The Work and the Glory Page 11

  She stopped and gave him a strange look.

  Nathan felt a sudden prickle up the back of his neck. “What? What happened?”

  “One morning I had gotten up very early to pray. Your father was still asleep. I…as I was praying, suddenly this feeling came over me. It was like…” She stopped, groping for the right words. “I don’t know. Thoughts just came into my mind. Afterwards I wasn’t even sure it had happened.”

  Nathan was watching her intently, searching her face. “What kind of thoughts?” he asked in a low voice.

  “I suddenly felt—very strongly—that for now I was to join none of the churches.”

  She stopped, her eyes far away, lost in the memory of that morning. Nathan was tempted to nudge her, to bring her back. When she finally went on, she spoke softly. “I felt that sooner or later I would be shown which church I should join, but for now I was just to be patient.”

  Nathan was staring at his mother openly, his eyes mirroring his surprise. No wonder Joseph’s account had struck her with such force.

  Again she smiled, her eyes misted with a faraway look. “I’m going to talk to the Lord. Maybe the time has come to ask again.”

  And with that, she took his arm and they started back for the cabin.

  Sixteen-year-old Melissa Steed put the bowl of corn flour mush on the table and walked to the stairs. She cupped one hand to her mouth and called loud enough for her voice to carry clear up into the loft. “Matthew, Becca. Breakfast’s ready.”

  “Comin’.” It was Rebecca’s voice, but it was Matthew’s body that came shooting down the stairs and into the main room of the cabin.

  Melissa smiled. Her youngest brother never did anything at normal speed. “Happy Easter, Matthew,” she called.

  His head shot up in surprise. Then he scanned the room, with his usual lopsided grin. Nathan was at the table cutting thin slices of bacon off the side of pork he’d gotten from the smokehouse. His mother was at the fireplace tending a large black frying pan, where the bacon sizzled and sputtered. Melissa was still at the table, arranging the dishes.

  “Happy Easter, everybody,” he crowed to them all.

  “Happy Easter, son,” Mary Ann said.

  “Happy Easter, Matthew,” Nathan said.

  “Do you think there are Easter eggs, Mama?” Matthew asked eagerly.

  Melissa shot Nathan a quick wink. After their return from Palmyra the previous evening, the two of them had spent a half hour hiding some boiled eggs and a few pieces of hard candy in the barn. “I thought Easter eggs were only for when children were especially good,” Melissa said to Nathan gravely.

  “I have been good,” Matthew cried. “Real good.”

  Nathan shook his head. “I don’t know. What about last week when you let the dog chase the chickens?”

  Matthew whirled, his face outraged. “It wasn’t me.” Then he saw the look on their faces and grinned again, turning to his mother. “Can I go look, Mama?”

  She stepped to her youngest and gave him a quick squeeze. “Get the spoons on. We’ll have breakfast, then we’ll go out to the barn and see.”

  Becca had come down in time to catch the last part of the conversation. Though two days before she had loftily sniffed that she was too old for childish things, Melissa noted, her nine-year-old sister now went to work helping Matthew set the table without being asked. For the girl who could find a dozen excuses for avoiding unpleasant tasks, this said a lot.

  A moment later the door opened and Benjamin Steed came in, carrying a bucket of milk, still topped with foam.

  “Happy Easter, Papa!” Matthew cried.

  “Happy Easter, Matthew.” He swung the milk up to the counter where Mary Ann had set out the five-gallon milk can with a muslin cloth over the opening. Melissa stepped up beside him and held the cloth down as her father poured the milk carefully through it to strain out any particles of dirt that had fallen in the bucket.

  “Thank you, Melissa.” He capped the can and turned. “Nathan, put this out in the icehouse till it cools down.”

  As Nathan came over, Benjamin suddenly looked around the room and frowned. “What time did Joshua finally come in last night?”

  Melissa whirled in surprise and shot a look at her mother. Mary Ann was equally startled. The first thing she had done before going out to read the Bible was check to see if Joshua had returned. She assumed Benjamin had done the same.

  “Joshua isn’t here,” Mary Ann said quietly.

  Benjamin jerked around. “What?”

  Melissa tensed.

  “He hasn’t come home yet, Pa,” Nathan inserted quickly. “He must have stayed in town last night.”

  Melissa felt a clutch of anxiety as she watched the anger flash across her father’s face. She, more than any of the children—perhaps even more than her mother—understood the complex of emotions which drove her oldest brother and which led more and more to the clashes with his father. Melissa also seemed to have a special closeness to her father, under-standing the New England stubbornness and rock-hard integrity which formed the foundation of his character. Normally she could cajole him out of his frustrations with his oldest son and help avert the more violent confrontations. But she sensed that a new and frightening dimension in the relationship between Benjamin Steed and his oldest son had been opened.

  Disappearing was one thing; drinking in company with the Murdocks was something else again. The Steed family had been shamed, and Benjamin Steed took great stock in one’s name and reputation. Forgiveness for any damage done there wouldn’t come easy from him.

  Her father spun around without a word, stalked to the door, and took down his hat. “I’ll be back,” he muttered.

  Mary Ann moved quickly to his side and laid a hand on his arm. “Breakfast is ready, Ben. There’s no use going into town now. You don’t even know where he is.”

  “He’s probably on his way home right now,” Nathan jumped in.

  Benjamin just stood there, his eyes hard, his jaw working as he clenched and unclenched his teeth.

  Melissa took a quick breath. “Pa, Josh had his heart set on getting to talk with that Lydia McBride girl. But she paid him no mind. I think he took it kinda hard.”

  “He don’t need you sticking up for him.” He snapped it out at her, like the crack of a whip.

  Melissa felt her temper leap, but she caught the warning look from her mother and dropped her eyes. She felt a deep ache for Joshua.

  “Please, Ben,” Mary Ann pleaded. “It’s Easter morning. Come and eat. He’ll be comin’ along.”

  Finally he jammed his hat back on its peg and moved to the table. He sat down hard, staring at nothing. Nathan motioned sharply with his head and Becca and Matthew jumped to sit down as well. The others joined them, the silence heavy in the room.

  Finally Benjamin looked up. “Becca. Offer grace, please. We’ll wait no longer for your brother.”

  Chapter Six

  The first thing to penetrate Joshua Steed’s awareness was the brightness pounding down on his eyelids, jabbing at him like needles. He groaned and rolled over to get away from it, and instantly regretted it. Waves of hammering pain exploded inside his skull. Pressing the heels of his hands hard against his temples to suppress the waves of pain, he pulled himself up into a sitting position. He opened his eyes slowly, then blinked in bewilderment. His shirtsleeves and his pant legs were covered with straw. There was a strong smell of cows. His mouth was dry and foul, his tongue covered with a thick scum. Through the cracks in a board wall in front of him, rays of sunshine were streaming, turning the myriad specks of dust into drifting pinpoints of light. He realized it was the sunshine that had awakened him.

  He closed his eyes, struggling to push his way through the heavy creek-bottom mud that clogged his mind. Cracking one eye open again, he turned his head slowly to survey his surroundings. A mound of hay was to his left, a pitchfork stuck in one side of it. The collar of a harness hung against a wall. He turned the other way as the sound of heavy
snoring finally registered in his brain. Then in an instant it all came flooding back. Will Murdock lay sprawled across the straw-strewn floor, the empty jug of rum lying on its side next to his head. His brother, David, was a few feet further on, lying on his back, twisted at a crazy angle, the flap on his pants unbuttoned, showing a corner of dirty underwear beneath it. Mark Cooper had collapsed on another pile of hay in the far corner.

  Joshua dropped his head into his hands, massaging his temples carefully as the recollection returned. The last he remembered was hearing voices approaching and Will Murdock motioning frantically for the others to follow him into the dark recesses of the barn. They must have collapsed there and slept through the night.

  He jerked up sharply, then groaned, not for the flash of pain which the sudden movement caused, but for the image of his father which leaped into his brain. His family! Last night he had simply walked away from the activities, following after Will Murdock. He had said nothing to anyone. He groaned again. Going home was gonna be right down ugly. He could feel it in his gut.

  Joshua pulled himself up and leaned heavily against the wall until the barn’s interior stopped whirling slowly around him. He stepped over Will Murdock, not much caring whether he waked him, then staggered outside, clamping his eyes shut against the bright sunshine. Still moving slowly, he tucked his shirt back into his pants and brushed at the straw on his trousers. Crawling between the rails of the corral fence, he shooed two horses away from the watering trough. They snorted and moved away, eyeing him warily. Ignoring them, he took their place and buried his head in the cold water, holding his fists against his eyes, trying to blot out the picture of his family—especially his father—waiting for him at home.

  At eighteen years old, Lydia McBride was already fully aware of her beauty and the effect it had on men. So in spite of the grumbling of her father, she stood in front of the mirror to make sure everything was exactly as it should be.

  Her mother, who had nearly died giving birth to Lydia and who had not been able to have any more children since, shamelessly doted on her only offspring. This dress, ordered special from one of New York City’s leading dress designers, had arrived the week before. Lydia felt a quick twinge of guilt, knowing what the dress had cost her father, but today was Easter Sunday, and her mother had brushed aside any protests. There was an unspoken competition developing among the mothers and daughters of Palmyra as the effect of the Erie Canal’s commerce began to be felt in the town. And Hannah Lovina Hurlburt McBride was not about to be bested in the competition.

  As Lydia gave her hair one last brush, her mother stepped to the door. There was an audible gasp. “Oh, Lydia,” she breathed.

  Lydia turned slowly, doing a full three-hundred-and-sixty-degree circle for her mother’s benefit.

  “It’s perfect! Absolutely perfect.”

  “I love it, Mama. Thank you so much for getting it for me.”

  “Hannah!” Josiah McBride’s voice bellowed up the stairs.

  Hannah McBride moved to her daughter and fussed for a moment at the lace on the collar. Then she smoothed down the back of the dress and stepped back to look again, moving back and forth slightly with a critical eye. Finally she nodded. “You are so lovely, Lydia. It’s just perfect.”

  “Hannah! Lydia!” Her father’s voice was much sharper now. “It is ten minutes to ten. We are going to be late.”

  Lydia smiled. Most people found her father to be stern and humorless, but she knew that beneath his public exterior he was not nearly as gruff as he seemed. And he was only marginally behind his wife when it came to indulging and pampering his daughter. But Lydia also knew that his recent appointment as one of the ruling elders in the church had been a thing of great importance to him and that it was wise not to push him on this matter.

  “Coming, Papa,” she called. Her mother handed her the parasol and white gloves and they started down the stairs.

  Joshua moved slowly along Main Street in Palmyra Village. He still walked slowly and placed his feet on the boardwalk gingerly, but he felt considerably better. The plunge in the watering trough had helped somewhat, but to his surprise, as he had approached Church Street, he noticed two horses and a wagon pulled up in front of Asa Lilly’s tavern, where he used the last of his money to nurse his way through two cups of very strong and bitter coffee. The girl who served him, a plump seventeen-year-old who constantly giggled when he looked at her, offered him a brush and a mirror as well, and when he walked out he was considerably more presentable than when he entered.

  He moved slowly, enjoying the warmth of the spring sunshine on his back. One part of him urged him to stride out, getting home as quickly as possible so as not to add to his already troubled situation. Another part of him lagged back, postponing the inevitable clash which lay before him.

  The sound of a buckboard driving by brought him around. A man, woman, and three children, all dressed in Sunday best, looked him up and down as they passed. The mother looked away quickly as Joshua caught her eye, the faint look of distaste evident on her face. Only the youngest girl, a cherub-cheeked three-year-old, waved happily to him. The family looked vaguely familiar, and he supposed he had seen her at the supper the previous evening.

  Now Joshua noted there were others moving along the street as well, both on his side and the other. All were dressed in their best finery, and he suddenly remembered this was Sunday. Easter Sunday. A block and a half ahead of him he could see a dozen or more buckboards and carriages pulled up in front of the Presbyterian church.

  He stopped. Josiah McBride was an elder in the Presbyterian church. Certainly he wouldn’t miss Sunday morning services. Perhaps they hadn’t left yet and he could get a glimpse of Lydia. The image of Lydia surrounded by other young men flashed into his mind and he expelled air with a short burst of derision. Only fools were blind to reality. It was time to put fantasy aside. The tavern keeper’s daughter, the one who had served him coffee a few minutes earlier—now there was realism. Not some beauty who was the daughter of one of Palmyra’s most respected citizens.

  But in spite of himself, Joshua turned and moved slowly back up the street until he stood a few doors down and across from the McBride home and store. He leaned against a post, hoping the shade of the overhang would keep him from being too conspicuous. The door to the McBride store and home was closed. He turned around and looked at the clock in the store window behind him. It showed eight minutes to ten o’clock. Services must begin at ten, he decided.

  He shook his head. Being one of the ruling elders in the church, McBride would probably be one of the first ones there, which meant Lydia was at this very moment already sitting in the McBride family pew inside the church. Across the street another couple hurried quickly along, their four children in tow behind them.

  Disgusted with himself, Joshua turned to go. But at that moment a sound from across the street swung him back around. He felt a quick catch of breath. Lydia McBride and her mother had just come out of the front door of the store. Both were wearing long dresses puffed out with petticoats, but Joshua had eyes only for Lydia. Her dress was of a soft blue with sleeves down to the wrist. A lace bodice was matched by lace trim around the collar and sleeves. Once again she carried a parasol which matched her dress, and she also wore a white knitted shawl across her shoulders. Even at twenty or thirty rods’ distance, her dark hair glistened beneath the small hat she wore, and the sight of her took his breath away a little.

  She nodded and smiled at the passing family, and Joshua heard the soft murmur of her voice float across to him on the still morning air. He couldn’t help himself. He just stood and stared, feeling the odd mixture of excitement and panic welling up in him again. He took a step forward, then moved back quickly into the shadows. Josiah McBride had followed his wife and daughter out of the store. He turned to lock the door, then took his wife by the arm.

  “Come on,” he said, the irritation in his voice clearly evident even at this distance, “we’re going to be late.”


  When they stepped out into the bright sunshine, Lydia had to blink quickly to adjust her eyes to the light. It was a glorious Easter morning. She nodded and spoke to the Baxters, noting with pleasure the sudden widening of the eyes as Mrs. Baxter saw her dress. Let them covet, she thought happily. Let them all covet.

  As they started up the street, Lydia saw they were indeed the last of the people moving toward the church. She gave a quick toss of her head, not displeased with the knowledge that all eyes would be turned to them as they entered the church.

  A figure standing in the shadows caught her eye. She started, peering more closely. It was Joshua Steed. Lydia instantly glanced at her father and mother to see if they had noticed. They hadn’t. Her father had his arm through his wife’s and was striding along with determination. She fell back a step and let her hand stir in a small wave.

  She saw his hand start to lift, then it fell immediately when her father glanced back at her. “Come, Lydia, do keep up.”

  She nodded and hastened her step a little, but still hung back a pace from her parents. There was a sudden stir of excitement as she saw out of the corner of her eye that Joshua had started to move now too, lagging back a little so as to be out of her parents’ peripheral vision, but matching his pace with theirs.

  Her mind went back to the night before. Even from a distance she had seen the longing in Joshua’s eyes. Did she have the power to draw him over, even though it was obvious his courage was wavering? She had enjoyed tantalizing him a little, testing her attractive pull. But he had not come, and when she had turned back after a time, he was gone. He had not re-appeared for the rest of the night, and it had surprised her how sharply the pang of disappointment had cut her.

  So far her parents suspected nothing concerning her interest in this muscular young man who had moved into Palmyra Township the previous fall. Taken aback, Lydia considered her own choice of words. Interest? Was that what she was feeling for Joshua Steed? She had well over a dozen young men who fawned over her, some from the finest families in the village. Lydia had become quite bored with it all—bored with the endless matchmaking attempts by hungry mothers, bored with the effortlessness with which she could turn heads.