6

If everyone will make an orderly line, we can begin serving.” Abrianna looked at the growing group of raggedy men and silently prayed there would be enough food for everyone. On Sunday she’d put many of the street urchins to work spreading the word that there would be a free lunch served precisely at noon on Monday. Apparently they’d done a good job.

Militine stood behind a long table where Wade and Thane were just now depositing a large kettle of soup. This was the last thing to be done, as Abrianna had already seen to putting out bread. She glanced over her shoulder to make certain that all was ready and then turned back to the hungry men just as one of the harbor whistles blew the noon hour.

“All right, gentlemen, remember what I said. There is one piece of bread and one bowl of soup for each man. There is also coffee. Mr. Patton will be handling that at the far table. Please be careful with the cups and bowls. We must make them last for a good while. You will find spoons and napkins at each chair. Please use these. I know many of you are given to drinking from the bowl, but this is a civilized eating facility, and we will comport ourselves as such. Agreed?”

She knew they would agree to most anything if it meant being fed. “And before our meal, Mr. Ackerman will offer a prayer.” She looked back to Wade and waited until he came forward.

Those who had caps on their heads pulled them off in quick fashion as Wade bowed his head. “Father, we thank you for this day and for the provision you have given. We ask a blessing on each man here. May the food they receive nourish their bodies and the company encourage their souls. Amen.”

With the line neatly formed, Abrianna ushered them into the building. She took her place behind the soup table and helped Militine ladle soup. The men, most of whom she knew, were old sailors and loggers who’d lost their jobs because of injury or age. They shuffled along in an orderly manner, tipping their caps to Abrianna and Militine as they passed by.

“Yar an angel from heaven, Miss Abrianna.”

“Now get on with you, Jeb, you know that people aren’t angels. I’m just a Christian woman extending the love of God to those in need.”

“Well, yar one of the only Christians, male or female, what cares about us old salts.”

What he said was true. It seemed there was a sad lacking of offering even the basic comforts to those who had so little.

“She’s a saint,” Captain Jack said, coming to take his bowl of soup. “A perfect saint.”

She couldn’t help but smile at this. If only they knew the trial she was to Aunt Miriam and the others. Her aunts would never consider her to be anything but vexing. Saint wasn’t a word Aunt Miriam would ever choose to describe her ward. More likely her aunts would call her Trouble.

Convincing her aunts to allow her duties at the food house hadn’t come easily. Only when Wade assured them that he would watch over her did they acquiesce and allow Abrianna and Militine to spend each day from midmorning until two o’clock to manage the affairs of helping the hungry. Even so, it did not come without fussing and fretting, and there would no doubt be more to come.

Seeing the men settled at the linen-covered tables, Abrianna smiled. Tablecloths and napkins always helped to make a meal seem special. She wanted these men to know at least one place and one meal where they were treated like human beings rather than the scum of the earth.

“Hi, Abrianna,” several young boys greeted as they approached the serving table.

She smiled at them. “I hoped you would make it on time.”

Their self-appointed leader gave her a toothy grin. “Wouldn’t miss a hot meal. What’s on the menu?”

Abrianna handed him a bowl of soup. “It’s beef and vegetable soup, Toby. You each get one bowl and one piece of bread. I expect good manners.”

He turned to his companions. “You hear that? Miss Abrianna says we gotta act right. Now get your bread and soup and follow me.”

“There gonna be food tomorrow, too?” another orphan asked.

“Every day but Sunday, if the Lord wills it.”

“How come not on Sunday? Folks get hungry then, too,” the boy replied.

“I quite agree, and it seems to me that folks should be particularly generous on Sunday, given that it’s the Lord’s Day.” Abrianna handed the boy a bowl of soup. “However, the Bible speaks of it being a day of rest, and there are those who expect me to dedicate it to the Lord. Although, God knows I dedicate this work and every day to Him.

“It seems to me that people sometimes use the Sabbath as an excuse to just lie about and sip tea. I don’t think the Lord had that in mind when He told us to keep the Sabbath holy, but who am I to say?” She shrugged her shoulders. “All I know is that folks are hungry on Sunday as well as Monday.”

“Come on, you lot,” Toby declared. “Don’t be holdin’ up the line. There’s gonna be other hungry folks comin’.” He looked at Abrianna and smiled. “Thanks again, Miss Abrianna. You aren’t like some of those Christian folks who just talk about helping the poor.”

A few more men entered the building and made their way to the table. They seemed stunned that the news of a free meal was true but wasted no time in accepting the gift and heading to the few empty chairs left. Wade and Thane stood to one side eating, while Abrianna and Militine circulated around the room to see that everyone had what they needed.

“You make this soup, Miss Abrianna?” one of the men asked.

“I did. Of course I had help.” She leaned in to whisper. “I’m not all that good at cooking, but I figure this will give me a chance to practice. Hopefully you men won’t mind making this journey with me. If it tastes horrible, I’ll expect you to tell me.”

“Seems perfect to me, miss. I ain’t had anything so good in a long while.” This came from a scruffy-looking man Abrianna hadn’t yet met. “Last hot food I had was some watered-down oatmeal.”

“Well, I’m glad you are enjoying it. I’m just happy to offer it. You know, there are some very kind people in the city who were worried about you the same as I was. They gave me money to set this place up, so when you say your prayers tonight, you might want to thank God for their generosity.”

“To be sure,” he replied, and some of the others looked up from their bowls just long enough to nod.

Within an hour everyone was fed, and Abrianna knew she would have to ask them to leave the warmth of the building so that she and the others could clean and close up for the day. If she didn’t return home at the appointed time, Aunt Miriam might well put an end to her venture.

“Now, please take your bowls and spoons to the table up front for washing. Just leave the napkins on the tables. We’ll gather those after a while.” She wished she could allow them to stay, but time was already getting away from her. “I’m sorry to say that I will need everyone to leave for now, but be assured we will return tomorrow. Lunch will be served at noon, just as it was today. If you know others who are hungry, please let them know about this place.”

She wasn’t sure how the men would respond to being kicked out, but to her relief they all began to get up and do as she had asked. Making her way back behind the table, she and Wade received the bowls and silverware. Thane and Militine had readied the washtubs and already managed to clean the soup kettle and serving ladles. For their first day, Abrianna found the entire arrangement to be more than satisfactory.

“I hope it goes this well every day,” she told Wade.

“With you in charge, it wouldn’t dare go otherwise.”

She laughed. “You do sometimes say the silliest things, Wade Ackerman. I cannot control how the day might play out. That is solely in the hands of the Almighty.”

“Maybe so,” Wade said with a grin, “but sometimes I wonder if He doesn’t consult you first.”

“Wade Ackerman! That’s a blasphemous thing to say. I know you cannot possibly mean it, but it grieves me that you would even offer it in jest.” By now the building was empty, with the exception of her friends. “And here I thought the day would go by without you causing me difficulty.”

He laughed. “I’m not being difficult, just honest. I know He doesn’t get your approval on things, but I also know He has to make provision for you on a regular basis because you’re headstrong and determined to do whatever comes into that pretty little head of yours—good or bad.”

“You are . . .” She paused, trying to think of something to call him. Words didn’t usually escape her, but this time she found herself tongue-tied. She’d never really meant to give the impression that she was headstrong or unwilling to receive counsel. With a sigh she gave Wade a nod. “You are probably right. I’m sure God does make additional provision for me.”

She left his side to gather the napkins and check the condition of the tablecloths. Those that were clean enough she left in place, and gathered the others for laundering.

Wade followed her to the table. “I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.”

“You didn’t. As I said, you are most likely right. People who answer God’s call on their life often find that the world does not understand it. Especially when a woman is involved. Hence, I believe God does make additional provision, not only to protect me from the harm of those less-than-honorable folk, but also from those good Christians who judge me to be crazy.”

“I never said you were crazy, Abrianna. Just a little headstrong in a way that often puts you in danger. Your stubbornness might cost you your life, even if you are acting in the name of God. I just don’t want you to be foolish.”

She picked up a napkin, then looked him in the eye. “I read the other day from The Miscellaneous Works of the Rev. Matthew Henry about his father, Philip Henry. He told of his father’s loving generosity and kindness. Reverend Henry said that his father was known to speak this bit of wisdom: ‘He is no fool who parts with that which he cannot keep, when he is sure to be recompensed with that which he cannot lose.’ Wade, even if I lose my life in serving God, I will be at peace and hope you will be, as well.

“I know that I’m often foolish in my choices. I act more quickly than others and often don’t think through my actions. But my heart is fixed on doing what I believe God wants me to do. If that costs me everything, then it is a price I am willing to pay to obey Him.”

He looked at her as if finally understanding her heart. “You amaze me sometimes. I’m sorry if I’ve acted as a stumbling block.”

She smiled. “You are a good man who cares about your friends. I cannot fault you for that.”

The first Saturday of February the ladies of the Madison Bridal School held their monthly reception. After a successful but tiring week of feeding the poor, Militine dreaded having to dress up and pretend to be interested in hosting would-be suitors.

“Honestly, Abrianna, I appreciate your help, but I detest having to play dress-up for a party I’d rather not attend.” She looked at the gown Abrianna had forced her into. “I feel like a cow in lace.”

Abrianna laughed and tied the sash. “How would you know what a cow in lace feels?”

“Well, if a cow were forced to don an elegant gown, she would no doubt feel just as out of place. She would also no doubt resent being forced to perform like a trained . . . trained . . .”

“Cow?” Abrianna asked, moving to inspect her work. “You look perfect, so stop fretting. Honestly, Militine, you are quite lovely. And while I know you do not seek a husband any more than I do, you might as well enjoy Lenore’s cast-off gowns. Goodness knows, I can’t wear them all. Now come along, or we’ll be late, and that will only bring Aunt Miriam’s rebuke.”

The monthly receptions were always a trial for Militine. The men would come and pay a fee to Mrs. Madison and then spend the afternoon listening to recitations, songs, and piano music, all while eyeing the ladies with a point of getting to know them better. It was all very respectable and well chaperoned, but Militine didn’t want anyone to know her better.

Several young ladies performed prior to Militine, but it didn’t relieve her stress any better when Mrs. Gibson announced her.

“And now Miss Militine Scott will recite ‘The Lamplighter’ by Robert Louis Stevenson.”

Militine fought down the bile that threatened to rise. At least she didn’t have to worry about that silly play Abrianna had wanted to perform. She had finally given up on the entire idea, with her new focus on the soup kitchen.

She smoothed the lavender skirt of the gown and then drew her hands together. Often, like today, the poem she quoted left her feeling strangely displaced. She had no idea why, but it seemed very sad to her. She couldn’t help but wonder who the people were of whom the poet spoke. She wondered if the child from whose view the story came was sickly, because of the reference to one day being stronger. All in all, she felt herself strangely connected to that child.

“‘The Lamplighter,’” she said, as if to remind them all of what had just been announced. Her heart pounded furiously as she began.

“My tea is nearly ready and the sun has left the sky.

It’s time to take the window to see Leerie going by;

For every night at teatime and before you take your seat,

With lantern and with ladder he comes posting up the street.

“Now Tom would be a driver and Maria go to sea,

And my papa’s a banker and as rich as he can be;

But I, when I am stronger and can choose what I’m to do,

O Leerie, I’ll go round at night and light the lamps with you!

“For we are very lucky, with a lamp before the door,

And Leerie stops to light it as he lights so many more;

And oh! before you hurry by with ladder and with light;

O Leerie, see a little child and nod to him to-night!”

The audience applauded, and Militine made a little curtsy before hurrying to the back of the room. She breathed in slowly to steady her nerves and closed her eyes as Clara, one of the new girls, was announced. Militine made a quick glance around the room then slipped into the hallway, nearly running over Thane.

“Whoa,” he whispered, reaching out to steady her.

She shrank back from his hold. She hated herself for cowering, but years of abuse had made it reflexive. “Sorry. I was determined to get to the kitchen.” Before she could leave, however, Miss Poisie stopped her.

“Sister says we are in need of more refreshments. Would you ask Liang to bring the trays?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Militine swallowed hard. Beyond Miss Poisie’s fragile frame, Thane continued to watch her. His expression warned her that most likely questions would follow, but she ignored her fears and hurried to the kitchen.

“Liang?” Militine glanced around the kitchen.

“I here, in the pantry. Mr. Wade, he help me get the flour.” She popped out with a smile. “You need something?”

“Mrs. Madison wants more refreshments brought to the hall.”

Wade stepped out from the pantry, his arms wrapped around a fifty-pound bag of flour. He carried it to a large crock and deposited it inside. “Seems like someone always has something for me to do,” he said as he straightened. “I missed your poem.”

“That’s quite all right. I wish I had.” Militine crossed the room to get a glass of water.

“It was a great poem,” Thane declared, startling her. “She didn’t forget a single word. At least I’m guessing she didn’t. I was a little confused. Who’s Leerie?”

She put down the glass. “I have no idea. Who are Tom and Maria? Goodness, when people write poetry they don’t concern themselves with explanations, and I give it no further thought.” It was a lie, but she hoped it might close the subject.

Wade laughed. “Leerie is the lamplighter. Abrianna told me all about that poem. I guess she helped you memorize it.”

“She did.” Militine wanted to forget about the recitation and the awaiting time of visitation with the men.

“Mr. Wade, you help me?” Liang asked, hoisting a big tray.

“Of course I will.” Wade strolled across the kitchen as if he had nothing else in the world to do. “I will, however, take a few of these lovely little cakes for my pay.”

Liang giggled. “I save you plenty.”

They disappeared from the room, leaving Militine to face Thane on her own. His expression sobered. “What happened back there?”

“What do you mean?” She knew very well what he meant. She had cowered away from him on more than one occasion. He no doubt thought her behavior warranted an explanation.

“You act like a whipped pup every time I reach out to you.” He came closer but stopped when he was still a good two feet away. “Did I do something wrong?”

Heaving a sigh, Militine tried to reason what she would say. She didn’t want to share the past with him. She feared speaking the words would somehow conjure it to life. “You did nothing wrong. I had . . . I had a very stern father. When I was clumsy . . . well . . . he wasn’t very tolerant.”

Thane nodded. “My pa used to beat me for spilling my milk. I think I understand.” He smiled. “But I’d like us to be friends.”

She saw something in his eyes that went through to her heart. Here was a fellow journeyman, someone who understood the pain that could be inflicted upon a child. The tenderness he offered her was almost her undoing. None of the men in her life had ever been kind. “I need to get back, I suppose. It sounds as though Clara has finished her piece. She was the last to perform.”

“Just think about what I said,” Thane replied.

That night the horrors of the past came to life for Militine. Her dream started out simple enough. There was a peaceful stream by which she lingered. The air held the scent of mountain ash, and the sky was a brilliant blue. For a wonderful moment in time she felt safe and happy. But as was always the case, the scene changed and the skies grew dark with heavy storm clouds. She rushed to find shelter before the rain came, running until the ache in her legs and the stitch in her side nearly caused her to cry out. But that pain was minimal compared to what awaited.

She found no solace as the trading post came into sight. She knew there was no safety, no refuge to be found in that place. As quiet as a mouse, Militine worked the latch and tried to enter unseen.

It was not to be.

The belt came down on her back over and over. Her father’s enraged bellowing filled her ears even as thunder rumbled outside.

“You ran off again, and you knew I expected you to be here. You’re no better at obeying than your mother was.” White hot pain ripped her back as he continued his attack.

“No!” she shouted over and over. “No! No! No!”

She felt someone take hold of her arms. Then shaking. The voice of her father faded as another took its place.

“Militine. Militine, wake up.”

She opened her eyes to find her roommate, Virginia, patting her face. “Wake up. You’ve had another nightmare.”

A knock sounded on the door, and Abrianna peeked inside. “Are you all right, Militine? I heard your screams.”

Militine sat up. The nightmare was too fresh to find any comfort in the present. “I’m sorry. I suppose I’ve awakened the entire house.”

Abrianna crossed the room. Sitting beside her on the bed, she picked up Militine’s hand and squeezed it. “It doesn’t matter. We all have our bad dreams from time to time. I’m sure the others will go back to sleep. Besides, I’m not sure anyone heard you besides us. My room is right next door, and the bath is on the other side of your room, so I’m sure it acted as a barrier.”

“I appreciate your saying so, but we both know I’ve disturbed the others before.” She closed her eyes, wishing she could escape the memories. Why couldn’t a person simply erase the past from their mind?

“I’ll stay with you as long as you’d like,” Abrianna said. “I can even read to you if it doesn’t bother Virginia.” She looked to the other young lady, who had already crawled back into bed.

“It won’t bother me. Maybe it will settle my nerves, as well.”

Abrianna smiled. “Then that is what I shall do.” She pulled a Bible from her robe pocket. “I thought this might help.”

At that point Militine didn’t care what was read or said. Anything that would help to bury her nightmare was worth enduring.