Thursday, January 31, 2019

Destination Hope - Book 5 - Reconciliation - Chapter 34

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, 19 - 27 under December, and 28 - 33 under January 2019.

Destination Hope – Book 5 – Reconciliation

A Novel By:

Charles J. Patricoff

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

Chapter 34

Mission


Mrs. Eleanor Graham and her friends, Miss Pearl Peterson, Mrs. Sophia Jefferson, Mrs. Mia Nelson, and Miss Stacey Reese gathered at the restored “Glory Barn,” prayed, and formulated a plan. Miss Reese volunteered to take care of William while the others pursued a response to the requested mission. Minutes later, this troop of purpose-filled women hurried south of town following the Lewisburg Pike until they reached the grand walkway leading to the mayor’s mansion.
Mrs. Graham came to an abrupt halt at the first step between near waist-high manicured hedges. The sight of the picture-perfect landscape of assorted young trees, juniper shrubs, large granite boulders, and flowerbeds, caused her heart to flutter and a lump to rise in her throat. “Hold up a second,” she said. 
Eleanor’s friends almost tripped over each other as they came to an unexpected stop. The overweight, pear-shaped Mrs. Jefferson straggled behind the others. Huffing, she asked, “What’s the problem, Mrs. Graham?”
Eleanor studied the extravagant facsimile of the presidential palace. She marveled at the size of the hewn stones, and wondered at the speed of its construction. The building reeked of intimidating, abusive power. “I don’t know if I can do this.”
“I’ll be with you, all the way,” said Miss Pearl Peterson, encouragingly.
“It’s not that I’m afraid to go alone.” She knew this was half-true. Then she confessed, “I’ve never done anything like this before.”
The gray-haired matron, Mrs. Sophia Jefferson, said, “Your husband always preaches that God is seeking willing vessels, not professional ministers.”
Okay, you can do this.  Eleanor took one-step forward, then another, and after several determined paces, marched with confidence over the elaborate brick walkway.
Pearl followed a few feet behind, but her other companions lingered at the hedgerow. Mrs. Jefferson called, “We’ll go around to the back door.” Then she waddled toward the alleyway, taking Mrs. Nelson by the hand.
Eleanor and Pearl climbed the twenty-foot wide, eight-step flight to the expansive wrap-around front porch. As they crossed the gray painted portico floor, a Negro butler dressed in formal attire opened the door and asked, “What is your business? Mayor Merritt is not at home. You can reach him at his office in town.”
Eleanor adjusted and smoothed the folds of her dress. I’m not surprised. Typical Jason.  She raised her chin and with a commanding voice said, “We are not here to see the mayor, sir. We are here to minister to Mrs. Merritt.”
It took a few minutes of firm persuasion, but soon the butler escorted Eleanor and Pearl up the mansion’s grand, red-carpeted staircase to a private bedroom where Mrs. Merritt rested—as much as her stricken body permitted. The butler resisted Eleanor’s demand that the other women join her and Pearl but surrendered to the unmatched female talents. Eleanor convinced him that they could serve a useful purpose, if needed. He made it clear that he did not want any trouble as he acquiesced. To assure him, Mrs. Jefferson and Mrs. Nelson stood against the wall near the bedroom’s door.
Pearl sat on the bed and held the hand of the exhausted woman in bed. Eleanor stood at the foot of the bed, wondering if the mayor’s wife comprehended their visit. She whispered, “Do you think she knows we’re here?”
Pearl leaned a bit closer, to give Mrs. Merritt a thorough examination. “I’m not sure.”
Mrs. Merritt gasped and choked. She labored to breathe.
Eleanor wondered aloud, “Pearl, I don’t know her like you. How does she look to you?”
Pearl shook her head.
All heard, “You can say it, Pearl. I look awful.”
Pearl threw her right hand over her mouth, but a squeal escaped.
“Mrs. Merritt, do you know who I am?” Eleanor asked.
Moaning, Mrs. Merritt rocked and shook her head until she managed to reach a more centered position on her pillow. “Of course, Mrs. Graham. I see you received my letter.” A violent cough and convulsion exploded. She grabbed her towel and captured a garnet-colored, bloody clump of sputum.
Pearl placed her hand on Mrs. Merritt’s forehead. “Marah, you’re burning up.”
Shivering, Marah pulled at the heavy bedclothes but failed to move them an inch. Her face winced as her wheezing increased. “I’m dying, Pearl.”
The Negro housekeeper entered, carrying a bundle of fresh linens. She nodded at Mrs. Jefferson and Mrs. Nelson. Eleanor assumed they knew each other.
Marah rolled her head to her left a bit and said to the housekeeper, “You can change the bedding after I’m gone.”
Pearl broke and began to cry. “Don’t say such a thing, Marah.”
Eleanor nodded. “I agree.”
Marah patted Pearl’s hand. Her head lolled and turned in Eleanor’s direction. She coughed again. “Doctor Pritchard came by after dawn. He examined me and told me that today would be it. He’d come back later in the day and do what he could to make me comfortable.” She grimaced. “Every time I breathe or swallow my chest hurts—bad. I don’t want to live any longer, anyway.” She cocked her head toward her weepy old friend. “Pearl, will you and the others leave me with Mrs. Graham?”
Eleanor gulped. What does she want with me?
The housekeeper put her bundle down on a chair near the bedroom window. A little light leaked through the closed, heavy, room-darkening curtains.
“But what if—you know?” Pearl protested.
“I’m sure Mrs. Graham will let you know.” Marah coughed with less energy. “Won’t you, Mrs. Graham?”
Eleanor snapped out of her all-consuming thoughts. “Um, yes, Pearl, I’ll call for you.”
“Now, please,” Marah appealed. With little strength, she said, “Wait outside. I have something important to say to Mrs. Graham.”
The visitors moved at a snail’s pace, each saying good-bye in their own way. But from Eleanor’s point of view, they moved with lightning quickness. She wished they would move slower, for as each exited, her anxiety grew. When the door closed, Eleanor mouthed a quick prayer. “Help.”
Eleanor came about to face a woman she had once feared. Not knowing how to begin a conversation with a dying enemy, she asked, “Would you like me to pray for you?” She felt an immediate uneasiness. That sounded so shallow.
Marah coughed up some more blood. “I can tell you’ve never watched anyone die before. Tell the truth, now.”
Eleanor nodded.
“I know. It’s scary.” Marah clutched at the covers over her chest. “Truth is, I’ve so much pain, I welcome my end.” She lifted her right hand and gave a weak pat. “Come. Sit. I don’t have strength to speak.”
Eleanor blinked and stared at the small, offered space.
“Don’t worry. Doc says whatever this is, you can’t catch it.”
Eleanor stood fixed to the floor for a second. Then she slipped her hand along the polished-brass footboard and with slow, deliberate steps rounded the bed. The regulator clock on the wall behind her began to chime the noon hour.
Both women waited in silence as the clanging completed its cycle. As the last bong faded, Marah said, “I suspect that will be the last time I’ll hear that dang clock. Soon it won’t disturb my peace, no matter how long or loud it chimes.”
Eleanor remained quiet. She faced the fact that she had nothing to say—not a single word of comfort.
Marah forced a smile and with her eyes commanded Eleanor to sit.
Eleanor submitted, although she did not know why. For the most part, she wanted to turn and run.
“You and I fell in love with the same man.”
Eleanor shot an alarmed stare at Marah.
“I don’t have time to beat around the bush, Mrs. Graham.”
“Then, call me Ellie.”
Marah closed her eyes and offered a slight nod. Another violent cough erupted. Her whole body heaved and quaked. The wheezing sounded like a mixture of gurgling and bubbling thick-boiling gravy. Marah tried to catch all the expelling blood and mucus, but some got on her blankets.
Eleanor reached for and grabbed a towel hanging on the back of the nearby wooden chair. She began to wipe the reddish-brown, broken-egg like mess.
Marah gathered her limited strength, gasping for air like a drowning woman. She strained to say, “I know William is my power-mad husband’s son.”
Eleanor’s eyes shot open wide. Now she gasped for air. Try as she might to take every thought captive, fear rushed in and bound her from asking the obvious question: How do you know?
“He’s going to use all legal means to take William away from you.”
“No,” Eleanor almost shrieked as she covered her mouth. She shook her head. “He can’t.”
“He can.” Marah coughed again, but not as violent as before. She seemed to be losing strength. “And he will.” A tear-sized drop of blood appeared on her left nostril. “You should take William and get far away from this town.”
Panic attacked Eleanor. She searched the room for her things. She started to rise from the bed when she heard a near audible, new voice.
“Stop.”
Eleanor hesitated. She let her body drop back to the bed. I wonder.  With her mouth wide open, she twisted her head and made eye contact with Marah. “You never answered my first question—may I please pray for you?”
With her eyes closed, Marah shook and rocked her head as before, but this time the etchings on her face seemed to show that Eleanor’s question caused her a much different, deeper pain.
What do I do, Lord?
 
Nathaniel took stock of the farm and soon realized that Eleanor had left with their horse and wagon. The letter failed to give him sufficient information, either. He paced between the barn and house. He could not be certain if Bailey had followed Eleanor, or if he patrolled the nearby woods.
He checked the sundial in the cleared ground near his wood-chopping stump. Lifting his hat, he wiped sweat from his hair and muttered, “It’s getting near evening. Where could she be?” He shrugged, counted his chickens in the barnyard, and wondered if he should start cooking dinner.  He decided to fetch his hatchet.
As he yanked the blade free from the tree stump, he heard the jangle of chains and then the clopping of hooves rippling over the ridge and down the hill into his creek valley. He shifted his hopeful attention toward the end of their lane. A second later, Shadow’s bobbing head appeared. He lifted the hatchet and buried the blade into the stump, then raced to greet his bride and son. Thank you, Lord for bringing them home safe.
Nathaniel wanted to ask at least twenty questions, but Eleanor’s stony expression caused him to pause. In silence, he quick-stepped along the side of Shadow. Holding onto her leather bridle, he brought the horse and wagon to a halt in front of the house.
Eleanor took William by the hand and guided the four-year old into the house. Nathaniel walked Shadow toward the barn and propped open the barn door with the shovel he kept just inside. It took him several minutes to unhitch Shadow, guide her into her stable, and provide her with plenty of feed and water.
Hiking toward the front door, he glanced at the back, which reminded him of another black day, one of his making. I wonder what happened. I’m sure she’ll let me know.
Nathaniel opened the front door. As he crossed its threshold, he immediately sought for Eleanor. She sat in his father’s one comfortable chair. A kerchief covered her face as she wept. Between heaving sobs, she demanded, “Shut the door.”
William sat with his legs crossed on the floor next to the chair. He stroked his mother’s left foot the way his parents had taught him to pet Bailey, with care and gentleness. He had a most worried look on his face. As soon as Nathaniel entered, he hopped to his feet and raced to his pa crying, “Help Mommy.”
Nathaniel picked up his son and hugged him tight to his chest. Nathaniel twisted his torso in a vain attempt to comfort the boy, who squirmed and pointed at his gutted mother.  “Okay,” Nathaniel assured his son. Assessing the situation but uncertain what to say or do, he said, “Bailey’s outside somewhere. Would you be a brave little man and try to find him while I help your mother?”
Nathaniel felt William nod acceptance of his father’s mission. Then he sensed William’s release. Nathaniel walked to the door, opened it, put William down and ordered, “Go on, find him but come back soon for supper.”
William shuffled across the porch and said just loud enough for Nathaniel to hear, “Yes, sir.”
With the boy occupied, Nathaniel shut the door and faced Eleanor.
She rose from the chair, rushed across the room, and cast herself upon the uplifting arms of her perplexed husband. “It was awful. I should have waited for you, but then we would have been too late.”
Tears flowed as Eleanor recounted, “I tried, I really did, but she’d have none of it.” She nestled the back of her head into the fold of Nathaniel’s neck. “She passed in pain and torment. Her face…oh, Nate.” Eleanor pulled away from Nathaniel. “I’ll never get the picture of her frightened face out of my mind.”
Another memory flashed through Nathaniel’s mind. He closed his eyes and saw his first battle at Shiloh and the unknown private that died in his arms. The details remained as plain as if they had just happened—the pain of the mortal gunshot wound and eternal uncertainty forever etched on the boy’s face. Nathaniel nodded. He understood. They shared a similar grief.
Eleanor’s tone turned angry and she swirled back toward the chair as her story took another direction. “And the mayor, he never showed, even after we sent for him.”
“Why don’t you sit down and start from the beginning. I’ll cook dinner tonight. You talk, I’ll listen.”
For once in his life, Nathaniel got something right the first time. Eleanor rambled in so many directions, like a spider spinning an intricate web. Several times Nathaniel strained to understand if she had a point, but patience paid great dividends, and he would receive glimpses of understanding.
William returned empty handed. He claimed he called for Bailey until his throat hurt. Anyway, his absence provided enough time for Eleanor to relieve her burden and for Nathaniel to prepare dinner. The family enjoyed his beef brisket stew, which seemed to bring renewed life to Eleanor. After they put William to bed, he brewed a pot of coffee and Eleanor unveiled the plots Marah disclosed.
Nathaniel could not believe that the mayor had members of their church spying on them. Marah confessed to framing Nathaniel for the arson of the first Glory Barn and the murder of Richard Boyd.
“After she admitted that horrible act, she seemed to find a moment of peace,” Eleanor said. “I tried to interject the Gospel message, but, she shook her head and told me that killing Boyd was nothing compared to all the things she’d done. She said she deserved whatever would come.”
For a second she brightened when she reported, “Oh, by the way, she had a baby, too, but she doesn’t know whether it was a boy or a girl, or what became of it.”
Nathaniel took a sip of his coffee. “That’s a real shame—sad.”
Eleanor frowned. “I think she might have accepted Jesus, if you had been ministering to her.”
“Only God knows, Ellie. I’m sure you did your best. At least you tried and more importantly, you were available.”
“If only I could have reached her.”  Eleanor’s countenance fell and she wagged her head. “You know she loved you.”
Nathaniel’s back straightened and became ridged. “I suspected, but I didn’t know.”
Eleanor’s head cocked like Bailey’s when it looked like he tried to understand something his human companions would bark. “Why did you suspect?”
“When confined in prison, we wrote to each other.”
“I know, but you never indicated anything intimate.”
“I admit, for a time I felt confused regarding my feelings toward her, but as I often say, ‘I never met a feeling I can trust.’  So, as I prayed for clarification, I always saw you in my future. And in you, I saw hope. In Marah, I saw bitterness. She wrote horrible, angry things about the Yankee occupiers of Franklin before she disappeared. I believe Shakespeare wrote in one of his plays, ‘Can one pluck a deep rooted bitterness?’”
Nathaniel got up from the table bench and began to pace. He pivoted and faced Eleanor. “As my hope grew, it turned into faith—somehow I knew I would survive prison no matter what cruelty the guards caused me to suffer. I believed I would see you again. That faith matured into a deep, fixed affection and soon I knew I loved you more than life itself. I set my purpose on becoming your husband.”
Eleanor smiled that smile every husband longs to see on the face of his beloved. “You’re amazing. You seem to have a gift for saying the right things.” She winked. “I am impressed that you can quote a line from Shakespeare and have it apply to our conversation.”
Embarrassed, he reverted to his ability to change the subject. “I’m curious. You stated earlier that she told you things about the mayor, correct?” The altered direction worked.
Eleanor’s expression turned stern. “I told you some time ago, he’s up to no good. I swear, he’s evil.” She placed a hand on her hip. “He married that poor girl to help him gain respect in the eyes of the townsfolk. Marah told me that he knows William is his, and that he intends to use all legal means to take him away from me…” She blinked. “I mean, us. She said I should take William far away from here while there is time.” Eleanor cocked her head. “What do you think? I could go back to Rockford, Illinois.”
Nathaniel kept pacing. He scratched the top of his head, hesitating to speak. He held up his hand, trying to listen for another voice. Then he declared, “I think we should sit tight and see what happens. With Marah’s passing, he may change his plans.”
“Marah seemed to feel he’d accelerate them,” Eleanor countered.
“Be that as it may, we can submit to the legal system and appeal for justice. I’m confident Mr. Eubanks will help us.”
“But Jason is the legal system, Nate.  And he has his new Williamson County Judge in place. The man owes his position to Jason. He’d never rule against him.”
“Maybe you’re right, but something or someone is telling me to stand firm.”
 
In the loft bedroom that Nathaniel had built above and behind the kitchen, William laid in his bed. He repeated in a whisper, “Stand firm,” and smiled as he drifted off to sleep.
Thanks for reading.

Thursday, January 24, 2019

Destination Hope - Book 5 - Reconciliation - Chapter 33

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, 19 - 27 under December, and 28 - 32 under January 2019.

Destination Hope – Book 5 – Reconciliation

A Novel By:

Charles J. Patricoff

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


Chapter 33

1870


As a community leader, Nathaniel answered the call to serve once again.
An overcast morning greeted the early birds who desired to gain entrance into the assembly building and find their designated meeting areas. This last Saturday in March seemed colder than mid-winter. Nathaniel wished he had worn a heavier overcoat.
Waiting in line to have his credentials verified, he noticed the large barn-like structure just beyond the southern outskirts of Nashville, Tennessee. He resisted thoughts reminding him that his tax contributions had helped raise the coliseum. I suspect I’ll come back to this place at the end of the approaching growing season to buy needed livestock, God willing.
Grateful for his short, two-hour train and carriage cab ride, Nathaniel wondered how the men from Memphis in the west and Johnson City in the east had fared in travel and local accommodations.
As he waited, he searched the landscape and could not help but have a sense of appreciation for the new construction rising throughout his state’s capital city. Everywhere he stared, he saw a crane with loads of stone, brick, or broad-wood beams. Like Washington. What is it about capital cities? I suppose the doling out of tax revenues starts at home. If only his small town, some twenty-five miles south would demonstrate such growth. He fought the piercing dart of envy and focused his purpose for this visit.
Vote for the New Tennessee State Constitution signs dotted the surrounding fairgrounds. He hoped to navigate to his designated area and assigned seat fast. The letter from the convention leadership stated that the doors would open at seven and the assembly called to order at nine sharp. I need time to locate the Knox County delegation. I hope my old friend made it.
Nathaniel stood in an already well-developed, long-snaking line of sunrise-greeting delegates. He observed the composition of new, would-be public servants—men who hoped to become full-fledged citizens should the people and states adopt the Fourteenth Amendment to the Constitution. More and more Negro men assumed the place of former Confederate officers. Few Rebel soldiers, regardless of rank, lowered their dignity to swear an oath of allegiance to the restored Union and its unchecked, expanding Federal government.
With time to reflect, he tried to put things into perspective. Life seems to have settled into a normal pace. Mayor Merritt still plays with William after church, but I haven’t observed any of the behaviors Ellie worries about, the possessive gestures she sees.  He examined the line’s progress. Well, I just need to get through this day. When I return home, I’ll have to begin preparing our fields.  He took another step forward.
Some thirty minutes passed before Nathaniel made it through the gates. He found himself in another serpentine line leading into the arena. Once inside, the banners for various future candidates hung from every rafter, appeared as if plastered to every wall, or were draped from temporary vendor stalls. Faithful supporters of the new Constitution Amendments walked the halls wearing embroidered buttons and clothing declaring their reasons for ratification. In Nathaniel’s opinion, most failed to convey a message, few revealed artistic talent, and some seemed silly, at best. Why not say, “It’s the right thing to do”?
Nathaniel moseyed through the arena, which had as its initial purpose the continued auction of slaves and livestock. With the peculiar institution removed, other amusements—like the rodeo and equestrian jumping competitions, with side gambling—filled the void. As he wandered, he watched the stagehands scramble to complete the platform decorations and dignitary seating arrangements.
After meandering for fifteen minutes, he managed to find the Knox County Delegation’s assigned area. Talking to himself, Nathaniel said, “This is where the delegates from Marvin’s county will sit.” The odor of swine filled the coliseum. Nathaniel tapped his boot on the temporary, wood-planked floor. “They must have conducted an auction around here, or maybe they—”
“Who’s the loony, skinny fugitive-from-reason talking to this time?”
Nathaniel’s smile erupted causing wrinkles to surface from his cheeks to his forehead.  He swung around so fast he almost knocked the crutches out from under the arms of a grinning man with the familiar voice that Nathaniel had hoped to hear.
“Whoa there, Pastor Graham. You could kill a body with that much enthusiasm.”
Nathaniel did not care if anyone would think his next reaction inappropriate. He embraced his old friend, Mr. Marvin Jenkins. “You are a sight for these sore, aging eyes.”
Marvin struggled to retain his balance, adjusting to Nathaniel’s wrestling hold on his upper arms. His eyes shifted from one side of Nathaniel’s head to the other. “You’re getting a little gray about the temples, I see.”
 “You’re one to talk. Looks like you’ve found the secret to putting on a few pounds.”
Marvin rubbed his overlapping roll of cold weather insulation. “I had to make up for my missing limb, don’t you know. But Margret, she sure can cook. She loves to bake, too.”
They continued to tease each other about their respective maturing attributes and recalled memories of their college days and war years as delegates from every county began to fill the grand hall. With affection, they remembered lost friends and family members.
While men found their seats, a small disagreement blew up between a long-time delegate to the State Assembly and a Freedman newcomer. Much to the elder statesman’s surprise, he had taken the wrong seat and offered a less than sincere apology. Once settled, both Marvin and Nathaniel recognized their reunion would be cut short before it got started, without discussing any weighty current matters.
As a rotund man in a gray, wool suit shoved past, Nathaniel said, “I guess we’d better get ready for this day.”
“Ah, this circus. Give your one vote for your district and then put on a funny hat.” Marvin asked, “What are you doing for dinner tonight?”
“I planned to take the late afternoon, southbound train so I could be home tonight. Why?”
The assembly leader pounded the gavel, signaling the five-minute warning. Marvin grabbed Nathaniel’s arm and shouted above the rising thousand voices, which thus far ignored the master of ceremonies. “Think about joining Margret and me at our hotel for dinner. I have an important proposition I want to discuss with you.”
“Margret’s here?” Nathaniel searched the throng of delegates.
“No, she’s shopping in downtown, Nashville. This stuff bores her to tears. She’d rather have a tooth extracted. But I know she’d be delighted to see you.”
Nathaniel considered his dilemma. He had promised Eleanor he’d return that evening. But he did want to hear Marvin’s proposal. He offered the best he could for the immediate: “I’ll let you know during our break around noon.”
Marvin nodded. He adjusted his crutches and moved into the row to find his seat.
Nathaniel turned away to relocate his area. I hope he doesn’t ask me for money.
After the Constitutional Convention decided to send the issue to the people for their vote, Nathaniel took a cab back to the Nashville train station. He hoped his wire to Eleanor would reach her within the hour. Regardless, he considered it far more important for her to understand his reasons for meeting with Marvin and Margret for dinner. He restated his promise to catch the first southbound train to Franklin and he expected to reach home before the mid-day meal.
Then he hired another cab to take him to Marvin’s hotel. When Nathaniel entered Nashville’s newest lodge, he concluded that it revealed the elegance and grandeur of the famous Willard Hotel he’d enjoyed while he stayed in Washington, D.C. He mused, “A body could get used to a life style like this.” He caught his reflection in a full-length, ornate mirror and self-corrected. “But you’re a simple man of simple means, and you live by simple, yet sound, ways.”
The front desk commanded the left side of the main floor. Nathaniel heard the clerk ask, “May I help you, sir?”
Nathaniel approached. I wonder if he heard me talking to myself.  “Yes, sir, I’m supposed to meet a friend. He’s staying here.”
“May I have his name?” the clerk asked.
“Mr. Marvin Jenkins.”
The clerk rifled through his registry book. Nathaniel noticed the hotel’s crest embroidered on the clerk’s black blazer. The left sleeve rolled and pinned revealed the younger man’s personal loss. His eyes glanced upward from the page. “Chickamauga.”
“I wondered.”
The clerk said, “I couldn’t help but notice your limp and the burn scar on the back of your neck.”
Nathaniel pointed at his neck. “Second Manassas.” Then he motioned down in the direction of his right knee. “And Gettysburg.”
The clerk nodded. The military brotherhood seemed to represent an eternal bond among otherwise perfect strangers. The clean-shaven clerk said, “Mr. Jenkins is registered. He is in suite 522. Our two elevators are located past the staircase where you came in, and to the left.”
Nathaniel thanked the clerk and strolled to the lifts, grateful that he did not have to climb five flights of stairs.
That evening, Marvin, Marvin’s wife, Margret, and Nathaniel enjoyed a lavish meal with rather expressive conversation recalling some of the less than impressive speeches presented at the State Assembly.
Nathaniel took a sip of his after-dinner coffee. “It’s sad in a way.”
Margret tilted her head, causing her auburn hair to fall away from her shoulder. “How so, cousin?”
“Oh, speaker after speaker seemed to be mimicking how President Lincoln delivered his simple, yet so profound orations. However, everything offered sounded braggadocios and shallow.”
“How would you know what Lincoln sounded like?” Margret asked. “You never heard him speak.”
“True, but I’ve read most of of his speeches, and I think I have a very good sense of his tempo, measure, and artful use of the English language. Above all, he always spoke with substance, balanced with humility. His Gettysburg Address might be the best example, for he made his plea for national reconciliation in less than three hundred words. He seemed to master the biblical instruction to avoid all idle chatter, and that is a rare quality, indeed.”
“That’s a discipline I should employee,” Marvin said.
“You could say that again,” Margret said, whimsically.
All three laughed as Marvin gave a squinted glare at his wife.
As the lightheartedness subsided, Nathaniel noticed Marvin engage Margret. He winked. She nodded. Marvin folded his hands and leaned forward to peer around the flickering candlelit centerpiece. He cleared his throat. “Well, I didn’t invite you to join us for dinner just to discuss politics, the war, departed friends, and the good-old days.”
Nathaniel swallowed a lump that almost choked him. He’s your friend; hear him out.  Nathaniel reiterated Marvin’s statement from before the assembly. “You said you had a proposition for me.”
“That’s correct. But before I get to that, Margret has something she wants to tell you.”
Nathaniel shifted his attention to his cousin. She has that glow I’ve seen before. I could guess what she’s about to say.  Then he chided himself. But, you are a gentleman, and a gentleman never asks such things of a lady. He waits.
“You’re going to be an uncle,” Margret said, grinning from ear-to-ear.
“Congratulations,” Nathaniel said while offering a warm, confirming smile. He swiveled his head to Marvin then to Margret. “Congratulations to you both.” He asked Margret, “When?”
“Early fall.” She reached for Marvin’s hand. “We’re so excited.”
Nathaniel pursed his lips. Reflecting on his new-found appreciation for the feasts of Israel, he thought, Maybe he’ll be a Feast of Tabernacles baby. “Good. How are you feeling?”
“So far, so good,” Margret said. “I get a little sick in the mornings, but that’s normal…at least I’m told it is.”
“This is wonderful news.” Nathaniel cocked his head in Marvin’s direction. “You old dog. I’m surprised you had it in you.”
Marvin smirked and gave the tabletop a slight slap with his right hand. “You’d be surprised.”
Nathaniel threw up his hands. “Spare me.” He glanced at Margret. “How’s your sister?”
“Louise and Michael are still trying, but she hasn’t been able to carry a child since the one she lost five winters ago.”
“Oh, that’s too bad.”
Margret relaxed and leaned her cheek on the palm of her right hand. “Well, I think we can all agree—the Lord has a purpose for everything under heaven.”
Surprised by her answer, Nathaniel asked, “I think I understand, but what do you mean, and how does it relate to your sister and brother-in-law?”
“Do you remember when I wrote you a letter about how we found those two young boys?” Marvin interjected.
Nathaniel nodded.
“And when we lived in Petersburg, a Negro sergeant who led a Yankee patrol turned out to be their pa?”
“Yeah, I thought it was another sign and wonder from God—reuniting lost family members,” Nathaniel said.
Margret twirled a lock of her hair. “Well, Louise thought so, too. She persuaded Michael that so long as God has withheld children from them, they should use their talents and resources to help other families separated by the war find each other, if possible.”
Nathaniel felt a rush of emotion. He leaned back in his chair and sighed.
Marvin studied Nathaniel. “What are you thinking, Nate. Remember, I’m your best friend.  No other man knows you as I do.”
Nathaniel took a deep breath. “I can’t think of a better act of kindness.” A myriad of thoughts raced through his mind. He settled on an explanation. “We sailed our doomed ship-of-state upon a sea of blood and built our former fortunes on the corpses of those who wanted to live free. But the war came, and we committed fratricide on a scale never seen before in human history. We are the miserable ones, the wretched survivors of the hell we created for ourselves and uncountable others. I believe we all must do something to make things right. What you just told me about Louise and Michael, well, I can’t think of a more admirable venture. I wish I had thought of it.”
“You never were too bright, Nate, and much too serious,” Marvin jibed.
Both Margret and Marvin laughed.
Maybe he’s right. Nathaniel forced a chuckle. “Okay, okay, what’s this proposition you want to present?”
“If anyone knows how to kill a joke and ruin a party, it’s you, my friend.” Marvin took a sip of his water as Nathaniel gulped his coffee. “All right then, here goes. I know the general economic condition that we all face. Heck, that seemed to be the common theme at today’s assembly: what can we do to stimulate growth?”
Marvin seemed to gather strength. “God has blessed our lives more than we could have ever dreamed or imagined. Because He has blessed us, we want to be a blessing to you and your family—after all, He used you to help me make a sound, eternal decision. Therefore, I…we…want to give you some breeding livestock: cattle, hogs, goats, you name it, whatever you need. And, like I said earlier, I know you, Nate. I’m confident you can’t have considerable yield from your farm when you have a poverty-stricken congregation that needs tending. You sir, are the type of man who will go without eating for days, to make sure your wife and child have enough. So we will not take no for an answer.”
Nathaniel sat like a wooden totem pole. He blinked. He stared, stunned.
“Nate, say something.” Marvin waved his hand, causing the candle flame to dance.
“I told you,” Margret said. “I feared it would be too much for him to take in all at once.”
Nathaniel blinked again and said, “No, I’m fine.” He held up his right hand as if swearing to the truth. “I was listening.” He examined the concern on Margret’s face, and the inquisitiveness on Marvin’s. He said, “It’s a most generous offer, and I do appreciate it more than you know.”
Marvin cocked his head toward Margret and out of the corner of his mouth said, “Here it comes.”
“No, you don’t understand. I want to accept your offer, but I must insist on presenting you a counteroffer.”
Marvin tilted his head like a dog. “I’m confused.”
“You are my good friend. I trust God has put this gift idea on your heart and in your mind, and,” he shifted to Margret, “I assume you are both in complete agreement.”
Margret nodded.
“Then, trust me when I say, I need to obey God in what I’m convinced He has made clear to me regarding His revealed will.”
Marvin leaned back in his chair. A suspicious expression surfaced. “You’re not going to let us provide you with a blessing, are you?”
“Hear me out.”
“Do I have a choice?”
“No.” Nathaniel smiled attempting to relieve the tension he knew he had created. “When David was king over Israel…”
“Oh, come on, Nate.”
Margret grabbed her husband’s hand and with a tone of a mother correcting her child’s misbehavior, she said, “Marvin, please.”
Marvin rolled his eyes and then turned his head toward his pleading bride. He nodded his consent.
Recognizing Margret’s rescue, Nathaniel took advantage of his opportunity. “As I was saying, as king he committed a sin, and the entire nation suffered for what he did.”
“What did he do?” Margret asked.
“Suffice it to say, he disobeyed God. He sought a resolution and he received instructions to offer a sacrifice at a particular place, a threshing floor.”
“You’re not going to sacrifice these animals, are you?” Marvin asked.
“No, but there is a good chance we will consume some, or sell others. Regardless, we will benefit from having them, and I want to follow the principle David demonstrated.”
“Are you talking about that time one of David’s subjects wanted to give him his threshing floor and three bulls to sacrifice after he ordered a census, which God did not ask him to do.” Margret asked.
“That’s correct. In a word, David acted out of presumption. So, when he arrived at the threshing floor, the owner of the property offered to give David his place and his bulls for the sacrifice, since David didn’t have any with him. David made his position clear—he could not, he would not present an offering to the Lord that cost him nothing. Please understand; I must obey His revealed will. I need to pay for what I can afford.”
Silence governed the table’s atmosphere for what seemed an hour. But after about one minute, Marvin said, “Okay. I understand. I think I have a solution for all of us.”
“I’m listening.”
“I’ll sell you my animals at a,” he winked at Margret, “let’s call it a quantity discount.”
“I’m not buying volume items like yarn or soap.”
“It all depends on the product my friend.” Marvin grinned at Nathaniel. “It all depends on the product.”
Margret shot her gaze at her cousin as if searching for his approval and acceptance.
Nathaniel reached for his water glass, picked it up and held it up as if he would offer a toast. Then he extended it toward his friend and cousin. He nodded and commanded with his eyes for them to follow his lead. Marvin grabbed his water glass and held it up; Margret did likewise. The three hotel dinner guests clinked glasses and Nathaniel said, “Deal.”

“Ellie, I’m home,” Nathaniel shouted as he ascended the few steps to their farmhouse. He noticed the barn door propped open with their rusting shovel. That’s odd.  He flung the front door open and expected a warm, welcoming greeting. “I have some wonderful news.”
No one occupied the house, not even Bailey.
He examined the dwelling. It appeared that she had been gone for quite a while. She probably went into town to pick up provisions.  His eye caught sight of a letter resting in partial folds on the table. He retrieved it. “It’s addressed to Eleanor. I don’t see a postmark—maybe a rush hand delivery.”
After reading a few lines, his jaw dropped. Then, as if the paper weighed more than he could carry, he released his grip and, like a falling leaf, it drifted to the floor. He groaned, “Ellie.”
Thanks for reading.

Friday, January 18, 2019

Destination Hope - Book 5 - Reconciliation - Chapter 32

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, 19 - 27 under December, and 28 - 31 under January 2019.

Destination Hope – Book 5 – Reconciliation

A Novel By:

Charles J. Patricoff

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


Chapter 32

Reconciliation


They rolled past the White House, but in Nathaniel’s troubled mind, he failed to hear the detailed descriptions presented by his guide. For all he knew, the People’s House did not exist, even though he stared right at the washed-white portico columns, standing in a perfect semicircle. Nathaniel could not think of anything else other than the challenging issue seated next to him.
Lord, I want to know how he got here. It is obvious. You protected him. Now he will mentor Zebulon through college. How do I ask? Where do I begin?
His ears heard, but his mind blotted out the sound of the horse’s hooves clopping as it pulled the open carriage down the traffic-congested, dusty street. Nathaniel stared straight down Pennsylvania Avenue in the direction of the United States Congress building. He did not see the facsimile of The Vatican, which captivated him the previous day. He felt a passing breeze. With it came a renewed sense of clarity. I think, Lord, You want me to begin at the beginning. This is going to be hard.  He gulped.
“Dr. Benjamin, I do appreciate you showing me around Washington, D. C. However, I think we both know you and I have unfinished business to discuss.”
“If you mean Zebulon’s course of study, don’t worry Pastor Graham. I’ll keep a close eye on him.”
Nathaniel peered at Professor Benjamin’s profile, noting a distinct half-smile on the man’s face. Nathaniel figured the distinguished educator knew the truth and chose to avoid the matter, for now. Even though the position strained his neck, he kept his gaze fixed on his tour guide. “You know what I—we need to discuss.” Nathaniel sighed. “I can’t believe it was almost five years ago.”
“Much has changed since then.”
Nathaniel sensed the kindness in the professor’s deep, baritone voice. It still resonated with the same calm Nathaniel had witnessed the first day they met. It riled him then; it comforted him now. Nathaniel nodded. They rode in silence passing the United States Treasury Building. Nathaniel glanced at the array of Federal Government buildings and allowed his mind to change the subject—a gift or curse, he never knew which—a behavior he resorted to often whenever he became anxious. Every building looks like sketches I’ve seen of ancient Rome when she controlled the known world.
“Ask him.”
Nathaniel recognized his Shepherd’s voice. Now he faced a choice; obey his fear and hope that what troubled him would pass, or obey His Lord and face the sin that kept him bound sitting next to this honorable freedman.
Additional instruction and encouragement came with the next passing gentle wind. “Remember, the Kingdom of God is righteousness, peace and joy in the Holy Spirit.”
Nathaniel pondered this exhortation. Righteousness. It’s clear that I’m not in a right relationship with this man—a brother-in-Christ. It’s also clear I haven’t had any peace or joy since he walked into General Howard’s office. The ministry of God’s Holy Spirit is to convict of sin, righteousness and judgment. I think it is reasonable to assume I’ve grieved His Holy Spirit—something The Almighty never needs to experience unless He chooses to be vulnerable. Okay, I need to repent. He is a man. I should have stood up for him that day.
“Doctor Benjamin?” Nathaniel almost choked.
“Yes, Pastor Graham.”
“Would you forgive me for what I did to you?”
“For what?” Professor Benjamin kept his eyes on the road ahead, but his smile broadened a bit.
Nathaniel threw both hands over his face to help him think. He’s not making this easy for me.
“True repentance never is.”
Why do I think You are speaking to him at the same time You are speaking to me?
“Whether or not I choose to speak to him or what I speak to him is no concern of yours.”
As Professor Benjamin pulled on the reins directing the horse to turn left onto Tenth Street, Nathaniel said, “For that day when I refused to hear your plea. You asked for help, and I denied it to you and your people. I had it in my power to stand up for you. Well, we both know…”
Professor Benjamin nodded. After a prolonged pause, he said, “What you intended for evil, God intended for good.” Professor Benjamin began to explain the almost bizarre, Joseph-like travels that in time landed him and his family at Howard University. He recounted how Confederate soldiers sold him and his congregation into slavery. Later, he became the property of Judah Benjamin, the Secretary of State for the Confederacy. Secretary Benjamin exposed the professor to the celebration of God’s appointed Feasts for the Jewish people. This gave him a deep appreciation for his Hebrew heritage, and he identified with God’s chosen vessels, which led him to study the Hebrew roots of Christianity. As God collapsed the Confederacy, Secretary Benjamin provided information to help the former pastor recover many of the surviving lost sheep from his congregation.
Nathaniel sat almost mesmerized by this grand adventure. He sensed that the professor neared the end of his story when he made a general comment. “All governments can be a force for good under God’s governance. However, throughout recorded history they have all become corrupted into a force for unspeakable evil in the name of doing good deeds…even the Southern Confederacy. This led me to believe you could not have known any better at the time. So of course, I forgive you.”
The transaction neared completion. Nathaniel sighed with a deep sense of relief as if he heard a judge proclaim, “Case dismissed” and granting an acquittal even though the accused knew he had committed a heinous crime.
Professor Benjamin completed his thought. “Now, regarding the need to extend forgiveness to other members of the South, I believe the burden God has placed upon my shoulders is this: I must teach the young men, like Zebulon, to forgive them, too. If not, bitterness will swallow them whole, just as my name sake was swallowed by the great fish.”
Through welling eyes, Nathaniel noticed a building on their left.  Once again, he relied on his old behavior and changed the subject. “Is that it?”
Professor Benjamin followed the direction of Nathaniel’s left arm and index finger. “Yes, that’s the house where he died.” Professor Benjamin directed Nathaniel’s attention to the building on their right. “The Army has converted it into a records-keeping warehouse. This is an example of what I just said. It’s as if they want to erase the fact that he was shot there, change history, and pretend it never happened. I know I should keep my opinions to myself at times, but hiding the truth is evil.”
Ain’t it something what one bullet can do? Those haunting words from his first action at the Battle of Shiloh resonated once again in front of the former theater. Focus. Nathaniel agreed with the professor’s assessment, but he had pressing matters on his mind. He knew he needed to take one more step. With all the sincerity he could muster, he said, “Thank you, Doctor Benjamin.”
Professor Benjamin pulled on the reins, causing the horse and buggy to halt. He extended his right hand in greeting. “Call me Jonah, Pastor Graham.”
Nathaniel accepted the handshake and reciprocated. “Call me, Nate. All my friends and family do.”
Jonah nodded and smiled. “It just goes to prove, even pastors need to receive God’s forgiveness.”
“Often more than the flock they serve.” Nathaniel added.
“Day-eh-nu.” Jonah said.
“What, Jonah?”
Jonah’s face beamed with a broad, toothy, maybe giddy smile. “I heard the Hebrew word, Day-eh-nu at my first Passover observance.”
“At the Secretary of State’s home?”
Jonah nodded.
Nathaniel struggled with the word’s pronunciation and then asked, “What does it mean?”
“Its basic meaning is, ‘It is enough.’ But to appreciate the word in its fullness, there is a part in the Seder where the men lead a recital—a series of phrases and the women repeat them. The concept is that it would have been enough if God had accomplished just one thing delivering the Children of Israel from the bondage of Egypt. However, with each phrase expressed, they recall over a dozen things God did, and after each declaration, they all say, ‘Day-eh-nu. It is enough, Nate.” Jonah grinned again. “It is enough that God allowed us to see each other again, this side of glory.”
Nathaniel grasped the deeper meaning as he glanced at the Peterson House where Abraham Lincoln had died. He smiled a warm agreement. “Day-eh-nu.”
Jonah nodded again. He gave the reins a shake, and the carriage rolled past what once had been Ford’s Theater.
For Nathaniel, peace returned. Acquitted and forgiven, he knew God had set him free, and for him, the Civil War, which raged in the depth of his being, ended.
A few days later, Nathaniel arrived home to an anxious wife. “Slow down, Ellie, what happened again at church?”
“I’ll tell you, that man is up to no good. For starters, he wants to talk to you about marrying Marah, and he wants you to perform the service. I don’t think you should, but what do I know? She seems awful sick. Have you seen her? Miss Peterson thinks she’s dying. She might be right. Miss Peterson says I should visit with her next time she goes to see Miss Guthrie. She says she’s lost so much weight; a strong breeze could sweep her away.
“Then, after church, the mayor paraded about the grounds talking to several of our congregation, promising to take care of their physical needs by exacting restitution from the wealthy white folks in the county who took advantage of them for all those years they lived in slavery. All he did was create anger and stirred several to speak against you—that somehow you’re protecting wealthy white folk by filling their heads full of Jesus loves everyone nonsense…that Christianity, like all religions, is just another form of slavery—to keep one from experiencing all life offers.
“And the Carter sisters…every time I walk in town with Mrs. Sophia Jefferson, they shun us. They make fun of her weight and say awful things like she doesn’t seem to be suffering from the food shortages. They laugh at my outdated clothes and make statements about William. They say he doesn’t look like his father. I know they hate us and it doesn’t help restore peace to the community. But Jason put his hand on top of William’s head. He petted his hair like petting a dog. Then he spoke something to William. I couldn’t hear it, but he looked up at me, smiled that sinister grin I’ve seen before, and then left. I asked William what he said to him, and he said something I couldn’t understand.”
Nathaniel’s head spun with the flurry of information. He managed to ask, “What?”
“William said he said, ‘I’m coming for you.’  It doesn’t make any sense, but I’m telling you, he’s up to no good. I think we should sell the farm and leave as soon as we can. Maybe, I should take William back to Rockford.”
Nathaniel heard those all-too-familiar threatening words. First it was Sergeant Schmidt, now it's Jason Merritt. With the weight of this new worrisome burden, his earlier lifted heart sunk.

 Thanks for reading.