“Come, there will be time later to primp.” For the first time, his voice held a note of amusement.
She stopped. “Thou art right. We must leave.”
He hesitated. “Shall I carry you again?”
The thought brought a blush to her cheeks. “If I cannot keep up. But I will try.”
“Perhaps we should pray?”
“Certainly. God has been so good to me.” She took Henry’s hand again. “If I needed God’s help last night, I surely need Him today as I go home.”
He squeezed her fingers. They bowed their heads in silence. Lord Jesus, giver of undeserved mercy, I thank Thee for Thy protection of Henry and me. Please guide our hearts and words today.
♦ ♦ ♦
“Mama! Papa!” God’s timing, certainly. She dashed toward her parents, who had just pulled up to the constable’s small cabin, their faces old and shriveled in the early morning grayness.
“Keturah!” Papa vaulted from the wagon and ran toward her, her stout mother not far behind. They devoured her in their arms, her mother weeping as if she could not stop. “We thought thee would never come home. We thought thee was dead.”
Mama cupped her dirty, wounded face with trembling fingers. “Child, what happened to thee? What happened to my Keturah?”
“I am so, so sorry.” She cried tears and tears. How freeing—to sorrow for the ignorance, the willfulness, the sheer stupidity of her actions.
“What goes on here?” The stocky constable, still wearing his nightcap, stuck his head out the cabin door. He glared at Henry, looking awkward and filthy, who said nothing. “What is the meaning of this?”
Sudden silence. Keturah felt the muscles in Papa’s arms tighten like wire. He spoke very slowly as if digging the words out of hard places. “Henry, what is this about?”
She broke loose from him and ran to Henry then turned to her parents and the constable. “I tell thee truly, if Henry had not risked his life, I would not stand before thee alive.” Her voice broke. She hugged Henry fiercely and then faced them. “Will thee hear our story?”
The constable’s wife poked her head out. “Come in and get warm. He’ll dress directly and then speak with you.” She pulled her husband inside as if he were six.
Still distraught, Keturah hid a tiny grin. So like Papa and Mama. Her eyes returned to her parents. How she loved them. How she wished she had spared them such hurt. Would they forgive her?
They rushed to embrace her again. “Thee art our daughter, now and always,” Papa said. He turned to Henry, his face working. “And if thee, young man, has indeed protected my child, I shall forever be in thy debt.”
“We are Friends.” For a moment Henry’s calm faltered, and his eyes glistened.
What a world of meaning he put into few words. Keturah felt so proud of him and so ashamed of herself, she could not speak. But when he offered her his arm, she clung to him and followed Mama and Papa into the constable’s home.
Chapter 11
Mama’s First Day table outshone any Keturah could remember. Surely heroes did not die from gratitude, but if Mama had her way, urging seconds and thirds, Henry might be the first. She marveled he had room for both berry and apple pie.
Mama probably had not noticed today was Christmas. But Keturah, for the hundredth time since waking, gave silent thanks for life and for Immanuel, God with her always. Even in the cave.
Papa vigorously stirred honey into his hot cider in an attempt to hide his emotion. “Thee is such a blessing, Henry.”
“And you have blessed me.”
Keturah had not seen Henry’s face glow like this in many days. Perhaps because Papa had told him at Meeting he would support his convincement. Perhaps because, though the ugly details of Keturah’s ordeal were known only to weighty Friends, all quietly showed their appreciation for Henry’s character and actions.
She found it harder to glow. True, everyday blessings, such as waking in her feather bed and hearing the plop-plop of Mama kneading bread, filled her with joy. Still, shame clouded her days. She had confessed her sins to God and to Friends, yet her past foolishness weighed her down. Going to Meeting took more courage than she possessed. Papa’s gentle urging and Mama’s inviting Henry to First Day dinner helped. But now dinner was done, and she almost hoped Henry would leave.
Instead, he lingered, talking with Papa and Caleb by the fire while she and Mama cleared up. Reluctantly, she sat in the rocker. Knitting, though it continued to try her patience, busied her hands and eyes.
“Friend Wilkes, may I speak with Keturah?”
Startled, she rocked on her foot.
“You may.” Papa rose.
Mama stuck her needles into the ball of yarn as if this were normal. She followed Papa toward their room. “We would rest a little and read.”
Caleb jauntily adjourned to saddle his horse. Priscilla’s mother finally had consented to a weekly visit.
How Keturah would have treasured this moment, if only—
“Merry Christmas.” Henry handed her two brown-papered packages from his poke and sat in Mama’s chair beside her.
She did not know what to say. She did not know where to look. So she opened the first.
A Bible. A beautiful Bible that had cost him many, many hours of labor. Perhaps even many meals.
“Oh Henry.” She ran her finger along its fine leather cover.
“I did not even steal this one.”
She had never seen him look mischievous. Laughing and crying, she tried to thank him.
“It is I who thank thee.” Henry’s use of the word seemed natural. “I was drowning in darkness, trying to escape the thievery that came so naturally. If I had not met thee, would I have learned of the Light of Christ?”
She had not thought of it that way. “But I was such a terrible example—”
“Perhaps. And I would have preferred thee had not nearly drowned me in the river.”
She giggled, but her mirth faded quickly. “I failed thee. I—I failed Charlie.” She covered her face with her hands.
“Thee believed his lying heart.” She felt Henry’s long fingers gently pulling her hands away, his face only inches from hers. “I failed Charlie as well. If I had shared the Light instead of hating him for taking you away from me, he might not be running for his life. Sooner or later, I must try to find him.” His sad face brightened. “But does not Christ light our darkness and take away our sin—all of it?”
She felt as if a summer sun bloomed inside. “I have another Christmas gift for thee.”
She pulled it from her knitting basket and held it in front of his startled eyes. Carefully he undid the blue hair ribbon binding the brown package. He held the Christmas sampler she had stitched and framed, reading aloud: “‘Therefore if any man be in Christ, he is a new creature: old things are passed away; behold, all things are become new.’”
He said nothing.
She winced. Her blind side had shown itself once more. While Henry might appreciate the Bible verse, what man wanted frippery with red roses?
Wait. Did his eyes look moist?
“How could thee have known? I—I read this verse the first time just before I began to attend Meeting, and I’ve read it many times since. In a way, I understood as I learned more about the inner Light. But not as I do now.”
She nodded. “Sewing it, I believe, was Christ’s gift to me as well.”
“No better Christmas gift on earth.” Henry clasped her hand.
Sitting beside him near the fire’s cozy warmth, speaking of God’s goodness—Keturah wanted to savor the moment forever.
Henry picked up his other gift. “This is nothing profound. But I thought thee might like it.”
“I’m sure I will.” Was it a picture? No, a poem printed on heavy paper with a scrolled border, called “A Visit from Saint Nicholas.”
“It’s a children’s Christmas poem.” Henry looked a little shy. “I bought it from a peddler from the East.”
She had never read
anything like it—Saint Nicholas, Christmas stockings, gifts, and reindeer. If the scripture made her feel brand-new, the story gave her the joy of a child! “Henry, it is a wonderful gift.”
The look he gave her made her heart flutter. After all she’d put him through, could he still think of her as—as—
“I’ve heard flowers on ladies’ samplers are symbolic.” He ran his fingers over her imperfect embroidery. “What do roses stand for?”
“Love, usually.” Quickly she added, “I wanted roses to remind those who view it of Christ’s love.”
“How wonderful.” He touched her chin and gently turned her face to look at him. His golden-hazel eyes held hers as they had the moment he brought her up from the river. “Could they also stand for the love of Christ between a man and a woman?”
Her lips fumbled her breath. She finally squeaked out, “They could.”
His lips rested, oh so lightly, on hers only a moment. “Perhaps, over time, they will.”
Epilogue
December 24, 1826
Keturah donned her First Day bonnet and smoothed the silvery-gray silk dress Papa had insisted on providing. Mama justified the extravagance by pointing out that every married woman needed a nice dress for occasions of note throughout her life.
As they waited for Papa’s wagon, however, her mother did not speak of practicalities nor guard against vanity. “My Keturah, thou art lovely, inside and out. God bless thee.”
Keturah hugged her, feeling Mama’s tears.
“Goodness, I’ll stain thy dress.” Mama dabbed at Keturah’s neckline with a handkerchief, then at her eyes. She pulled a package from a cupboard. “I wanted to give this before thee leaves.”
Keturah chuckled. “Mama, our cabin is almost next door.” She opened the gift, and her knees nearly gave way.
“I knew this meant much to thee,” Mama said.
Keturah’s hands held the red shawl. She thought Mama had burned it. Instead, she’d washed and mended it. Now Keturah’s tears threatened the new silk dress.
“If thee wears the shawl today, I will say nothing.” Mama set her lips with heroic determination.
Keturah giggled, then cried, then giggled again. “‘Twould be a memorable wedding.”
She hugged her mother tight. “I thank thee, Mama. I will wear it, as Henry loves the color on me. But not to Meeting.”
Mama breathed a visible sigh of relief and then climbed into the wagon. They sat close together as they rode to the meetinghouse.
Keturah felt a little shy as she entered. But how handsome Henry looked in his black suit, his thick black hair shining in the candlelight. Mama had fattened him up, but he remained long and lean. Keturah knew the strength of those arms.
He saw her. His face lit up the world.
How fitting that on the Eve of Christ’s birth they would celebrate their new life as one.
She and Mama sat by Henry’s mother. After Henry’s fruitless search for Charlie in New Orleans, she began to seek God, though she rarely came to Meeting. Keturah patted her hand.
One Friend delivered a short sermon, but the Spirit moved few. No doubt He understood they had waited long for this day, praying, studying, and counseling with her parents and other Friends. Now at Papa’s nod, she joined Henry before the platform.
“Friends, I take Keturah Wilkes to be my wife, promising through divine assistance to be unto her a loving and faithful husband until it shall please the Lord, by death, to separate us.” Henry’s voice rose, warm and sure.
Hers wobbled as she repeated her vows, but with everything in her, she meant them. A Friends’ wedding did not include a kiss. But seeing a lifetime of embraces in Henry’s eyes, she figured she could wait.
♦ ♦ ♦
“I’m sure Henry here will keep a good hold on ya,” Sol said.
Keturah smiled, remembering her first keelboat ride. Now Sol worked on this small steamboat. Not only had he arranged for their free ride together to McFarlan, but he had also helped Henry get a job on the vessel.
Meeting over, she reveled in the red shawl’s warmth. She and Henry snuggled close as the boat chugged away from the dock, their families waving. Her first steamboat ride! How many dreams come true could one day hold?
Henry chuckled. “Thy mama does not like this.”
“But she likes thee.” Keturah gave him a coy look. “I like thee, too. But no stealing kisses until we are out of sight.”
He shook his head at her. “Thee knows I’m a pirate.”
How healing that such pain could be altered into laughter. “Thee did pirate me away from the pirates.”
They chuckled again, but Henry’s mirth quieted into thoughtfulness. For a while they stood in silence, watching the glistening river flow before them like the future.
“What are thy thoughts?” She learned each time she asked.
His grin surprised her. “I was thinking how God stole me from under the devil’s very nose—through the birth of a Baby.”
“As He did me. And through thy love.” She gave the awaited kiss, long and sweet. Henry did not have to steal it.
Light of the World, Thee spirited us away from darkness. Every Christmas we will celebrate Thy birth together, giving thanks to Thee, blessed Pirate of our hearts.
Harrison Cake
Written by Rachel Macy, Quaker homemaker. From Good Housekeeping, Vol. 9 (1889).
“Now as this is centennial week, I will give thee a ‘Harrison Cake’ which I think was used in the days of President Harrison’s grandfather.”
2 cups molasses
1 cup butter
3 to 4 cups flour
1 cup sugar
1 cup sour cream, divided
1 teaspoonful baking soda
1 teaspoonful powdered cloves
2 cups currants
The butter should be cut small and put into a saucepan with the molasses. Melt them well and pour the mixture upon 3 or 4 cups of flour, then add the sugar and half the cream. The rest of the cream use to dissolve the soda in, and then add it. Add cloves. Take enough more flour to make about as thick as cupcake batter and stir it ten or fifteen minutes, add the currants. Bake in pans as cupcakes. Be careful it does not burn.
“Thee will notice this cake has no eggs.”
Since winning a 2007 American Christian Fiction Writers Genesis award, Rachael O. Phillips has published seven novels, with contracts for six more, as well as three novellas and 700 articles. Rachael and her husband have three children and six perfect grandchildren. She would love to visit with you at http://rachaelophillips.com.
Equally Yoked
by Claire Sanders
Dedication
To my daughter, Grace, who lives up to her name every day
Be strong and of a good courage, fear not, nor be afraid of them: for the LORD thy God, he it is that doth go with thee; he will not fail thee, nor forsake thee.
DEUTERONOMY 31:6
Chapter 1
Southern Ohio, 1838
Susanna Griffith closed her eyes and burrowed deeper into the quilts. For a few moments, she’d been a girl again, picking blackberries from the brambles in her father’s southern pasture and eating one sweet berry for every handful she dropped into the bucket. The summer sun had warmed her back as she searched for the ripest berries, while the blossoms’ fragrance enveloped her. Perhaps she’d lie down in the soft grass and watch the pristine clouds float against the azure sky. It was so pleasant to be a girl again, free from responsibilities—and loneliness. Then the jarring crow of the rooster had woken her.
Weak rays of sunlight crept through the cabin’s single window, reminding Susanna that it wasn’t July but November. She reached across the bed for her husband.
Nathan wasn’t there.
His pillow was as cold as a January frost, and their wedding quilt lay straight and unruffled on his side of the bed. The rooster bellowed another raucous greeting to the morning, and Susanna groaned as reality replaced her dream.
Why even get up? There was no husband who needed breakfast, no work to do that couldn’t wait. Why not stay in bed? Perhaps she could recapture the pleasant dream the rooster had interrupted.
As if scolding her laziness, the rooster crowed a third time. The bird knew that morning meant breakfast, and Susanna’s idleness was no excuse for neglecting her duties. It wasn’t like her to be petulant. If she looked into the small mirror that hung over the washstand, she’d probably see her lower lip sticking out. But she was no longer a child afraid of being alone. She was a wife now. A wife whose husband had important work to do.
She pushed back the covers and dashed to the fireplace to stoke the fire. Then she crossed to the window. Above the trees she could see smoke curling from the chimney of her in-laws’ farmhouse. Her sister-in-law was already up and preparing breakfast, though her newborn son had undoubtedly kept her awake most of the night. Miriam was truly a virtuous wife. Didn’t she rise while it was yet night and provide food for her household?
And there she was, feeling sorry for herself because she was alone. The least she could do was take care of the livestock while her husband was away. It was bad enough she’d argued with Nathan before he left, had whined like a child instead of being a supportive helpmate. She had a lot of apologizing to do when he returned.
Nathan had built their cabin so well it warmed quickly. Susanna dressed, remembering her father’s pronouncement when he’d inspected it a few days before her wedding. “Snug,” he’d said. “It’ll protect you from the coldest Ohio wind.”
A Plain and Sweet Christmas Romance Collection Page 45
