Undaunted Love, page 20
“Almighty God,” Nackie began, “I thank You for this here baby, and I thank You that his mama wants to dedicate him to You today. Only You know where his daddy is, and we lift him up to you, knowin’ that You are always a’watchin’ out for him, wherever he go. We pray that little Gabriel will be a strong man, an honest man, and a fair man, like his daddy, and his daddy before, him that Gabriel is named for.
“Lord God, make this water as clean as the river Jordan what Your people crossed to enter Your promised land. Protect this here baby, and his mama, and bring Rafe Colton home to them.”
Josiah reached over and took the baby from Livvie. He looked tiny in his white christening gown, his golden hair shining in the sun. He looked at Josiah calmly, studying his face, his big blue eyes blinking every so slowly. The negro smiled down at him, dipped his hand in the bowl, and poured water on Gabriel’s head.
“In the name of the Father…” Gabriel’s eyes widened in surprise. “And the Son, and the Holy Ghost, we dedicate this here babe to You, good Father. Bless and keep him, and let him enter Your promised land when he is old. In the mighty name of Jesus!”
Everyone said, “Amen!” so loudly that the baby startled, and started to cry. Livvie laughed and took him from Josiah, kissing his head and bouncing him on her shoulder. “That’s all right there, little one. We’re all just agreein’ that you will be a man of God, like your daddy.”
Rafe arrived in Indian River City at dinner time, and found that there were several small rooming houses built to accommodate men working at the nearby coquina limestone quarry. The first two were full, but he found a room at the third, a block off the river. The house had a large back yard with swaying palms and small fruit trees, and the proprietor, Mr. Marsden, told him that all the boarders were welcome to sit there in the morning or evening and enjoy the breeze. He ate a hot supper of fish stew and fried bananas, and fell into bed gratefully before full dark.
The next morning he arose early, awakened by the sounds of the quarrymen preparing for work. He stayed in bed until the men had left, then rose, put on his one pair of pants and shirt, tied on his near-ruined boots, and went downstairs to the dining room. There was still hot coffee, milk, eggs, biscuits and a few pieces of fatty bacon on the sideboard, and he filled a plate and sat down, taking an orange from the bowl. As he was finishing up, Mrs. Marsden entered through the kitchen. She was a small, thin woman of about forty, with silvery blonde hair and laugh lines around her eyes.
“Oh!” she exclaimed, putting her hand to her neck and laughing. “Oliver told me we had a new guest, and I plum forgot! I’m sorry, you just startled me.”
Rafe had risen to his feet, and now smiled at her. “Sorry ma’am, seemed like the easiest way to get somethin’ to eat was to wait til all the men had gone to work.”
She laughed. “You were lucky today, Big Ted was feelin’ peckish. Otherwise, wouldn’t’a been a scrap left. Those boys can eat their weight, working with that rock all day long.” She began to stack the serving dishes, and Rafe joined her, taking two platters and following her into the kitchen.
“Thank you kindly, Mr… I don’t believe Oliver told me your name.”
“Rafe, Rafe Colton. And it’s no trouble, ma’am, I ain’t got to be anywhere.” He set the platters down on the table.
“What brings you to Indian River City, then?” she asked.
Rafe shrugged. “I been coming south, since the War. Well, since I got out. I’m looking for…” He paused. Truth be told, he didn’t know what he was looking for. He’d run from Byrd’s Creek, and he’d spent months on the road, working and walking and thinking. But so far he’d had no direction, no goal. So he’d just kept walking. “I guess I’m lookin’ for a place to put down some roots, to bring my wife where we can have a life.”
“Your wife?” Mrs. Marsden said, one eyebrow arched. “And where’s she, then?”
“South Carolina. It’s, well, it’s kinda a long story, but after the War, well, I had to stay in Virginia awhile with the regiment, and when I got home, a carpetbagger had taken my house. Not that it was much, it was fallin’ down since my daddy died. I’d already lost the farmland, so, well, then I didn’t have a home, didn’t have a livelihood… My wife, she’d been living with her mama and daddy all that time, and where we’re from, it’s real small. We decided it’d be best for me to find somewhere for us, where we could come and settle…” He rambled to a stop, not sure of what else to say. They hadn’t agreed on any such thing, although Livvie knew they’d have to leave Byrd’s Creek for Rafe to get a job. He was ashamed, suddenly, of what he’d done, running off in the middle of the night and leaving his wife behind. He sat down heavily at the table.
“Rafe, child, looks to me like you aren’t sure what you’re doing.” Mrs. Marsden put a new mug of coffee down in front of him and sat down herself. She looked at him with kind blue eyes, and Rafe knew he was too tired to run anymore.
Chapter Fourty-Two
THAT FIRST MORNING, RAFE HAD confessed to everything. He told Maribel Marsden that he had abandoned his wife, that he had barely written to her, that he hadn’t sent her any money, and that he had even stopped praying as he walked mile after mile, unsure of where he was going or what he was supposed to do.
“You know, Rafe, my daddy always told me that we can run away from God, but He’s like the moon. We walk and walk and when we look over our shoulder, it’s still there, shining down on us. And sometimes God can’t tell us what to do, even though He’s right there, because we didn’t do the last thing he told us. He’s still waitin’.” She’d smiled kindly as she said it, but her blue eyes penetrated into his soul. He’d laid his head down on the table and wept.
When he was through, Mrs. Marsden merely handed him a napkin, patted him on his shoulder, and set about cleaning up the breakfast dishes. After a moment, Rafe had joined her, and together they’d washed all the pots and pans, the plates, mugs and glasses, and laid out the dinner service. They didn’t talk, but Rafe felt more peaceful than he had in a long while.
As the days went by, he found himself in frequent conversations with Maribel and Oliver, who proved to be as kind and no-nonsense as his wife.
“You left your wife in a bit of a bind, wouldn’t you say?” Oliver asked him over coffee one morning.
Rafe nodded. He had begun to realize what a terrible decision he’d made, abandoning Livvie without even asking her what they should do, leaving her with Nackie and his mama. He should have stayed, tried to prove his innocence. Livvie had wanted to confess their marriage and give him an alibi, and he’d rejected her, rejected the public proclamation of their love. He hung his head in shame. He was no man.
Oliver helped him to find work, as the foreman for Mr. Price in his orange grove. He hadn’t grown fruit before, but he’d farmed, and he’d managed slaves and day laborers, and he learned quickly. Mr. Price was also building a hotel on the waterfront, in a nice curve of the river where the view stretched for miles north and south. He thought that, pretty soon, the Yankees were going to start heading south in the winter, and he wanted a hotel to cater to those families coming for several months at a time.
“The railroad’ll get down here one day soon, Rafe,” Price was fond of saying, patting his expansive belly. He was tall and broad, and he’d put on considerable weight since the war, since there was no more rationing. His white hair was full and waved over his ears and neck, and he had grey eyes that matched the river in a storm. His pretty young wife, Rose, was planning the decor for the hotel, but mostly she giggled and blushed when Rafe was around.
As part of his compensation, Rafe was given a small, whitewashed house on a narrow lane outside of town called Little John Lane. The house was furnished with simple but well made furniture of pine and oak and even some mahogany. There was a wide front porch to keep the sun out of the windows, and gauzy cotton curtains he closed at night to keep the mosquitoes out. He often sat at the small table in the kitchen and looked at the stove, imagining Livvie making him flapjacks, and laughing at the memory of her burning them.
Indian River City was a town of Florida crackers, natives who were used to the heat and the bugs, and refugees from the War. Men had come from all over to work the quarry, and most brought their families with them. There was a small church, inexplicably painted pink, and a young pastor who preached from the Bible and was quick to laugh. Rafe began to meet people and make friends, and after a month he realized that he could envision a life in this small riverside town.
Once a week he ate dinner at the boarding house with the Marsdens, and they were still the only people in town who knew his secret.
“Perhaps it’s time you got to writin’ some letters, find out what’s going on back home. You may be down here for nothin’, you know. Or maybe she could join you here…” Oliver said one night, sitting back, watching Rafe’s face.
“I ain’t got a house of my own, or a horse…” he said.
“We can fix that, when you’re ready, but you don’t have to have the life you had before the War in order to be a good husband. And I think you got some more important business to attend to, don’t you?”
Miserably, Rafe nodded. He wouldn’t blame his wife if she didn’t want him back. But how would he face that. Like the man she deserves, he decided.
Later that day, he sat in the small kitchen where Livvie seemed so alive to him, and wrote a letter, the one he should have written months ago. He was terrified as he wrote, and he prayed, fervently and from the heart, as he had never prayed before. Father God, you gave me such a precious gift, and I didn’t cherish it. I haven’t loved her as You wanted me to. I’ve abandoned her, ignored her, for all intents and purposes divorced her. I know that she is most likely angry and bitter, and she may not even love me anymore. And that’s what I deserve. Just let me get the words onto the paper, let me tell her I’m sorry and that I love her, and that I will let her go if need be. Give me the strength to do that, Father. In Jesus name. Amen.
The pen scratched across the paper, blending with the sounds of the crickets and tree frogs outside.
May 4, 1866
My Dearest Livvie,
I am ashamed at how I’ve acted since the War ended, and I won’t blame you if you don’t read this letter, or even if you burn it up. I deserve that, I know. I can say I love you from now til kingdom come, but I know I haven’t acted like it, and there’s no one to blame but myself if you can’t forgive me.
I am living in a small town in Florida, and have made some good friends. Maribel and Oliver Marsden have been helping me to see where I’ve been wrong, and I’ve been going to church and praying, and asking God to forgive me for running, and for leaving you. I know I have things I need to do to make it right, and I hope and pray every day that you will let me.
I’ve been working as a foreman at an orange grove here, in charge of all the men. This time of year there’s not so many, but Mr. Price tells me we’ll be right busy from November through March, so I’m learning all I can. I’m also helping him with building a hotel. He’s paying me a good wage, and I’m living in a little house that would be perfect for the two of us. Land down here’s not so dear, so I think we could buy something one day, and build our own house, maybe even right on the river, where we can watch the sunrise…
Olivia Byrd, I haven’t said it in a long time, and maybe never enough, but you are the best thing that ever happened to me. Without you I wouldn’t have made it through the War, but even more important, without you, I wouldn’t be complete. I feel alone and lost and empty, and I know it’s because I ran and left you behind. God hasn’t answered my prayers because I didn’t do the last thing He told me to do, and that was to love and cherish and take care of you. So Livvie, I want to come fetch you. I want to tell everyone you’re my wife, and I want to bring you home, here, to this beautiful little part of God’s creation, and make a life with you.
Maybe you didn’t get to the end of the letter, and I won’t ever hear from you. I have asked God to give me the strength, should that be your answer. You deserve the best, Liv, and I want you to have the life and the love you want. If that’s not me, if I’ve hurt you too much, that’s fair enough. I’ll love you til the day I die, but I’ll not keep you from happiness. If you should forgive me, as I pray, please write to me here.
I love you, Liv.
Rafe
Chapter Fourty-Three
LIVVIE HEARD A HORSE TROTTING up the drive, and went to the door, Gabriel in her arms, to see who was arriving. She was surprised to see the Smith’s son Nathan, a boy a few years younger than herself, approaching on an old black gelding. She waved at him, and he grinned, waving a letter and a parcel.
“Miss Emmy sent me, with a letter for you, and this parcel for the baby. She said to tell Madeline to come visit, that Mr. Byrd’s gonna be up to Columbia and then Washington, and she’ll be all alone for a month.” He hopped down from the horse, and ran up the steps. “Is Madeline feeling better? And that is a one cute little fella!” He made a face at Gabriel, who was watching him solemnly. When Nathan stuck out his tongue the baby tried to copy him, making the teen laugh. “I gotta get back. Mama told me to deliver these, take a gander at the baby so I can report back, and get a move on home.”
Laughing, Livvie took the letter and parcel, and waved again as Nathan trotted off the way he’d come. Looking at the envelope, she saw that it had a postmark from Florida. Frowning, she tore it open, and immediately recognized her husband’s handwriting. She gasped, and sat down heavily on a rocker on the porch. The baby squawked at the sudden movements, but settled as she began to rock.
As she read the letter, tears began to flow down her face. When she finished it she had a big grin, but was still crying, which was how Madeline found her.
Alarmed, she asked, “What is it, Liv?”
Livvie handed her the letter, rocking and smiling and kissing the baby. When Madeline had finished it, she kissed her sister on the cheek, tears on her own face. “It’s a miracle, isn’t it?” she asked.
Her sister merely nodded.
May 17, 1866
My Darling Rafe,
You do not know what a joy it was to get your letter! I have never wavered in my love for you, and have only prayed that you would be safe and well, and that God would show you the way back to me. It would seem that my prayers have been answered! I am enclosing a journal that I have kept for you, along with letters I wrote when you first left. I think that is easier than me writing down again all that has happened. I must tell you, though, that the murder of Mr. Monighan has not been solved, and I am afraid that, if you come back, Sheriff Gingras will arrest you on sight. Now that… well, when you read the journal you’ll know all that has happened that has kept me in Wadmalaw and not Byrd’s Creek. But suffice it to say that I have been gone for some time. I am going back soon to visit Emmy and will make inquiries, and write to you if I hear anything new.
I will join you, my love, wherever you are, wherever you go. Work hard, stay true, keep writing to me, and we will trust God for His timing. You are still and always my one true love.
Faithfully,
Liv
The following week Livvie and Gabriel, with Madeline and her three children, went to Byrd’s Creek. They arrived in the evening, trying to keep the neighboring eyes from all the children, and Emmy welcomed them with a hot supper and a full plate of gossip.
“That Mistuh Wyman got sent back to Byrd’s Creek by yo daddy a couple a’weeks ago, and he been gettin’ drunk, banging on doors in the middle a’the night, and finally that new sheriff took him off to jail. He been sleepin’ it off in the jail off and on ever since, and he been tellin’ everybody in town it’s all cause a Miz Livvie,” she said breathlessly.
“Me?” Livvie asked, confused. “Why me?”
“Ain’t nobody been able to tell fo’ sure, but seems like after you told yo daddy you weren’t a’gonna marry him, Hugh Byrd started lookin’ for somebody else. Since the Phelps ain’t from South Carolina anyway, Wyman’s daddy cain’t be a big help for the ‘lection, and since Livvie weren’t gonna marry him, he wasn’t too useful anymore. So Mistuh Byrd, he found hisself a young man from an old Aiken family or thereabouts, and that boy been travelin’ around wit’ him now. He dropped Mistuh Wyman like a hot potatah, and that don’t seem to fit with what Mistuh Wyman thinks about hisself.” She laughed, throwing her hands in the air, her eyes closing and her face breaking into wrinkles like a dried apple.
“Where’s Wyman now?” Livvie asked. She knew enough about him to know that he was arrogant and spoiled. Not getting his way was going to bring out the cruel streak that had been hidden just below the surface all those years.
Emmy shrugged. “Cain’t rightly say. He was renting that little house down to the end a’Oakview, last I knew. Maybe he gone back to his daddy in Savannah. Good riddance, I say.”
“Have they arrested anybody for killin’ that carpetbagger that bought Rafe’s house?” Livvie asked.
The old woman shook her head. “Nah, that Gingras, he can’t see past yo Rafe, Miz Liv. Never mind ain’t nobody in town what thinks he done it, and they found nothin’ at the house, neither. He ain’t looked at it ‘cept to call Rafe Colton a fugitive. It’s ridiculous! For all we know that man had enemies from up North, wherever he come from.”
