by Lyn Cote
“No-No,” Dawn called to him from the floor.
“Say pa-pa,” Sunny corrected. “Noah is your pa-pa.”
“No-No!” Dawn insisted.
Noah set down his cold coffee and lifted the child into his arms. How could he have known what a comfort holding this little child could be?
“No-No,” she said, patting him happily. Oh, to be innocent of grief and pain like this little one.
He recalled how Old Saul had said a few words about being a soldier. It wasn’t much, but it said everything. Maybe that was another reason he felt connected to Old Saul. They’d both faced war.
Sunny came up behind him and rested a hand on his shoulder. “I’ve been praying for Old Saul,” she murmured.
He lifted a hand and pressed hers, nodding. Neechee growled and got to her feet.
“Hello, the house!” a familiar voice soon called out.
Noah rose and carried Dawn to the door. He looked out. “Isaiah?” His heart sank.
“My grandfather’s alive!” the young man called out and slid from his horse. “He sent me to get you, Noah. He says he wants to talk to you.”
Noah blanched. Not a deathbed visit—he’d done too many of those, kneeling beside comrades, watching the light flicker from their eyes. No.
“Don’t worry,” Isaiah said. “He says he’s much better. He just wants to talk over some things with you. Says he’s been meaning to talk to you for some time but keeps getting interrupted. Will you come?”
What could he say? This young man had taken Miigwans home. And Old Saul had proved himself a true friend to them. “Of course I’ll come.” He turned to Sunny. “Did you want to come along?”
Sunny looked to Isaiah. “Yes, I’ll come, too. I’d like to visit Lavina today.”
* * *
The preacher’s family lived a couple of miles northeast of town along another creek that flowed into the Chippewa. As they traveled, Noah barely spoke a word to Isaiah. He felt wooden inside.
When they arrived, Lavina came out and greeted them in a subdued tone. “Saul will be glad to see you.” She looked to Sunny.
“Shall we sit outside? It’s such a nice day.”
Lavina nodded and then said to Noah, “Go in.”
Noah dismounted, handed Isaiah his reins and helped Sunny and Dawn down. Then he doffed his hat to enter the shadowy cabin. The dam inside him began to break up, unruly currents swirling. Noah tightened his self-control.
Old Saul lay on a narrow rope bed on the far side of the fireplace. “Noah.” He lifted a hand momentarily and then, as if tired by the effort, let it fall.
Reluctantly Noah went and sat in a chair beside the bed. “Good morning, sir.”
The older man shook a finger at him.
The reminder prodded Noah into a half chuckle. “I mean, Old Saul.”
“I’m not planning on dying just yet,” the preacher said in a gravelly voice. “But I’ve been wanting to talk to you about war.”
Noah wanted to get up and leave, but he owed this man. Irritation ground inside him. “I don’t like to talk about it.”
“Then just listen to me as I talk.” Old Saul inhaled a rattling breath and closed his eyes. “I was barely fourteen when war broke out with England a second time. I had been raised on stories of the Revolution and was afraid I’d miss this war, my generation’s war.” The old man paused as if drawing up strength.
These words stirred up memories in Noah, wretched ones. Those awful weeks when he’d planned on enlisting and wondered how to tell his family, his fiancée. He fidgeted in the chair.
“I hear you were raised Quaker. I know they don’t believe in going to war. I bet that made it harder for you to enlist.”
Noah barked one unpleasant dry laugh. “I was put out of meeting. They had worked in the Underground Railroad, helping escaped slaves. When abolition helped trigger a war, they wanted none of it. But I couldn’t turn a blind eye to the war that could bring freedom to so many.”
Old Saul nodded. “My family was proud of me, but they were as ignorant as I was. At fourteen, I marched off with the other young men from my Kentucky town to fight under Andrew Jackson.”
He fell silent, but his hands on top of the blanket moved restlessly. “I don’t have to tell you what a shock the first battle was. I’d never killed a man before. I didn’t know how that would tear at me afterward.”
Noah tried to block images from his mind, but he was bombarded. Startled, agonized faces amid the black powder cloud— He bent his head into his hands. “Please, no more.”
“I nearly died of a wound, and it weakened my heart,” Old Saul continued. “But after my body healed, the worst was the nightmares. And the sudden fear that someone was aiming a gun at me. Or about to run me through.”
Noah lifted his head and his gaze connected with the old man’s. So I’m not the only one.
“I see the dark circles under your eyes. And the way you hold back from people. You must be suffering nightmares.”
Finally the question that had plagued Noah could be asked. “Did you get over it? Get back to normal?”
“Yes, God healed me finally. I was wild after the war, wild to drink and carouse and incurred more damage to my body. It took nearly getting killed one night in a fracas to get my attention. I sobered up. Somehow I found a sweet wife who prayed for me and gifted me with children. Their love worked on me.”
Noah felt Dawn’s phantom touch, her little chubby hand patting his cheek.
The older man looked as if he were peering into the past. “I took long walks in the solitary woods talking to God. I was never the same—I was better. Any trial stretches a man, a person. I think that was the beginning of my wanting to preach.”
Noah sat bent with his elbows on his knees, his hands clasped together. “I have a sweet wife. And a child.”
“I know. I see a true, a humble, heart in Sunny. But she carries some burden, too. I just wanted you to know you can be restored. You need to let God in more and let his Holy Spirit do the healing.”
Noah tried not to reject these words outright—Old Saul had earned a hearing. Yet healing just didn’t seem possible. How could one wipe away all the blood he’d shed?
“I’m tired now, son.”
Noah accepted the dismissal and rose. “Yes, rest. We still have more barns to raise this summer.”
A smile tugged at the older man’s mouth. “God be with you, Noah Whitmore.”
“And with you,” Noah said automatically.
Soon he mounted his horse with Sunny and Dawn, bid everyone farewell and headed home, turning over in his mind all that had been said. As usual, Sunny didn’t speak when she realized he didn’t want to. So he could just think.
He wanted to believe the old man but did his experience really match Noah’s? Noah didn’t know about opening himself to God. It sounded dangerous.
He’d worked so hard to keep everything in—could he let go without flying apart?
* * *
Two weeks later on Sunday, Sunny was surprised and pleased to see Old Saul had returned to meeting. He wasn’t sitting on the porch as usual, but in his wagon bed in a rocking chair tied down tight. Would Old Saul’s presence be good for Noah or not?
Noah had come home from Old Saul’s and had been quiet for days. This had disturbed her but she merely tried to behave as if she didn’t notice.
She would pray this morning silently for her husband during Old Saul’s prayer when he asked for special requests. Surely if the old preacher asked God to bless Noah, he would.
On the porch Lavina and her husband lifted their hands and began the first hymn. Then Lavina’s husband spoke the opening prayer. Sunny began to worry that Old Saul had come merely to observe, not to preach. But then, in the wagon, Old Saul lifted his hands in h
is usual signal that he was going to speak. Appreciation whispered through the gathering.
He cleared his throat. “Even if you didn’t attend the first barn raising at the Whitmores, you must know by now that my heart let me know that it’s older than my seventy-one years. I’m afraid I’ve put my heart through a lot.”
Sunny thought that the older man looked straight at Noah then.
“It’s had to beat longer, many more times than any of yours. I have a medicine that helps but it’s just a matter of time till my heart will give out and I will no longer be among you.”
A sad silence greeted this. Nothing but a seagull squawking over the Mississippi sounded nearby, and gentle waves slapping a boat moored at the wharf. Sunny edged closer to Noah.
“I don’t say this lightly, but for a purpose. Preachers are hard to come by on the frontier. After I pass, it might be some time before a new one will come to town. And not all preachers know God, know his love and forgiveness. Some preach so they will get the prime seats and free apple pies.”
A few chuckled at this.
“There is a Bible passage that tells how the apostles chose someone to replace Judas Iscariot, the one who betrayed Christ with a kiss. They chose two worthy men and then cast lots to let God tell them who should be chosen.”
A feeling of uncertainty slithered up Sunny’s spine.
“Yesterday I asked my son to write down the name of every man who attends our meeting on a piece of paper. I want God to choose the right man to lead you when I’m gone.”
Old Saul fell silent, gazing out to them, in turn catching the eye of each one.
Sunny didn’t like where this was going. She edged closer still to Noah.
“What if you choose my name,” Gordy spoke loud enough to be heard, “and I don’t know enough about the Bible to do a good job?”
Old Saul nodded approvingly. “I’m doing this now while I still have time and energy to instruct the one chosen. I must tell you that the Lord laid this on my heart. Over and over He has directed me to study over the choosing of prophets and kings and apostles. I feel certain that He has someone here in mind.”
Everyone looked solemn and the men watchful. Only the children prattled and the gulls on a nearby sandbar fought over carrion. Sunny wanted to touch Noah’s arm but didn’t want to make any move that would call attention to them. She wondered if this was why Old Saul had summoned Noah.
Oh, Lord, not Noah. He didn’t even want to attend meeting here.
“‘And a little child shall lead them,’” Old Saul quoted Isaiah. “Gordy, bring your boy up. He can choose.”
Gordy carried the boy up and set him in the wagon.
Old Saul spoke quietly to the child and then asked him to pull out a paper from a cloth bag he opened.
Guthrie looked to Gordy who nodded and urged him to do as asked. The little boy stuck his hand in and drew out several slips.
“Choose just one,” Saul said, holding up his index finger.
Guthrie looked at the slips in one hand and pulled one free. Old Saul received it with thanks.
Gordy lifted Guthrie and carried him back to Nan.
Everyone gazed at the slip of paper in Old Saul’s hand. The older man opened it and then seemed to pray. Then he looked up. “God’s choice is Noah Whitmore.”
Sunny sucked in breath so fast she nearly choked.
Noah let out a gasp.
Still reeling, Sunny couldn’t put everything together. People crowded around, saying words, smiling, patting her on the back. But nothing penetrated. She tried to smile and nod but could not quell her shock.
No, this can’t be happening.
* * *
The ride home had been quiet, solemn and had stretched on like an endless journey. Sunny had barely been able to respond to the few comments their friends had made as they made their way in the wagon. Noah had been stone-cold silent. What would happen now?
Gordy drove into their clearing. Neechee barked in welcome and frolicked forward.
Noah helped Sunny down from the wagon bed. Sunny tried to smile for her friends but her mouth had frozen.
Gordy cleared his throat. “I know this has been a shock, Noah.”
“A shock,” Martin repeated.
“But an honor, too, Noah,” Gordy said.
“We’re behind you,” Martin added. “We know it won’t be easy to take on.”
“If you need anything, you just ask, okay?” Gordy said with an earnestness that touched Sunny.
“We’ll be prayin’ for you,” Nan said.
Ophelia whispered, “Yes, we’ll all pray.”
Noah nodded and raised a hand, bidding their friends a silent farewell. He and Sunny stood together, watching the wagon drive away. Somehow their friends’ understanding of how hard this was proved once more their friendship.
Inside she had to remember to take off her bonnet. Then she stood in her kitchen, trying to think what she’d planned to have for dinner. A pot hung toward the back of the hearth. She went about the preparations but wondered if she’d be able to eat.
Noah came in, still holding Dawn. He sat down at the table and Dawn squirmed and prattled, letting him know she wanted to get down. Finally he set the child on the floor. Then he looked at Sunny. “I can’t do it.”
She sank on the same bench. What if Noah refused?
The image of Dawn in the schoolyard shifted, and now her friends didn’t welcome her, they stood apart and whispered about her. Dawn looked miserable.
Sunny burst into tears.
“I can’t do it,” Noah said, his voice becoming stronger. “I can’t teach people about God. Or lead them. I killed men. I’m a murderer.”
And I was a prostitute, Sunny added silently, unable to say the words aloud. Tears rolled down her cheeks.
“I can’t do it,” he repeated.
“What will happen if you refuse?” she murmured.
“I don’t care.” Noah shot up from the bench and burst out the door.
Dawn shrieked his name, expressing Sunny’s own feelings, but he didn’t turn back.
How could this have happened? How could God have let this happen?
Chapter Fifteen
Sunny watched as a downhearted Neechee returned, whimpering in distress. Noah must have ordered the dog back. Sunny could do nothing but stand still, staring at the open door. Where had Noah gone? What would happen now?
The past bombarded Sunny with days and nights she longed to scrub from her memory. The repulsive sensation of being manhandled by a stranger swept through her as sharp edged as if it were happening today. She gagged and hurried outside to retch. She fell to her knees, enduring the spasms.
What am I going to do, God?
With her head bent, she wept bitter tears. Everything had been going so well. Hope, flaming within, had been blown out like a candle in the wind. All the horrible names she’d ever been called, all the scathing glances she’d ever endured slammed into her once again.
The tall trees stood high above her, their tops gently moving with the breeze as hot tears flowed down her face onto the grass.
Noah didn’t come back.
Sunny dragged herself up. She went inside and changed Dawn’s diaper and settled her into the hammock for a nap. Then Sunny stood in the middle of the empty cabin—bereft, alone.
I can’t just let this happen. Just let that little slip of paper destroy everything.
Minutes passed. She kept listening, hoping to hear Noah returning. Neechee lay across the threshold, whimpering on and off, giving sound to Sunny’s own longing and fear. What if Noah didn’t come back? What if he just left her here?
Old Saul’s lined, drawn face came to mind. He had started this—and she must go to him for help. But how could she? How c
ould she explain why Noah wouldn’t be a preacher and she—of all women—couldn’t be a preacher’s wife?
She shoved these questions to the back of her mind. Old Saul was the only one with the power to change this thing that had come upon them.
After saddling the horse, Sunny retrieved Dawn from her hammock and settled her into the sling that Noah always used. She managed to mount from a stump. She’d never ridden the horse alone here, but she knew how to ride and she knew where the preacher lived. She headed up the track.
Fortunately the town was deserted on Sunday afternoon. When she left it behind, she breathed easier, riding north along the Mississippi to the preacher’s house.
Within an hour she walked the horse into the clearing of Old Saul’s son’s house. Lavina sat outside in a curved chair with her sewing basket open at her feet. The woman rose in greeting. “Sunny, what brings you here?”
“I need to talk to Old Saul.” Sunny tasted her own sour breath as she spoke for the first time in many hours. She slid from the horse’s back, now feeling presumptuous.
Lavina hurried forward. “You look distressed.”
“I am,” Sunny admitted. Why lie? “Can I see him?”
Lavina lifted a waking Dawn from the sling. “Of course. He’s lying down, but he’ll see you.”
Sunny followed Lavina to the door.
“Saul, Sunny Whitmore has come to see you,” the woman announced. Lavina waved Sunny inside. “I’ll play with the baby and leave you two alone.” She shut the door.
Sunny stood in the midst of the neat cabin, smelling the remnants of the noon meal, feeling very out of place.
On the other side of the hearth Old Saul lay on the bed, gazing at her steadily. He gestured toward a chair by his bed. “Come and tell me what’s troubling you, Mrs. Whitmore.”
Sunny perched on the chair. How could she make this man see what the casting of lots had triggered? She fingered her skirt, trying to think what words to say.
