by Lena Hart
Logan shook his head at himself, scoffing at his romanticism. Nothing could make him forget the ugliness he had witnessed—or the pain he had inflicted. Not time or alcohol, and certainly not a pretty, wide-eyed young girl. Yet he couldn’t quite stop staring at her and he didn’t know why. She was only a woman—a Negro one at that—and it was foolish for him to let himself be captivated by an ordinary girl.
And yet there he stood, completely enthralled.
“…before we pray, Miss Gracie will graciously lead us into song one last time.”
The crowd suddenly grew quiet. Not even the wind dared to rustle a leaf. Logan started back toward his lodging, but he didn’t get far.
Her voice.
Like a rolling thunder, her voice moved through him with sweet vibrations. It was strong yet ethereal. The kind that myths were made of. The kind that could soothe and nurture any haunted soul. It enraptured and possessed him.
And kept him frozen where he stood.
“‘Twas grace that taught my heart to fear…and grace my fears relieved,” she sang. “How precious did that grace appear…the hour I first believed…”
The hairs on the back of his neck stirred, and Logan couldn’t tear his eyes away. A singing angel, that’s what she was. She kept her eyes shut as she sang, and the serenity on her calm face enthralled him. There was a sort of peace there that he hadn’t felt in a long time. And her voice…it was like light illuminating a dark room, like drink to a thirsty man, and Logan didn’t realize until that moment how much he craved that lightness again.
Like everyone else in the courtyard, Logan was pulled into her musical spell as she sang the next verse of a song he’d grown all too familiar with on the ravaged battlefields of broken and desperate men.
“Amazing grace… How sweet the sound… that saved a wretch like me… I once was lost…but now am found… Was blind, but now I see…”
The last words glided from her lips in a hypnotic croon until it was nothing but an echo around them. Logan released the breath he hadn’t realized he’d held, but no one applauded or even moved because to do so would have somehow disrupted the magic that still lingered in the air.
Chapter Two
Gracie Shaw’s heart thumped in her chest as her limbs gradually lost some of its tension. It was always like this when she sang. Her muscles locked in a spell she couldn’t pull herself from, as if something or someone had taken over her body and she had no choice but to give in to it.
She took a tentative step back as Reverend Mavis came forward.
“That was beautiful, Miss Gracie. Now let us bow our heads and pray…”
Gracie hesitated, however. She couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was watching her. She felt its warmth from where she stood, and looked out into the crowd of bent heads as the reverend began his prayer.
The man wasn’t hard to miss.
Out in the sea of dark faces was a single white one. Not as pale as some white men she had encountered, but whoever he was, he was certainly a stranger. Even under the brim of his hat, she could feel his intense scrutiny and it brought heat rushing to her cheeks. It was probably all in her head, but she couldn’t shake the unnerving sensation that he wanted something from her…something wholly intangible and beyond her reach.
They stood there staring at each other a moment longer, as if they were the only two present in the courtyard. The facial hair covering the lower half of his face hid his expression, which only added to his mystery. He was dressed simply, though the short-tapered ends of his hair said he wasn’t so destitute he couldn’t afford a regular haircut. His broad shoulders and the thick arms folded over his chest also said he wasn’t a stranger to hard work.
Who was he?
He was certainly an enigma, but there was something about him that pulled her attention to him and kept her gaze locked there. She was focused on only him, and he stood there as if he was prepared to wait forever for her to come to him…
Gracie blinked then swiftly bowed her head. She was truly losing her mind if she thought that. The fact that she had conjured up such a wild conclusion from just one look was a testament to her overactive imagination, as her parents liked to put it.
She blamed it on her sudden arranged marriage and the long travel she had ahead of her tomorrow. It was making her see things that weren’t there and fantasize about things that could never be. She must truly be desperate to get out of her marriage contract if she believed some strange white man was out there to whisk her away from a life she didn’t want.
What would it be like to be a miner’s wife?
Would it be demanding and tiresome, or would she spend most of her days alone at home until her husband came home? From what she gathered from Mr. Robert Whitaker, he was the owner of several mining companies. Was he the type to sit behind a desk and have other men work for him or was he the type to labor alongside his men?
Gracie took a deep, shuddering breath to quell her sudden anxiety. No need to ponder on that now. She would know soon enough.
A chorus of “amens” rang out, and she became acutely aware that she had not listened to one word of Reverend Mavis’ prayer. She blamed that on the stranger, and made a promise to pray double tonight before bed.
Music and laughter broke out among the crowd as their small community began to celebrate their first year of Negro freedom. Different communities had begun celebrating it as early as January, when the proclamation had been signed into law, but their community had thought it more fitting to celebrate this month when the slaves in Galveston had finally been emancipated. Gracie was simply excited that they had such a holiday to celebrate, and was grateful she got to be a part of it in some small way before she left for good tomorrow.
She made her way off the stage, but not before her gaze unconsciously traveled over to where the stranger had stood. He was gone.
It was just as well. She didn’t have time to wonder about some strange man and his impolite staring. In less than eighteen hours, she would be on a train to Montana to meet her new husband. And she would never see her family again.
The thought filled her with such sadness that her steps faltered and the tears she had kept at bay for weeks suddenly welled in her eyes. From the land maps she’d studied, Montana was a long way from New York. After tonight, she would never have the choice of seeing her parents whenever she wanted, and she would not get to see her ten-year-old brother grow up to be a man.
Gracie quickly dashed the tears away and took an unsteady breath as she hurried home. As much as she wanted to stay for the festivities, she wanted to use the last hours she had left tonight to be with her family. She waved and smiled to those who called out greetings to her, but their faces were a blur from the tears that still clouded her vision. This community had been her home for the last eleven years. Everyone knew her from the work she did at the church and the new orphanage they had built for the displaced children who had come in from the city when the Colored Orphan Asylum had been burned down.
Another wave of sadness washed over her when she thought of her students. She didn’t have any formal training to teach anyone. But with the growing need for educators in their area, she had jumped at the chance to help the younger children with their writing and reading—her two favorite subjects when she had been in school.
She was so caught up in her sorrow that she almost missed little Tobias as he ran toward her and wrapped his small arms tightly around her waist.
“Oh!” Gracie exclaimed as the little boy buried his face in her skirts. She hugged him close to her for a moment then pulled him away and dropped down to her haunches. Sad brown eyes stared back at her, and she pulled him to her again for another quick hug.
“I’m going to miss you too, Tobias,” she whispered over the lump forming in her throat. “But you promise to be a good boy and listen to everything Miss Monroe tells you?”
The little boy nodded, still clinging to her for a bit longer. She was going to miss him most of all. He
had made such significant progress since he’d been under the care of the orphanage. He didn’t speak much since he’d been found hiding in the woods a year and a half ago. From the scars on his young body, and the bit of information they had gathered from him, he was likely a runaway who had either been separated from his family or worse—they had been captured or killed.
It had taken months for him to say just a few words, but by then the church had christened him Tobias and the name had stayed. She knew her bond to the little boy came from remembering her own experience many years ago when her family had fled with her in the dead of night. She remembered their fear and her anxiety, and could only imagine what trauma Tobias harbored behind those solemn brown eyes.
“I have to get going now, Tobias.” The little boy tightened his hold on her, and she laughed softly. “I wish I could stay,” she said. I wish I could stay forever. “But I have to go home and finish my packing.” She pulled away and wiped the streak of tears that had fallen on his cheeks with the pad of her thumb. “Don’t cry. You have plenty of people who love you here. You won’t even notice I’m gone.”
Her attempt at comforting didn’t seem to stop his silent tears. She would just have to maintain her composure and be strong for them both, as she had done the moment she had accepted the arranged marriage.
She had barely managed to keep her poise last week when her students had surprised her with letters and drawings to take with her on her trip. She had said her goodbyes to them, her neighbors, and all of her close friends these past few days, and yet she still didn’t get that sense of closure or peace she had hoped would lighten her heavy heart.
When Tobias’ tears stopped, he thrust a crumpled letter and bruised apple toward her. She smiled down at him. He had been the only one who hadn’t given her a letter. Not that she had expected one. He was still learning and continued to struggle with his writing.
“Is that for me, Tobias?”
His small head bobbed up and down. Gracie took the apple and note from his hand. He must have picked up the gesture from the other students who liked bringing her and the other tutors apples. Though she detested the fruit, she had never told her students that.
She opened the letter and found a crude drawing of a short figure and a tall one with what she imagined were her wide skirts. Tears again welled in her eyes and she clutched the items to her chest. If she wasn’t careful, she would find herself weeping uncontrollably in front of the young boy.
“Thank you, Tobias.” Luckily he didn’t hear the strain in her voice. “Tell you what. Why don’t you walk me the rest of the way home?”
With his small hand tucked in hers, they made the short walk to her family’s modest home. When they reached the steps of her front porch, she braced herself for another tearful goodbye, but her young brother startled them when he burst from the house, carrying a cloth-covered basket. In his haste, he almost ran into them.
“Junior. Slow down.”
Her brother came to a quick halt, the basket swaying wildly in his hand. “Gracie? You’re supposed to be at the festival.”
“I left early. Now, where you off to?”
A wide grin broke out on his dark brown face. “Going to sell Mama’s biscuits over there. One penny each.”
She stared at him suspiciously. The last she heard, her mother had planned to donate her famous sweet biscuits as part of the festivities. “Did she tell you to sell them?”
“She didn’t tell me not to.”
Gracie shook her head. Telling her ten-year old brother not to do something never made a difference. He still took it upon himself to do the complete opposite. She would just have to make sure her mother got a cut of the profits. “Well, make sure you’re back for supper. This will be our last meal together, you know.”
At the reminder, his face fell and his slender shoulders slumped forward. “I know,” he mumbled.
Gracie hooked her finger under his chin and lifted his face to hers. “Hey now. No one’s going to buy biscuits from such a sour-looking face. Now, give me that famous Joseph Junior smile.”
The moment he did, she rained kisses down on his face. Her brother squirmed out of her grasp, his round face scrunched with disgust.
“Ugh. Stop, Gracie.”
Laughing, she rubbed the top of his coarse hair. “Go on, now. And take Tobias with you.” With one last hug from the little boy, she watched as the two boys dashed off down the dirt road. Gracie released a shaky sigh and made her way inside her home, trying hard not to think about it being the last time she would be able to call it that. Home.
Starting tomorrow, she would make the near two-week journey to Montana and begin her new life as Mrs. Robert Whitaker. She didn’t know much about the mulatto man other than he was a mature businessman—only a few years her father’s junior—who had made his fortune during the Montana gold rush five years ago. He was also a Christian man who had reached out to the church in search of a “pure, good-hearted Christian girl” to move out west and marry. This wasn’t the way Gracie had dreamed of meeting her future husband, but that didn’t much matter now. Making sure her family was taken cared of did.
The only positive to this all was that she wouldn’t be traveling alone. Mrs. Virginia Dobson would be escorting her and Madeline Asher to their new homes and husbands. Gracie was grateful to have the former abolitionist and widower as an escort. Mrs. Dobson had embarked on similar trips with young white ladies from the neighboring community who had become contract brides for Christian men out west. For Gracie and Madeline, Mrs. Dobson had volunteered to see them to their destination safely.
Gracie had read many stories of the dangers that were common in the rough terrain, but with Mrs. Dobson’s shrewdness and assertiveness, Gracie’s fears and anxiety were eased. And though Gracie hadn’t developed a close friendship with the other girl who had recently relocated to their community from Pennsylvania, it was nice to know she would have a familiar face with her when they arrived in Montana.
“Gracie, is that you?”
She followed her father’s baritone voice to the back bedroom, where her mother was rubbing his injured arm and shoulder. She stood by the door, surprised her father would allow her to see him like this. Since the war, where he had lost his right arm, he only allowed her mother to assist him and see him without his shirt.
“Yes, Daddy?”
“Go in that dresser and get me a clean shirt.”
“Joseph,” her mother interjected, “I’ve got you a clean shirt right here.”
“I don’t wanna wear that one. I want Gracie to get me another.”
Her mother didn’t argue further as Gracie went to the dresser and pulled out a shirt that looked similar to the one draped across the foot of the bed.
“Lynn, will you get my medicine?”
Her mother glanced down at her father curiously, her hands hovering over his maimed flesh. “Don’t you want me to help—”
“Gracie can manage. Ain’t that right, baby girl?”
Gracie nodded, though equally surprised by the request. Her mother was also taken aback by his unexpected request, but she simply nodded and left the room.
Her father had never asked for her help before even though his injured arm was a regular source of pain for him. The doctors said it was all in his head, nothing more than “phantom” pain, but whenever it struck, her father would be gripped with agony because of it.
“You’re not scared, are you, baby girl?”
“Of course not, Daddy,” Gracie crossed the room to where he sat on the bed.
“It’s okay to be a little scared, y’know.”
She stared at her father for a moment as the real meaning of his words sank in. He wasn’t asking if she was scared of him or his injured arm. He wanted to know what she felt about tomorrow and the future. This was the first time her father had asked her about it. When Mrs. Dobson had approached them about the potential arranged marriage, her father hadn’t said much about it, but given her family’s c
urrent financial situation, she knew it was an offer she couldn’t readily refuse. And as much as her parents had done and sacrificed for her and her brother, Gracie knew it was her turn to give them something in return.
But now, she didn’t know how to respond to her father. Did she tell him the truth or leave him with some reassurance?
“I might be just a little scared, Daddy,” she confessed. “But I’m also excited. I’ll get to see more of the country and will have more stories to write to you and Mama about.”
And I’ll know that you and Mama won’t have to worry about money for a long time.
Her father chuckled. “You do tell some great stories.”
“So do you,” Gracie teased. After the war, even with all his suffering, her father had told her about the many fascinating places he’d seen and the many different people he’d met along his travels. Though it had been an unfortunate cannon blast that had taken his arm, the pride in his voice from having served his country and fought for their freedom had been quite apparent.
They both fell silent as she helped him into his shirt, careful not to jar his injured flesh. As she tugged the shirt down over his head and torso, it was hard to ignore the faded welts that marred his broad back. Even after all these years, she couldn’t forget—or forgive—her selfishness that had led to his whipping. She had brought him so much pain, and he continued to endure more. Agreeing to an arranged marriage was the least Gracie could do to ensure he wouldn’t have to worry about finding work.
Gracie stepped back as her father rose from the bed and began tucking the ends of the shirt into his pants. He was lean and tall and, despite his missing arm, still possessed a commanding presence. He always kept his face shaved, and even now his handsome, weary features were free of facial hair.
“Is there anything else you need, Daddy?”
For a moment, he stood there awkwardly staring at her. Then, to her surprise, he wrapped his arm around her shoulder and pulled her into a tight hug. Without hesitation, Gracie folded her arms around him and returned the fierce embrace. Though she knew her father loved her, he wasn’t always so openly affectionate. She took full advantage of that moment and hugged him tighter.
