The sheriff had drawn his revolver. “Get out of here before you’re all lying dead like your comrade.”
“We’re not done with you abolitionists yet.” The lead man turned, leaning on his saddle. The voice was strangely familiar to Maggie.
“Sheriff, you sure you want to be standing next to them? You could get accidently shot on your way home. Or worse still, in your bed.” He chuckled. “You can’t be everywhere and if you don’t stop this investigation into Mrs. Gatlan’s whipping, my men and I will keep on vandalizing the countryside until you plead for mercy.”
“How dare you threaten me and mine!” Maggie’s father shook with rage. Swerving his right hip, he laid back his broadcloth coat.
His pistol was on that hip. Her mother, seeing the movement jumped in front of her husband.
“Marie, get back,” her father said. She refused. “Woman, do as your told.”
She ignored him. “Mr. Reynolds, why are you so full of hate for us? You delighted in flogging me, and I had hoped you had vented your temper enough as to lose some of your hatred for me. Or am I just a channel you have chosen to bully others weaker than yourself?”
Reynolds growled deep down in his throat. Maggie shuddered. “Mrs. Gatlan, you’re the lifeblood to your husband. I want him to suffer because I hate him more than life itself.” His hand disclosed a pistol. The boom of flint and powder temporarily deafened Maggie’s ears.
“Ahhh …” Her mother fell backward.
The smell of gunsmoke filled the air.
“No!” Her father caught her before she could fall to the ground. Will shot back, winging Reynolds in the arm. The men turned and galloped off.
“Eli, ride and get Doctor Jordon.”
Sheriff Pundy grabbed his horse and galloped after the men.
“Get Reynolds!” Her father looked down at his wife’s motionless body and cried, big sobs racking his shoulders.
Will and Eli jumped onto their horses and galloped after the sheriff.
Her father scooped up her mother’s limp body, carried her into the house, and laid her down on the sofa. Maggie placed a pillow behind her head.
“Lordy, lordy, what next. The devil is prowling this house. Lookin’ to devour us all.” Cook’s large torso quaked like jelly, her turbaned head wobbling back and forth.
“Cook, calm down.” Her father’s tone was authoritative.
“Get a basin of water and some rags. Quick,” Matron Burns said.
“Marie, Marie, can you hear me, darling?” Her father took her mother’s lifeless hand in his, kissing her fingers. Laying his head on her breast, he sobbed. “Marie, please don’t leave me. Please, I need you so. Without you I’ll be half a man.”
Her mother’s eyes fluttered opened. “My love.” A sweet smile lit the drooping corners of her angelic face. “Don’t hate… forgive…” Her hand reached up to stroke a blade of sandy-brown hair from her husband’s forehead, then stroked his cheek. “Jesus told me to say… ‘love your enemies’… don’t hate, darling. Not even Reynolds, nor our daughter. Remember… ‘do good to them that hate you’. We will be together always, my love… in the sweet by and by. Our daughter… don’t blame… remember ‘if ye forgive men their trespasses, your heavenly Father will also forgive you… if ye forgive not… neither will your Father forgive yours…” Her eyes went suddenly glassy. “True love… Jesus’ love… endures—”
“I will never love again if you should die!”
“Redemptive… love.” Her jaw dropped forward; her eyes stared blankly at them.
Big tears rolled down her father’s cheeks and chin and splashed down on her mother’s hand.
“This can’t be,” Maggie cried. “First Ben, now Mother—dead?” Father crumbled to the floor, reaching for her mother’s hand. “Marie… Marie… I don’t want to live without you beside me.”
Maggie pressed her hands to her father, weeping openly on his shoulder. He pushed her away. He gently placed her mother’s hand on her chest and kissed it, then burying his head on her chest, he sobbed for what seemed to Maggie an eternity.
When he arose, his eyes accusingly gazed into hers. “This is your fault. You, you had to start that blasted school. You had to include your sweet mother in your scheme. If you hadn’t, your mother would still be alive. I warned her. I told her that.” He kissed her mother’s forehead, then her lips.
Maggie cringed on the scarlet-rose velvet carpet. Father’s eyes, cold as ice, glared at her.
“I’ll go and get the undertaker,” Father said.
“I’ll have Cook keep your dessert warm,” Maggie replied.
Her father eyed her and frowned. “I won’t be home tonight. I’ve got things to do in town.”
Maggie hurried after her father. “But… Mother said—”
“She was delirious.”
“Father, no, I believe she came back from heaven to tell us this, to tell you this.”
Her father looked down at her from the bridge of his nose. She clutched his arm.
“Quit pawing me.” He pulled her arm away, a shiver coursing through his body as if detesting her touch. He backed away from her. “Go about your business and I will go about mine. From now on, we are strangers. Do you understand me?” His eyes took on a strange gleam. She shuddered. “We are strangers that share the same name and the same house.” He slammed the door behind him.
Like concrete statues, Matron Burns and Miss Peabody held their handkerchiefs to their gaping mouths, unable to give either comfort or support. Maggie hung her head in shame.
“Lordy, lordy, Miss Maggie,” Cook said, patting her on the back and weeping openly. She grabbed the corner of her apron and wiped her eyes. “Mr. Gatlan’s gone crazy with grief.”
Not a cloud in the sky. Wasn’t it supposed to rain? She wished for a torrential thunderstorm so as to inhibit the viewers. There seemed no end to the people crowding the pews, bumping into to one another to give her and Father their condolences.
The Reverend Brown’s eyes softened and his mouth worked its way into a grin. “I shall never forget the first time I met your mother, she just a child of eight when I baptized her up on Mt. Gilead. Back then people sat on tree stumps or beneath the brush arbor in our makeshift church. She was determined to follow Jesus and she never swayed from her faith.”
“Thank you, Reverend. I remember my mother telling me about that baptism.” Maggie smiled.
“Did she tell you about meeting the late Reverend Anderson? How we had to wait for him because he was a circuit rider then?”
Maggie nodded.
“Mr. Greatheart,” muttered Matron Burns coming up beside her. “He established Maryville College, and in walked Marie. She became Reverend Anderson’s star pupil.”
“And because of me, mother lost her life.” Maggie bowed her head.
The Reverend patted her heaving shoulders. “Dry your tears, child. You did what you had to do, and your mother did what she had to do.” He paused watching the crowd of people coming through the doors.
“Maggie, I am so sorry about what happened to your dear mother,” said Elizabeth Toole, leaning heavily on the arm of the slender girl standing beside her. “Polly was determined to come. We don’t understand why people have to be so mean to one another.”
Polly nodded. Her tight curls bobbed about her head.
Maggie wished more time could have been spent teaching her. Evidently, it was enough to strike up a friendship. She sent the girl a warm smile.
Two women dressed in black from head to toe walked past them. Her Quaker friends found a seat in the back of the church. Then four men walked in. They were strangers.
“Who are they?” Matron Burns was quick to comment. “I don’t care for the guns they’re toting, either.”
The Reverend patted her arm. “Well, I think everyone is here. I might as well start the eulogy.” He moved to the pulpit and the crowd quieted.
“Often a person’s life and character command our special interest because it is
so clearly evident that God has taken a great interest in him or her. For instance, I believe God took an interest in Sam Houston. His parents moved here from Virginia in 1807. Sam went on to become the governor of Texas. Then there is Chief Timpson of the Cherokee Indian tribe. I remember Reverend Anderson telling me like it was yesterday when he married Marie’s parents, a Cherokee princess to an aristocratic Irishman.” The crowd chuckled. “Yes, what a combination. Marie’s mother was dressed in white doeskin, her father dressed in a black tuxedo. The union brought the Indian tribe and the white settlement harmoniously together.”
Reverend’s gaze rested on Maggie. “Now Marie had the Holy Spirit in her. Everyone that met her felt it.” Her father slid forward in his seat, as if ready for a speedy departure. She could feel the crowd of people overflowing the pews, waiting for the reverend’s next words. This was not an ordinary eulogy. The reverend had a point to make.
“Spirited, determined, and faithful to Jesus. That was Mrs. Marie Gatlan, never afraid to look a person in the eye and tell them they were wrong and then do the right thing, no matter what the consequences.” Reverend clutched his Bible like it was his anchor. “One conscionable act begets a consequence. I am reminded of Ephesians 1:11 and 12 ‘In whom also we have obtained an inheritance, being predestinated according to the purpose of him who worketh all things after the counsel of his own will: That we should be to the praise of his glory, who first trusted in Christ.’
“Marie was not afraid to die for what she believed in, and she believed mind, body, and soul in the saving grace of Jesus Christ.” He slammed his fist on the podium. “It would be well for us to remember this when faced with the decision whether to turn our backs on a person, be it Indian, Negro, or white that needs our protection. What lies ahead for the South, only God knows. And only God knows what every individual man or woman will do when their life is on the line.”
Her father hurried down the aisle, his hands in his pockets, his broad shoulders bowed as if fighting a turbulent storm. The big oak door slammed shut behind him.
Chapter 19
B en felt stronger each day. And on this eighth day in May, with the robins and bluebirds chirping and the sun warming his back as the plow made spirals in the rich, virgin dirt, he paused to pray. Humbled, knowing only the good Lord could have planned for him to have the money for his land. Now an invitation arrived from one of the most high-society houses in the county, it was, indeed, a happy morning. A horse neighed and his mule, Nellie, neighed back. Stopping the plow, he looked up to see Big Jim galloping toward him.
“He’s in a bit of a hurry, Nellie.” Ben wiped his forehead and neck with his bandana. “What’s got you up so early?”
“What’s got you so happy pulling a plow at daybreak? Why don’t you have Jacob do this back-breaking work?”
“’Tis my own land I plow and proud of it. Mine and my dad’s. Why just look at this good dirt.” Ben scooped up a handful. “I can grow anything in this. Ah, a top of the morning for me to be sure. Besides, Jacob is painting the house, nothin’ fine about painting like it is in digging in your own dirt.”
“Spoken like a true Irishman.” Big Jim rested his arm on the horn of his saddle and lifted his hat off his forehead. “You been invited to that big ball in Lexington next week?”
“Indeed, I’ll have the prettiest lass on my arm as well.”
“Who might that be?”
“Maggie Gatlan. Just wrote her another letter. She should get it soon.”
Big Jim dismounted, running the reins over his horse’s head. Clearly, he was in a thoughtful mood.
“It’s too lovely a day to be broodin’.”
“How many letters have you written Maggie?”
“About a dozen.” Ben laughed. “She being the only girl that has made me feel like I have only half a heart without her—”
“It’s not easy, this thing your dad has laid upon my heart to say.”
“Dad has had too many problems clogging his thoughts.” Ben recalled the conversation at the dinner table the night before, about seeing Maggie.
“When your dad thought you were dead, it took ten years off his life.” Big Jim frowned. “He wants me to follow you wherever you go. He is fearful those bounty hunters will find you and haul you off to jail.”
“You’d think you’re in Ireland the way Dad talks. Here in America, you are innocent until proven guilty, and Dr. Keenly from Ohio assures me I have not a thing to be frettin’ over.”
“Dr. Keenly has been good for you. And all this outdoor work has put the color back in your cheeks and the spring in your step. Still, that doesn’t take away the fact that Maggie hasn’t answered your letters. What are you going to do at this fancy ball without a girl on your arm to twirl? Prop up the wall with ya good looks?”
“She’ll be there.”
Big Jim crossed his arms. He’d gained a ton of weight, all muscle from the work on his farm. Together, they attracted the ladies proper when they rode into town every Saturday for their cup of ale. One mug was all they’d allow themselves. They learned well watching the miners dwindle their livelihood away at the coal mining company store and tavern.
“You’re hiding something. I can see it in your eyes.” Big Jim was sure to pry it out of him. He was as stubborn as a mule and as ornery as a donkey when he got his mind set on something.
“Dr. Keenly introduced me to Mrs. Louise, hostess of the manor we will have our ball at. And Mrs. Louise knows the Gatlans. They’re kin to her and assure me Maggie will be there.”
“That so?” Big Jim did a jig. “My, my, we surely have acquired the Irish luck and a wee bit of a leprechaun’s knack in acquiring wealth. We came here with barely a shilling between us and now look at us—land owners. You taking the arms of the landlords as equals like the ones we once served in Ireland. This is indeed a good land, this America.”
“’Tis not the luck of the Irish, nor a leprechaun’s shenanigans, but the blessings of our Savior, to be sure, I am praising. I read the other day that Lincoln might be nominated to be the Republican candidate for president. Did you complete your citizen papers that Dr. Keenly gave us from his lawyer?”
“Mine’s still in the drawer. You might need to help me. Are you a legal citizen?”
“Proper I am and I’ll be voting in my first presidential election. And I’ll be voting for this man Abraham Lincoln.”
“Five states have threatened to secede from the Union if he gets elected .” Big Jim moved closer and whispered. “Did you tell your dad?”
“No and I do not wish you be telling him.” Ben swiped his hat off his woolly hair. “Well, I must be getting back to my work. I want to get this field plowed and seeded before the ball.”
“Have you got a suit?”
“Dr. Keenly has set me up to be a proper gentlemen, to be sure. He even taught me the social graces so I’d not embarrass myself with Maggie and has provided me with a fine seamstress to fulfill my desires for a special gift for my beloved.”
Maggie awakened refreshed from her day’s travel to Aunt Louise’s. She rose from the featherbed and tiptoed toward the wide veranda that overlooked the spacious lawns and elegant buildings of her aunt and uncle’s thousand-acre estate west of Lexington, Kentucky.
Nothing seemed the same at Spirit Wind without Mother. Father was but a ghost of his former self. If not for the loyal Will, there would be no one to rely on, no one to talk to. She was fearful of coming to Kentucky, fearful something would happen to her father, what with his moods turning so violent of late. Then there was Reynolds. The sheriff had combed the woods for him, but he had vanished.
There was a soft knock on the door. “Yes?”
The door opened slightly and a maid poked her head in. “Miss Maggie, will you be joining the family for breakfast?”
Maggie considered declining. The household had been asleep when she, Eli, and Hattie arrived. Hattie pushed past the maid, carrying a box into the room. Her new print dress fluttered behind her fl
ying feet. “Yes, she is coming, soon as she’s properly dressed. What time is breakfast?”
“Well …” the maid drawled. “Master likes to have his eggs benedict by nine. But Mistress Louise says he shall have his breakfast when Miss Maggie comes down and that put a stop to Master’s comment right off.”
“Miss Maggie will get dressed right quick.”
The maid pulled at the door, then hesitated, shoving her curly black head through the crack. A large grin displayed even white teeth and eyes as big as saucers. “I declare, I don’t think there’s much preparation you need to do. What I see is Miss Maggie’s already beautiful. You’re just improvin’ on perfection.”
Hattie turned in a huff and rushed forward. “You mind your folks and I’ll mind mine. I declare, I got a whole lot more to show you about Miss Maggie’s attributes. Waits and see when I get done with her.” Hattie pushed the maid out, closed the door with a soft thud, and leaned on it.
“That child has a lot to learn about etiquette.” Hattie’s sharp eyes assessed Maggie. “You look a whole lot better than last night. I swear, the bags beneath your eyes could have carried your pendant.”
Maggie looked down, fumbling with the lace cuffs of her wrapper. Her father and Will said they would come; still the maid had not mentioned their arrival. How would she explain Father’s absence? “I miss Mother. She’d know how to handle my father.”
“You can’t hide from life just ’cause your mammy gone. Now look here,” Hattie’s tone gentled. “I’ve got just the thing to perk you up proper.”
She undid the lid and held up a rose-pink satin gown edged with garlands of deep scarlet rose buds, black velvet ribbons, and foamy with cascading lace.
“It’s beautiful, but where did you get it?” Maggie touched the satin that glimmered in the morning light like dew on a rose petal.
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