Texas Angel, 2-in-1 (16 page)
“You know, Reverend,” Hunter said around a mouthful of biscuit, “I gotta ask you about what you were saying before. You know, about pleasure. Don’t God want us to have fun? It just don’t seem right that all fun is bad.”
“Of course it is not, Mr. Hunter. But given our limited human understanding, a man should approach such things cautiously. There is an old saying, ‘When in doubt, don’t.’ ”
“Maybe that’s why folks have such a hard time with religion. There’s just too many
don’ts
.”
“You would not view it in such a negative light, Mr. Hunter, if your whole being were set upon God. I do not see my faith in terms of the sacrifices I make but rather in the ultimate sacrifice God made in giving His son to die on the cross for the abject sinner that I am. Does giving up some temporal pleasure compare with that in magnitude? You should fall on your knees and praise God for His mercy instead of complaining that you can’t have as much
fun
as you’d like.”
“I reckon if you put it that way . . .” Hunter scratched the stubble of a beard on his face. He didn’t appear completely convinced. “I’m a Christian man, Reverend, and yet I just can’t let myself be so sober about life.”
“Perhaps as a man of God I am expected to hold to a higher standard.”
“Seems an awful heavy burden to be carrying around.” Hunter held his hands over the fire, warming them.
“I am equal to it, Mr. Hunter. By the grace of God.”
Hunter looked at Benjamin and shook his head, not in disagreement, but more with a sense of wonder or confusion, as if he could not understand anything about the burdens a man of God carried. Even Benjamin had difficulty understanding at times. And at the moment he couldn’t understand why he felt such a loss that he had nearly forgotten what that moment of laughter and enjoyment of the river crossing had felt like. In truth, he had forgotten—though not entirely—how very
good
it had felt.
A
FTER COMPLETING THE CIRCUIT
, Benjamin returned home and stayed for two weeks before commencing the circuit once again. Rebekah, of course, complained, but her laments were becoming so much the norm in their marriage that he found it easy to ignore her. She was growing so morose and withdrawn that he feared she would bring him and his entire ministry down with her if he let her.
With each day Benjamin felt the weight of the burden for his parish grow heavier, and he knew he must minister unrelentingly until he had well established the spirit of God in his assigned region. But the needs he encountered were so great that he was certain he would never come to the end of them.
The members of his circuit parish always welcomed him and had never ending requests for his services—marriages, funerals, baptisms. Yet he never ceased to have the sense that they wanted only the form of faith, the means to comply with the social standards of the times.
A few, of course, were eager to hear the Word of God and to talk of spiritual matters. But many more than that received such matters politely, as if they knew religious instruction must be tolerated in order to have the service they desired. Seldom did he find a Bible in a home. Yes, many in his parish couldn’t read, but that was no excuse for the absence of the Word of God. He was certain they didn’t speak of spiri.tual matters when he wasn’t around. Once when he was invited to dinner at a home, one of the children was so nonplussed as Benjamin delivered grace that he stared openmouthed at the reverend. Later, the boy asked why the minister was talking to his plate!
Conversions were so few that he was going to be embarrassed to send his six-month report to the mission board. Thus, as he set out on his circuit on a cold autumn day, upon what would be his third ride of the circuit, he determined to bring about a revival among his flock. He had prayed and fasted for five days before setting out, beseeching God to bring a true spiritual awakening upon the lost souls entrusted to him. He had sent word ahead throughout the circuit that he would have a two-day meeting at one of the central homes in his area.
He was gratified when he reached the Butler home to find about fifty people waiting for him. Tents dotted the meadow around the house, and there was a charged atmosphere over the company. Benjamin wanted to think this was due to an anticipation of the descent of the Holy Spirit, but it was plain many of the folks were using the gathering for social interaction as well.
He complained to John Hunter, who had accompanied him to the meeting. “They are more interested in visiting than in hearing the Word of God.”
“Well, Reverend, most of these folk, especially the women, go for weeks and even months without seeing another soul besides their families.”
Benjamin thought of Rebekah and how she so often groused about that very thing. However, he had asked her to come to this meeting with him, but she had declined because Isabel was feeling poorly. He wondered if that was a mere excuse, but it was true the child did have a bit of a cough. At least Micah had come, though Benjamin had had to force the boy with threats of eternal damnation.
The first day of the meetings Benjamin preached two services, both with rousing sermons on repentance, exhorting the people to give up their evil ways and come to God. He felt at times as if he were speaking to a wall. Faces stared stonily back at him, appearing to have no concept of their precarious position on the edge of eternity. The only excitement roused that day was when five Indians showed up.
Several women screamed, and one fainted. The men were obviously regretful they had not been allowed to carry their guns into the service. Benjamin had seen only a few Indians during his travels, and those from a distance. What he knew of the Indian population of Texas was that the two tribes thought to be the most dangerous—Apache and Comanche—were far to the west in regions largely unsettled. The tribes here in the eastern settled regions were for the most part peaceful.
John Hunter sidled up to Benjamin. “They ain’t Tonkawas.” Benjamin knew the Tonkawas were a rather docile tribe who did little more mischief than steal and drink whiskey. “I think they’re Karankawas, though they are a mite far from their usual habitat along the coast. But they sure smell like Karankawas.”
Benjamin had noted a sickening odor emanating from the new arrivals. “What
is
that smell?”
“They rub their bodies with fish oil as protection from mosquitoes.”
The smell, of course, was the least of Benjamin’s concerns even if it was the most pungent. “Are they dangerous?”
“They ain’t as hostile as the Apache, but they ain’t the most friendly, either. It’s said they are cannibals.” But in response to Benjamin’s shocked expression, Hunter added quickly, “They won’t do nothing in a crowd like this.”
Because of his place of leadership—and also because he knew he had the most to lose if the meeting broke up—Benjamin strode boldly up to the Indians.
“Do you speak English?” he asked.
“Speak white man’s tongue,” said one, a tall, stately man, though all the Indians were quite tall.
“You are welcome to join us.”
“You have party?”
“This is a church service.” Benjamin had never felt a calling to minister to the Indians in Texas. For the most part, his hands were so full with the needs of the whites that he simply had no time to consider the dark-skinned residents. But he certainly was not opposed to converting a few natives. Perhaps they would be more receptive to the Word of God than the lackadaisical settlers. He added, “Sit down and hear the Word of God.”
The Indian said something to his companions in their language, then the group sat on the ground, keeping at the edge of the gathering. Several of those nearest the Indians scooted discreetly away from the visitors.
After assuring everyone that there was no need for alarm, Benjamin continued with his program, pausing in his sermon to lead the group in a few hymns before getting back to preaching.
Whether it was the disruption and distraction of the Indians or simply the ambivalence of his audience, he felt the day was a complete disappointment. He had only two converts.
Benjamin prayed and fasted all that night, and when the gathering came together the next day, he felt in top form. The Indians had returned, but by now the people had grown accustomed to them and no longer feared them. Nevertheless, Benjamin made sure his audience had more to capture their attention than a few Indians. That day he delivered what he believed was the most inspired sermon of his life.
“ ‘O generation of vipers, who hath warned you to flee from the wrath to come?’ ” Benjamin waved his worn black Bible in the air as he quoted from memory the Scripture. “ ‘Bring forth therefore fruits meet for repentance. And think not to say within yourselves, We have Abraham to our father: for I say unto you, that God is able of these stones to raise up children unto Abraham.
“ ‘And now also the ax is laid unto the root of the trees: therefore every tree which bringeth not forth good fruit is hewn down, and cast into the
fire
.’ ” He laid great emphasis on the word
fire
, and his voice shook.
He spent the next two hours in that vein, expounding on the fires of hell, the wrath of God, and the prospects of eternal damnation. He went on delivering Scriptures and impassioned speech until his voice became raw. Only then did he let the people have a break, but they were called back after the briefest of midday meals, and he continued his harangue for another two hours.
He was trembling with exhaustion by the time night fell, but when he delivered the altar call, twenty people came forward. Many were weeping; two were slain in the Spirit; even the Indians seemed excited, though none came forward. It was the kind of day Benjamin and every preacher dreamed of. He felt he stood at the very threshold of eternity. These people had come face-to-face with the wrath of God in the person of Benjamin Sinclair and had turned from their wicked ways.
N
O ONE CAME RUNNING OUT
into the yard to greet Benjamin when he rode up to his cabin. He was alone, having sent Micah home with John Hunter after the revival so that Benjamin could continue his circuit and visit those who had failed to attend the meetings.
A stream of smoke belched from the cabin chimney, so he knew they must be home. He would have thought at least someone might have come to the door to see who was approaching. Perhaps something was wrong.
Quickly dismounting and tethering his horse, he hurried to the cabin and threw open the door. He was greeted by a scene of quiet tranquility. Rebekah was bent over the hearth stirring a kettle. Isabel was playing with her doll in a corner, and Leah was lying peacefully in her cradle. Only Micah was missing.
Rebekah straightened her back. “Oh, you are home.” There was no smile, no warmth, hardly even a greeting in the statement of pure fact.
“Yes.” He bit back any words about his welcome, or lack thereof. He put his rifle up in the rack under the one he had left for his family, then he strode to Isabel, bent down, and kissed her cheek. “Your papa is home.”
Her brow knit, as if she wasn’t quite certain what kind of response was expected, then said quietly, “Hello, Papa.”
He did the same with Leah and was pleased to note that she appeared to be thriving. Then he approached his wife, secretly and somewhat bitterly hoping she noted her place in the succession of his greetings.
“That smells good.” He leaned over the kettle, inhaling. “What is it?”
“Stew.”
“After days of hardtack and jerky, it will be welcome.”
“Your parishioners didn’t feed you?” Finally she was making conversation, albeit stiff and stilted.
“Yes, occasionally, but no one’s cooking compares to yours, Rebekah.” He made his tone gentle, hoping somehow to break through the barriers between them.
“It will be ready soon. You have time to wash the dust of the trail off first.”
“Where’s Micah?” He poured water from a pail into a basin and, after stripping off his coat and waistcoat, began to wash.
“He found a grove of pecans and has been checking daily to see when they will ripen.”
“Very industrious of him.” Benjamin took a towel and wiped his hands and face.
“How good that you approve.” Her tone was still cool.
Ten silent minutes later, Micah returned. His greeting mirrored his mother’s, respectful, reserved, distant. Benjamin tried to bridge the gap between them by telling stories of his experiences on the circuit, but he stopped when there was little response from his listeners. There was not even enthusiasm over his successful camp meeting. Micah acted as if he hadn’t been there.
Benjamin ached inside. He could hardly eat the meal set before him but forced it down so as not to offend further. Afterward, Rebekah told Micah and Isabel to take the pail to the creek for more water. It was immediately obvious Rebekah wanted to speak with him alone.
She sat down heavily on the bench by the table. “I’m pregnant,” she said flatly.
“You are sure?” Though lame, he could think of no other response. Any enthusiasm on his part would surely have been tossed back in his face.
“Of course I am sure.”
He tried to think of some way to comfort her. “Rebekah, the Word of God says that a quiver full of arrows is a blessing—”
“Don’t preach to me, Benjamin Sinclair! I’ve had enough of your sanctimonious blatherings.” She jumped up. “The only blessing will be if I die giving birth to this baby.”
“Rebekah—!”
At that moment a racket outside interrupted his impending rebuke.
“Mama! Papa! Look who’s here!” Micah’s tone was full of a glee that had never been bestowed upon Benjamin.
The door burst open, and three figures bounded into view.
“Uncle Haden’s here!” piped in Isabel, ending with a giggle as the object of her announcement caught her up in his arms and gave her a tickle.
Haden Sinclair made quite a picture standing in the doorway of Benjamin’s cabin; Isabel was tucked under one arm, laughing, and Micah stood at the man’s side, grinning. Benjamin swallowed back the bitter taste of gall in his throat.
