The Promise of Morning (29 page)

The grasslands along the road drowsed in the July sunshine. When the buggy rattled over the plank bridge, she roused herself, gathered her reticule and picked up the jar filled with molasses. Uncle Arthur helped Ellie from the buggy, then reached into his jacket pocket and handed her a long envelope. “I stopped at the post office this afternoon. This came, and I’m afraid to open it. What if it’s telling me Ruby’s dead?”

Ellie looked at the envelope, addressed in formal Copperplate script. “Sangamon County Circuit Court” was written in the upper left-hand corner. Her conscience stirred. She knew what the envelope contained, even if he didn’t. “Let’s go inside. No sense standing here in the hot sun.”

As he followed her up the steps, Ellie’s mind jumped to the newspaper she’d shoved to the back of her kitchen cupboard. She hung her bonnet on a peg inside the door, then led the way down the hall. “We’ll go in the parlor. It may be cooler there.”

They sat side by side on the divan under the window. Pretending to be mystified, she picked at the seal on the envelope, taking as much time as possible before revealing the contents. When she shook out the folded papers, one glance told her they represented Ruby’s divorce filing.

She offered the pages to Uncle Arthur, but he pushed them back. “You read it and give me the short version.” He pointed at the closely written script. “If it’s from a court, most of it’s going to be legal lingo anyways. Just tell me if Ruby’s all right.”

Ellie’s heart felt like a stone. She read through the formal script, looking for pertinent phrases while Arthur drummed his fingers on his leg. When she’d stalled as long as possible, she spread the pages open on her lap. “This is a divorce petition. Aunt Ruby has filed for a divorce, claiming you treated her with ‘repeated cruelty’ for the last two years.”

“What!” Uncle Arthur jumped to his feet, his face so red it made his beard look like mounded snow. “Let me see that.” He scanned the sheets of paper, then threw them on the floor.

“Calm down.” Ellie placed a hand on his arm. “You’ll have apoplexy, getting angry like this.”

He shook her hand off. “Repeated cruelty, my foot! I’ll show her repeated cruelty.” He turned, giving Ellie a narrow smile. “I’ll go to Springfield and cross-file for adultery.”

Uncle Arthur stamped out of the room. She hurried after him, but arrived in the hallway just as the back door slammed. The next sound she heard was a ringing crack, followed by a thud. When Ellie threw open the door, he lay sprawled on the ground below a broken stair tread.

22

Matthew approached Tylerville, the southernmost point on his circuit, with a sense of relief. Weariness rode his shoulders like a cloak. From now on, his journey would take him back toward Beldon Grove. He’d already been traveling more than three weeks, and knew it would probably take at least that long to get home. He wished he hadn’t told Ellie he’d only be gone a month. He ran his tongue over the cut on his lip. Time wasn’t the only thing he couldn’t predict.

Since heading south from Adams Station, he’d considered the notion that perhaps Aunt Ruby might be traveling with the troupe scheduled to perform
Macbeth
in New Camden. If so, should he delay his return home further by detouring to find the woman? And if he found her, what should he do?

Normally certain in his judgments, Matthew found himself doubting his decisions, almost to the point of paralysis. Riding in one direction, he considered going in another. Stopping for the night, he wondered if he should travel farther. And the paramount question, was he too hasty in leaving Beldon Grove?

He glanced around as he entered the scattered settlement, taking in the narrow dirt track, fronted by a collection of weathered cabins. Matthew turned his horse toward the hitching rail in front of a building with “Dr. Homer Best, Apothecary” painted on a sign next to the door. The local doctor would be a good one to ask about a meeting place. He’d likely know the community as well as anyone.

He tried the latch of the apothecary, but found it locked. A tattered curtain over the window blocked his view of the interior. As Matthew stood in the dusty street pondering his next move, a woman’s voice called to him from a store he’d passed when he entered the settlement.

“You looking for the doctor?”

“Not exactly.” He turned in her direction, noting with surprise her mannish attire. He felt himself flush at the sight of a woman wearing trousers, and tried desperately to fix his eyes anywhere but on her legs.

Evidently she saw his discomfort and laughed as she held out her hand. “I’m Carrie Boughten. My husband owned this store, but he died so I’m stuck trying to make a living off of it. I find it easier to do a man’s work in a man’s clothing.”

Her height matched Matthew’s. He shook her hand awkwardly, startled by the strength of her grip.

“Guess you never saw a female in trousers, eh?”

Something in her speech sounded familiar, but he couldn’t place what it was. “Uh, no.”

She laughed again, showing white teeth against leathery skin. “C’mon in and rest yourself.” She pointed to the open doorway of the store. “Tell me what brings you to an out-of-the-way hole like Tylerville.”

Once inside, she pointed to two rocking chairs next to a fireplace on the far wall. The hearth was swept bare, although a basket of kindling stood at the ready. The shelves in the store showed only a meager stock. Matthew couldn’t see how she survived running such a poor business.

Carrie smiled at his expression. “Middle of the day, middle of the week.” Her glance took in the store. “Got plenty of time to talk. On Saturday a few farmers and their wives come in. Then I’ll be busy for a spell.”

There it was again. Her words reminded him of something, or someone.

She poured a dipperful of water from a barrel into a tin cup and handed it to him. “Doc’s gone out to deliver a baby,” she said, as though there’d been no break in the conversation since she first asked her question. “He ought to be here tomorrow, if it’s him you’re wanting.”

“I thought maybe the doctor could steer me to someplace where I could hold a meeting.” Matthew settled into one of the rockers with an audible sigh of relief. “My name’s Matthew Craig. Tyler-ville’s one of the stops assigned to me on my circuit.”

“You’re a preacher?”

He nodded.

She snorted with laughter. “Well, the doc is the last person you’d want to tell you where to have a meeting. The old codger would probably be struck dead if ’n he stepped inside a church.” Carrie shook her head, eyes dancing with amusement.

Her laughter was contagious. Matthew couldn’t help but smile as he asked, “Well, then, who around here should I see?”

“Why not me? I know ever body in town, and just happen to have plenty of room right here in back of the store.” She pointed to a drooping piece of burlap tacked over a doorway. “Folks have held Sunday school here in the past. But it’s been a sight of time since we had a real preacher. Never figured to see another one, for a fact.”

“Why is that?”

“Town’s dying.” She waved her hand toward the open door. “People pushing on west, looking for something better. Or flat giving up and going back wherever they came from.”

In spite of her outrageous attire, Matthew felt drawn to the tall woman. He smiled inwardly. If any ruffians tried to disrupt the meeting, he’d wager Carrie Boughten could deal with them single-handed.

He leaned back in his chair and took a swallow of water. “I expect you could find me a place to sleep too.”

She nodded. “There’s a family down the street that’s real good about taking in travelers. I’d let you stay here, but folks would talk.” She tugged at the knees of her pants and crossed her ankles. A moment of silence dropped between them. Carrie broke it by giving Matthew a quizzical glance and asking, “You said your name is Craig? Where you from?”

“Up north, in Beldon Grove.”

“Oh.” She shifted in her chair, the cane seat creaking under her weight. “I knew a family by the name of Craig, back home in Kentucky.”

Realization dawned in Matthew’s mind. She was from Kentucky. That’s why her speech sounded familiar. “Lots of Craigs in Kentucky. Which part are you from?”

“Marysville. It’s just across the Ohio a piece.”

Now Matthew sat up straight and studied her. “I’m from Marys-ville, but I haven’t been back in over twenty-five years. I had a letter from one of my brothers a number of years ago, telling me of our mother’s death. Far as I know, my pa still lives there.”

“Is your pa Marsden Craig?”

“You know him?” Matthew rocked back in his chair.

“Know of him. It’s your ma I remember.” Carrie’s face softened. “She was a saint. Anybody needed help when they was sick, your ma would do all she could to ease them through their suffering.”

Matthew looked at the floor to hide the tears that blurred his vision. He’d been an itinerant preacher for five years when he received the letter from his brother Adam telling him of their mother’s death. Given the hostility that existed between himself and his father, he hadn’t returned home. When he raised his head, he found Carrie looking at him as though she could read his thoughts.

Her brown eyes locked on his. “Your pa’s an old man now. Last I heard he’s still on the farm with your brothers.”

“And his slaves?” Matthew spit the word into the room. “They still there?”

“I reckon. Some, anyways. That what’s keeping you away?”

“It’s why I left Kentucky. A man shouldn’t be able to own another man. It’s flat wrong, and I told Pa that.”

Carrie chuckled. “Bet he didn’t take kindly to you telling him what’s what.” She gazed at him. “You don’t look to be all that old—you must’ve been a stripling when you left.”

“I was eighteen. Old enough.”

“No need to get huffy. I’m just thinking maybe it’s time you went back—patched things up before it’s too late. Tylerville’s only a couple days’ ride from the Ohio.”

Matthew stood and handed her his empty cup. He’d never considered returning to his father’s farm, and he certainly didn’t need advice from a stranger. “Thank you for the hospitality. If you’ll point the way to the cabin where I’m to spend the night, I’ll be on my way.”

Carrie studied him through narrowed eyes. “You sleep on what I’m saying, Reverend. We can talk tomorrow about setting up for a meeting.”

When Matthew walked into Carrie’s store the next morning, she had drawn aside the burlap curtain over the interior doorway and was raising a cloud of dust with her broom. “Been longer than I thought since we had a meeting here.” She flipped her thick buckwheat-colored braid over her shoulder. “I pushed those crates aside to make space for a couple benches. You can shove a flour barrel over to the front for a preaching stand. Then help me tote the seats from my house.”

“How many folks do you think will come out?”

“The Wainwrights—”

Matthew recognized the name of the family in whose cabin he’d spent the night.

“—Old Man Carter, Isabelle Dooley . . .” She leaned on the broom, thinking. “Otherwise, I’m not certain. Word will spread. I’ve already got it started. We’ll just have to wait for tonight and see.”

He’d walked the length of the settlement that morning before arriving at Carrie’s and, not counting the apothecary and saloon, saw only a few cabins. There were bound to be other homesteads in the area. He figured thirty or forty people overall, including children. Somewhat less than Adams Station.

“You think there’s enough space for everyone?”

A smile twitched at the corner of Carrie’s mouth. “Most likely.” Her grin broadened. “If not, we’ll move outside. Plenty of room there.”

Matthew tilted a barrel sideways. Using his left arm for support, he rolled the barrel to the front of the room. From that position, he’d be able to see gathered worshipers and watch the window behind them for any signs of troublemakers. Once he felt satisfied with the arrangement, he followed Carrie to her house next door.

Her cabin bore all the signs of femininity that she bypassed in her attire. The table in the main room was covered with a blue cloth, embroidered around the edges with daisies. The benches on both sides had been painted black and stenciled. In front of the fireplace she’d placed a ladder-back armchair upholstered in floral needlepoint. Matthew took in the intricate rose and oak leaf pattern, then turned to Carrie. He couldn’t keep his surprise from showing on his face.

She met his gaze squarely. “Gives me something to do during the winters. Besides, I like pretty things. Don’t have to dress like a girl in order to think like one.”

Uncomfortable, he looked away. The female touches brought Ellie to his mind. He frowned, wondering if he’d ever told her how nice she looked in her new pink dress. He hoped so. “Good to see a woman’s touch. Especially way out here.”

Carrie’s face softened for a moment, then she turned brisk. “Help me with this bench.” She lifted one end and waited for him to take the other. When they had the storeroom arranged, she stepped back and surveyed their efforts. “This ought to do.”

To Matthew’s eyes, two benches and several packing crates barely filled half the space. “Where’s everyone going to sit?”