American Dreams Trilogy

by Michael Phillips

  Cherity nodded and smiled. It was such a happy thought to think of God as Carolyn described him—as a smiling Father!

  “Then just think about him like you want Moonbeam to think about you. You don’t need words for that, do you?”

  “No,” replied Cherity. “She couldn’t speak to me in words anyway.”

  “But you would know the moment she was ready to come to you, wouldn’t you?”

  “Oh, yes. I would be able to tell immediately. I would know that there was a difference in how she was thinking about me.”

  “What would it be like? How would you know?”

  “I’ve already pictured it in my mind. She would take a few steps toward me and give a low friendly neigh. It would have a different sound than the prideful whinny she makes when she tosses her head back and goes dashing off across the field. I would recognize the change as her quiet way of saying she was ready. She might bob her head up and down and neigh again, a little nervously because it was new to her. But then instead of backing away, she would come the rest of the way toward me, slowly, until she began to nuzzle her head against mine.”

  Carolyn thought she had never in her life heard so beautiful a description of what it meant to approach God with an open heart of childlike trust.

  “What is to prevent you from approaching God just like that?” she asked. Her voice was soft and close to tears. “If you have words to say, speak them. If you don’t, remember that Moonbeam has no words either. But you will know the change in her heart, won’t you? The moment she decides to trust you. Do you think God knows your heart any less?”

  “It doesn’t seem possible, does it?” said Cherity.

  “Of course not. He needs no words, only the bowing of your heart as you come to him. He understands the language of the heart. It is the language he invented to communicate with us. He knows the silent words of the heart better than any you could think to say with your mouth. So when you talk to your Father, let your heart speak.”

  Carolyn had participated in what is commonly called “the altar call” more times in her father’s various churches than she could remember. But she had no desire now to urge upon Cherity any process of mind or decision other than what welled up from within Cherity’s own heart. Many attempts at conversion are little more than inverted manifestations of spiritual pride and ambition within those of a proselytizing bent, who fancy themselves evangelists but who have never themselves been weaned from the milk of spiritual infancy.

  Because Carolyn loved truly, and trusted God’s Spirit completely, she knew as well when to be silent as when to speak.

  Cherity nodded and smiled, then slowly rose. It was time for her to be alone again. She left the house and sought the arbor. There she walked about for twenty or thirty minutes, exchanging words with her new Father—who had in truth been her Father all along—in the silent, invisible, eternal language of the heart.

  Eventually she came to the low stone wall over the brook and sat down. Slowly Cherity Waters began to cry, until great tears of quiet joy spilled down her cheeks.

  “God… thank you so much!” she whispered. “Thank you for wanting me for your horse. But I’m not really your horse, am I? It’s ever so much better than that. Because I’m actually your daughter. Thank you for wanting me to be your daughter! I can’t believe I waited so long to realize how good you were. Help me to be just like you want me to be, and to give you pleasure whenever you think of me.”

  Twenty-One

  Veronica Beaumont had been resolving a good many things in her mind since she had seen her fiancé.

  The tone of Seth’s voice and the look on his face during their last ride had startled her. She realized she had almost pushed him too far. He was sensitive about such things as horses. As ridiculous as it seemed to her, she had better watch her step, maybe even learn a few of the stupid beasts’ names.

  That would be sure to impress him, she thought, if she called them by name. She could hardly stand the thought of those huge ugly lips actually touching her, but maybe she even ought to go so far as to let him see her offering one of them a chunk of sugar from her hand.

  It would be disgusting beyond words, but she could do it… if that’s what it took to get back in control of Seth.

  The thoughts of Cherity Waters had also to some degree revolved around Seth during that time. But very different were the nature of her reflections.

  She had not spent a great deal of time wondering where she and Seth Davidson stood in relation to one another except for being new friends who, it seemed, found more every day that they had in common. If they both now, in a way, also shared the same mother—the one in a temporal, the other in a spiritual sense—that made them like brother and sister as well. In either case, whether friends or brother and sister, or both, they should have no secrets with each other.

  Cherity knew she ought to tell Seth about what she and his mother had talked about, and of the changes that had been taking place inside her. She wanted to tell him. But something had grown suddenly shy within her ordinarily sanguine personality about this most personal and private exchange that had taken place deep within her. How would she tell one to whom she had made such a point of her atheism that suddenly she had been praying to God? She was not embarrassed to tell him. She wanted to tell him. But finding the right time to do so was not easy.

  She and Seth were together every day. There had been a little additional harvest work, some fence mending, clean-up in the barn and stables. These they had all done side by side. With absolute fascination, she had watched Alexander teach Seth some of the finer points of horseshoeing, going back and forth between the patient Paintbrush and blacksmith’s forge as he filed and ground and hammered and bent the shoe until it fit the waiting hoof better than any glove, all the while talking to them and telling them what he was doing and why. These and many other things they had done together. It had been a dream come true for the girl who had always loved horses. When there was nothing else to occupy them, they continued to ride together.

  She and Seth had talked about a thousand things. But the perfect time to talk to him about her new relationship with God had eluded her.

  Perhaps today, Cherity thought, when Seth invited her to accompany him into town with one of the small carriages to pick up some things for his mother. It would be quieter than being out on horseback.

  She would tell him today.

  When Veronica saw Seth in the distance in Dove’s Landing, she could hardly believe her good fortune.

  Her mother was still inside Baker’s. Quickly Veronica stuffed her hand inside her pocket where she had deposited two or three sugar chunks just in case, then went to the front of the buggy and took a deep breath.

  “You had better not bite my fingers, you stupid horse!” she whispered. Then, waiting until she heard footsteps approaching behind her, at last, trembling, she held her hand up. “Here you go, Chasestop!” she said a little loudly. “Have some nice sugar like a good little horse.”

  She heard a musical laugh, followed by a chuckle she recognized behind her. In great relief, she withdrew her hand, still shivering from the tickling of those horrid lips on her palm, and turned. The sight that met her eyes drained the red from her cheeks. Who was that incredibly attractive girl at Seth’s side in a cowboy hat, boots, and men’s dungarees!

  “Why… hello, Seth,” she managed to blurt out.

  “I am glad to see you getting better acquainted with the animal,” said Seth, still smiling, “but his name is Stopchase.”

  “Well, I knew it was something like that… and I doubt he will mind.”

  “What accounts for the change of heart?” asked Seth. “As I recall, the last time I saw you exchanging words with the worthy Stopchase, you were a little less understanding.”

  A far-from-gracious reply sprang to Veronica’s lips. But she stifled it and forced a penitent smile.

  “I realized how right you were, Seth darling,” she said demurely. “I behaved like a perfect
beast, and so I decided to make it up to poor, uh… Stopchase.”

  “Well… that is good news,” Seth mumbled, trying to recover from his shock at the word he had just heard.

  His apprehension of a week earlier for a face-to-face meeting between the two girls had in no measure diminished. But as he and Cherity had walked down the boardwalk, and as he had suddenly seen Veronica seventy-five feet away, he realized there was nothing for it but to keep going and put the best face on it he could. To spin around and go walking off in the opposite direction, trying to think up some absurd excuse for doing so as he hustled Cherity away, would only make it worse.

  So he had taken a deep breath and kept going, with Cherity at his side. But the sudden word darling from Veronica’s lips sent his brain into a tailspin!

  “Uh…” he struggled to add through a mouth all at once very dry, “Veronica… this is Cherity Waters, the daughter of my father’s friend I was telling you about—Cherity…”

  In the few seconds they had been chatting, Cherity had taken Veronica’s place at the nose of the horse called Stopchase—sufficiently distracted not to have heard the fateful epithet or seen Seth’s face go pale—and was gently stroking his nose and neck and whispering into his ear. At the sound of her name, she turned and smiled.

  “—Cherity, this is Veronica Beaumont,” said Seth. “Remember, I pointed out her father’s plantation to you.”

  “Yes. Hello, Veronica,” said Cherity with a pleasantness of voice that grated sharply against Veronica’s ear. As Seth spoke, Veronica sent her eyes roving up and down Cherity’s odd and unfeminine costume.

  Cherity saw her doing so and laughed. “Before you ask if I am going to a costume party…” she said gaily, “I always dress like this!”

  “How… fascinating,” said Veronica, with the tone she might have used in speaking to a small child. “I take it you are not from around here?”

  “Oh, no… can’t you tell from my funny accent? I’m from Boston.”

  “I didn’t think you could be from around here,” smiled Veronica. “No young lady from Virginia would be caught dead looking like that.”

  Cherity again laughed good-naturedly.

  “Neither would any young lady from Boston!” she rejoined. “I get strange looks all the time there too!”

  “Then why do you do it?”

  “Because it’s comfortable and I like it. Who cares about looking like a lady anyway, I just want to be myself.”

  The depth of such a sentiment was entirely lost on Veronica. “Don’t you care what people think of you?” she asked.

  “Of course not. Who would care about something like that?”

  Veronica bit her tongue. It was a relief to know that she had nothing to worry about from whoever this silly girl was. She couldn’t be more than fifteen or sixteen and certainly knew nothing about boys!

  Veronica turned to Seth, where he stood idly by trying to think of some way out of the strained meeting.

  “Seth, dear,” she purred, sliding her hand through his arm, “when are you coming over to look at the material for my wedding dress?”

  “Oh, you are getting married?” said Cherity as again Seth gasped for air. “How wonderful for you.”

  “Yes, didn’t Seth tell you?” said Veronica. “He and I are engaged. The wedding is set for December. You simply must come… that is, if you can make it all the way from Boston. It will be amusing to have someone there… in a cowboy hat.”

  Seth extracted himself from Veronica’s grasp and stepped away.

  “Well, we’ve… uh… we’ve got to be getting back to Greenwood,” he said. “See you later, Veronica.”

  “Good-bye, Seth darling. Don’t forget about the dress. It was a pleasure to meet you, Cherity, dear. You are just as cute as you can be in that outfit!”

  Seth and Cherity walked toward Seth’s buggy. The instant they were gone the smile faded from Veronica’s face. How dare he walk around town with another girl! she fumed. Even if she was just a child who looked like something from out of a book, he should still know better. Gradually she was realizing just how many rough edges Seth had.

  She had a lot of work to do before December!

  The drive back to Greenwood began in silence. Seth was mortified at what Cherity must be thinking. If only somehow he could keep the subject of his engagement from coming up again.

  “That was a surprise,” Cherity said at length. She tried to sound as cheerful as possible. “I had no idea you were engaged!”

  One thing Seth was learning about Cherity Waters… if she had something to say, she came right out and said it!

  “Yeah… it’s just kind of one of those things,” mumbled Seth feebly. “I was surprised too… you know, to see Veronica. It hasn’t been exactly all that… official,” he went on, groping to fill in the silent air space, but only making matters worse. “I mean… I didn’t know a date had actually been… you know, set in stone like that. My folks don’t even know!” he added with a nervous laugh.

  “You must be very excited.”

  “Yeah… well, we’ve known each other a long time.”

  “December… wow—that’s not too far away!”

  “Oh, boy!” Seth laughed again, but without conviction.

  Somehow they reached home, Seth encouraging Dusty along at a rapid clip. It was obvious something had changed between them. With excuses about needing to tend to the horse and buggy, Seth unloaded the supplies and made for the barn. Cherity was only too happy, for one of the first occasions since her arrival, to let him see to Dusty’s welfare by himself. She instead sought her room.

  Seth’s secret was out. But what she had hoped to tell him yet lay stored away in her suddenly very confused heart.

  Twenty-Two

  A girl of approximately seven or eight, partially Negro though of tan complexion and the mixed blood of three American races, walked tentatively out of a cluster of trees, cast a nervous glance behind her, then continued toward the porch of a large brick plantation house.

  That she had been asked to perform this same task a half dozen times in no way diminished the terror of it. She was chosen because she was the youngest, and for the innocence of her expression. But those hardly kept from her frightened imagination the many stories she had overheard as they traveled of cruel white people and the dreadful things they did to runaway blacks.

  Just three nights ago she had lain awake at one of the countless stops of their endless journey, listening while a young man spoke in hushed tones to her parents.

  “Dere’s traitors everywhere on dis railroad,” he had said. “Don’t yer trus’ nobody, spechully no w’ite man lessen he’s one ob dose Quakers. Dere’s a man called Murdoch—he’s da wurst dere eber wuz, an’ he’s like er not already ter be on yer trail. He’ll kill ye effen he fin’ you—he’ll du terrible things ter dose chilluns er yers. I seen him shoot a boy er ten—jes’ shoot him dead as he wuz runnin’ away. I wuz hidin’ behin’ a log an’ I seen dat gleam in his eye like he took sum kind er evil pleasure in it. He rides a horse dat’s da very devil hissel’ an’ he kin catch anything. Effen you hears horses, you git outer sight fast. He’s a bad’n, he is. He knows every runaway from Alabama ter Maryland—dat’s what dey seyz.”

  “How dat be?” she had heard another voice ask.

  “Don’ know dat, son—dat’s jes’ what dey say: dat he knows, dat he knows us all, dat he gots him a list ob every slave dat’s missin’. I don’ know how dat kin be, but dat’s what dey seyz.”

  As the girl walked across the clearing toward the house, the words repeated themselves over and over in her excited imagination—“He knows… he knows us all… he’ll du terrible things ter dose chilluns er yers… he’s a bad’n, he is… I seen him shoot a boy… shoot him dead.”

  She knew her family was watching from the safety of the trees to see what manner of greeting she received, to see if this was the right house. But she could not help thinking that maybe this was the time some dreadful en
d awaited her behind the door, that her knock would be answered by a monster, a human fiend, a white man or woman with whip in hand who would kill her—maybe the man Murdoch himself! What if he took her away? What if she never saw her family again! What if she opened the door and saw his gun right in her face!

  Slowly she continued on, trembling visibly now. She approached and hesitated at the porch. One at a time she climbed the stairs and crossed the veranda. She stopped again and raised her hand by now beside herself with terror—“He’ll du terrible things ter dose chilluns er yers… he’s a bad’n, he is.” Finally, nearly paralyzed by fear, she knocked timidly on the door.

  From the cover of a stand of oaks and beeches, the girl’s family watched silently and with no little anxiety in their own beating hearts. The mother glanced at her husband with a look of wide-eyed silence as they saw their daughter’s knock answered. The door opened but they could see nothing inside.

  Usually the entreaties of a hungry-looking child were enough to elicit sympathy even from the sternest of plantation wives. Most were willing to part with a loaf or two of bread. Even when encountering runaways, though they might bluster a moment at the inconvenience of it, the compassion of a woman’s heart usually rose to the surface, generally to leave the girl on the porch and return a few seconds later with something to give them. Such women usually said nothing if their husbands were not around. That’s why they always waited until a time of day when they could be reasonably certain the woman of the place would be alone and the man out with his slaves.

  Suddenly a gasp escaped the watching mother’s lips. She glanced at her husband again. A white hand had reached out from inside and taken the girl’s hand. Their daughter had disappeared inside the house. The door closed behind her!

  The man gestured for continued silence. All they could do now was wait and keep watch.

  Several long minutes passed where they knelt huddled together in the shade of the great stand of trees. They stretched to five… then ten. The father now grew anxious himself. This was far too long. Something must be wrong.