Honor in the Dust (11 page)

The shrill call of a cock somewhere in the distance drew Claiborn out of a fitful sleep. He had a sudden memory of his last meeting with Hyde, but bitter as it had been he felt suddenly as if he'd been delivered from a prison! At least it was over now. Their debts on the land had all been paid. He shivered and tried to burrow deeper beneath the thin bedcover, but the cold was penetrating and it seemed impossible to get any warmth in the frigid air of the small house. He slipped his arm around Grace who at once turned to him, and he saw that her eyes were open.

“Is it time to go?”

“Yes, it is.” But he held her for a moment. The trip would be difficult, especially in winter, but they were committed. Throwing the cover back, Claiborn felt the cold attack his body, and he dressed as quickly as he could. “We'll build up the fire.”

“There's no need if we're leaving.”

“We'll have a fire,” Claiborn said stubbornly, “and we've got enough food for a good breakfast. We'll need it today.”

“All right. I'll fix us a good one. We have some bacon left and we'll eat all the eggs the hens have laid.”

Grace slipped into her woolen dress and pulled on an outer garment sewn together from remnants of other clothes. She
drew on stockings and shoved her feet into shoes made of untanned cowhide. They did little to keep the feet warm, but at least they protected her feet from sharp stones.

Then Claiborn called out, “All right, Stuart, out of bed.” The boy sat up, his auburn hair tousled, his eyes half shut, groggy with sleep. “Is it time to leave?” he mumbled.

“After a fine breakfast, we'll load the cart and be off to Stoneybrook.”

Stuart threw the bedcover back and his thin shirt revealed his lean body.
He looks like a skinned rabbit,
Claiborn thought. “You get the fire going, all right?”

“Yes, sir.”

Claiborn smiled at the boy fondly.

While Stuart made the fire, Grace stepped outside. The day before, they had sold their goat and all but six of the chickens. These they would take with them to eat along the way. She stepped into the barn and quickly went to the familiar places where the eggs were lying. She found seven of them and murmured, “Thank you, Lord. This will be a good breakfast.” Turning, she went back into the house. “I've got seven eggs. We'll eat them all,” she said.

“We'll need to take some,” Claiborn protested.

“I have three dozen stored,” she answered.

“You are as thrifty as you are beautiful, woman!”

She had milked the cow before they had sold her to one of the neighbors for two pounds, and there was a bucket half filled with milk.

Grace busied herself with making the breakfast. When it was ready and the room was filled with the smell of frying bacon, they sat down to a better breakfast than they were accustomed to.

“Lord, bless this food. We thank you for it,” Claiborn said. “Be with us on our journey and keep us safe and in the center of your will. It is in the name of Jesus we ask it. Amen.”

“Amen,” Grace said. And then they attacked the breakfast. They ate until they were full, and then Claiborn said, “It's time to go. The cart is mostly loaded except for whatever food we're managing to take.”

They put on their heaviest clothing and stuffed the rest into the cart, a two-wheeled affair drawn by a scrawny horse that looked older than Methuselah. His rather fanciful name was Reginald. They had been given him for nothing from a farmer who had shrugged and said, “He ain't worth nothing to me. Take him if you want him.”

“I doubt this horse will make it all the way to Stoneybrook,” Claiborn said doubtfully. “I fear Reggie's had his best days.”

Grace laid her hand on the horse's scrawny neck. “God, please bless this animal and keep him strong and let him get us all the way home.”

The word
home
sent something along Claiborn's nerves. Home for him for more than a decade had been a meager house in Ireland. Home now had become something else. He doubted his mother's belief that they could somehow make a way with his brother, but he had overwhelmed his doubts with protests of faith.
God, you've sent this word to my mother, and she sent it to us. We're acting on it
, he prayed silently.
Please make a way with Edmund for us.

The feeble sun was just beginning to show itself in the east. It cast a watery light over the landscape as the three came out. “Well, we're bound for Stoneybrook. Are you ready, Stuart?”

“Yes, sir!”

“Then lead us out.”

Stuart at once went up to the head of the horse whose name was Reginald. “Come on, Reggie,” Stuart said and, seizing the bridle, led the horse forward. Reginald stepped out, and they all followed the path that led to the road. When they were about to turn onto the road, Claiborn stopped and looked back at the house for a brief moment. He turned to Grace, who was also looking back. “Are you afraid?”

“No, not in the least. God has told us to do this.”

“How about you, Stuart?”

“We'll be fine!”

“That's the way to talk!”

So their journey began. As they took the road leading to the coast, where they would take a boat across the sea, all three of them were thinking private thoughts. Once in a while one of them would speak cheerfully to the others. Although they soon became stiff with cold, at least they were on their way to a place where God had told them to go.

Grace had prepared a meal of sorts. It was their fourth day on the road, and they had consumed much of their provisions. She had roasted potatoes, the largest for Claiborn. She was saving the three chickens they had left.

“Watch this. It's hot,” she said, handing Stuart his potato.

“I love potatoes,” Stuart said. He took the knife from his father, split the potato open, and began nibbling at it. “Ow, it's hot!” he said.

“It's good, though. Put some salt on it,” Grace said.

The three of them ate their potatoes. It was not enough, but at least it was hot and put some warmth in them.

“How much further can we go today, Father?”

“I think we'll be able to make the coast the day after tomorrow if Reginald holds out.”

“He's doing fine.” They had brought along some feed, which was carefully meted out, and Reginald acted as if better fed than he had been in his whole life. Under their care and food, Reginald seemed to be reborn, even with his heavy load.

They traveled until the sun dipped into the west.

Suddenly Stuart said, “Look, there's where we can stay!”

“Where?” Grace asked.

“There. See that cave?”

“Go check it out, Son,” Claiborn said.

The boy was back in a moment. “It's just fine,” he said excitedly. “It goes back a way, and if it rains, we'll be nice and dry. There's plenty of dead wood outside too.”

“We'll cook one of our chickens,” Grace said.

“That will go down well.”

They made their way to the cave, and indeed it was the next best thing to their cottage. They put the cart in front of the cave. Claiborn unharnessed Reginald. There was some dead grass for him to graze on, and they staked him out.

“Now then, let's cook us a good supper,” Grace said with a smile. “Anybody hungry?”

“Everybody's hungry,” Stuart beamed.

An hour later they were sitting around a fire in the mouth of the cave. The chicken had been fried and half of it consumed. They could have eaten it all, but they spared enough for another meal. As they sat in front of the cheerful blaze, Stuart watched the yellow flames flicker. From time to time he would feed the fire, and finally he yawned and said, “I'm sleepy.”

“Let's keep the fire going tonight,” Claiborn said.

“I'll stay up and do that,” Stuart responded groggily.

“No, you get some sleep. I'll wake you up after a while, and you can watch for a while then.”

The boy crawled under one of the thin covers and was asleep at once.

“He's worn out,” Grace said.

“So are you. So am I, for that matter. This cold weather saps a man's strength.”

Despite their weariness, they sat enjoying the fire. Finally Grace said, “Are you afraid what it will be like when you face Edmund?”

“He won't welcome us, but we'll have done what we think God wants us to do. It'll be good to see Mother again.”

“I always liked your mother. She was always so sweet to me.”

“She could be sharp at times. I remember once she caught me picking some of her flowers. She just about wore my hide out with a switch, but she kissed me after she was done whipping me and said, “There, a whipping and a kiss.” He laughed at the thought. “I always loved her.”

“I'm anxious to hear more about the word she received from God.” Grace leaned forward and picked up a twig. She stuck the end of it in the flame, waited until it caught, and then held it up like a candle. She watched it until it burned down and then tossed it into the fire and said, “Let's build the fire up and go to sleep. You need rest, Claiborn.”

“Well, we're in England but we're broke.” Claiborn looked at the boat that had brought them across the sea. Their passage had taken practically all the money they had. “But we're here in England, and we won't starve.”

Those words came back to haunt him, for the days stretched out. The feed ran out, and Reginald was barely able to pull the cart at a stumbling walk. The weather grew worse. It was late one afternoon when Grace felt something touch her cheek. She glanced sharply up at the gray sky. She had been dreading this, as had Claiborn, and she wondered,
How will we get through a snowstorm?

“It's cold, isn't it, Mother?” Stuart was now walking beside her while Claiborn led the horse.

“I'm afraid we're in for it,” Claiborn called back.

And then it came, first in barely visible specks, shimmering ice on the wind, then in fat flakes. Two hours later the piled snow made for slow going, especially for Claiborn, whose bad leg was trembling under him.

“We'll have to take shelter somewhere, Claiborn,” Grace called out.

“All right. We'll stop at the next place we see.”

Thirty minutes later they saw the outline of a building. Claiborn advanced and called, “Hello, the house!”

Soon there came a reply. “Who be it?”

“It's me and my wife and son. We've been caught in the storm.”

“Well, I guess you'd better come in.”

Glad of the welcome, they moved forward.

A small old man, no more than five foot three, was looking up at Claiborn from the doorway of a small cabin, which was little more than a shack. Standing in the doorway, he stared at Grace and Stuart. “You don't be robbers, be you?”

“No, we're a Christian family journeying home.”

“Well, come in and thaw yourselves out.”

They went into the cabin. There was a fireplace and a crackling fire. A pot over the fire bubbled with something that smelled so good that it made Claiborn's jaws ache.

“Get over by the fire, lad, and thaw yourself out.” He turned, and they saw that his neck had been injured so that he could not straighten his head. “Be you hungry?”

“I'm afraid we are. We've come a long way.”

“Where you be going?”

“We're going to a place called Stoneybrook, my old home.”

“Bad time to be traveling. Sit you down. You can have some of this stew if you want it. I call it my everything stew.”

“Everything stew? What's in it?” Grace asked with a smile.

“Everything I trap or shoot goes in there. Just don't ask too many questions, and don't think about it too much. It's good.”

Soon the three of them were eating the stew out of wooden bowls carved by the old man. It was very good.

“I like your stew, sir,” Claiborn said. “It's fit for a king!”

“Posh, don't call me no sir. I'm just old Jeremy Watkins.” He served them more stew, and they filled up on it. “Good to have a little company. Tell me about yourselves. I get hungry for talk. Since me wife died, there's nobody to talk to much.”