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.
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