spreading this calumny.”
Thoughts racing, Matthew backed away, vaulted over the rail fence, and strode toward the barn. He heard his father’s voice in his ears. You’re deluded if you think you’re called to be a preacher. Stay home where you belong. Flinging open the barn door, he went to the nearest stall and led his horse out to be saddled.
Ben followed him into the barn. “Where are you going?”
“I don’t know.” Matthew rested his forehead against the animal’s warm hide. “I really don’t know.”
Ellie watched Matthew and Mr. Wolcott ride away. Matthew had never left without saying good-bye before. Heavyhearted, she turned back to the stove and grated lye soap shavings into the wash boiler, then dropped in an armload of her sons’ grimy shirts. The water changed from clear to muddy gray. Just like our lives.
The house was quiet. The children were at school, and now Matthew was gone too. She could put her plan into action. Ellie stepped back from the stove and wiped perspiration from her forehead with the hem of her apron, then climbed the stairs.
She headed straight to the clothespress in their bedroom. Even knowing she was alone, Ellie still checked over her shoulder before kneeling to open the drawer that held Matthew’s personal possessions. Her heartbeat pounded in her ears.
The fragrance of stored sunshine rose from her husband’s clean shirts and underthings when she opened the drawer. With trembling hands, she reached beneath the stacks of clothing and drew out a slim walnut document box.
Ellie groped around the bottom of the drawer, her fingers searching for the small brass key that fit the lock. Nothing. Defeated, she sank back onto her heels. Now what? She lifted the box and shook it. The contents teased her with rattles and whispers. She tipped it on its side and shook it again. This time the hinged lid flew open. Folded papers sifted onto her lap. Several pen nibs rolled under the clothespress and two wooden pen holders clattered past her knees.
She’d intended to look through his papers without disturbing their order, but that was impossible now. Ellie bent over and fished under the clothespress for the runaway nibs. She gathered four of them and prayed none were hiding next to the wall. Once the nibs and holders were back in the walnut box, she turned her attention to the pages in her lap. A letter from the presiding elder, appointing Matthew to the Beldon Grove church. Several drawings of the church building in various stages of construction. A credit receipt from Wolcott’s Mercantile for last year’s corn crop. Then a sheet of yellowed paper, folded inward on all four sides, caught her eye. Ellie’d never seen it before.
It was too old to be from Grandpa Long. Curious, she unfolded one side of the letter, then stopped, a tingle of guilt prickling her throat at the idea of spying on her husband. A voice inside told her to put everything back and leave the room. Instead, Ellie opened the fragile document carefully, so as not to tear the paper. A lock of auburn hair tied with a blue cord nestled in the center of a sheet covered with faded script.
Ellie traced the silky curl with her index finger. Matthew had told her about the sweetheart he’d lost years ago in Kentucky. But he hadn’t told her he’d kept a lock of her hair. An arrow of jealousy impaled her heart.
Angry, she pushed the auburn curl to one side and started to read.
Dear Brother Matthew,
Since we don’t know where you are, we are sending this to the Elder of your conference and pray it reaches you.
Our dear Mother went to the arms of her Lord on Monday last after a brief sickness. She asked for you at the end. I’m sending a lock of her hair for you to remember her by.
Pa is worse than usual. Sister Molly has been a blessing to us boys. We all send greetings and hope this finds you well.
Y’r Brother Adam
Ellie lowered the paper and blinked back tears. The date written at the top of the sheet was
Thoughts racing, Matthew backed away, vaulted over the rail fence, and strode toward the barn. He heard his father’s voice in his ears. You’re deluded if you think you’re called to be a preacher. Stay home where you belong. Flinging open the barn door, he went to the nearest stall and led his horse out to be saddled.
Ben followed him into the barn. “Where are you going?”
“I don’t know.” Matthew rested his forehead against the animal’s warm hide. “I really don’t know.”
Ellie watched Matthew and Mr. Wolcott ride away. Matthew had never left without saying good-bye before. Heavyhearted, she turned back to the stove and grated lye soap shavings into the wash boiler, then dropped in an armload of her sons’ grimy shirts. The water changed from clear to muddy gray. Just like our lives.
The house was quiet. The children were at school, and now Matthew was gone too. She could put her plan into action. Ellie stepped back from the stove and wiped perspiration from her forehead with the hem of her apron, then climbed the stairs.
She headed straight to the clothespress in their bedroom. Even knowing she was alone, Ellie still checked over her shoulder before kneeling to open the drawer that held Matthew’s personal possessions. Her heartbeat pounded in her ears.
The fragrance of stored sunshine rose from her husband’s clean shirts and underthings when she opened the drawer. With trembling hands, she reached beneath the stacks of clothing and drew out a slim walnut document box.
Ellie groped around the bottom of the drawer, her fingers searching for the small brass key that fit the lock. Nothing. Defeated, she sank back onto her heels. Now what? She lifted the box and shook it. The contents teased her with rattles and whispers. She tipped it on its side and shook it again. This time the hinged lid flew open. Folded papers sifted onto her lap. Several pen nibs rolled under the clothespress and two wooden pen holders clattered past her knees.
She’d intended to look through his papers without disturbing their order, but that was impossible now. Ellie bent over and fished under the clothespress for the runaway nibs. She gathered four of them and prayed none were hiding next to the wall. Once the nibs and holders were back in the walnut box, she turned her attention to the pages in her lap. A letter from the presiding elder, appointing Matthew to the Beldon Grove church. Several drawings of the church building in various stages of construction. A credit receipt from Wolcott’s Mercantile for last year’s corn crop. Then a sheet of yellowed paper, folded inward on all four sides, caught her eye. Ellie’d never seen it before.
It was too old to be from Grandpa Long. Curious, she unfolded one side of the letter, then stopped, a tingle of guilt prickling her throat at the idea of spying on her husband. A voice inside told her to put everything back and leave the room. Instead, Ellie opened the fragile document carefully, so as not to tear the paper. A lock of auburn hair tied with a blue cord nestled in the center of a sheet covered with faded script.
Ellie traced the silky curl with her index finger. Matthew had told her about the sweetheart he’d lost years ago in Kentucky. But he hadn’t told her he’d kept a lock of her hair. An arrow of jealousy impaled her heart.
Angry, she pushed the auburn curl to one side and started to read.
Dear Brother Matthew,
Since we don’t know where you are, we are sending this to the Elder of your conference and pray it reaches you.
Our dear Mother went to the arms of her Lord on Monday last after a brief sickness. She asked for you at the end. I’m sending a lock of her hair for you to remember her by.
Pa is worse than usual. Sister Molly has been a blessing to us boys. We all send greetings and hope this finds you well.
Y’r Brother Adam
Ellie lowered the paper and blinked back tears. The date written at the top of the sheet was
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