Daylight Comes

by Judith Miller

  And so long as Mrs. Wilson didn’t interfere, Fern thought Arthur would seize the opportunity.

  Fern climbed the outer stairway that led to the upstairs living quarters of the Wilson family. She didn’t think she’d enjoy such a housing arrangement, but Mrs. Wilson had said she found it wonderfully convenient. Well, she could have it. When Fern and Arthur married, they would build a lovely house of their own. Not so fine as the Wymans’, but one where she would be proud to invite their guests. Of course, if they continued to live in Nicodemus, her opportunities to entertain would be limited. She would have to find out if Arthur would be willing to leave Nicodemus and start his own mercantile in another city. Yes! She’d introduce the topic when they were alone this afternoon.

  Her stomach growled noisily, and she clutched her waist. Perhaps the Wilsons hadn’t yet eaten their noonday meal. If not, she hoped Mrs. Wilson would invite her to join them.

  “Fern! When you didn’t arrive for church services, I thought you might be ill.” Arthur held open the door, and the luscious aroma of roasting chicken drew her forward. “I was going to come to the Wymans’ and check on you, but Mother insisted I wait until after dinner. Would you care to join us?” His smile warmed her nearly as much as the heat radiating from the Sunshine stove.

  Fern followed him into the kitchen. Mrs. Wilson didn’t appear nearly as pleased to see her—or to hear that Arthur had invited her to join them for the noonday meal.

  The woman lifted an apron from the hook near the door. “You can mash the potatoes.” Too much remained at stake where Arthur was concerned—Fern couldn’t object. As Arthur’s mother handed her the potato masher, Fern determined that Mrs. Wilson realized that very fact and would use it to her advantage.

  Though the Wilsons’ furnishings were nice enough, Mrs. Wilson didn’t appear to have much knack for decorating. Although there was no dining room, the kitchen was quite large and well-appointed.

  While the women finalized preparations, Mr. Wilson and Arthur sat at the large oak dining table.

  Mr. Wilson folded a copy of the weekly newspaper and removed his glasses. “We missed you in church this morning, Fern. Did the Wymans not permit you time off from your duties this morning?”

  Fern ceased mashing the potatoes long enough to drop a lump of butter into the bowl. “I attended over at First Baptist this morning.”

  Mrs. Wilson’s carving knife plummeted to the floor and lodged into one of the wood planks in a perfect handle-up position adjacent to Fern’s right foot. Quickly taking a step to the side, Fern looked at the knife and then at Mrs. Wilson. The woman appeared dumbstruck. Not certain what else to do, Fern leaned down, pulled the knife from the floorboard, and placed it on the worktable.

  Mrs. Wilson continued to watch Fern’s every movement. At last she said, “You didn’t.”

  “Yes, I did.”

  Neither of the men showed much reaction to her revelation, so she told them about her Sunday morning, detailing the singing, the clapping, the shouts of praise, and of course, the dancing. By the time she completed her discourse, Mrs. Wilson was as pale as the heaping bowl of mashed potatoes.

  With trembling hands, Mrs. Wilson placed the remaining dish of vegetables on the table and sat down between her husband and son.

  They joined hands while Mr. Wilson blessed the food, a concept Fern had first observed at the Boyles’ and then the Wymans’ house. She decided both coloreds and whites found this particular religious practice acceptable.

  After dropping a spoonful of potatoes onto her plate, she passed the bowl to Arthur. “Mr. Wilson, I was wondering if you could tell me what the Bible says about eternal damnation.” She lowered her voice to a near whisper. “About hell.”

  A whistling gasp sounded from Mrs. Wilson’s throat and then she started anxiously fanning herself with her linen napkin. “I do believe I am going to faint.”

  Fern looked across the table at Arthur, who grinned before touching his index finger to his pursed lips. Forcing a solemn expression, Fern dampened her napkin and passed it to Mrs. Wilson. “Perhaps if you’d place this on the back of your neck, it would help.”

  Eyes glistening, Mrs. Wilson shoved the napkin away. “If you want to help, you’ll cease this talk of . . . of . . .”

  Fern raised an eyebrow. “Hell?”

  Fire exploded in Mrs. Wilson’s eyes. “Yes!” The reply hissed through the woman’s teeth.

  Fern remained in her chair for two reasons: she was exceedingly hungry and she didn’t want to forfeit her time alone with Arthur— especially now. Her behavior had obviously offended Mrs. Wilson, and she would need the afternoon hours with Arthur to help seal his affections, for his mother would surely use this incident to convince Arthur she was an unsuitable choice for him.

  For the remainder of the meal, the only sound was an occasional piece of silverware clanking against a plate or bowl. Surprisingly, once coffee had been served, Mrs.Wilson suggested her husband take Fern into the parlor and thoroughly explain the ramifications of living an unholy life. “I will see to the dishes while you answer Fern’s questions. After all, I don’t want her eternal soul on my conscience.”

  Fern didn’t know how her soul could be on Mrs. Wilson’s conscience, but she didn’t question the woman. Instead, she followed Arthur’s father into the parlor and listened to what he had to say about Jesus. It was just as she’d suspected: being a part of the group going to heaven wasn’t quite so easy as that free gift the preacher over at First Baptist had talked about. Mr. Wilson said there were lots of laws to be followed if she was going to avoid God’s wrath and spend eternity in heaven. As he began to list a few of these rules, she realized she could never be good enough to receive the gift. He never did say anything about Jesus coming to live in your heart.

  When he offered to tell her a few more of the laws, she declined. How could she follow all those rules when she couldn’t even remember them? There was a lot more to this religion thing than she had imagined.

  She thanked him for his help and sighed with relief when he ambled off to the kitchen. She’d best turn her thoughts back to winning Arthur’s affections. That was something she easily understood!

  CHAPTER

  20

  Although Truth and Fern had packed many of the items selected for shipment to Topeka, the Wymans’ clothing and personal items remained. Of course, most of the furnishings were being left behind, which was more to assure Truth that they would come back to this house than for any other reason. Quite frankly, she believed Moses would willingly sell the house and furnishings and settle permanently in the capital city. Given the time and love they’d invested in building their home, Truth found the idea most disconcerting. Aunt Lilly had patted her on the head and explained that men were less likely to place sentimental value on houses and the like. Perhaps Lilly was right, but Truth loved this house and wanted to return to it as soon as possible.

  Fern pulled a small package from her basket and held it out to her. “There was a delivery for you at the post office.” She winked and put her finger on the return address in the corner. “Christmas gifts?” Fern’s fingers lingered on the box as she handed it to Truth.

  Truth accepted the package without comment. She knew what was inside. She caressed the parcel, relieved it had finally arrived, and then tucked it into her skirt pocket. She didn’t plan to tell Fern, or anyone else, what she had purchased for Moses. She didn’t want to risk the possibility of his Christmas surprise being ruined. Not that he seemed particularly interested in the Christmas festivities—in fact she wondered if he would even think to purchase a present for her. His attention was focused on getting them moved to Topeka.

  Since the dusting of snow they’d received early in the week, her husband’s greatest concern and constant topic of conversation was the weather. His desire to be settled in Topeka by January 8, ensuring his presence at the swearing-in ceremonies, had become an obsession. Moses fretted daily that a massive snowstorm would arrive and force them to r
emain in Nicodemus. Sad. Moses’s greatest fear had become her deepest desire.

  The preparations for the holiday celebration would be her responsibility, for Moses seemed to care not one whit about what was happening at home. Truth glanced at the clock as she helped Fern unload the basket of groceries. Stopping in front of the stove, she gave the soup a quick stir. The aroma of the simmering chicken stock drifted up and tantalized her.

  Early this morning, Fern had made noodles and spread them to dry on the worktable. She’d soon need to bring the stock to a boil and add them to the pot. “I’ll finish up here if you’d like to complete preparations for dinner,” Truth offered. “Moses should be home soon.”

  Fern rested her hand atop the basket. “I forgot to mention I saw Mr. Wyman at the mercantile. He said to tell you he wouldn’t be home for dinner today.”

  Truth stopped short. “Did he say why?”

  “No, ma’am, just that he wouldn’t be home. Shall I plan on using the noodles for supper, or would you prefer the soup for your noonday meal?”

  Shoving a tin of raisins onto the shelf, Truth quickly shook her head. “No need to prepare a noonday meal. Since Moses isn’t coming home, I believe I’ll go upstairs and rest.” She hurried from the room, unwilling to have Fern see her tears. It’s silly to cry over something so inconsequential. These days most anything could reduce her to tears. Miss Hattie said such behavior was common with women in her condition, but she didn’t recall Jarena having crying spells.

  The comfort of her room wasn’t nearly as inviting as she’d hoped, but she lay down on the bed, planning to rest for only a few minutes.

  Several hours later, she awakened with a start and looked out the bedroom windows. Cobwebs clouded her mind, but a glimpse of the late-afternoon sun dipping toward the horizon moved her to action. She opened her small pocket watch and gasped. She’d slept for most of the afternoon!

  Glancing in the mirror, she pressed her hands to her head and finger-combed her hair into place. The mirror revealed a small bulge in her right pocket and she reached inside to remove the box. She’d completely forgotten about Moses’s gift. Placing the package on the dresser, she carefully unwrapped the paper and opened the lid of the box. Lifting the sterling silver charm she’d had specially fashioned for his pocket watch, she placed it gently in her palm to admire it. Yes, this would be the perfect gift.

  After assuring herself no one was watching, Macia unfolded the paper Camille had slipped into her hand as they’d departed church this morning. She looked at the porcelain clock before she hurried to the foyer and donned her coat and bonnet. Moving at a lively pace, she silently chastised herself for waiting so long to read the missive.

  She was breathless when she finally neared the Faradays’ pharmacy.

  After quickly scouring the vicinity for anyone who might see her, she tapped lightly on the door and entered. Camille stood in the doorway that led to the backroom. She frantically motioned Macia toward her.

  “Did anyone see you?” Camille asked in a hushed whisper as Macia approached. Camille quickly peeked out each of the four pharmacy windows.

  “No. Why are we whispering and hiding in the back of the store?”

  Camille collapsed into one of the heavy wooden chairs that surrounded a circular table. Macia followed her lead and waited for her friend’s response.

  With a nervous laugh, Camille placed a key on the table. “I took my father’s key to the pharmacy so we could meet here, but Mother has a key, also. If we speak quietly, we should be able to hear if she comes looking for me.” Camille picked up the key and flipped it back and forth in her palm. “I fear my father has indeed lost our house to the man I told you about. We may have to move within the week— and with Christmas almost here . . .”

  Startled, Macia leaned across the table and took Camille’s hand in her own. The door key clattered to the table and lay between them.

  “What? I thought you were going to come and speak to me or my father if that issue hadn’t been favorably resolved.Why didn’t you talk to one of us before now?”

  Tears formed in Camille’s eyes. “Like you, I thought I’d misunderstood or that Father had managed to win back the deed.” She pulled a scallop-edged handkerchief from her pocket and dabbed her eyes. “Yesterday when I arrived at the pharmacy, that man was in this very room with Father. I overheard them talking. It seems the salesman had traveled back east on business. He had agreed that if Father could pay him his winnings upon his return to Hill City, he would freely give back the deed. Unfortunately, Father doesn’t have that much money.” Camille slumped in the chair.

  Macia’s head ached, but she forced herself to ignore the pain.

  How could a man place his family in jeopardy over a card game?

  There had to be help for the Faradays, but their redemption was well beyond her meager capabilities. “If you truly want help, we must involve my father. Can you meet me at his office first thing in the morning?”

  Camille’s lips trembled. “Yes. But please don’t tell anyone else.”

  “Agreed.” Macia stood and slipped into her coat. “Please don’t worry. Father will find a solution.” The words were spoken with as much confidence as she could muster. In truth, she had no idea how her father could resolve this matter. On the other hand, she knew he would help in any way possible.

  The women parted, and Macia made her way home. The house was silent when she went inside. Obviously, she’d not been missed in her absence. Lucy had begged to spend the afternoon at home with Jeb. Harvey, who had generously offered to go to the Schmidt farm and collect Gerta from her weekend visit, was not yet back. And her parents were exactly where they’d been when she departed: her mother remained upstairs napping while her father leafed through his medical books in the library.

  She lightly tapped on the library door before entering and then closed the door behind her before sitting down across from her father.

  Once she’d revealed the reason for her interruption, her father tented his fingers beneath his chin and pursed his lips. Neither of them spoke. Macia had learned long ago that her father preferred to mull over his ideas before speaking. And interpreting his thoughts was nearly impossible. Until prepared to speak, he maintained a thoughtful posture.

  He’d remained quiet for so long that Macia quietly rose from her chair. If he was going to cogitate on this matter for the remainder of the afternoon, she need not sit and watch him. Her hand had barely touched the doorknob when her father called her name.

  “I can arrive at only one resolution. I believe Faraday will agree— especially if he doesn’t want his wife to discover what he’s done.”

  Macia scooted forward and leaned on her father’s desk. “Can you tell me?”

  He outlined the simple plan. Her father would pay off the debt and hold the deed until Mr. Faraday repaid him.

  Macia tilted her head. “But what’s to prevent him from doing the same thing in the future?”

  “I plan to insist upon drafting a new deed in both Mr. and Mrs.

  Faraday’s names. I’m guessing that’s the only thing that has stopped him from gambling away the pharmacy.” He stood up and walked to the window to look out at the frozen patch of flower garden. “You realize this is a matter of privacy. We don’t want the family to suffer embarrassment.”

  “Yes, of course, Father. I know Camille will be most grateful.”

  “Tell her I will speak to her father tomorrow.” He strode from the window and stopped in front of the fireplace. “In the event Mr. Faraday is reluctant to take the loan, I’ll explain my motives aren’t completely altruistic. After all, having a pharmacist nearby has been particularly helpful to me.”

  Macia went to him and kissed his cheek. “You are a fine man. I’m proud to call you my father.”

  “Off with you, now,” he commanded with a grin.

  She laughed and offered a mock salute, knowing her praise had embarrassed him and that she need not worry. By this time tomorrow, all wou
ld be resolved for Camille and her family.

  There was no snow on the ground when Christmas Eve arrived, and for that Moses was grateful. Though a nip remained in the air, the frigid cold of the previous week had passed and temperatures now hovered in the thirties. Moses sighed with relief as he headed toward home with Truth’s Christmas presents tucked into a leather satchel.

  His wife enjoyed the holidays, and though she said she enjoyed being surprised on her birthday and Christmas Eve, he wasn’t completely convinced. He’d discovered her snooping for her gifts on several occasions. In fact, he was certain she’d discovered and peeked at the birthday gift he’d purchased for her last year. Though he’d never received an absolute admission from his wife, she’d not denied his accusation, either. Consequently, he’d been particularly careful this year. And he’d sworn all of the family members to secrecy, also—even though Jarena and Grace hadn’t been visiting as frequently as in the past. Moses did hold himself somewhat accountable for the obvious breach in the sisters’ relationship. Each one of them believed she’d been wronged. Unfortunately, all of it related back to his election and their impending move to Topeka. Perhaps as the family came together to celebrate Christ’s birth, healing would take place.

  They didn’t have a large fir Christmas tree like some folks in the East now decorated in celebration of the holiday, but Moses had purchased a small cedar from a farmer who had passed through town. He’d paid one of the local boys to break through the ice near the riverbank and fill a bucket with wet sand to hold the tree upright and keep it fresh for a few days. Last night, Truth had directed him as he set the tree on a table she had bedecked with a white linen tablecloth embroidered with an edging of dark green.

  After arranging a piece of white muslin to cover the bucket, they’d popped corn over the fire in the hearth. She’d laughed at his efforts to string the corn and soon decided he was intentionally breaking the pieces as an excuse to eat them. He grinned as he recalled her mock indignation. The tree looked lovely with the candleholders clipped in place. After the church service this evening, their family and friends