Ice crunched as Deborah stepped through puddles hidden by wet snow. In these few minutes between cleaning up after dinner and starting supper, she’d begun searching the creek banks for Nathaniel’s missing horse.
Every few minutes the sun broke through the torn gray clouds, their white edges glowing like molten silver against the blue sky. Red birds flitted in and out of clumps of willows. Along the creek banks, the sycamore trees’ white branches contrasted with the dark clouds. The water still sped along far beyond the banks, rushing around the trees and bubbling over smaller obstacles, such as fallen limbs or the wreckage of the bridge.
Her foot slipped and went through the ice up to her ankle, over her boot top. The sting of icy water took her breath away. She was about to fall. She held on to a tree branch until she got her balance.
Perhaps that best illustrated her spiritual life: Trying to balance on her own but needing the Lord. He was the Vine; she was one of the branches. … And apart from Him, she could do nothing. If the Spirit guided her words and deeds, Nathaniel could see and respond to “That of God” in her.
The Spirit might not lead her to tell Nathaniel that he was a wicked sinner. That work most likely belonged to someone else. Strife and accusations were the products of worldly wisdom, not of the Lord. She needed so much help. Lord, speak to my condition.
She might have put the good work of helping runaway slaves ahead of following the Spirit. Perhaps she’d made an idol of helping the fugitives, since it took her mind off the looming possibility of never marrying for love. Who in the Bible was distracted with much serving?
She found a better place to stand, on a fallen log sprinkled with icy, half-melted snow. No sign of any animal up or down the creek, although she saw deer tracks and the paw prints of rabbits and foxes. Being outdoors helped her find peace. “Cumbered about much serving…” Mary and Martha hosted Jesus at their home, and He told Martha that.
Perhaps butting heads with Nathaniel Fox showed her where she’d gone wrong, how she’d lost sight of her first love for the Lord.
Out of the abundance of the heart the mouth speaks. Lord, I had no idea I cherished such iniquity. Lord, Thou knowest how I need Thee. Forgive me for my anger. Search me, O God. … Guide me in right paths. Even if that means trying to show kindness to that man. Thou hast commanded us to pray for our enemies. Precious heavenly Father, have mercy on that man. Heal his leg, so he can go away soon.
She put her hand to her eyes and studied the woods and creek banks as far as she could see. No sign of the missing horse.
The creak of a door woke Nathaniel. He opened one eye as Deborah Wall came into the dining room, her cheeks rosy from the cold. “I looked for thy horse, neighbor, but found nothing.”
“You went clear out to the creek? I appreciate it.”
She nodded and hung up her cloak and bonnet. “Oh yes. I was glad for a chance to go outside. And I took the liberty of bringing this for thee.” She held out a dripping cheesecloth bag stained from years of berry preserves. “Ice. Plenty of it, right now. If thee is going to break something, winter is a good time to do so.”
He smiled. “It hurts, but I don’t think it’s broken.” He took the bag and draped it over his swollen, throbbing knee. The splint helped to hold it in just the right place. “Thank you, Miss Wall.”
“I wish only to treat thee as I would want—or how I was treated the last time I got thrown by a horse and hurt.”
Nathaniel wondered if he were dreaming. She was beautiful, she liked the outdoors, and she liked horses. He had to pause and remind himself to breathe. He could foresee falling in love with Miss Wall and embarrassing himself if he wasn’t careful. What had happened to the hard-drinking, gambling bounty hunter he professed to be? “You got thrown by a horse?”
She smiled ever so briefly, but a real smile it was. “Oh yes, we used to ride all the time before there were roads. When my folks came, Indians still lived around here. As long as the Friends wore their plain clothes, the Indians recognized them as peaceable people, even during the War of 1812.”
“Was your family from New Garden? In North Carolina?” What if Deborah’s family or the Coffins knew of his family? He could almost feel connected here.
“My family came in 1808, I think. The Coffins came later.” She studied him and the ice pack. “I think thee could use a towel or two.”
Someone rapped on the door that faced Mill Street. She strode across the room, her brown skirt and white apron swirling, peeked out, and then threw open the door. “Pa!”
A tall, thin, dark-haired man came in, took Deborah Wall’s hands, and kissed her cheek. “Hello, dear one.”
Nathaniel stared. Did he know the man?
Then he recognized the voice—one he thought he’d heard last night.
Deborah’s father was purposeful. “Hello, neighbor. I’m glad to see thee looking well.”
Nathaniel gripped the sides of his chair and tried to stand up, but the room slid sideways and started to go in circles. Deborah and her father lunged forward and grabbed him. They helped him back to his seat. “Not perfectly well, sir, but better than last night.”
Mr. and Mrs. Coffin joined them. “Friend Wall, how good to see thee,” Mrs. Coffin said.
Deborah’s father smiled in return. “I brought these. We prayed thy guest would soon be well enough to use them.” He held out a pair of crutches. “I trust our Deborah won’t need these again for a while.”
She looked down and shook her head at some memory.
“Thank you, sir.” Nathaniel propped them near his chair.
Mr. Coffin cleared his throat. “The goods thee received recently, Friend Wall—”
“Oh yes. Loaned them out already.” Mr. Wall smiled.
Mr. Coffin nodded as though that pleased him.
What did they mean by that?
Mr. Wall, still wearing his coat and hat, focused on Nathaniel. “I also believe I have good tidings for thee. A stray horse came to the farm—a brown mare with a star. She looks like she might be in foal. Would that be thy horse?”
Nathaniel sat up. “Must be her! How did you know?”
“I caught a glimpse of her last night.”
Nathaniel put his hand over his eyes and took a deep breath. That led to a coughing spell. “Answer to prayer,” he sputtered.
They all looked at him with a variety of puzzled expressions, except for Deborah Wall, who looked at him suspiciously. She must think his change of heart was an act. Maybe someday she would know that he wouldn’t turn away from his heavenly Father. He’d made his decision and finally felt peace. Thank You, Lord.
Mr. Wall cleared his throat. “We have room in the barn and plenty of hay. I would be glad to keep her for thee until thee is more settled, neighbor.”
“Thank you, sir.” He smiled wryly. “I don’t know how long that will take or where I’ll end up.”