The Promise of Morning (28 page)

Ellie clasped her hands and leaned forward. “But you came home instead. Praise God. I wish Matthew could be here right now—he prayed for you nightly.”

“We had to come home. We were sick and out of money. I walked the soles off my boots.” He lifted his feet, showing her thick yellow calluses.

Molly stood. “He promised he wouldn’t sneak off again.”

“Good,” Ellie said. “You’re too young for soldiering.”

“There were plenty other volunteers in that camp my same age. I never said I wouldn’t go—just promised I wouldn’t sneak off.”

Molly’s face tightened. She turned to Ellie. “Would you mind if I didn’t go to the mercantile with you today?”

“Of course not.”

Uncle Arthur stood next to the range, holding a half-eaten slice of bread. “While you’re at Wolcott’s store, I’ll ride out to the blacksmith’s to pass the time,” he said to Ellie. “I’ll stop and pick up your goods from Ben about four, then come back here to fetch you.”

Ellie crossed Adams Street, lifting her apple green calico skirt above her boot tops to keep the hem out of the dust. An occasional breeze swirled past, creating miniature whirlwinds that twirled then settled back into the roadway. She loosened the ties on her bonnet and fanned at perspiration beading under her chin.

As she passed Carstairs’ home on Hancock Street, she glanced into the yard and tensed. Penelope Carstairs sat on the shaded front porch. Turning her head away, Ellie picked up her pace along the wooden walkway fronting the house.

“Mrs. Craig! Do you have a moment?”

Ellie arranged her face in a polite expression and turned toward the woman. The two of them hadn’t spoken during the three months since Penelope implied that Julia’s death was somehow a judgment on Matthew.

Penelope had moved to the fence, her hand on the gate. “I’d be pleased if you would stop in for a moment.”

“Well, I don’t have much time . . .”

“I won’t keep you long.”

Ellie followed her up the two steps and took one of the slat-back chairs arranged next to a low table. Around the front and sides of the porch, a tumble of yellow and purple coneflowers thrust their mounded centers toward the sky. In the south corner of the yard, the heart-shaped leaves of the lilac bush drooped in the afternoon sun.

After a few remarks about the heat, Penelope cleared her throat. “How’s the lilac start I gave you doing?”

“Beautifully. I’m keeping it well watered, and hope next spring to see a bloom or two.”

“I’m thankful that something from my yard is providing you comfort.”

“It’s a fitting memorial to our little Julia.” Ellie held her breath, wondering if Penelope would repeat her remarks about the baby’s death being a judgment.

“I’m sure you weren’t aware of it, but when we last spoke I was preparing for the arrival of a child.”

Penelope’s statement surprised her. Without meaning to, Ellie shot a glance at the younger woman’s midsection. The pointed bodice of her purple and white striped dress fitted snugly at her trim waistline.

Penelope caught her glance. Tears sprang to her eyes and she shook her head. “No. I lost the baby. This is the second time it’s happened.”

Ellie drew a sharp breath. “I’m so sorry.” She touched the other woman’s hand. “I know how you must be feeling.”

“Of course you do. That’s why I wanted to speak with you. I owe you an apology.” Tears glittered on her cheeks. “I was guilty of listening to rumors, when in my heart I knew better.”

“Rumors?”

“About your babies. Since the Reverend’s been gone, I’ve had a chance to realize the wrong we did him. Did to both of you.” She squeezed her hands together and gazed at Ellie. “Do you think you could persuade him to return?”

“It’s too late for that. He doesn’t believe he’s wanted here.”

“He’ll be home for a rest after traveling, won’t he? Tell him we want him back.”

“But you and your husband were among the first to stay away before Matthew ever left.”

Penelope looked at her hands, which continued to writhe as though they had a life of their own. “We see what we’ve done to Reverend Craig, and to you, by spreading gossip. God didn’t judge you any more than he did me.” She kept her head bent. “I was so wrong, and I’m sorry.” Lifting her eyes, she gazed at Ellie. Tears spiked her lashes. “Mr. Beldon’s not a real preacher, leastways not the kind Reverend Craig was to us. You’ve heard him in church. He looks good, and talks good, but inside I don’t think he cares.”

“He does the best he can. We have to give him time to get to know the town.” Ellie placed her hands over Penelope’s. “When Matthew comes back, I’ll tell him what you said. I doubt it’ll make a difference, but thank you for telling me. Your words are a comfort.”

Once she was back on the walkway, Ellie sighed. She wished Matthew could’ve heard Penelope’s remarks. If the Carstairs had changed their minds, maybe others would too.

The plum-colored phaeton turned the corner, its black wheels blurred with dust. When Mr. Beldon saw her, he reined his team to a stop and set the brake. “Good afternoon, Mrs. Craig.”

“Good afternoon to you, Mr. Beldon.”

“You’re looking well. One would never guess that you’re managing a fair-sized farm all by yourself.”

Flattered, Ellie smiled up at him. “My sons are a big help. I don’t know what I’d do without them.”

Mr. Beldon nodded. “Fine lads indeed. But if anything comes up that they can’t handle, please feel free to send for me.”

She looked at his hands holding the reins, and suppressed a flutter in her throat. Lately she’d been waking at night with disturbing remnants of dreams in her head. Something about those hands reminded her of a recent dream. She felt a flush cover her cheeks. “Thank you. I’ll keep that in mind.”

“You do that.” He reached for the brake.

Ellie stepped to the edge of the walk. “Wait. Have you gained any information about my brothers and sisters?”

He removed his hat and patted his forehead with a crisp white handkerchief. “Unfortunately, no. But you must realize these things take time. The conflict brewing in Texas makes inquiries difficult.” His spicy, clovelike scent drifted toward her. “Rest assured, I’m doing all I can.”

“Oh, I’m sure you are. I know how busy you’ve been. I just came from Spenglers’. It’s good to see James safe at home. Thank you for everything you did to bring him back.”

Mr. Beldon looked puzzled for a moment. “Ah, yes. James. Glad I could help.” He freed the brake and urged his team forward.

When she entered the mercantile, Ellie sensed a change in the atmosphere since her previous visit. Several women sent genuine smiles her way as she walked into the crowded store. Tentatively, she smiled back.

The smell of oiled floors mingled with the aroma of coffee beans, molasses, and vinegar rising from barrels near the door. She eyed her meager list. Not knowing how long it would be before the church conference sent Matthew’s stipend, she kept to the basics.

Mr. Wolcott leaned around the scale on the counter. “Afternoon, Mrs. Craig. Looks like you brought me a list.”

“A short one, I’m afraid. Indian meal, salt, a sack of cranberry beans—just necessities.” She handed him her slip of paper. “Maybe a pint of that molasses, if we still have enough credit on the books.”

“Happens I noticed your chit this morning. You’ve got more’n enough.”

Ellie doubted it. Knowing Mr. Wolcott, he’d keep them supplied and say nothing about money owed. She felt a rush of gratitude toward their longtime friend. “Thank you. You’re a blessing to our family.”

His cheeks flushed. “Don’t mention it.” He cleared his throat. “If you’ve got a minute, there’s something I want to tell you.”

“What is it?”

Mr. Wolcott’s voice lowered. “Some folks have been asking me to start Sunday preaching here at the store, and I’ve decided to do it. There’s space in the back room.”

Stunned, Ellie stared at him. “What about the church building?”

He looked around, checking to be sure they weren’t overheard. “If Marcus Beldon wants to preach there, we’ll let him.” He met Ellie’s gaze with his clear hazel eyes. “Quite a few people who were lured away have come to see through his deceptions.”

Ellie recalled Penelope Carstairs’ remarks earlier that afternoon. “But . . . Mr. Beldon told us he studied for the ministry. So he’s qualified.”

“Big difference between studying books and caring about people.” Mr. Wolcott leaned over the counter. “You’ve got to ask yourself, why hasn’t he been officially assigned to the Beldon Grove church by Elder Meecham? Far as I know, Beldon hasn’t gone to Quincy to see him. The man can’t just take over a vacant pulpit, like a varmint moving into a deserted cabin.” He spoke in a heated undertone. “It’s not my wish to stir things up with those who think Beldon’s the answer to all their prayers. But, we’ll be meeting here Sunday morning, if you wish to join us.” He straightened, suddenly businesslike, and raised his voice. “I’ll take care of your list for you. Your uncle will be picking it up, I reckon?”

“Yes. Thank you.” Ellie moved away, stepping around a shopper who had materialized next to her.

“Mrs. Craig?”

She turned to see a young woman holding a baby. “Yes?”

“I’m Johanna Nielsen. Me and my husband took up a farm north of here back in May. Mr. Wolcott told me you’re the preacher’s wife.”

“I was. I mean, I am, but my husband isn’t the preacher here any more.”

Johanna stroked one of her baby’s fat cheeks. “I just wanted to tell you that we hope he comes back. We don’t much like the new man.”

The rest of what the woman said washed past her ears in the wave of emotion stirred up at the sight of Johanna’s child. Wisps of pale blonde hair covered the infant’s scalp. One chubby fist clung tightly to the neckline of her mother’s dress, the same way Julia used to hang onto her. A visceral urge for another baby rocked Ellie’s body.

On the trip back to the farm, Ellie sat in silence, her thoughts tumbling over the events of the day. It was almost more than she could take in. James’s return. Penelope’s apology. The baby. She wrapped her arms around her middle and squeezed, rocking forward. She looked so much like Julia.
Lord, could I dare have
another child?