Abiding Peace (17 page)

“Wh—” McDowell peered toward the open door. “Not the girl.”

Samuel was glad he hadn’t said “the homely girl,” for he was certain Christine could hear every word.

“Aye, it’s Miss Hardin. She requested to see you.”

“Well, now.” He smiled and put one hand up to his beard. “I don’t make much of a sight for young ladies.” His expression changed to a frown. “She don’t be come to spit on me and rail at me, does she?”

“Nay, I assure you she would not do so.”

“Good. ‘Cause that man who came t’other night, I thought he’d kill me. The master had to throw him out of the stockade.”

“What man?” Samuel asked.

“They told me it was the husband of her what was killed.”

“Roger Ackley was here?”

“That’s the name. He ranted and shrieked like a savage. Said they’d ought to string me up. Heard said he’d been hitting the rum, but it gave me a start, I’ll tell you.”

“Well, you needn’t fear a mob coming after you. William Heard and his sons would prevent it, and if need, we would protect you—the captain, Constable Paine, and I, and several other members of my flock. But I shall go and see Roger Ackley and make sure he doesn’t do that again. He is distraught, of course.”

McDowell shrugged. “I might be guilty of some things, sir, but I should hate awfully to be strung up for something I didn’t do.”

“I knew it.” The doorway darkened, and Christine stood there, her dark skirts blocking much of the sunlight. “Pardon me, but I couldn’t help overhearing. I’ve told the Reverend Jewett several times that you could not have done such a deed.”

“There now, miss.” McDowell lowered his hands as though to conceal the chains and smiled up at her. “Think of it! Ye’ve come to see me, after I treated you so mean and all.”

“I’ve forgiven you for that. I wanted to see you for myself and make sure you were well. You must pay for your crimes, sir, I don’t deny that, but you must not be made to pay for those someone else committed.”

McDowell looked up at Samuel. “Here now, Parson, mayhap I should have this young lady represent me at court.”

Samuel did not find the suggestion amusing. “We must not stay long. Christine, say what you wish, and I shall see you home.”

She knelt in the straw before he realized what she was doing and pulled the napkin off her basket.

“Here, I’ve brought you some biscuits and baked fish. I know they are feeding you, but I thought a bite or two extra would not be amiss. And I’ve brought ink and paper. I wondered if you wished a letter written to anyone. Do you have family you’d like to notify, sir?”

McDowell blinked and looked up at the pastor with a baffled expression. “Nay, who would I send a letter to? I’ve never thought of such a thing in my life.”

“Well, that’s fine,” said Samuel. “I’m sure Miss Hardin means well.”

“I do,” she said. “I tried to think if there was any service you might need while you are here.”

McDowell sighed. “Nay, but thank ye kindly, miss. And if you’ll allow it before you go, I’d like the parson to pray for me again.”

“Of course.” She looked up at Samuel, her eyes wide now and shining in the reflected light that streamed through the doorway. She sat back a little away from McDowell.

Samuel bent his knees and lowered himself to the floor. “Shall we pray, then?” The three bowed their heads, and he offered a plea for a swift and just end to McDowell’s confinement.

At his amen, the prisoner began a faltering petition. Samuel was not shocked, but he heard Christine’s sharp intake of breath.

“God above, look down on this sinner,” McDowell said. “Deliver me from my sin, Lord. I do not ask You to deliver me from my bonds, for they are just. Amen.”

When he finished, Samuel rose and held out his hand to Christine. She took it and let him pull her to her feet. She sniffed and turned to the prisoner.

“Good day, sir. I shall continue to pray for you daily.”

“Thank ye, miss. And you, sir.”

Samuel nodded. “Shall we go?” He hopped down the high step to the ground and offered his hand to Christine again. When she stood on the ground beside him, he carefully swung the door shut and put the bars in place.

“Do you wish to see Mrs. Heard now?” he asked.

Christine was patting her cheeks with a handkerchief. “I don’t feel like visiting, if the truth be told, but we told her husband I would, so I must.”

They paid a brief call at the door of the house, declining to go inside, then set out for the parsonage.

They were halfway there before she spoke. “Does Mr. McDowell pray with you every day when you go to him?”

“Aye. Since Sunday. I believe he truly repented then and came to the cross.”

She inhaled deeply. “I’m glad. Thank you for letting me see him.”

“Perhaps I should have told you, but …” Samuel eyed her carefully. “I did not want you to think I believe him totally innocent.”

“Nay, he has admitted he is not. Of the murder only he claims to have a clear conscience.”

“Yes, he’s confessed other things to me.”

She looked up at him, her brows furrowed. “What sort of things? Stealing from us?”

“From us and other people. Dan Otis’s knife, Brother Heard’s shirt, Goody Deane’s loaf of bread. Other things, here and in other villages. Christine, you would not be safe around that man.”

“But if he’s repented …”

Samuel sighed. “Yes. And I believe he means it. But I would want him watched, if he were set free, and made accountable. Sincerity must be proven.”

She considered that for a minute as they walked along and then nodded. “What you say is true. If John stole an apple tart and then said he was sorry, I should always watch him on days when I baked.”

“Exactly.” They went on together, and Samuel felt they were more in tune than they had been all week.

When they were within sight of the meetinghouse, she spoke again. “I understand your concerns, Samuel. McDowell did frighten me, and I’m not sure I’m over that yet. I did see his quick temper and a threatening side to him that I’ll not soon forget. But I’m willing to believe he can change, or rather, that God can change him. Still, I don’t say he has changed. You’re right about that. Time will show whether or not he is the same man who threatened me.”

Samuel paused and looked down at her. “I’m glad to hear you say it. I was surprised that you could feel such sympathy for him. For any man, for that matter. You always seemed to distrust men and to avoid them.”

“So I did.” She hesitated then added, “If it is not too forward, I should like to tell you that I credit your teaching with my change in attitude.”

“My … You mean from the pulpit?”

“Aye, sir, and in your daily life. You have shown me that we must be open and willing to forgive.”

Samuel spotted a cart coming up the street and a man heading toward the ordinary. “Let us walk,” he murmured. He must take care still of the village gossips and not be seen lingering with a single woman. “I am glad the Lord has used me to help you.”

She nodded but did not look at him as she continued. “I’ve seen several examples here—the Dudley men, Charles Gardner, indeed, your own example, sir. These godly examples have shown me that some men are kind and trustworthy.”

Samuel felt a surge of satisfaction rush over him, followed by a knowledge of his own unworthiness. They reached the doorstone of the parsonage. He glanced about, saw no one watching, and reached for her hand, giving it a quick squeeze and releasing it. “Thank you for sharing that with me. I take it as a deep compliment that you would trust me with your thoughts and that you consider me an example to follow.”

She swallowed hard and looked up at him, then away. “Feelings … they are so difficult to manage and to share. But they come from above, I am sure.”

“Aye.” He smiled, knowing he would pray that God would continue to bridge the gap between them. “I shall leave you here now and go back to my studies, though not for long.” He looked up at the sun and saw that their trip had taken longer than he’d estimated.

“When do you want supper, sir?”

“I shall return in an hour.”

He turned away, but he felt her watching him.

Thank You, Father, for this time together and this new understanding between us. Move us onward, if it be in Your plan, to a sweeter bond
.

When he was halfway up the short path to the meetinghouse, he turned and looked back. She still stood outside the door. He raised one hand, and she waved back.

On Saturday morning, Christine and Goody Deane both went to the parsonage. The elder woman was remaking one of the late Mrs. Jewett’s dresses for Abby, and she offered to watch Ruth and sew while Christine and the older children joined the pastor in harvesting the rest of their corn.

As they husked the two bushels of ears they’d picked, dropping the shucks on a pile at the edge of the garden plot, Roger Ackley hobbled into the yard and hailed the pastor.

Samuel walked toward him, meeting him just a few feet from where they worked, and Christine could hear their conversation, whether she wished to or not.

“Brother Ackley,” Samuel said. “What brings you out, sir?”

Christine hoped he wasn’t here to insist that McDowell should be hung or to blame Samuel for the magistrate’s delay. She nodded at Ackley but kept her head down after that, not looking his way but concentrating on her ear of corn.

“I’ve come to ask you to read banns for me on the Sabbath, sir. And to perform a ceremony three weeks hence.”

Startled, Christine looked up. John, Ben, and Abby openly gaped at the man, though Constance appeared not to have noticed what he said and tugged tenaciously at the husks on her ear.

Samuel cleared his throat. “Am I to understand, sir, that you wish to marry again so soon?”

“That I do. You know the Lord says it ain’t fittin’ that a man should be alone. Now that’s scripture.” Ackley nodded emphatically.

Christine felt the color rise in her cheeks. She took Constance’s ear of corn, quickly finished husking it, and laid it in the basket. “Are you finished?” she asked the other children. “I think we should go inside.”

But they did not leave soon enough for her to miss the revelation of the intended bride’s name.

“Alice’s father won’t let her come work for me anymore without I marry her,” Ackley explained to the pastor. “And so I says to him, why not? Three weeks from Sunday is the day they chose for the weddin’.”

By this time, Christine’s ears pulsed with the infusion of blood, and she hustled the girls up the steps, embarrassed on Samuel’s account as well as her own.

“Who’s out there?” Tabitha Deane asked, laying aside her sewing.

“It’s Goodman Ackley.” Christine set the basket of corn on the table. “There, we shall have a good feed of roasting ears tonight.”

“He wants to marry that hired girl,” Ben said, shaking his head.

“Who? Alice Stevens?” Tabitha asked.

“Aye,” Christine said.

“Ha!” Tabitha puffed out her breath. “Marry in haste, repent at leisure.”

“Is that in the Bible?” Abby asked.

“Nay, but it should be.”

“Come, Abby,” Christine said. “Fill this kettle with water. John, you and Ben may bring in some more wood, if you please.”

A few minutes later, the pastor entered the room. “Well, I seem to be performing another wedding.”

“The children told me,” Goody Deane said. “That pair seems rather mismatched to me, sir.”

Samuel leaned against the mantel. “I told Ackley I will visit the girl at her parents’ home and speak to all three. I’ve seen stranger things.”

“She’s not yet twenty, is she?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Well, Roger Ackley be well past fifty.” Tabitha shook her head.

“He should marry you, Goody Deane,” said Constance.

“Ha! That’s clever. You think I would wed that man?”

“Well now, perhaps we’d best turn the topic here,” Samuel said gently. “All I know is that Goodman Ackley says he needs Alice to cook for the men he’ll hire at harvest, and she can’t stay at the farm to work unless they are wed.”

“But that’s—” Christine stopped and swallowed her words. It was not her place to object.

By evening, the pastor had made his trip to the Stevens house and returned. He said nothing while the children were about, but when Christine had hung up her apron and prepared to leave, he bid her wait and he would accompany her.

Her pulse beat quicker as she waited for him to don his hat and jacket.

“Children, I shall return in a trice,” he called.

Christine felt a foolish smile tugging at the corners of her mouth as they stepped onto the path together.

“I would say you needn’t escort me home, but I know it wouldn’t change your mind.”

“You are correct in that. I find it gives me a chance to speak privately with you. Do you mind?”

“Not at all.”

“Christine, this precipitous marriage of Ackley’s does concern me, but I find no grounds to refuse to perform the ceremony. The girl told me to my face she is agreeable, though she knows it to be a marriage of convenience for Ackley. Of course, it will elevate her status in the community. Ackley is better off than her own father, who is a mere laborer in the brickworks. But her parents seem to have no objection. Her mother even offered to go with her to the farm next week to help her cook for his harvesting crew.”

“That was good of her,” Christine said.

He frowned and shook his head slightly. “I asked her mother if she’d talked to Alice and explained what marriage would mean, and she said she was sure the girl would be fine.” He glanced at her and halted, a few yards from Tabitha’s door. “I’m sorry, Christine. I shouldn’t burden you with this.”

“Think nothing of it. You need someone to express your reservations to.”

“Nay, I should take them to the Lord. But … I do enjoy talking to you. I’ve had no one to discuss such things with since …” He pressed his lips together.

Christine’s heart wrenched. He missed Elizabeth, of course. And she was a poor substitute. “Well, sir, I do not mind if you speak to me about your concerns, and you can be sure that what you say will go no further.”

“Thank you.” He took her hand once again and held it. Her heart pounded. “Christine, your friendship means a great deal to me.”