Dinner with the Coffin family and Deborah was torture for Nathaniel.
Beautiful Deborah Wall helped her gray-haired cousin Katy set the table, while Mr. Coffin came into the dining room from his office in the front of the house. He helped Little Catherine wash up at the stand by the door. Grandmother Coffin came in from the parlor, where she’d been knitting. She and Mr. Coffin talked and laughed about something to do with samples for his paint business.
The Lord hadn’t spared a miracle for the Coffin girl or one for Pa in his accident or Ma in her last illness. The Lord had no good reason to let good people suffer and die. The Lord also had no reason at all to save Nathaniel, just out of His great mercy. But Ma and Pa were in heaven now. Perhaps part of believing was trusting the Lord to make all those losses worthwhile somehow.
The littlest girl didn’t seem to mind her condition. She stared at Nathaniel as Deborah ladled potato soup out of a large tureen. Deborah, with her long slender arms, could reach across the table and serve everyone within moments—almost as quick as a gambler stacking a deck of cards. He should tell her that sometime—when he felt well enough to enjoy seeing her dark eyes sparkle and cheeks turn pink.
Mr. and Mrs. Coffin and Grandmother Coffin talked about how soon the neighbors could rebuild the bridge. Little Catherine bumped her water cup with her shaky hands, and Nathaniel grabbed it before it spilled. The two of them smiled at each other.
“Are you home from school today?” he asked.
Little Catherine looked sad. “Maybe someday I will be strong enough to go with Sarah and Elizabeth. I pray so.”
He nodded, unsure what to say next.
A moment later the little girl brightened. “In the summer Jesse and Henry might come home.”
Nathaniel tried to place them.
“My older brothers,” Little Catherine added.
Deborah Wall glanced at them out of the corner of her eye. When she’d served them all, they bowed their heads for a silent prayer.
How long had it been since he was in such a home? At table with a family for a meal, not having something charred over a campfire or served half raw at some tavern. So much like home in North Carolina, when Ma and Pa were still alive. Nathaniel’s eyes burned, and his throat seized up. Tears? In front of these strangers? God help him. He kept his head down.
He looked up to find Mr. Coffin studying him. “I hope thy business with the Lord is profitable, Nathaniel Fox.”
They all looked at him.
Should he tell them of the change in his life? Not just yet. He might give way to tears. He shook his head. “You’re right. I do have business with the Lord but am not sure of His terms. I’m at a crossroads.”
Mr. Coffin set his spoon down. “The Lord has said if thee loves Him, He will send the Comforter to be with thee and guide thee.”
Nathaniel looked down to hide his expression. For some reason that brought him close to tears again. He nodded and cleared his throat. “I hope to be well enough to travel soon.”
Mr. Coffin nodded. “Has thee anywhere to go?”
Nathaniel hesitated. How would following Christ change his plans to move on? “No, sir. Well—I don’t know.”
Mr. Coffin paused before speaking. “Tell us thy mind, Nathaniel.” He added a pinch of salt to his soup.
He watched them eat. The soup looked and smelled better all the time. “Maybe I will have some of that soup, Miss Wall.”
She nodded and smiled briefly, mostly with her dark eyes, still looking bemused by him.
The hot soup eased the congestion in his chest, and its buttery scent reminded him he hadn’t eaten for almost a whole day. He’d been raised with better manners but scooped it up like a hog eating corn. He let their conversation go on without him until he’d emptied his bowl.
He gathered his nerve and glanced around at them. “About someplace to stay… I do have family around New Garden. Somewhere. My uncle is George Fox.”
Little Catherine raised her head. “Oh. Who founded the Society of Friends? I did not guess thee was that old, neighbor.”
Nathaniel had to laugh. “No dear, they have the same name. My uncle is about Friend Coffin’s age.”
The older man smiled slightly. “As the storekeeper of course, I know most everyone, and everyone else knows even more people. I took the liberty of inquiring of Friend Fox and his wife. They said they are missing a nephew who is a blacksmith.”
Nathaniel looked up from his soup again. Telling the truth made him feel free. “That would be me.”
Little Catherine had more questions. “Neighbor Fox, didn’t thee say thy mare was in foal to Messenger?”
Deborah had passed bread to Nathaniel, who was mopping up the last of his soup. He paused. “You overheard?”
Little Catherine looked down, her face turning pink. “Yes I did.”
He chuckled. “You must be able to hear as well as an owl. Yes, she was in foal to him. But—I have little if any hope of seeing her again.”
“If the Lord wants thee to have her…”
“I hope so.”
Mr. Coffin spread apple butter on a piece of bread. “How did thee come to own her?”
For a long moment, Nathaniel stared into his soup bowl. “I bought her after a claim race. She didn’t look like anything, and no one else wanted her. Despite her bloodlines.”
“At a horse race.” Mr. Coffin blinked.
Nathaniel took a deep breath. Other than drinking establishments, there were probably no places more worldly. “That’s not how I was raised. My parents were Friends. I fear they wouldn’t be proud of me at all now.”
Little Catherine and Mrs. Coffin gasped and stared at him. Deborah Wall stopped, the ladle in midair, and stared at him, too. Now that they knew some of his past, they would give up any notions that he could be civilized.
Nathaniel felt worn out and ill. “Excuse me.”
Katy Coffin nodded.
He got up and hopped over to his chair by the fire. The chair creaked and cracked under his weight. He couldn’t sit still as his shivering grew more pronounced.
Deborah Wall left the dining room. Her brown dress swirled around her. Watching her gliding walk was almost worth getting sick again. He would love to see her expression if he compared her to a dancer.
She fetched some quilts. He managed to catch her eye and smiled at her. Even though his teeth were chattering, he had to tease her. “I thought you might throw those coverlets at me, Miss Wall.”
As he’d hoped, her cheeks colored. “The thought crossed my mind, but that is not how the Lord would want me to act.”
“Of course. Do unto others.”
“Not quite. Rather my kindness to thee is like heaping coals of fire on thy head.”
He stared up at her. His teeth chattered. “Coals of fire sound good right now. You d—d—don’t have to wait on me.”
“I would do the same for anyone else.” She fetched out a hot brick covered in ashes from the fire and, with a pair of tongs, carried it over to him. Muscles in her slender forearms corded from the strain. “Pick up thy feet.”
She arranged it for him then stood back. “Warmer now?”
He shook his head, feeling dizzier. Shivering overtook him. The hot brick felt no better than a chunk of ice. “No, not yet.” He raised his head slowly. It felt like it weighed a ton. He searched her face. What would it be like for beautiful Deborah to look kindly on him? He could start by being honest. “I don’t feel well at all.”