The funeral was awful. Absolutely awful. Adria would have gone outside to stand with Louis, but Ruth gripped her arm and insisted she stay in the seat beside her. She was right, of course. Ruth was always right. Adria couldn’t go stand with the Sanderson slaves. Not without causing upset and problems for Louis, for Ruth, for herself.
Not that she would have made any kind of scene. She could have just stepped out into the open air where at least she could breathe and not feel as though she might melt in a puddle of mourning sweat. Why couldn’t white be the color of mourning? Angel colored. But no, everything had to be black. Black soaked up the heat. Stored it against your skin. Made you wonder which would happen first—you fainting dead away or the priest finally concluding his elaborate praises of the deceased.
Adria felt damp with sweat. Even her head was sweating under the black hat kept solely for funerals. Many of the ladies around Adria looked every bit as miserable. Several pulled fans from their reticules and waved them back and forth while others glared at them with disapproval. Adria envied their bit of stirred air. Better a bit of disrespect than a second funeral featuring you.
Ruth meanwhile sat perfectly still except for the moment she had grasped Adria’s arm to keep her in her seat. Ruth’s face barely glistened and no sweat drops ran down past her eyes as they did on Adria’s face. If Adria lived a hundred years, she would never be the lady Ruth was almost effortlessly.
Carlton sat with his family close to the front, as befitted their position as a family of wealth in the community. Carlton had glanced back at her once without a smile. In fact, she wasn’t even sure he was looking for her and not Janie Smith. Not that she cared, she tried to tell herself. She had other things to worry about.
But she did care. Whether she wanted to say yes to marrying Carlton or not, she did love him. At least she was pretty sure she did. Some. And she’d always been positive he loved her. Maybe not exactly the way she wanted to be loved as an independent woman able to think for herself. Even so, there was a certain amount of comfort knowing a man like Carlton wanted to marry her. Now maybe he didn’t. Perhaps he had glimpsed the real Adria and was ready to give up on her ever being the wife he dreamed of her being.
It was all so confusing. Thinking she didn’t care whether Carlton loved her when she did. Then what about Logan Farrell with those remarkable eyes? The very thought of him was enough to make her heart speed up. Steady, comfortable Carlton or dangerous, unknown Logan Farrell. Why dangerous? He’d done nothing to make her think outlaw, but a woman knew a dangerous man by instinct.
She pushed thoughts of them away. She could simply spurn them both. Take Abigail up on her suggestion to come east and stay with her. Fight for freedom for the slaves and for women. What better freedom than shrugging off the idea that marriage and family was a woman’s most important goal in life? And yet, hadn’t she always wanted family?
If only Aunt Tilda were still alive. Then, in spite of sitting ramrod straight with sweat running down the inside of her dress and the priest’s incomprehensible words floating over top of her head, a smile sneaked out on her face.
She dabbed her upper lip with her handkerchief to hide that smile as she could almost hear Aunt Tilda speaking in her ear. “Missy, you’re over-thinking it all. Worryin’ a freckle into a canker sore. Just give it time. The right answer will most likely occur to you. And whether it does or not, another worry is sure to come along to push that worry right out of your mind.”
She already had that worry. Louis. Everything else could wait. Not that worrying would help anyhow. She needed to be praying. With belief, the way Louis prayed.
When they followed the crowd out of the hotel, the preacher stepped up beside Ruth. Adria was surprised when Ruth almost smiled before she remembered she was at a funeral. But she definitely had a welcoming light in her eyes. Obviously the man’s love of poetry had made an impression.
They didn’t speak. Just gave each other a little nod of acknowledgment. Then Pastor Robertson shortened his stride to match Ruth’s as Adria was accustomed to doing as well. The carriage carrying George Sanderson’s body moved slowly down Main Street. Those few who hadn’t been at the funeral stepped out on the street to stand quietly as the procession passed. If Logan Farrell was among them, she didn’t see him. Some of those walking behind the procession dropped out to join those on the sidelines.
If the preacher hadn’t been walking with them, Adria and Ruth might have done the same, but once he joined them, they seemed to have to finish the course with the Sanderson family. At least the carriages and buggies were moving so slowly they only stirred up a little dust. The sheriff had blocked the street so no wagoners or drovers could come through during the funeral procession.
At last the ordeal was over. The coffin was lowered in the grave and the family dropped in their symbolic handfuls of dirt. Carlton looked across the grave directly at Adria while the priest spoke the final prayers. He didn’t smile. Neither did she. A graveyard wasn’t a place for smiles or the words necessary for them to mend their relationship.
The preacher returned with Ruth and Adria to their house, where they carried chairs out into the backyard to sit under the shade of the oak tree that had to be over a hundred years old. Strong with deep roots and shade a person could count on all through the summer.
Was that how she was in Springfield? Depending on those roots and the shade that not only Ruth provided but Louis as well. The thought of stepping away from that shade started up a tremble inside Adria. Even if she merely stepped away to take Carlton’s hand in marriage.
She would have to leave this house, this life, for something totally different. Perhaps Ruth could tell her how she should feel. Ruth had made that step into marriage, and from the way she appeared to welcome the preacher’s admiring glances today, it could be she was softening toward the idea of a suitor. The pastor, a widower, was a very eligible prospect.
The church members had much discussion about calling a pastor without the helpmate of a wife. Many were against it, but others suggested an unmarried man would have more time for ministering to the needs of the church. Then a few suggested the Lord would supply the man with a wife if he were meant to have one to help him in his ministry.
Adria looked at Ruth and then the pastor sipping the lemonade Ruth made before they left for the funeral. She had set the pitcher in a pan of cool water from the well to be sure it would be fresh and reviving. They needed reviving after the long ordeal of the funeral.
She and Ruth had shed their black jackets when they reached the house. The white blouses underneath were of a summer material, which, along with the bit of breeze in the oak tree’s shade, made the long skirts bearable. Dust rimmed the hem of Adria’s skirt, but Ruth must have found a cleaner path to walk or had found a moment to brush her hem when she went in to fetch the lemonade. Adria wasn’t concerned with her soiled hem as she helped Ruth carry out bacon sandwiches and cucumber slices. A raisin pie was waiting for dessert. Ruth must have risen before dawn to have time to bake that before the funeral.
When Adria had commented on the trouble Ruth had gone to, Ruth waved away her words. “He’s our preacher. If he’s here at lunchtime, it’s our duty as church members to offer him a meal.”
The blush that rose in Ruth’s cheeks told more than her words. A blush that still lightly tinged Ruth’s cheeks now and made her even lovelier than usual.
But whether or not romance was awakening between Ruth and the preacher, Adria couldn’t let them forget the purpose of their gathering.
She was just about to tell them so, when Pastor Robertson put his plate back on the small table they had moved out beside the chairs and said, “I didn’t speak with the man you are concerned about today, Miss Starr, but I did take note of this Louis. A man worthy of help. Even a Mr. Abshire was in agreement of that.”
Ruth looked a bit alarmed. “You didn’t tell Haskell Abshire about our efforts for Louis, did you?” She hesitated, then went on. “Haskell has a tendency to talk overmuch.”
“What Aunt Ruth is trying to nicely say is that if Haskell Abshire knows about something, everybody in town will know before nightfall,” Adria said.
The preacher chuckled. “I have no doubt that is true, but not to worry. I listened. He talked.”
Ruth smiled with relief. “Yes, I can imagine that to be so. Haskell would have been happy to have a new ear for his many words.”
“But the interesting thing about those words was that he gave voice to the opinion George Sanderson had done his servant, Louis, an injustice by not giving him his freedom before death took him.” Pastor Robertson looked thoughtful. “If that is the general consensus of the townsfolk, perhaps that will help your campaign to free Louis.”
“I don’t think the son I met yesterday in the hotel kitchen is going to be swayed by public opinion. Bet says he is counting the worth of everything.” Adria looked over at Ruth. “You said you have a little money saved. Do you think we could buy Louis?”
“We wouldn’t have nearly enough.” Ruth looked sad to have to say that. “Not even close. You know what prices they put on slaves.”
“Even if we get a loan from the bank? Our house could be collateral.” Adria leaned forward toward Ruth. “And maybe I could get Carlton to help.”
“Or perhaps you could get Carlton’s family to buy him?” Ruth suggested. “His family treats their slaves well.”
“No.” The word exploded from Adria. “I want Louis to be free. He deserves to be free.”
“Do you think you could convince Carlton of that?” Ruth looked doubtful of that being possible.
“I don’t know. Perhaps with the proper encouragement.” A yes to Carlton’s marriage proposal in exchange for help in securing Louis’s freedom. That wouldn’t be a terrible exchange, since she had been considering that yes anyway. If only she could be sure that yes was the right answer for her.
Pastor Robertson held up his long slender hand. “Wait, ladies. Let us give this more thought and prayer.”
“We prayed yesterday.” Adria wished the words back as soon as she said them. A Christian should always be ready to pray. Believing.
“Yes, indeed we did.” The preacher only smiled. “And we will need to continually pray for the Lord’s intervention. But consider this, ladies. If others in town feel as Mr. Abshire did, it could be that they, these others, would be willing to contribute to a freedom fund for this man, Louis.”
Adria felt a ray of hope at the preacher’s idea. “Do you think so?”
“No, I don’t think so, I believe so, and I’m going to keep believing so as I pray this week.”
“Who would ask for the money?” A worried frown wrinkled the skin around Ruth’s eyes.
The preacher blew out a long breath. “I doubt I would be well received in that role.”
“I’ll ask.” Adria was already making a list of shop owners in her head.
“I’m not sure that would be seemly. A woman asking businessmen for money. Especially a young woman like you.” Ruth shook her head slightly at Adria before she went on. “Perhaps if I went with you.”
“But you would hate that, Aunt Ruth.” Adria knew how hard Ruth tried to stay away from any kind of controversy.
“True, but sometimes a person has to do hard things.”
“You would do that for me?”
“For you.” Ruth reached to touch Adria’s hand. “And for Louis. You aren’t the only one in Springfield or in this family who owes a debt to Louis.”
“If there are many, then that bodes well for our plan,” Pastor Robertson said. “Plus, you might be surprised at the help you may get. Even from the young man you mentioned. Carlton Damon. A man anxious to impress a certain young lady.” The preacher smiled. “And there was another young man Sunday who appeared to want to win your favor. Someone told me he was a newcomer to town. Rather like me, I suppose. He slipped out before I had a chance to say anything to him yesterday morning. What was his name?” The preacher’s brow wrinkled as he thought. “Oh yes. Logan Farrell.”
“I don’t think—”
Before Ruth could get any cautionary words out, Logan Farrell came around the house.
“Did somebody say my name?”
He was smiling and his eyes zeroed in on Adria. Something about the man just seemed to pull the light to him. Or perhaps he brought the light with him, because suddenly everything around Adria seemed brighter.
“Miss Starr.” Logan nodded toward Adria and then turned his smile on Ruth and the pastor. “Mrs. Harmon. Reverend.”
“Mr. Farrell, to what do we owe the pleasure of your company?” Ruth gave him the look she used to freeze misbehaving students in her classroom. It was obvious she didn’t welcome him showing up without an invitation, and that invitation wasn’t likely to come from her.
Logan looked so surprised at Ruth’s cool tone that Adria had to cover her mouth to hide her smile. He recovered quickly. A man quick on his feet.
“I came by to thank you, Mrs. Harmon. That sawbones you directed me to was a right fair doctor. Stitched me up neat as anything.” He touched the cut above his eye. “He should have been a tailor he’s such a hand at stitching. But then I come around your house to hear somebody calling my name.”
Pastor Robertson stood up to shake Logan’s hand. “I had commented on you being at church yesterday, Mr. Farrell. We were glad to have you there.”
Ruth relented then. “Adria, why don’t you get Mr. Farrell a glass of lemonade and a piece of pie?”
“I wouldn’t want to put you to any trouble, but that does sound good.” Logan leaned back against the oak tree.
“I’d be glad to,” Adria said. “But I did promise Mr. Billiter I’d come in to work after the funeral.” She should have already headed for the store. They couldn’t activate their plan today anyway. People wouldn’t be ready to contribute to a fund to buy Louis until they were absolutely sure the family intended to put him up for sale.
Logan pushed away from the tree. “Then forget the lemonade. I’ll walk you to the store.”
“You’re not walking my girl anywhere.” Carlton burst around the corner of the house and glared at Logan.
Logan didn’t flinch. “How many girls do you have, Damon? Seems you were with someone else Sunday morning.”
Pastor Robertson stepped between the two men. “Come, gentlemen. Best keep your wits about you in front of the ladies. Ladies who have the privilege of deciding with whom they keep company.”
Logan’s smile didn’t waver while Carlton looked like a storm about to happen.
“It was nice of you to stop by, Mr. Farrell.” Adria flashed an apologetic smile at Logan as she stepped over to take Carlton’s arm. “And you too, Carlton. If you have a few minutes, we can talk while you walk me to the store.”
Carlton gave Logan a look. “It appears the lady has made the wise choice.”
“Perhaps so.” Logan laughed with no indication he was bothered in the least. “But I’m no sore loser. I’ll see you on down the road, Miss Starr. Mrs. Harmon. Reverend.” With a nod, he was gone.
Adria had the sudden urge to drop Carlton’s arm and run after Logan. But she needed Carlton’s help with their plan for buying Louis’s freedom. She couldn’t afford to alienate him now. Not to run after a man she barely knew.