Prairie Storm (5 page)

“Mercy, mercy, mercy. Don't this beat all?” A gnarled hand with clawlike fingers reached out and gave the baby a pat. “Howdy-do.”

“Hello,” Lily said warily. “Do I know you?”

“Not yet, but you will. I'm Margaret Hanks. Folks round here call me Mother Margaret.”

Lily stared in confusion. What business did this woman have snooping around in other people's wagons? Samuel had almost dropped off to sleep, and Lily herself was exhausted.

“Excuse me, ma'am,” she began, “but I'm—”

“Oh, I know you, sure enough. You're the lady come to look after the baby. Folks is talkin' about it all over town, and I come out to see you for myself. When I heard you in here singin' like an angel, I knew God hisself done sent you. Mercy, mercy, mercy, child, and bless your heart.”

Lily couldn't hide her smile, though she couldn't understand why her heart warmed so quickly to this odd little stranger. “I don't mind,” she said softly. “I lost my own baby.”

“I heard that, too. Child, I lost three of my fourteen, and my heart ain't never healed from the pain of it. Listen to Mother Margaret, now; why don't you and that baby come on over to our house and take supper with us? We got fried chicken and greens. Cherry cobbler, too. You eat with us, and then you stay the night in one of our beds. We'll make you a place with us, yes ma'am, and may the Lord be praised for his almighty wisdom. Amen and amen.”

Chapter 3

L
ILY cradled the baby and willed herself to remain seated. Why did the old woman's words inspire such a sense of assurance and calm? How could a stranger know what a hot meal and a warm bed would mean to a grief-stricken traveler? And what had propelled this Mother Margaret across the prairie in the darkness?

“I know it don't seem usual,” the woman said, “and maybe you wouldn't want to visit with folk who used to be slaves—”

“No,” Lily said quickly. “It's not that. But you don't know me. You know nothing about me.”

“Aw, sure I do. God sent you along here to help us out. Now you plannin' to come eat some of Mother Margaret's cherry cobbler or not?”

Lily's stomach tightened at the enticing thought. With her body depleted and this new baby so ravenous, Lily couldn't deny her own need. “All right. I'll come with you,” she said. “And I thank you for welcoming me.”

“Mercy, mercy, mercy,” the old woman clucked as Lily made her way out of the wagon. “You're as welcome in Hope as anybody else. Look at the Hanks family! Two months back, my boy, his wife, and I followed the Cornwall family out here to Kansas. Hankses been in the Cornwall family for generations, don't you know. We was their slaves, of course, and now we're freed folks. Yes, ma'am, free as the wind. But the fact is, we respect the Cornwalls, and they always done us good. My Ben built us a fine house over yonder near the Cornwall smithy.”

Lily tried to concentrate as she carried the baby through the tall grass. “I don't know the Cornwalls.”

“You met Mister Jack earlier. He's a big tall fellow, lives with his mammy and his little sister, Lucy. The Cornwalls is as happy as fleas in a doghouse these days. It just took a little doin' for everybody in town to get used to them.”

“Did the Cornwalls cause some kind of trouble here?”

“Hoo, you done said it, gal. But that's all in the past. Ben helps Mister Jack at the smithy, and Eva takes in laundry and mendin'. Me, I look after Miss Lucy when she's feeling bad. We're as much a part of things round here as quills on a goose.” She paused. “Now, who's this a-comin'? She's got eyes that would chill a side of beef.”

“Lily?” Beatrice Waldowski raced toward them. “Lily, where are you going?”

“Beatrice!” Lily stopped. “I didn't realize you were still about. It's very late.”

“Have you gone mad?” Beatrice wore yet another version of her Madame Zahara outfit. “Of course I'm up. I've been reading palms and tarot cards in the tent. We have customers, you know. We have commitments. What are you doing?”

“I'm … I'm going with Mrs. Hanks.” Lily swallowed, realizing how foolish she must appear to her friend. “She invited me for dinner, and I—”

“Dinner? Do you even know this woman? Oh, Lily!” Beatrice clasped the younger woman tightly and spoke against her ear. “I'm so frightened for you. You're not acting like yourself—taking in this baby and then wandering off with a stranger. Losing Abigail has distracted you and upset your spiritual balance. I'm frightened for you. Come with me, Lil. Come back to the wagon now. We'll pack up and leave in the morning, and I promise I'll take you far away from all this.”

“Now just a cotton-pickin' minute,” Mother Margaret spoke up, swelling to her full five-foot height. Her clawed finger shot upward and wagged in Beatrice's face. “Miss Lily is comin' to my house for supper, sure enough. You can come too, if you want, but don't you go turnin' this poor woman away from my door. Not now. Not when she needs me.”

“Lily doesn't need you,” Beatrice snapped. “She doesn't even know you.”

“It's all right, Bea.” Lily held up a hand. “Mother Margaret has offered me a meal. Why don't you join us?”

One eyebrow arched as Beatrice took in the small black woman. “I'd rather dine in hell.”

She turned to leave, then swung back around. “And, Lily, don't think I'll let you go so easily. You're all I have. You're my dearest friend. I won't let your grief and these conniving people tear us apart.”

Lily watched in dismay as Beatrice marched toward the wagon. It was true—they were close friends and had been comrades through many hardships. Beatrice Waldowski had believed in Lily when no one else would. Beatrice had helped Ted Nolan covertly marry and then spirit away the forlorn young woman who had appeared at their show night after night in Philadelphia. Elopement, escape, freedom. Beatrice had promised Lily a new life, and she had delivered.

True, they'd often gone hungry and unwashed. The show had been run out of many towns. No one but Beatrice had really appreciated Lily's soliloquies and arias. And then there had been Ted—a vain man, a drifter, a womanizer. But he hadn't beaten Lily, as her own father had, and he had given her Abigail. Beautiful Abigail.

“Hoo, I'm glad she's gone,” Mother Margaret said. “That woman flat gave me the willies.”

“Beatrice is my friend. She may appear harsh at times, but she has a kind heart.”

“Uh-huh.” The old woman sounded unconvinced. “Let me tell you about some kind folks. You see them lights a long way off, child? That's the home of Rosie and Seth Hunter. They've got a little boy named Chipper, and they're gonna have a new baby come autumn. Down the middle of town is the mercantile. Miss Caitrin Murphy lives in the soddy nearby, and she's fixin' to marry Mister Jack. The Cornwalls built them a place near the smithy, and my boy Ben put our house on the other side. Come on, now; I can smell that cobbler.”

Reluctant to stray so far from her friend, Lily moved slowly up the road toward the smithy. Where would she be without Beatrice Waldowski? She'd be back in the brick house in Philadelphia, living under the thumb of her father and probably preparing for marriage. No doubt her parents would expect her to marry a man like Reverend Hardcastle's son, who was planning to take his father's place in the pulpit of St. George. Lily groaned. The last thing she wanted to do was marry a preacher.

“Mrs. Hanks?” Elijah Book stepped out of the small frame house and held up a lantern. “Did you find her?”

Lily stopped in her tracks. “What are
you
doing here? Is this some kind of a trick?”

“Brother Elijah is eatin' supper with us, same as you,” Mother Margaret said as she headed for the front door. “Folks has got to feed the preacher, don't you know. It's mannerly.”

Unbudging, Lily watched the tall man approach. He took off his hat, clearly as ill at ease as she. “Mrs. Nolan,” he began, his blue eyes intense in the lantern light, “I was hoping you'd come to the Hankses' home.”

“Why? Don't you trust me to take care of Samuel in my own wagon?”

He shifted from one foot to the other. “Well … as a matter of fact, it does make me a little uncomfortable.”

“Because I'm an actress.”

“But that doesn't mean I want you to stop feeding Samuel. Sam needs your help. I just thought maybe if you'd be willing to stay here with the Hanks family for a few days—”

“Do you mean to tell me you sent that poor old woman all the way across the prairie to rescue this baby?”

“No, it's not like that. Mrs. Hanks suggested it. I was over here visiting with the family, and I got to talking about the wagon and how maybe you'd like someplace quieter. I know you live in a traveling show, and that means—”

“What does it mean, buster?” Lily took a step toward him. “That wagon is my home, and Beatrice is one of the kindest people I've ever known. She took me in, and she gave me food and a bed and honest work—and don't you ever,
ever
—”

“I'm just thinking of Samuel.”

“You're thinking of your own high-and-mighty reputation!” she snapped. “You want to make sure nothing around you looks too bad or too shameful because then it would reflect poorly on you. I'd wager you took in this baby just to prove to everybody how righteous and holy you are. ‘Oh, the poor traveling preacher with his little orphan baby,' everybody will say. ‘How sweet, how kind! Why, let's feed that preacher some dinner. Let's flock all around him like hungry little chickens. Let's give him our money.'”

“Now, listen here, ma'am,” Elijah growled, his forefinger jabbing toward her. “I accepted that baby because God gave him to me. You think I'd be crazy enough to
want
to haul a squallin' kid around with me? I can't sleep, I can't think, I can't even pray with him hollering his head off every minute of the day and night. But I'm going to give that boy all I've got as long as I live because he's my responsibility, and I don't care what anybody thinks about it. Especially you.”

As he spoke, Elijah advanced on her. Shoulders squared and head thrust forward, he was menacing, terrifying. “And as for the notion that I take folks' money,” he barked, “I'll have you know I was supposed to go to China, but I gave all my money to you. That's where the money's gone—to you!”

Lily couldn't listen. She had to hide. Had to find that place inside herself where she could escape the anger.

“And if you think I'm so righteous and holy,” he went on, “well, I'll tell you a thing or two about that. Not too long ago, I was just where you are. I was roaming around, doing whatever felt good to me, living my life just the way I liked it. I know how an actress in a traveling show lives. I know the kinds of things you do to earn money….”

He was coming now. Closer and closer, he was coming. And soon, very soon, it would begin. Lily sank to her knees and covered the baby with her body. Both hands over her head, she squeezed her eyes shut and began to listen to the music inside herself. Golden melodies poured through her heart and filled her mind. The music lifted her up and away from his words, taking her far from the fear, the rage, the pain.

“Miz Nolan?” his voice asked.

She shrank from his touch, willing the music to keep her alive. Silver harmonies. Crystal notes.

“Are you all right, ma'am?” He was crouching in the grass beside her, his big hand gently laid on her arm. “I didn't aim to scare you. I'll admit I was a little frustrated, but … are you okay under there? You can come out. I won't do a thing, I swear.”

Lily lowered her hands and lifted her head. It wasn't her father after all. It was Elijah Book. The preacher gazed at her with blue eyes full of concern. His Stetson had tumbled to the ground. A lock of hair had fallen over his forehead.

“You can keep Samuel in your wagon if you want,” he said in a low voice. “I'm sorry. I'm sure sorry I scared you.”

Unable to stop trembling, Lily straightened and held out the baby. “Take him. I can't do this.”

“Please. I need you.” He slid his hand down her arm and touched her fingers. “Don't be afraid of me. I would never hurt you.”

“Mercy, mercy, mercy!” Mother Margaret's small feet appeared at the edge of Lily's vision. “What you two doin' down in the grass? I went in to check on the chicken, and next thing I know, you done disappeared. Everything all right?”

“Yes,” Elijah Book said, his eyes locked on Lily's face. “It's going to be all right.”

“Lemme see what you got there, Brother Elijah,” Mother Margaret said as she and her family joined their guests outside on the front porch after the sumptuous meal. “You got the biggest, fattest Bible I ever did see. And what is that other book?”

Elijah showed the old woman the Holy Bible he had purchased right after his call to preach the gospel. He had traded his life's savings for the leather-bound volume, and he considered it a treasure. But the small hymnal he now placed in Mother Margaret's hand ran a close second. His mother had once owned the slender book of music, and she had sung the hymns to him as he sat on her lap. Elijah had found it in her trunk many years after her death. Even before he came to understand the message in the Bible, he had read those songs again and again. Their words had lit his path.