Fairer than Morning (27 page)

He nodded and said, “Miss Miller,” as any townsman would, but his eyes could not conceal the same wild aloneness she remembered from before.

Only half civilized, then, despite appearances.

How should she address him? Mr. Hanby? No. She could not bring herself to speak to him as she would speak to Allan or another gentleman. It did not fit with the memory of his degradation and the strange intimacy of sponging the blood from his forehead as he lay on the barn floor.

“Good evening,” she finally said. She was aware of the cold sound of it but blindly obeyed her protective instinct to raise a social barrier against his physical presence in her home.

His eyelids came down like shutters, his expression instantly aloof.

She did not know if she regretted that or not—she did not want to offend him, but the veiling of his gaze restored to her some sense of privacy.

“Pardon my daughter's discomposure, Will,” her father said from behind him. “I'm sure you understand that your arrival comes as a shock.”

“Yes, sir.” As Will pivoted back toward her father, she realized a major improvement: Will no longer smelled of the pigsty. He had bathed.

Her father extended his hand to Will. “I agree to take you on as an apprentice.”

Will grabbed her father's hand and shook it, his drawn face softening with relief.

Her father released his grip and put a hand on the young man's arm. “I cannot in good conscience turn you away, knowing the master you fled. We will just have to chance it, and pray that your master does not think to look for you here.”

Ann could not believe her ears. Her mouth had fallen open like a fish out of water; she shut it with a snap.

“As long as you are aware, Will,” her father added, “that there is not enough work in my saddlery to employ you fully. Are you willing to perform tasks around the farm as well?”

“I am familiar with the work, sir.” Will smiled slightly. “And I have no objection to it, if I may work for a good master.”

This was an unforeseen benefit. Help around the farm. She looked at Will's rangy frame with new appreciation. Skinny or not, he was a man, taller and probably stronger than she, even in his malnourished state. Her mountain of daily tasks might shrink to a more manageable size.

“Is he going to stay in our house?” Mabel said.

Heat flooded Ann's face. She swiveled to see Mabel jump to her feet as Susan tried without success to yank her back down by her skirt.

Her father's eyebrows rose, and he stared at the beams of the ceiling for a long moment.

“I had not thought of that. We cannot have you stay in the house, Will,” he said. “Not with three girls here.”

Ann occupied herself in retying Susan's hair ribbon. She did not want to know if Will's face was as scarlet as her own must be.

Her father cleared his throat. “But neither do I wish to consign you to another barn, without a real fire to warm you. The nights are still cold.”

“I would manage, sir.”

“No, I have another solution. We have guests who arrived earlier today who are staying in a cabin not far from here. The Simons, whom you met in Pittsburgh.”

Will looked blank, then his eyes focused. “John and Clara?” he asked with a note of wonder.

“Indeed. I'm sure that given the circumstances, they would be amenable to your lodging with them. You would sleep in a blanket on the floor, but at least it would be warm next to the hearth.”

“Yes, sir. That would be fine.”

“And when they are ready to leave in a week or two, you may stay in the cabin by yourself.”

“I'm grateful to you, sir.”

“Then let me escort you out to the cabin before it grows even later. Ann, will you fetch a quilt?”

She retreated to the cedar chest and pulled their old red-and-white quilt from the pile of linens. It was faded, but clean. She skirted Will on the way back and handed the folded bundle to her father. With a quizzical glance at her, he passed it to Will and unhooked a lantern from the peg by the front door. He lit it and closed its glass hood.

“Shall we go?” he asked, taking his hat from the peg. “I'll be back shortly,” he said to Ann before walking out.

Will followed, casting a last glance at her over his shoulder.

Even when the door shut behind him, she stayed rooted to the floor.

“The pig man!” Mabel said. “Why is he here?”

Ann wheeled on her and said more sharply than she intended, “That is ill-mannered!” She still did not know how to address him herself, but she had better instruct her sisters lest they adopt another teasing nickname. “You may call him Will,” she said. Susan and Mabel were too young to worry about the propriety of using a man's given name.

Unabashed, Mabel flopped down on the braided rug next to Susan. “How long is he going to stay?” she asked Ann.

“I don't know.”

“Will he do our chores?” Susan asked. “Father said he would have to help.”

“No,” Ann said. “He will do
my
chores.” She laughed at the outraged scrunching of Mabel's pert nose.

While the girls wrangled about what Will would or would not do around the farm, Ann barred the door and came back to seat herself on her father's chair.

“Now, what was Father reading to you?” She picked up the Bible from the side table beneath the lamp and opened to the red ribbon that lay in the fold.

Will trailed Mr. Miller along the border of the field, which bristled with fine stubble from last year's crop.

“Ready to plow,” Mr. Miller said, pointing to the hardened furrow.

Will knew nothing of plowing, as the Goods raised only livestock and a few garden vegetables in summer.

“Is it planting time?” he asked, hoisting his bag of extra clothing a little higher in his arms, where the quilt lay draped over it.

“We won't seed for a month yet, but an old farmer back in Pennsylvania once told me that early plowing brings a higher yield for corn.”

“And how do you plow it?”

“With our mules. You'd be surprised how deftly two mules can work a plow.”

“I'd like to see them, sir.”

“Oh, you will have your chance.”

They both chuckled.

“From the rear, sir?”

“To be sure.”

“You'll have to teach me how to plow, Mr. Miller.” Will hoped his new master would not be too disappointed that he lacked such a basic skill.

Mr. Miller stepped over the little rise in the earth between fields. “It's not difficult.” His voice floated back to Will, reassuring.

They trudged over two more fields and reached the edge of the woods. Here the treetops blocked most of the moonlight. Will had to stick close to Mr. Miller's heels to find his way.

Soon the trees opened up into a small clearing, where the moonlight once again glistened on the moist grass. Scattered tree trunks testified to the labor that had produced this clearing. Will thought of the wide expanses of Mr. Miller's fields and wondered if he had cleared that land tree by tree with his own hands.

A log cabin sat in the clearing. Mr. Miller knocked on the plank door. It opened, and John Simon's good-natured face appeared in the lantern's luminous pool. The sight of the scar on his head struck Will with the force of a blow. That cross inside a circle had floated through his dreams in the week before he went to court with Master Good.

“Samuel, come in!” John said. “Did I forget something else?” He opened the door wide.

Will traipsed after Mr. Miller. Inside the tiny log-bound chamber, John's wife was lying in bed, propped up on a straw bolster.

She opened her eyes and raised her head, which gleamed at the temples with traces of perspiration. “Mr. Miller?”

Mr. Miller corralled Will with his arm and brought him forward. “This is Will Hanby, Clara. He came to see you at Enoch Washington's house. And, please, call me Samuel.”

“Well, it sure is a surprise to see you here, Mr.—Will.” She smiled. “Will.” Despite the wrinkles and blotches etched on her cheeks by over forty years of sun and wind, her smile was natural and lovely.

He smiled back. “Likewise, Miss Clara.” He balanced his armload again, as the quilt was sliding to the side.

“You can put that down over there by the chair.” Clara barely lifted her hand from the bed to point.

He complied while Mr. Miller explained the situation to the Simons.

“You best stay with us, young man,” Clara said.

“There's plenty of room in here,” John said as he sat on the edge of Clara's bed and enfolded her hand in his.

“I'm much obliged.” Will liked the Simons very much. Odd how he felt freer with ex-slaves than he did around Ann Miller, who seemed stiff and uncomfortable in his presence.

“I should be heading back,” Mr. Miller said.

“Say good night to your sweet little girls for me,” Clara said. “Maybe they can come for a visit tomorrow.”

Mr. Miller took his leave, and Will spread out his borrowed quilt in front of the hearth, trying to compress himself into a corner to give the Simons some room. Clara was weak from the malaria relapse that Mr. Miller had spoken of—she could not continue talking much longer. But John exchanged a few more words with Will, his brown face even warmer in the firelight. He asked him about his escape and marveled at the kindness of Mrs. Crandall.

“Bless her soul. Just like Mr. Miller. They know what the Good Book says. ‘For I was hungry, and you gave me meat; I was thirsty, and you gave me drink; I was a stranger, and you took me in.' Plenty of folk read it, but the Almighty bless the ones that do it.”

Rolled on his side by the fire, Will murmured assent. He was unaccustomed to discussing religion, but John's profound gratitude touched a chord of similar feeling in him.

John glanced at Clara to make sure she was dozing again. “I thank the Lord every night for what he's done for us already, no matter what he has in store.”

Will thought about it. The miracle of his escape bore a heavenly handprint that one would have to be a fool to ignore. His father would certainly have given all the credit to Providence, had he been in Will's place—he would credit heaven for the pirate-man and the brotherhood of the whip—for the seeming accident of stumbling to Mrs. Crandall's doorstep when he might have died alone beside the road.

“I will give thanks too,” Will said.

John nodded, pulled the quilt over his wife, and lay back to close his eyes. The concentration on his face was not sleep—he was praying. Will averted his gaze, conscious of intruding.

Facing the hearth, he closed his own eyes so the dim firelight flickered red through his eyelids. He could be in Master Good's barn right now—or buried behind it. He was alive and free tonight only by the grace of heaven. As he went deep into that thought, he felt a palpable presence all around him—something vast and holy, listening and waiting.
Lord, thank you for delivering me. Thank you for your servants who took me in as a stranger and a beggar. I will live out my gratitude in service. I will do for others what they have done for me. I am your man now
. He opened his eyes and stared at the low ceiling, astounded and filled with peace as never before.

The intense feeling of presence subsided, as if someone standing next to him had just moved away but remained in the room. The fire burned so low on the hearth that only a few embers sparked in the darkness, the smell of hardwood rich in the air. He watched the glowing fragments for a long while.

Eventually he realized that he would have to relieve himself before sleeping. He clambered to his feet, still careful of his healing scabs and his sore bones.

He slipped out the door as quietly as he could. The night air was cold and pure; he walked out into the trees where he could not possibly be seen or heard.

A night animal screeched a few hundred yards away in the treetops. He jumped. An owl? He had to calm his nerves; he was as skittish as a colt.