He took off his hat and raked his fingers through his dark waves. Watching the painfully familiar gesture, Elizabeth winced.
“Everything I do reminds you of my brother, doesn’t it?”
That was true, but the difficulty did not lay with him. He was worried about her, and she felt terrible for distressing him so. He has work to do, important work, and I am only getting in the way. I shouldn’t have come, especially now that he is seeking to write about a slave.
“This is my fault,” she said. “I hinder your work.”
He quickly tossed his hat atop her sketchbook and leaned a little closer. A look of determination filled his face. “No,” he said. “No.”
“I can see it in your eyes, David. I know I bring you grief. It’s no wonder. I was to be his wife. You and I would have been family. Now we are only...” She searched for an appropriate word. Strangers did not fit, for they were more than that, yet friends didn’t seem right, either.
“Elizabeth, we are family. We always will be.” His voice wavered slightly. “I will be honest. At times when I look at you, I am distracted. I do think of him.”
“Then perhaps we should go our separate ways. You have deadlines to meet—”
That determined expression remained. “You don’t need to concern yourself with that. I promised you that I would look after you, and your sister and mother. I intend to keep that promise, and I want to do what I can to encourage your artistic talent, whether you ever seek publication or not.”
His tone was quiet, yet firm. Deep down, she appreciated his certainty, his persistence. He had already been an encouragement to her, just in the fact that he thought her work was worthy of publication. That compliment had brought a spark of life to her heart, one she realized she needed to hold on to.
She told him that.
“Then let us bear with one another,” he said. “Faults and all.”
As difficult as it was to be near him, she did not wish for him to leave. David was the last link to her beloved. “Agreed,” she said. “But what will you do now about finding a subject?”
A look of quiet confidence filled his face. “I have asked God for help with this article. If you don’t mind, I am going to sit here on this bench until I receive it.”
His matter-of-factness almost made her smile. It certainly made her curious. Elizabeth wanted to see if his request would be answered.
“I don’t mind waiting,” she said.
He offered her a smile, then took out his notebook and pencil. Both of them settled back on the bench.
Twenty minutes or so passed, most of it in silence. David stared across the square, expectantly waiting, watching. Her eyes swept the area, as well. Just a few yards in front of them, two little girls in striped dresses were playing the Game of Graces. One jumped happily when she caught her friend’s ribbon-trimmed hoop on the edge of her stick.
Then Elizabeth spied them. Pulse quickening, she reached for his arm. “David, look!” Two Negro boys, one lean and lank, the other shorter but just as thin, were shouldering a large sack of grain. They were heading north on the street before them.
* * *
Elizabeth had seen them the same moment as he. These are not freedmen’s children earning a pittance of a paid wage, he thought. These are the faces of slavery. Eight, ten years old perhaps...rag shirts, torn trousers and make-do burlap shoes. “Yes!” he immediately said to Elizabeth. “Yes!”
She had already opened her sketchbook. At once her pencil was moving, capturing the boys’ basic outlines. David scribbled down their descriptions, their clothes, their gait, the size and weight of the sack of grain they carried.
“I know them,” she said.
“You know them?”
“Of them, at least. Elijah and Elisha. They are brothers. I don’t know why I didn’t think of them before.”
His pulse quickened. “Where are they headed?”
“I’m not certain. Somewhere up Charles Street.” She grinned at him, mischievously. “You want to follow them, don’t you?”
“Yes.” In fact he felt compelled to do so.
“Go,” she urged. “Gather what information you can. I’ll wait here for you.”
He jumped to his feet only to then freeze. I can’t just leave her here. There was no telling who was lurking about. She was a woman in obvious mourning, but that hadn’t stopped the swarthy sailor from eyeing her. And in spite of the black fabric, she didn’t look as if she was mourning now. That grin was growing wider by the minute. Her pencil practically danced across her lap.
“Come with me,” he said.
“I can’t come with you! We would look like a parade. We’d scare them, and you’d never get a story. Go on. I’ll wait for you here.”
He knew she was right. But still...
“I’ll be fine,” she insisted, reading his thoughts. “It isn’t as if I’ve never been to the park by myself before. I used to come here lots of times to sketch. Besides, there is a policeman keeping watch just yonder. Go. Is this not what you prayed for?”
He knew it was, and in more ways than one. The excitement in her voice fueled his confidence. “I won’t be long.”
She nodded, eyes now following the children. “I’ll be right here when you return.”
Leaving her beneath the shade tree, David hurried to catch up with the two little boys. Despite the heavy sack, they were moving quite quickly up Charles Street. Just as he reached them, they stopped. David halted as they set down the grain.
The younger boy was struggling with the load. Though David’s immediate instinct was to help the child, he knew he could not intrude. Right now all he could do was shadow them. Pulling out his watch, he pretended to inspect the chain. From the corner of his eye he studied them.
Sweat was trickling down the youngest boy’s dark face. The older one tried to offer encouragement.
“C’mon ’Lisha. Almost there.”
The littlest one bravely shouldered his share once more. When they resumed walking, David did, as well. He followed them the distance of another three blocks, right past Elizabeth’s house. They then made a turn to the left and crossed two more streets. When they came to a blacksmith shop, David hung back while the boys went inside. He stood in front of a nearby tobacco store with a window full of pipes and pouches, recording what he’d seen so far.
When the children emerged, David waited for them to pass, then headed on. The delivery having been made, their pace was even more hurried. He had to walk quickly in order to keep up with them and be privy to their conversation.
“I’m hungry,” the little one said. “Can we stop at the church?”
“No church. Have to git back ’fore Master Wallace takes fire.”
David didn’t know why the boy wanted to stop at the unnamed church. He’d have to ask Elizabeth. Perhaps she would know. He did however understand the take fire phrase. If these slave children were tardy, they would suffer their owner’s wrath.
Indignation rumbled through him. For all the talk freedom politicians and wealthy abolitionists were spouting, why was it taking a vote long after Lincoln’s Emancipation Proclamation to decide the fate of boys such as these?
For a moment he wished Peter had assigned him an editorial so he could express his feelings on the subject. Boy, would I express them...
He followed the children back as far as the park. They then continued toward the harbor. He wanted to go on after them, but he didn’t want to leave Elizabeth unattended any longer. She was still at her post, scribbling away. She was so absorbed in what she was doing that she failed to notice him even when he came up alongside her.
David leaned closer for a peek at her sketch. The boys were smack center on the paper. Tattered caps shaded their faces. Already she was adding details to their ragged hemmed trousers and threadba
re shirts.
“Excellent job,” he said.
Startled, she looked up, only to then immediately throw her hands over her work, as if she never intended anyone else to view it. He hoped that would not be the case.
“You scared me,” she said.
“Sorry.” He sat down beside her. “I know I said I wouldn’t pressure you concerning submission, but if you continue to draw like that, I’ll be hard-pressed not to.”
A humble, irresistible blush filled her face as she then examined the work herself. “Do you really think it could be good enough for your editor?”
Did he? He most certainly did, but he couldn’t resist teasing her just a bit. “Well, I’m not really certain about this thing here.” He pointed to a pair of long skinny lines, obviously only an outline for something more to come. “That’s a terribly large lamppost.”
Her lips shifted to a slight pout. “That’s a tree, silly.” She motioned across the street. “That one. There.”
He squinted, then looked down at the sketch once more. “Ah, well, perhaps once you add the leaves...”
She swatted him playfully. David was thrilled. For a few moments Elizabeth had forgotten her grief. There was no war, no sickness, no death weighing on her heart or her mind. She was doing what she loved, and it showed. The brightness in her eyes nearly stole his breath.
She looked again to her drawing. “I can’t remember if they were both wearing burlap shoes. Do you know?”
“They were.”
She then pointed to the boys’ faces. “I set their caps down over their eyes like that because I thought it unwise to make them recognizable.”
David blinked. “Recognizable?”
“Was that not a good idea?”
“It’s a capital idea. We wouldn’t want anyone to recognize them. It could be dangerous for them if their pictures were published. But...does this mean, then, that you’re actually going to let Peter see the sketch?”
She bit her lip. Her color and her confidence drained before his eyes. David wanted desperately to encourage her.
“You know, when I first started at the Journal I jumped at any story tossed my way. But then, while trying to complete it, I often got sidetracked by my own thoughts. I started thinking, who am I kidding? I’m not a real reporter. I don’t know half as much as those other men.”
Elizabeth’s green eyes widened with interest. “Were you afraid they would laugh at you?”
“Yes.”
“Did they?”
“A time or two. But I survived. I learned from it. I kept at it.”
She drew in a breath. “And now you are the feature reporter for the Free American...”
He didn’t say anything to that. He just let her come to her own conclusion. Elizabeth looked down once more at the work on her lap. “Would this really be helpful to you?”
“Most definitely. More people will notice the article that way. Sketches command attention.”
“But are you certain this one is good enough?”
“It will be when you finish it.”
The slightest grin tugged at her face. Come on, he wanted to say. Give it a try. What have you got to lose?
“Well, if you really think this will be good enough...then I’ll finish it. But will you deliver it to your editor? I don’t believe I’d have the courage to face him.”
“I would be honored to do so, Elizabeth.” David could barely contain his excitement.
In spite of her fears, she was willing to try. He was so proud of her that it was all he could do not to reach for her hand. Partners they were, and for one brief moment David allowed himself to think, That’s my girl.
* * *
An anxious excitement made Elizabeth’s fingers twitch, so much so that she could barely hold her drawing pencil. David had agreed to deliver the sketch to his editor. Her thoughts raced concerning what that could mean.
If accepted, I would be a real artist! I’d even be paid! Mother would certainly appreciate that!
But there was something even more heart pounding than the prospect of publication. David had told her he had prayed for guidance. Little Elijah and Elisha had crossed their path at just the right time, and both David and she had sensed immediately it was their story that needed to be told. In capturing their likeness, Elizabeth had felt that gift of fulfillment, that peace she’d been missing so long.
She’d been wondering where God was. Could it be, despite her anger, her disappointment, her lack of faith, that He was still beside her? Jeremiah’s verse drifted through her mind. I will never leave thee nor forsake thee...
Her fiancé had believed God worked with a purpose, that even suffering could be used for good, when part of His plan. David believed that, as well. He even believed his life could be part of that plan. He’d found purpose in writing, in encouraging freedom. Was it possible she could find purpose along a similar path, only with a sketchbook instead of a reporter’s journal?
Her heart was thumping wildly. For the first time since Jeremiah’s death, Elizabeth felt a sense of anticipation, a feeling that there was something in this life to still look forward to.
Beside her, David was now quietly thumbing through his notebook.
“Were you able to collect enough information for your article?” she asked. “If not, I know where the boys may be headed, or at least where they will end up.”
A look of eagerness filled his face. “More information is always good. What can you tell me?”
“Well, Elijah and Elisha are owned by a dry goods merchant on Light Street. Wallace, I believe, is his name. He has owned the children since at least the time the war began.”
David nodded. “They mentioned him. How do you know these boys?”
“From Sam and Julia.”
“Sam and Julia? Your friends?”
“Yes. It was they who met them first, during the noontide prayer meetings. Sam and Julia manned the refreshment table the first few months of the war. They gave the boys cold water and something to eat each day when they came by while making their deliveries.”
David then told her how Elisha had asked to stop by the church. His older brother had told him no. Elizabeth was not surprised. “Sam and Julia have tried repeatedly to redeem the children, but Wallace won’t hear of it. The man has a bit of a temper. They have had to be extremely careful since the failed attempts.”
“Any attempt to show kindness to the boys, he perceives as a threat to steal his ‘property,’” David said knowingly.
“Yes.”
She watched his jaw tighten. Elizabeth had never seen anger on his face before, but she clearly saw it now. She could also hear the disgust in his voice. “I hope the people of this state will finally realize how brutal the institution of slavery is. I hope the slaveholders will answer for their crimes.”
Every bit of excitement she’d felt previously vanished. Guilt took its place. If only I’d realized how brutal slavery could be before I’d—
“I’d like to get a look at this man,” David said. “You say his shop is located on Light Street?”
“Yes.”
“Well, since we are no longer in danger of looking like a parade, why not pay him a visit?”
You want me to come with you while you visit that slave owner? Elizabeth swallowed. Part of her wanted to go. She wanted to see this merchant for herself because she knew him only by what her friends had told her. She wanted to see Elijah and Elisha, as well, see if there might be some way she could help them.
Memories of the past, however, slammed the door on that idea. What could I do to help them? “Why not?” Elizabeth stammered. She’d meant the words as a question, but David apparently heard them as a statement. He smiled happily, and quickly slipped his pencil and journal in the pocket of his frock coat.
Oh, dear... How could she tell him no now, especially when he thought she would be able to contribute to his investigation? Reluctantly she placed her sketchbook and pencils in her satchel, and they started back in the direction of the harbor.
“Is there anything else you can tell me?” he asked. “I didn’t even think of it before, but you probably know people in your very neighborhood who own slaves.”
Elizabeth gulped. She knew she should tell him about her own experience. But I never told anyone that! Not mother or father, not even Jeremiah! The idea of revealing to David that which she had not even shared with her own fiancé seemed disloyal.
Elizabeth thought quickly, hoping the uneasiness she felt wasn’t showing in her voice. “If you want to learn more, you should probably speak with Sam and Julia. They could tell you much more about Elijah and Elisha. I’m certain they are aware of other stories, as well, since they are involved with the local abolitionist society.”
“Would they mind a visit from me?” he asked.
“I don’t believe so. In fact, today might be a good time. Sam arrives home early on Monday afternoons.”
“I’ll visit him then, after we visit the merchant. I could meet you back at your house when I’m finished. Will that will give you enough time to complete your sketch?”
“Yes. I should have it completed by supper time.” Or at least she hoped she could, for now she had her doubts. Her past history was nagging her, but as they walked steadily toward Light Street, Elizabeth convinced herself that David need not know of it.
The past is the past. He doesn’t need to know any of it in order to complete his present article. There have been enough secrets shared between us already.
* * *
When they arrived at the dry goods store, a bell on the back of the door signaled their entrance. The man behind the counter, middle-aged and apron clad, looked up.
“Help you, sir?”
The words were courteous, yet David detected a hint of arrogance in the shopkeeper’s tone. In addition he’d ignored Elizabeth’s presence altogether. For the sake of gathering more information, he let it pass, for now.
Second Chance Love Page 9
