Destination Hope - Book 5 - Reconciliation - Chapter 23

I enjoy the comments offered by readers of this story. Thanks for writing them.

For new readers to this story, I linked Chapter 1. Chapters 2 - 4 are linked under September, 5 - 10 under October, 11 - 18 under November, and 19 - 22 under December.

Destination Hope – Book 5 – Reconciliation

A Novel By:

Charles J. Patricoff

Copyright © 2014 by Charles J. Patricoff. All rights reserved.

Chapter 23

Worst Nightmare

Signs of spring and warmer days to come surrounded the Graham family as they descended into Franklin, Tennessee. Every leaf-bearing tree budded. Squirrels chased each other around broad trunks of their stable tree homes in their courtship ritual. A bright reddish-orange Robin and his mate flew across the road and landed in the field ahead. They began pecking the ground driven by the same life demands that brought the Graham family into town.

Lifting her face to the warming sunshine, Eleanor responded to her husband’s inquiry, “Yes, I am confident I will be fine. I’m most interested in finding shoes for William.”  Eleanor gazed into William’s, eight-month old, bright-blue eyes. His smile brought a rush of joy into her heart.

Bailey paced from side to side in the back of the wagon as Nathaniel gave the reins a slight shake. “Well, I don’t expect to be long at the church. The elders didn’t indicate a purpose for the meeting.”

“Do you have sense of it?”

“No, I don’t, but I can guess.”

“What then?”

“Attendance has been low, which means little or no offerings. I expect they want me to change my presentation style.” Nathaniel pulled on the left rein and Shadow, their hardworking filly, pulled the wagon onto Main Street.

“Well, pay attention to what they have to say and what they want you to do. You may not earn much, but we can’t afford to go without your salary.”

With an insincere tone, Nathaniel answered, “Yes, dear.”

Eleanor snapped her head to the left. “Don’t,” she challenged. 

Nathaniel pulled on the reins and called to Shadow, “Whoa.” As the wagon came to a stop in front of Puckett’s dry goods store, Nathaniel said, “Here you go, dear.” He set the wagon’s brake and hopped down. He gave Bailey a hand signal to stay in the wagon, raced around its rear collecting the baby buggy, and reached to assist Eleanor and the baby. Making contact with fiery eyes, Nathaniel gulped and asked, “Don’t what?”

Eleanor shook her head. She rejected his extended aid and said, “Nothing.”

Nathaniel stepped aside as the awkward tension rose, and Eleanor descended from the carriage. She wrapped William in a blanket and placed him in the buggy. She lifted her chin, said, “Stay” to Bailey, and marched toward the boardwalk. “I’ll leave word with Mr. Puckett if I decide to go to another store before you return.”

Nathaniel stood as if his shoes were railroad spiked to the dirt street below. As Eleanor passed the store’s threshold, she called over her left shoulder, “Try not to make the church leaders mad at you.”  She finished her unspoken thought: like you do to me.

Once inside, she heaved a heavy sigh. What am I going to do? I married a thick-headed, stubborn mule.  Eleanor surveyed the store. It seems to be in good condition. I’d never suspect a battle took place near here.  She noted several ladies browsing in the store and how similar it appeared to Mr. Helm’s store back in Rockford. She eased her way toward a rack of fabrics on the right. The bolts hung like a staircase so that a shopper could inspect and touch each pattern and respective color without removing them from the rack. Her eye attracted her to a base, canary-yellow cloth with a midnight blue, ornamental paisley pattern.

She checked on William. He had wiggled free from his blanket and pulled on his toes. Satisfied that he remained content, she pulled on the fabric to get a better sense of how it felt. “This looks nice.” She held it up so that William might see it. “What do you think, William?”

His shaky head stopped for a second as if he would offer an answer. He blew spittle, cooed and snorted.

“Well, you’re little help.” She mused, much like your daddy. She let both hands gauge the fabric’s thickness. This is nice and light. It could make a comfortable and attractive summer-weight dress. She glanced at the price board and almost dropped the desired material. Oh, my. I never paid this much for even exotic material back in Rockford.  She let the fabric go and moved to her left.

Miss Mary Alice Carter, her sister, Sarah, and their social peer, Mrs. Carrie Winder McGavock, moved away as if Eleanor’s presence brought an evil disease with it. The two sisters did not need to speak as they passed in front of one of the stores pyramid stack of wood-jacketed canned goods.

Eleanor recognized the disgust etching on the sisters’ faces. She glanced down at William.  Don’t be afraid.  She stood up straight and caught what appeared as a forced, piteous smile coming from Mrs. McGavock.

Eleanor turned her attention to the purpose for her visit. Her calculating mind assessed reality. Everything is so expensive.  She touched a patchwork quilt. I don’t have enough for this, but it would be nice to have for the baby.  She examined several rubberized, full-length rain slickers. Nathaniel could use one of these. Maybe I could sell or barter some of my mother’s jewelry.

She overheard, “What is she doing in here?” Then another voice asked, “Are you going to allow her kind to shop here?” And then the first voice said, “She should go back to where she came from.” Eleanor pretended not to listen and reached for a jar of jam. If only my husband understood how much the people of this town hate me.  She held up the jar and let a ray of sun reveal the jam’s purity. She gazed at William and gave a conciliatory smile to her son. Hate us.

She stopped at a case of children’s toys: carved wooden trains and pistols, the latest, must-have, hand-stitched baseballs, and miniature painted farm animals. He’s too young for those. She examined a tiny stuffed bear. This might do.  But as before, the price stopped her cold. I suppose I could make something like this. I wish I had my mother’s gift.

Her thoughts of home took her in a new direction. I should write my brothers. I haven’t heard from either of them for some time now. They’re all the same. If women don’t start a conversation, there would be no communication whatsoever. The last I heard from Paul, I guess he felt obligated to write and let me know our mother’s sister, Harriet, from Springfield, passed away. She’d been buried for more than two weeks by the time he decided to send the post.

Then, she spotted something that caused a spike to her purchasing motivation. A furniture catalogue sat, wide open, on a near-by countertop. A master four-corner bed frame called to her. It sported a full, hand carved headboard and matching footboard. It had four posts supporting a canopy, perfect for bed curtains to help keep biting insects away. We need a new bed. I know Nathaniel won’t approve. He hates spending money. He thinks sleeping in the same bed as did his parents is fine. Since he patched it together after those raccoons tore it up he believes he has created a masterpiece for our repose. Well, it’s not fine, and I deserve better.

Eleanor’s mind picked up speed as one idea after another flashed like lightning bolts. How can I afford to get this without him? I know. I’ll write Paul and John and ask them if they would buy my interest in our parent’s home.  She called to the storeowner. “Mr. Puckett.”

Mr. Puckett raised his right hand and held up his index finger. He said something to the Carter sisters and then, wiped his hands on his stained, white cotton apron that displayed the store’s name—his—embroidered in bold red lettering across his chest. The two sisters shot a disapproving glare at Eleanor as if to say, “How dare you interrupt us.”

Mr. Puckett did not seem to pay any attention to his long-time patrons and passed racks of assorted can goods, outdoor working overalls, and an array of woodworking tools. As he neared Eleanor, he asked, “What can I do for you, Mrs. Graham?”

“Why Mr. Puckett, how is it that you know my name, sir? I do not recall ever having the pleasure of making your acquaintance.”

“Forgive me, Mrs. Graham for being so forward. But you probably know by now, Franklin is a small town. Most everyone knows everybody here. We don’t have too many new folks, so it didn’t take long for me to learn that one of our church’s Pastor’s took for himself a new wife. And I presume this bundle of energy is your son?”

Eleanor’s gaze shifted to the store’s floor. When he said, “Your son,” did he mean mine or ours? As she raised her chin, she settled her stare on the furniture catalogue. Tapping the book, Eleanor asked, “How long will it take to order an item from this catalogue?”

Mr. Puckett’s head tilted in the book’s direction and, after a quick second, said, “It depends on what it is.”

Eleanor pointed to her particular item of interest. “What about this?”

Mr. Puckett picked up the catalogue, raised his spectacles, and held the sales periodical inches from his face. He muttered at first regarding the bed’s quality cotton specifications. Then he flipped to the back pages, found what he searched for, and spoke with clarity. “It says here it will take a minimum of six months after they receive the order along with a down payment.  Oh, and it’s non-refundable.”

“Does it say how much of a down payment they require?”

Mr. Puckett nodded and searched the fine print again. He lowered the catalogue and said, “Twenty percent.” He placed the booklet on the counter and asked, “Do you know which bed you want?”

Eleanor’s mind calculated. “Yes, I believe it is listed for two hundred dollars.”

They almost spoke at the same time: “Forty dollars down.” They both laughed.

Then Mr. Puckett asked, “Shall I write up the order for you, Mrs. Graham?”

Forty dollars is a lot of money. If I order the bed, I won’t have enough for William’s shoes.  Eleanor locked her eyes with Mr. Puckett. She could read how much he wanted to close the transaction. She decided. “Let me think on it for a bit, and I’ll let you know.”

Mr. Puckett cocked his head toward the catalogue. “As you wish, Mrs. Graham, but if I were you, I wouldn’t wait too long. With prices on everything rising each day, I don’t know how long the bed manufacturer will be able to hold this price.”

For Eleanor’s good fortune, the bell over the store’s main entrance rang, saving her from making a final decision and reminding her of the dress shop back in Rockford, Illinois.

Miss Pearl Peterson entered the store. Lines etched on her face as if she had a desperate need. Eleanor recognized her new friend and noticed that fear appeared to emanate from Pearl as she rushed to Eleanor’s side.

“Good morning, Miss Peterson. How are you today?”

“I heard you came into town.”

“Can you believe the prices on everything? I wanted to get a pair of shoes for William and I’m shocked to see I’ll have to pay more than twenty dollars for baby shoes.”

“Oh, the inflation is terrible. Last week, I paid twenty-five dollars for a yard of wool, twelve dollars for a pound of butter, and eighteen dollars for a pound of coffee. Our money’s value drops each day. Don’t even try to buy beef. Mr. Puckett may have some pork, but it will still cost you.”

“Thankfully, we still have some salted venison Mr. Graham harvested.”

Pearl stared out the store’s front window. “That’s good. Even the price of salt has become outrageous and we have our own works just across the river near the Federal fort. It’s not like we have to import it from Alabama, or your home state of Illinois.”

Miss Mary Alice Carter gave Eleanor a disgusted stare as she and her sister meandered for the store’s exit. Eleanor whispered to Pearl, “They don’t seem to like me very much.”

“You’re a Yankee, Mrs. Graham. Miss Carter’s brother suffered a mortal wound in the fighting here.”

The gentle, smiling Mrs. Carrie McGavock joined the conversation. “The battle surrounded the Carter home. The family huddled in the basement until the shooting stopped that night.” She introduced herself. “I’m Mrs. McGavock, and you are Pastor Graham’s bride.” She cocked her head toward the front of the store. “I thought someone should welcome you to our community.”

Eleanor appreciated the gesture of good will. “Thank you Mrs. McGavock. I’ve heard so much about you and what you did for the men who fought here. You are to be commended.”

“It was nothing. She shifted her eyes at the departing sisters. “But they found their brother’s broken and near lifeless body the next morning within a few steps from their home. They brought him in, tried to make him as comfortable as possible, but he died a couple of days later.”

Pearl said, “I’m afraid Mary Alice may never get over his loss.” Pearl twisted toward Eleanor. “But Mrs. Graham, they are the least of your worries.”

Eleanor could read the concern etching and sketching across Pearl’s wild-eyed countenance. “What’s the problem?”

“Remember, I told you about Miss Marah Guthrie?”

Feeling a rush of confusion, Eleanor said, “I thought you believed her to be dead.”

“She’s not dead. She’s back.”

As if punched in her stomach, Eleanor almost jumped backwards disturbing William. He began to cry. Eleanor raised him up and jostled him, patting his back. “Sh-sh-sh, it’s okay. You’re fine little man.” I wish someone could comfort me.  She ceased swiveling for a second and asked, “When?”

“I just found out, but she’s been here since before winter set in—some friend. She didn’t even tell me. I found out by the town drunk. And worse, she’s associating with our new government-appointed mayor.”

Eleanor almost swooned. I begged Nate to leave.

Mrs. McGavock caught Eleanor. “Are you going to be alright, Mrs. Graham? Maybe you should sit down. Can I take the baby?”

Eleanor searched the store through weepy, blurry eyes.  She stuttered, “Maybe you’re right. I-I-I think I need to.” She grabbed her forehead with her free hand. “Take William.”

Pearl secured Eleanor’s baby, and Mrs. McGavock guided Eleanor to a chair. Eleanor almost fell into it. Panting, she struggled to gather her wits. Having Jason close is bad enough. But not her, not now. Eleanor gasped. Does Nate know?  The impact of the news and its potential purport struck her causing her to lose what little strength remained. As her eyes closed under the stress, she thought, She’s here for Nathaniel.

 

The Graham family rolled out of town in their well-used wagon, crossed over the Sharp Branch Creek, and ascended Mount Hope Road. A flock of geese honked as they passed overhead on a northbound track. Only one member of the Graham family seemed to notice—the black dog riding in the back.

A pair of casual observers rode their horses to the edge of town and seemed to enjoy the labored departure.

“From here, I’d say they are not speaking to each other. What’s your opinion?”

“Well, Mr. Mayor, I’d say the news may have hit them rather hard.”

“Our next step will be to make sure that they do not recover. Soon, they will be destitute and they’ll have to sell the farm.”

“Honestly, I don’t want any harm to come to them.”

“But, you do want the farm.”

“Well, yes.”

“Then, you have no misgivings?  You still approve of following my proposed plan?”

“Are you sure it will work?”

“It’s proved successful in the past.”

“Then, yes. Let’s see it through.”

“Good.”

“I worked hard to keep that piece of land in good, livable condition. I deserve to own it.”

“And you will, my dear. All in good time, Miss Guthrie. But next, we must do all we can to make ourselves look great in the eyes of the people and make them appear evil so the townsfolk will fear them. We don’t want anyone extending a helping hand to them.”

“You can count on me, Mr. Merritt. I know things about our ‘man-of-God,’ that no one else does.” Marah coughed. It took her a few seconds to catch her breath. Then, she said, “I’m sure he won’t want them to become public, and I’m confident he wouldn’t want his homely wife to know.”

A self-accomplishment smirk surfaced. “I had a beautiful feeling about our arrangements. I sensed I could depend on you, Marah.” Jason twisted his head to his left and caught his companion’s fixed gaze on him. “Shall we go home, my dear?”

Marah nodded.

They wheeled their horses, and Jason lead the way as they guided their steeds at a casual, walking pace back into the heart of Franklin, Tennessee. 

Later that evening while choking down a meager supper, Nathaniel listened to his wife complain about the prices of everything going sky high. She called it a form of robbery. She grumbled about the treatment she received by prominent women in the town, and she ended her diatribe on the news that his former “lover” had returned to reclaim her rightful place in society. Every subject seemed to have an accusatory tone, as if all of her troubles were his fault.

Trying to keep positive, Nathaniel kept reminding himself of all the things God had brought him through. These were minor setbacks by comparison. But what concerned him above all attacked his mental state with something new. Rejected and dejected from the day’s earlier event, he forced his attention upon the woman he loved and struggled with a burning question: How do I tell her the church elders and leadership fired me?

After several minutes, a break in the conversation, like a small crack of drying earth, opened. From Eleanor’s facial expression, it appeared to Nathaniel that not only had he been granted permission to speak, he was expected to provide an answer to all of the world’s insurmountable problems. What now?

Eleanor cocked her head. Her eyes seemed to say, “Well?”

Nathaniel rested his elbow on top of their wood-planked table and stared at a knot for a second. Here goes.  “I think, I mean I know, that none of these situations catch God by surprise, and somehow all of this chaos is part of a much bigger plan.”

“Plan?” Eleanor yanked her dishtowel from her shoulder and slammed it onto the table. “What possible plan could He have, except to make our lives miserable? Why did you drag us down here?”

Bailey popped to his feet from the rug on the floor in front of the lone parlor chair and stood, ready. William’s face contorted and he began to cry. Nathaniel reached for William, but Eleanor picked him up out of his highchair and leaned him against her left shoulder.

Patting and stroking his back, she challenged, “Did you want to destroy my life, watch us die a slow death? How are we to survive when everyone here seems to hate us?”

She doesn’t know the half of it. A wave of condemnation swept over him, and he diverted his gaze to the chair that his father had enjoyed for so many years.

William fussed even more. He spit out some of the smashed food he’d received and rocked almost like convulsions on Eleanor’s shoulder. He coughed as if he had choked on something.

Eleanor leaned him forward and patted his back with a bit more force. “There, there little man. You’ll be fine.” As she cleaned off her shoulder, she shook her head in rapid, short shiver-like motions. “I can’t help but feel this marriage was a big mistake.”

The accusing dart struck Nathaniel’s heart. Out of a pain-filled reflex, he slapped the top of the table with both hands and raised his voice. “What are you saying?”

Bailey raced to the front door, barking. Eleanor swiveled and marched toward the kitchen and fireplace. Facing the stony source of comfort, she said, “I want to take William and go home.  At least I had a nice place to live.”

Nathaniel had encountered the most demoralizing slam against his manhood when the church leadership caught him by complete surprise. With Eleanor’s last declaration, a sense of total failure crushed his core. Yet at the same time, he felt compelled to defend what little virility remained. He yelled, “Bailey, be quiet.”

Gritting his teeth, he addressed his wife. “Eleanor, I never want you to feel trapped. I love you, and above all, I want you to be free to serve God as you see fit. I am confident we can make a good life here for our children and us. This is good land, and it will produce a good crop. God knows it has had plenty of time to rest these last five years.”

Nathaniel hiked his trousers. “Please, I can’t and I won’t force you to stay. I know it’s been hard on you, but I ask you to reconsider. You are my wife and I love you with all of my heart.  Please stay.”

Bailey moseyed next to Nathaniel. Panting, he sat down.

Facing the rocky fireplace, Eleanor continued to jostle William who seemed to settle in her arms. She came about with a slow and what appeared as a deliberate, turn. Nathaniel could feel her eyes penetrate his soul expecting the worst.

“Do you really love me?”

Relieved, Nathaniel nodded. “With all of my heart.”

Eleanor smiled. She took a single, tentative step in Nathaniel’s direction. “Are you sure you don’t want Miss Guthrie, instead?”

After unsettled months of pondering the mystery standing before him, now, Nathaniel understood. He rose to his feet, pushing his chair away.

Bailey raced to the front door and began to circle as if expecting a new adventure.

Nathaniel approached his bride and looked her right in her eyes.  “No, I want you and you alone.”

With dewy eyes, Eleanor’s smile broadened a bit more.

Nathaniel hugged both her and William. Relaxing his embrace, he searched her eyes, which seemed to both respond to his initial gesture of affection and invite something more. So he kissed his bride.

She seemed to receive it well with a strange, new strength. With this first crisis in their marriage resolved, he knew he had another matter to address.

As he broke off the kiss, Eleanor’s countenance changed from light to questioning. “What’s wrong?”

Nathaniel broke free and walked back to the table. He sighed. “Before you agree to stay, there is something else you should know.”

Eleanor took a step toward her husband, but stopped. She shifted William to her right hip.

Seeing the furrows of worry etch on his wife’s brow, Nathaniel decided he could no longer hide his lost identity. “I have some bad news that could affect your decision to either stay or go.”

“What is it?”

“You know, I met with the church leadership today.”

“Yes. Did they tell you to change your sermon messages and delivery style like I thought they would?”

Nathaniel drew an indiscernible pattern on the tabletop. “It’s much worse than that.”

Eleanor took a deep, bracing breath, then exhaled. “What? Tell me.”

“They fired me.”

Eleanor’s jaw dropped. “Wait, what?”

Nathaniel scrunched his nose, offering a half-sheepish, Mona Lisa type smile. “Yeah, they discharged me from my duties.” Watching her motions, it seemed to Nathaniel that either she didn’t understand what he had said or that Eleanor had regained her composure.

“Did they give you any indication why?”

Nathaniel defended the church elders. “Not in so many words; but, they stated that church growth had been much slower than expected. One said they received repeated complaints about my abolitionist sympathies.”

“Hum, I see.” Eleanor walked over to William’s highchair and set him in it. “I could say, ‘I told you so,’ but it wouldn’t do any good.” She straightened her back and swung around, facing her husband. “What are you going to do?”

“I know we are not supposed to be surprised when various trials come into our lives. If the people don’t think I’m getting the job done, they have every good reason to let me go. Working is a privilege. Serving as a Pastor is a great position of honor. If I’ve done anything to cause the church to fail or brought it dishonor, then I should step aside, demonstrating His grace and dignity.”

“I can understand if they said you weren’t performing to their expectations,” she said lovingly, “that church attendance was down…”

“More like, dissolving into non-existence.”

Eleanor shot a disapproving glance his way.

Recognizing his offense, he apologized, quickly. “I’m sorry. I’ll try not to interrupt.”

“Not with sarcasm,” Eleanor cleared her throat. “As I was saying, if attendance dropped, so would the offerings. I can understand that they may have concluded that they need a new direction for the church. What I don’t understand is your comment of possibly doing something that would bring dishonor to the church. What gave you that impression?”

“I hate to say this, but, it was a feeling, a sense of things that hit me during the meeting.”

“A feeling? Aren’t you the man who always says, ‘I never met a feeling I can trust’?”

“Yes, that is true, and I try to live according to that maxim. However, this was something different, deep in my gut, almost like the Holy Spirit was sending me a warning—a harbinger of more difficult times to come.”

Eleanor cocked her head. “But there is something else.”

“Yes, it was something in what one of the elders said…no, more in his tone.”

“Who was it?”

“It doesn’t matter who it was, and I don’t want to prejudice your thinking regarding him.”

Eleanor straightened. She placed both hands into the small of her back and stared at the far corner of the room, as if giving his last comment full consideration. At last she refocused her attention on Nathaniel. “That’s fair, but can you tell me what he said and how he said it?”

“Like I said, it was his tone, as if he knew something—something really bad.”

Eleanor almost snapped. “So, what did he say?”

“He said that they had received some disturbing accusations regarding my personal life.”

“He didn’t give you an example, did he?”

“No, and I know the church bylaws do not require the leadership to establish cause for dismissal. Regardless, I know this. I’ve been praying for the Lord to show me anything I might harbor in my life that displeases Him.”

“Has he?”

“No, but He did remind me of a scripture that might apply.”

“Which one?”

Nathaniel took a few steps toward his father’s chair. “Let me show you.” On the table next to the chair sat Nathaniel’s 1599 Geneva Bible, Eleanor’s gift to him while he remained in Federal prison. He retrieved his most prized possession during his incarceration and brought it back to their multi-use table. Opening it to the Book of Matthew, chapter 5, and pointed to verses 11 and 12.

Eleanor read the passage aloud. Her expressions change from etched worry to peaceful assurance. She looked up from the Holy Script. “It may get worse for us, but you are clean in this matter. You are a kind and decent man. I love you and we will get through this—together.”

“No matter what comes?”

“No matter what comes.”

He smiled. “Then I guess you’re staying?”

“You are my husband.” She glanced at William, whose eyes were drooping. “We are a family. Where else would I be?”

Nathaniel nodded at William. “Maybe it’s time for bed?”

Eleanor invited softly, “Yes, my husband. It’s time for bed.”

He blinked, recognizing her meaning. “Everything will be alright.”

Eleanor gathered William’s half asleep, slumping body and glided toward the bedroom. Like a puppy, Nathaniel followed.

Bailey seemed to understand the word bed, for he got up from his spot by the table, walked over to the braided throw rug lying in front of the cherished chair, circled a few times and flopped onto it, setting his head across his front left paw. Then, an instant later, his head popped up, his ears cocked, and he darted to the front door, sniffing in rapid succession at the space below it.

Nathaniel and Eleanor both stopped and stared at Bailey. “That’s odd,” Nathaniel said. “I wonder what’s gotten into him.”

She tilted her head. “Do you hear that?”

He strained to hear anything. “No.”

“Shush, someone’s coming.”

“I hear it now. Sounds like more than one horse pulling a wagon.” Nathaniel raced over to Bailey and grabbed the shotgun hung above the front door. “I wonder who it could be this time of night?”

Eleanor backed under the bedroom’s threshold, jostling William.  She shook her head.

Nathaniel opened the breach and made sure of the gun’s readiness.

At that moment, a deep baritone voice commanded, “Whoa.”

Seconds later, it sounded like the boots of a dozen men advanced on their small Tennessee home. They could see torch light flickering beyond their single window, with its much in-need-of-repair, curtains. Then a polite knock rapped on the door and that same voice asked, “Pastor Graham, may we have a word with you this evening, sir?”

Bailey growled. Then he started barking.

Nathaniel reached for the door latch but then glanced at Eleanor. She offered him a confirming, single nod. He lifted the latch, keeping the double barrels at the ready if needed.  “Bailey, hush now.”

Bailey failed to obey. Nathaniel called, “Who is it?”

The voice replied, “Reuben Jefferson, sir.”

Nathaniel recognized the name straight-away. He glanced back at Eleanor and she shrugged. Reuben Jefferson proved to be the most reliable, self-sufficient, entrepreneurial, former slave in the county. Nathaniel’s curiosity took over and he cracked the door just enough to confirm the information. Once he recognized the face, he pulled the entry to his home wide open. To his delight, a group of ten men, white and black, greeted him with smiling faces. Nathaniel didn’t know exactly what to say so he asked, “What can I do for you, men?”

Reuben Jefferson removed his oversized, floppy hat and announced in his deep-base voice, “Pastor Graham, I’ll get right to the point. We heard what happened to you today. We decided. We can’t support that church no longer. There’s more of us than you see here tonight, but we want to start our own fellowship, and we want you to be our pastor.”

Bailey hushed. Eleanor gasped. Little William snored. Nathaniel stood dumbfounded.

 Thanks for reading. Let me know if the story is holding your interest.