The Promise of Morning (30 page)

“Expecting a crowd, are you? Well, there’s plenty of room on the floor if need be. Children can always park themselves on blankets.”

“How long did you say it’s been since a preacher stopped here?”

“Long time. Why don’t you stop worrying and go get some dinner? I’ll see you back here tonight.”

Dismayed, Matthew leaned on the top of the barrel and looked at the eleven people who sat facing him. No wonder Carrie had smiled when he asked if there was enough room. As she had predicted, the Wainwrights were there. Middle-aged and wearing the weary look of defeated farmers, they watched him with arms folded across their chests. An elderly man sat directly in front of Matthew, head cocked to one side to catch any words that might fall from Matthew’s lips. A couple near the ages of Orville and Penelope Carstairs sat on the second bench, four scrubbed and fidgety children crammed next to them. Carrie shared space on a packing crate with a dark-haired woman who sat with knitting needles in her hands, clicking away on what looked like a pale tan stocking.

Feet shuffled. Throats cleared. “You might as well commence, Reverend.” Carrie said. “Can’t wait all night.”

He looked out the window, saw no one else on the way, then opened his Bible to the text he’d used at Adams Station.

After an opening prayer, he took a deep breath and held it for a moment before speaking. “My text tonight is from the Acts of the Apostles, chapter seventeen.” Matthew read the scripture, making application to his hearers in Tylerville. He talked on, sweating in the humid room. Occasionally he lifted his eyes to the outside, hoping to see more people coming. Each time, vacant prairie filled his vision.

Inside, his listeners gazed, rapt, as his voice rose in intensity.

After numerous exhortations and explanations, Matthew thumped his finger on an open page, concluding as he always did, “‘And the times of this ignorance God winked at; but now commandeth all men everywhere to repent!’ Who among you will be the first to come forward?”

People exchanged glances, and squirmed in their seats. No one met his eyes. No one moved. Knitting needles ticked rhythmically in the otherwise quiet room. Matthew bowed his head, fingers pinched over his lips.
Lord, what do I do now?

“We usually sing a hymn before we close, Reverend.”

He looked up and met Carrie’s sympathetic gaze. “Which one?” he asked, grateful for her intervention.

Once the room cleared, Matthew sank onto one of the benches and lowered his head into his hands. The verse “Humble yourselves therefore under the mighty hand of God” came to his mind. He couldn’t feel much more humble than he did at that moment. His face felt hot, and not from the humidity.

Carrie settled on the bench next to Matthew, saying nothing. After several moments, she folded her hands in her lap and turned her head toward him. “Don’t take it to heart, Reverend. Folks around here have about given up on hope. They’re just waiting for the next thing, whatever it may be.” She picked at the rough fabric of her trousers. “Town just gets smaller and more hardhearted. Guess that’s why no preachers stop here anymore.”

He let his breath out in a heavy sigh. That being the case, why did Elder Meecham send him to Tylerville? “I’m thankful for your help. It was good of you, considering you suspected how things would turn out.” He stood. “I’ll help you get your storeroom rearranged, then I’ll be on my way.”

“Where to?”

“Arcadia Mills.”

“Go see your pa first, you hear?”

23

Ellie tiptoed down the stairs into the cool kitchen, hoping not to disturb Uncle Arthur asleep in the parlor. Daylight was still a promise. The room was dark enough that she lit the lamp. After rolling the wooden churn next to the table, she poured in several days’ collection of cream and set the dasher in place, then commenced the rhythmic churning that would result in fresh butter to last them for the week. Still sleepy, she yawned, her mind already on the overwhelming list of daily tasks awaiting her attention.

“Ellie? That you?” Uncle Arthur’s voice interrupted her thoughts.

“Yes.”

“Can you come sit with me a bit?”

Sighing, she released the dasher and stood, knowing she’d have to start all over again after she’d seen to his needs. “How are you today?” she asked when she entered the parlor.

Uncle Arthur had pulled himself to a sitting position on the divan. He grunted. “Leg hurts.”

He said the same thing every morning. “I need to get back to churning. Can you lean on me and come out to the kitchen?”

“I’m too heavy for you.” Self-pity crept into his voice. “I’ll just sit here and wait for the twins to help me.”

Dawn lightened the eastern sky, the sun a glowing fist on the horizon. Ellie perched on the edge of the divan, flexing her shoulders to ease the tension that never quite went away. “You’re not too heavy if you use the crutches Karl made for you. Now come on, I’ve got to work up the butter before the house gets too hot.” She slipped an arm around him and stood, pulling him to his feet. With her free hand, she grabbed the crutches and handed them to him. “Let’s go.”

Once the butter was salted and stored in a crock of cold water, Ellie and Maria started the baking. The twins had walked Uncle Arthur outside so he could sit in the shade and look at the cornfields through the morning glory vines that twined along the porch supports.

Ellie stared out the kitchen window at the corn that seemed to grow as she watched. The cornstalks were taller than the boys’ heads, and tasseling. She turned when she heard Maria open the oven door and slide browned pans of bread out onto the tabletop. Heat from the stove radiated against the kitchen walls.

Instead of seeing a row of browned loaves, Ellie pictured the near-empty flour bin in the storeroom. It had been close to a month since Matthew left, and no support had come from the church conference. She didn’t dare add more to what they owed Mr. Wolcott. They’d have to eat pan bread made with Indian meal once the flour was gone.

Her face flushed with heat, Maria placed the last risen loaves into the oven and gently closed the door.

Ellie walked over and hugged her. “You’re doing this so well, pretty soon you’ll be teaching me.”

Maria giggled. “Thank you.”

Ellie fanned herself with her hand. “Let’s go sit out on the porch while the bread bakes. It’s too hot to breathe in here.”

Uncle Arthur’s face lit up when he saw them emerge from the kitchen. “I can smell that bread.” He looked at Maria. “How about bringing me a piece?”

“Slice up a plateful,” Ellie said. “Might as well enjoy it while we have it.”

When her daughter went back inside, Ellie sank onto the top step, loosening the neckline of her dress to cool off. Since Uncle Arthur’s accident, she’d been busy from daylight until well past dark and still wasn’t able to keep up with all the chores.

She massaged her temples in an attempt to stave off a headache. Beneath her feet, a freshly hewn hickory stair tread gleamed in the sunlight. The new step lacked Matthew’s woodworking skills, but the twins had done the best they could.

Uncle Arthur’s voice brought her back to the present. “You’re working too hard. Why don’t you visit Molly this afternoon? It’s Thursday. Isn’t this the day you get together for a quilting session?”

Ellie leaned back on one hand and looked up at him. “It’s too hot to walk all that way. I’d rather just stay here.”

“I don’t mean for you to walk. Have one of the boys hitch King George to my buggy. You haven’t been to town since I fell—it’ll be good for you.”

She thought of undone chores. “I really shouldn’t . . .”

“Yes, you should.” Uncle Arthur looked up when Maria returned carrying a plate of sliced bread and a bowl of fresh butter. “Soon’s I have some of this bread, you call Jimmy. He’s got a way with horses. I’ll need to talk him through the job—George can be touchy when he hasn’t been worked for a while.”

Uncle Arthur rested on a wooden bench inside the barn. Ellie and the children stood off to one side, watching as Jimmy worked with the temperamental chestnut roan. “Bring him out easy, boy. Stay away from his hooves.”

Inside King George’s stall, Jimmy wrapped his hand around the lead rope and tugged at the horse. “He’s not moving.”

“Give him a swat on the rump. He’s got lazy.”

Jimmy smacked the animal’s backside, but instead of moving forward King George sidestepped, jamming a hoof hard on Jimmy’s right foot. “He’s standing on me.” Tears sprang into the boy’s eyes. “Get him off!”

Ellie ran to the side of the stall. “Do something, Uncle.”

Uncle Arthur gestured to Harrison, who stood gaping at his big brother’s tears. “Help me up.” Once on his feet, he crutched over to the stall. “Sometimes this’ll get him moving.” He twisted his mouth to one side and emitted a running series of clicks.

Ears tilted toward his owner, King George moved to the front of the enclosure. As soon as Jimmy’s foot was free, he hobbled to the stall opening and escaped into Ellie’s arms.

After removing his boot, she stared in dismay at the already-purpling foot. His last three toes looked like stubby sausages.

Jimmy turned pale and trembled. His teeth chattered. “I’m c-c-cold.”

She stared at him in disbelief. “Cold! It’s like an oven in here.”

Johnny pushed forward. “I’ll help him to the house.”

As the two boys left the barn, Ellie turned to her uncle. “Is it safe to let Harrison take the lead rope off? Doesn’t look like I’ll be going anywhere today.”

“Better wait ’til Johnny gets back.” He leaned on one crutch and held out an arm. “Come here. You look like someone kicked the slats out from under you.”

Ellie didn’t move. “I don’t need comforting. I need help.” She shook her head and watched the twins make their way across the farmyard. “It takes both Jimmy and Johnny to keep up with the chores. Johnny can’t do it alone.”

Harrison tugged at her hand. “You have me.”

“So I do.” She surveyed her son. He took his height from her side of the family and was smaller than the twins had been when they were his age. He couldn’t do Jimmy’s work, but she wouldn’t tell him so. “Can you help your uncle up to the house? I need to go see about your brother’s foot.”