. Soft snores whistled through his beard. Her heart tripped in her chest at the sight. They’d never slept in separate rooms before. She eased the door shut and moved into the kitchen, praying the children hadn’t overheard last night’s quarrel. She stirred coals in the stove, adding several sticks of kindling to start the fire.
“Mama?”
She turned at the sound of Johnny’s voice, forcing a smile. “Good morning. Your turn to milk the cow, is it?”
He nodded, a troubled expression on his face. “I heard you and Papa last night.” His voice cracked. “You can’t let him go.”
Ellie pursed her lips. “If you overheard us last night, you know there’s precious little I can do about it.” She knew her tone was sharper than it should have been, but the last thing she needed was a thirteen-year-old boy telling her how to deal with her husband. “Perhaps you can change his mind. I can’t.” She turned her back, the cut on her hand stinging as she dragged a heavy iron skillet into place on the stovetop. “Best go milk that cow.”
As soon as the door closed, Matthew appeared in the room, his left arm clasped around his right.
Tension prickled up her spine. “I’m—”
“If you’re going to say you’re sorry, there’s no need. I knew you were bound to be upset. It wasn’t my intention to provoke you.” He stepped close and placed his left hand on her shoulder.
Ellie warmed at his touch. “If you’ll just stay home, things can go back to the way they were.”
Matthew looked at her for a long moment. The sadness in his eyes spilled across his face. “The way they were? How far back are you remembering?” He dropped his hand. “Too much has happened. A stream doesn’t run backward, and neither will our lives.”
His words sounded like the tolling of a funeral bell. Part of her mind agreed with him, but his rationalization didn’t stop her from wanting him to stay in Beldon Grove. Wordless, she turned toward the stove to hide the tears that rolled down her cheeks.
“Ellie?”
She didn’t look at him. “I’m listening.”
“Today’s Thursday. I haven’t forgotten that this is the day you go to Molly’s to work on her quilt. I want Doc to take a look at my ribs anyway.” Matthew cleared his throat. “I’m planning to ask him to keep an eye on things out here while I’m away.” His hand grazed her shoulder. “This would be easier with your cooperation, but with or without it, I have to go. I wish you’d try to understand.”
His footsteps receded. Once he left the room, she turned away from the stove. Why should she make it easy for him? She was the one who was going to suffer. She opened the breadbox and cut a thick slice from one of the loaves. Spreading it with crabapple preserves, she gobbled it down. The sugary taste of the preserves left her with a momentary feeling of comfort. Maybe if she ignored his plans, he’d give them up.
The first thing that caught Ellie’s attention when she entered Molly’s cabin was the sweet almond fragrance of Scotch shortbread. The air in the room felt heavy with a combination of June humidity and heat radiating from Molly’s oven.
Ellie had intended to share her frustration over Matthew’s plans with Molly and Charity. But now that she had the opportunity, she hesitated. What if they thought he was leaving because she’d failed as a wife? She remembered her outburst the previous night and flushed. She had failed.
She moved to the kitchen table and lifted one of the diamond-shaped sweets from the rack where they were cooling. The warm shortbread melted over her tongue. She sighed with pleasure and took another bite.
From behind her, Molly teased, “If you were one of the children, I’d scold you. We usually wait to have our treats until after we’re done quilting.”
Ellie spoke around a mouthful of crumbs. “Sorry. I know better.” She wiped her lips with her handkerchief and followed Molly into the next room where Charity sat waiting at the quilt frame.
Once settled onto their chairs, the women worked in silence for several moments. Five rows of uneven stitches near the roller testified to Luellen’s reluctant participation. Charity pointed at them and glanced at Molly, a question in her eyes.
Molly shook her head. “Leave them. She has to learn.”
Ellie concentrated on drawing her needle through layers of fabric and batting without disturbing the bandage wrapped around her palm. With each stitch, she considered how to present Matthew’s decision in a way that wouldn’t cast her in a bad light.
Charity broke into her thoughts. “Aren’t you going to tell us what happened between Matthew and Elder Meecham in Quincy?”
“I’m not sure what happened. Matt didn’t say exactly.” Ellie bit her lower lip. “All I know is he’s leaving the pulpit here and taking up a southern Illinois circuit.” She studied her companions’ faces, waiting for their reactions.
Eyes wide, Charity leaned across the frame as she spoke. “But he’s needed here.”
The memory of last night tingled across Ellie’s fingers. Her face burned with shame. “I don’t know how to stop him.” She avoided Charity’s gaze by concentrating on her stitchwork. “I think it’s too late.”
Charity exhaled, her breath making a puffing sound in her nostrils. “I can’t imagine Matthew leaving the Beldon Grove church. Why, he and Ben built it—stick by stick and member by member.” She lowered her voice. “Maybe you can change his mind in the bedchamber, if you know what I mean.” Her fair complexion turned rosy.
Ellie stared at the bright colors honeycombed across the top of the quilt. Their outlines blurred through threatened tears. She’d told no one about her decision not to risk another pregnancy, and now wasn’t the time to blurt it out. Charity’s suggestion might have worked once. All our decisions have consequences. She remembered Matthew preaching on that subject, and teaching it to their children. Was this her consequence? Her husband didn’t want to live with her?
Molly patted her shoulder. “Matt’s always been stubborn. Once he makes up his mind, it’s as good as done.” She looked from Ellie to Charity. “I’m sure Ellie has already tried everything she knows to get him to stay.”
Her kind words sent a knife into Ellie’s heart. What would have happened if she’d kissed him instead of trying to slap his face? Regret sent a tear slipping down her cheek.
Charity’s face softened. “Oh my dear, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you. I should know better than anybody how impossible it is to change a man’s mind. The good Lord knows how hard I tried to talk Ben out of conducting on the Underground Railroad.” She shook her head. “I cried, I begged, I . . . did everything. You can see how much influence I had. He’s been involved for nearly a decade.”
“Molly told me you care for escaping slaves who arrive injured.” Ellie dabbed at her tears with her handkerchief.
“I do now. But I must confess I balked at first.” She smiled faintly. “Remember the scriptures say that a house divided against itself cannot stand. We’re to be helpmeets for our husbands, not adversaries.”
Ellie sucked in a deep breath, feeling more like a failure every minute. “At least the church will be in good hands. Mr. Beldon preached well last Sunday. It’s just hard for me to see him in Matthew’s place.”
“The church is in good hands?” Charity jabbed her needle into the quilt top. “What makes you think that? Marcus Beldon’s a Judas.”
Ellie blinked, surprised at the outburst. “He has the town’s best interests at heart. You know his father founded Beldon Grove. And he’s always been very concerned and polite to me.”
“Perhaps that’s how he seems to you, but Ben says Marcus Beldon is the person who’s been casting doubts on Matthew’s fitness as a preacher.”
Molly shook her head. “I can’t believe he’d do a thing like that. He’s got such a kind heart.” She laid her hands on the edge of the quilt frame and smiled at Charity. “He’s going to get news of James for us. He has connections with someone in President Polk’s cabinet.”
“So he says,” Charity muttered.
Ellie gazed in wonder at Charity, all thoughts of Matthew’s departure forgotten for the moment. “It’s not like you to be so suspicious-minded. Whatever happened to ‘judge not, lest ye be judged’?”
“She’s right,” Molly said. “How does your husband know what’s in Mr. Beldon’s mind?”
“You girls are being led into a snare.” Charity lifted her sewing basket onto her lap, inserted her needle in its case, and snapped the lid shut. Then she stood and leveled her index finger at Molly and Ellie. “Mark my words. If Marcus Beldon succeeds in driving Matthew away, you’ll have to ask yourselves—who’s next?”
18
Through the window in Karl’s office, Matthew watched Charity stride across Adams Street and head down Hancock toward the center of town. He slipped his watch from his left-hand pocket and fumbled the latch open. The hands read two o’clock. At that moment the inner door swung wide and a young boy stepped out with a wooden splint wrapped around his arm, his face tearstained. His mother followed, gushing her thanks to the doctor as she exited.
When they left, Karl leaned against the entrance to his examination room and grinned. “Sorry to make you wait, my friend. That little lad thought he was big enough to ride one of his papa’s plow horses.” He shook his head. “Short ride.”
Matthew eased himself from a sitting to a standing position. “I know something about falling off horses.” He headed for the inner room. “I want you to take a look at my ribs and shoulder. Had them tended to in Quincy, but not by a doctor.”
After spending several minutes probing Matthew’s side and checking the rotation of his right arm, Karl wrapped the ribs in clean cloth strips. “You’ll need to take things easy for a couple more weeks. They won’t heal if you don’t hold still.”
“Can’t spare that much time. I need to head for Adams Station soon’s I can.”
“So Daniel had it right. You’re leaving. I didn’t believe him.”
Matthew imagined he saw condemnation in his friend’s eyes. “It’s for the best.” He braced for argument.
“You could stay right here and fight for your church. You’re letting a lot of people down.”
“It’ll be easier all around if I leave. How can I minister to people who think God himself is against me?”
Karl slid a chair away from the wall and gestured for Matthew to sit. “Remember when we first met, and you got me to talking about why I’d come west from Philadelphia? You listened then, and you listened every time I came to you with questions. It was you brought me to salvation.” His blue eyes bored into Matthew’s. “That’s your ministry. There’s a lot of people in this town who’d be looking at the fires of hell if it weren’t for you.”
Matthew shifted in his chair. Karl hadn’t been around when people he’d converted crossed the street to avoid talking to him. His friend hadn’t felt the sting of rejection.
“Where are they now? All these people you say I helped. Like sheep, they’ve flocked to a new shepherd.”
He’d known Ellie would be opposed to his decision, but he’d counted on support from Karl. Matthew had never felt more alone.
After breakfast the next morning, Matthew looked at his sons. “Let’s go out to the cornfield. I want to see what you’ve done while I was away.” He stood and took a shallow breath, his lungs fighting for space against his tightly bound ribs.
Ellie stood with her back to him, scrubbing at something on the stovetop. Except for a cool “good morning” when he emerged from the parlor, she’d said little. Seeing her distress, and envisioning his children’s reactions, left him shaken. Was his decision the mistake everyone said it was? His heart quailed at the idea of confronting Beldon for the leadership of the church. He pictured the big man with his impeccable suits, his impressive vocabulary, his commanding presence. The thought made him feel small and insignificant. He couldn’t stay. That’s all there was to it.
The twins were already on their feet and at the door. “We worked every day,” Jimmy told him. “Me and Johnny did most of it. Harrison’s slow.”
Matthew dropped a hand onto his youngest son’s shoulder and squeezed reassurance. “I’m sure you each did your best.”
He followed them around the rail fence and into the waist-high corn. Hoed soil was still visible between the plants, but the bare spots were shading in. Matthew squatted to check the moisture in the earth, grunting with the discomfort of lowering his body to a crouch. He scooped a handful of dirt and allowed it to trickle through his fingers. “Dry. We need more rain.”
He glanced at his ha
yfield. “But not right now. You boys will have to start cutting while this clear weather holds.” He focused his attention on Jimmy and Johnny. “You’ve helped me with the haying before. Think you can do it by yourselves this time?”
Johnny straightened his shoulders, pulling himself to his full height. “You can count on me.”
“Me too,” Jimmy added. “Don’t know how much good Harrison’ll be though.”
“Well, you’d better be grateful for his help the next few days. I’m sending him home with Uncle Arthur when he leaves next week.”
“Really?” Harrison’s eyes brightened.
Matthew nodded. “Your uncle’s place needs attention. He can’t do it alone while he’s getting over the ague. Mind now, you’ll probably be doing the same work you do here—weeding the garden, mucking out the barn, splitting wood—and you’ll have to do it without your brother’s help.”
Harrison shot the twins a triumphant look. Uncle Arthur was a treasure trove of stories and games and a great favorite with his niece and nephews. Matthew knew his children had figured out that if they asked questions about the early days, when settlers came down the Ohio on flatboats and had to fight Indians, Arthur could talk for hours about his adventures. Chores were forgotten and often postponed for another day. Time spent with their uncle was a treat indeed.
He felt a pang as he watched his sons’ lively faces. They were changing so fast. He cleared his throat. “Come to the barn. I’ll show you the best way to sharpen a scythe.”
Later, as he climbed the back stairs to the porch, Matthew felt the bottom step rock slightly under his weight. Looking down, he couldn’t see anything wrong with the board. He promised himself he’d check it later. Right now he needed rest. The effort of walking over the uneven ground of the cornfield, then later working in the barn, set up an unmerciful throbbing in his ribs.
