Authors: Gilbert Morris
“If Lincoln had lived, it would have been different,” Sky said regretfully. “John Wilkes Booth did his best to ruin the South when he shot the President.”
“Maybe,” Beau nodded, his face sullen. “Andrew Johnson is a different sort. Never went to school a day in his life—and he’s made it clear he hates Southern aristocrats. He’ll wipe us all out if he can.” He looked around and added in a different tone of voice, “We’ve got to take care of ourselves. Nobody else gives a pin about us!”
Mark leaned forward and asked curiously, “You’re talking about the White Knights, Beau?”
Beau nodded emphatically, and struck the table with his fist. “Yes! It’s the only way we’re going to stay alive in the South. And I think you all ought to join us as soon as possible.”
The White Knights was a secret organization that had sprung up throughout the state almost as soon as the war had ended. It was composed of young white men, almost exclusively ex-Confederate soldiers. Their meetings were secret, as was the identity of their members, but everyone had heard of their activities. They met at night and donned white hoods and capes, then rode throughout the area to leave warnings
for those who broke what they considered the code of the South. For the most part, this seemed to mean Negroes who were “uppity” and demanded their new rights, but it also included whites who showed any favoritism for the former slaves or for the federal government.
Sky considered Beau, conscious that his family was waiting for him to respond. Many of his friends had already asked him to join the knights, and he knew that sooner or later he would have to make a decision. “I guess we’ve all heard about that organization, Beau,” he said slowly. “Some of the thinking sounds good—but I won’t join the White Knights.”
“Why not?” Beau demanded.
“For one thing, I couldn’t be a part of any movement that has to hide its face. If a cause is good, it’s not necessary to hide one’s identity. I was proud of the Southern Confederacy, and I never kept it a secret.”
“I was proud, too, sir,” Beau argued. “But this is different. The North is in control. Any man who acts against the laws will be arrested at once. That’s why we wear masks. We’ve
got
to fight—and we can’t do it if we’re rotting in a Northern jail!”
Mark spoke up quietly. “Beau, we lost the war. Now we’ve got to make a place for ourselves back in the Union.”
“Not me!” Dan snapped. He gave a defiant look around. “I think Beau’s right. We’ve got to fight for ourselves.”
“Dan sees it,” Beau insisted. “And sooner or later you all will. Just wait until they start this
reconstruction
they’re talking about! Why, there’ll be laws you won’t believe, Sky! I
know!
”
Sky stared at him, a hard clear light in his dark eyes. “I won’t
ever
be a party to night-riding with a hood over my face, Beau. That’s final.”
Beau’s face flushed. “Not speaking for myself, of course, but you may make some enemies. People look to you, and they’ll expect you to support them.”
“And if I don’t, they may come calling on me some night?”
“I didn’t say that, sir!”
“But it’s the way it works, Beau,” Sky countered. “When a group looks for power, they draw a little line around themselves and say, ‘Come in with us—or you’re the enemy.’ Everybody is either a sheep or a goat—no middle ground. Beau, I’d advise you to stay out of it.”
Beauchamp set his jaw stubbornly, but he said no more.
Rebekah broke in. “Pet, have you and Thad got all your wedding plans made?”
“Not much to do!” Thad said before Pet could speak. “She’s going to have the dress and I’ll have the ring, and the cake and refreshments will be there, but . . .” He grinned at Pet and jibed, “We’ll have everything except a preacher to marry us!”
“Better elope and find one,” Tom grinned. “The way I hear it, the preacher’s the one indispensable element in a wedding.”
“Well, you can set your minds at rest about a preacher,” Sky offered, relieved at the change of topic. “Moody told us that the bishop promised him we’d have a new pastor within a month.”
“And who will it be?” Rebekah asked.
“Moody didn’t know. But if I’ve got the banker’s number, he’d order a preacher the way he’d get a suit from a tailor! Right, Belle?”
“I wouldn’t be surprised,” Belle agreed. “He’s that sort of man, I think.” She smiled and added, “I can see his order now: ‘Send one Methodist preacher. Conservative in views, stuffy in private life, willing to live on pittance. Ship C.O.D. to St. Andrew’s Methodist Church. Merchandise may be returned if not satisfactory!’ ”
They all laughed, but she warned, “Wait and see!”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
NEW PREACHER
With the wedding only a week away, and no preacher in sight to perform the ceremony, Thad took quite a bit of ribbing. “Maybe you could get the Baptist preacher—or even the Episcopalian priest to tie the knot,” Tom suggested to him and Pet.
“No, Pet’s a pretty strong Methodist.” He grinned at her. “She’s not real sure a wedding’s legal without a Methodist spouting the words. But I aim to be married even if I have to kidnap the governor to do the job.”
Asa Moody had been promising the church the new pastor would arrive before Christmas, and on Sunday, December 11, he stood up in church and waved a letter. “Bishop Taylor’s letter came yesterday. He’s got the field narrowed down to two men, and the one he selects will be in our pulpit next Sunday morning!”
The congregation spent all week discussing the new preacher. As Max Wayne put it, “If that poor preacher could hear what’s expected of him, he’d turn tail and run to the cannibals in Africa!”
Sky agreed. “Sounds as if they expect him to preach like John Wesley, work like a mule, and live on air.”
The next Sunday, the church was almost full. It was cold, and the two wood-burning stoves glowed with heat as the congregation filed in much earlier than usual. People who hadn’t been to church in months were there to evaluate the new pastor, and Moody said with some satisfaction to Sky, “Well, now, this is the way I like it! A good crowd!”
“I guess for some it’s the first time since last Christmas. The preacher come in yet?”
“Yes. Last night.”
“How’d he strike you?”
“Haven’t met him yet. He pulled in late and went to the hotel—but he sent word he’d be here for the morning service.” Discontentment spread across his face. “This thing hasn’t been handled right, Winslow. I told the bishop the minister ought to go before the leadership of the church
first;
then if they didn’t approve, it wouldn’t be so awkward getting another man.”
“Let’s hope this one will be satisfactory so we won’t have to trade him off on a newer model.”
Time for the service to begin came, and Moody nodded at the song leader. They sang two songs, and Moody became more and more restless. Finally the front door creaked, and Moody stood up and said loudly, “Come right to the platform, Reverend! Your church is anxious to meet you.”
A few of the congregation, mostly the Winslows, resisted the temptation to swivel their heads as the new pastor walked down the aisle. Belle heard Mary Ann Peterson whisper, “My! He’s too good-looking to be a preacher!”
Pet leaned over to Belle. “Heaven help him if he’s not married! He’d probably make
one
maiden happy, and the
rest
hate him!”
Belle smiled and looked up as the minister passed her. He was wearing the customary black suit, and he was tall, but she couldn’t see his face. He kept his back to the congregation as he met Moody, conversing briefly.
Then he turned and every Winslow gasped. Davis Winslow!
“Did you know this, Sky?” Rebekah whispered.
“No!”
Moody looked at the congregation and said smoothly, “Since I’ve not had the pleasure of meeting our new pastor before now, I think it might be well if he introduced himself. This is Reverend Davis Winslow, and he tells me he is no
stranger to some of you. Reverend, we welcome you to St. Andrew’s!”
Davis stepped to the platform and placed his large black Bible on the pulpit. Looking out over the congregation, he seemed to be evaluating them as carefully as they were weighing him.
Finally he said in a strong voice, “This is the most exciting moment of my life—and the most awkward! A friend of mine told me how he felt the first time he met his future wife’s parents. He said he was as nervous as a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs!”
A titter swept the congregation as Davis continued. Belle looked around to see that most of the church members seemed pleased, but
she
wasn’t. She couldn’t reconcile this man with the memory of the one who had kissed her, saying, “I care for you.” She desperately wanted to flee, but she was trapped.
“We’ll soon get to know each other better,” Davis said, “but since Mr. Moody asked that I introduce myself, I will do so. I am thirty years old, not married, and in good health.” This information quickened the interest of most women who had marriageable daughters, but he went on without a pause, “My parents are Mr. and Mrs. Robert Winslow of Washington, where my father is a representative in the Congress of the United States. Some of you may remember when I visited Richmond with my grandfather some years ago.”
More whispers.
“Some of you are also remembering that my brother Lowell came to this city to testify on behalf of Thad Novak—who I see is here this morning.”
Davis’s eyes rested on the Winslows. Belle felt the weight of his glance. For a moment he hesitated before adding, “It is sometimes dangerous for a minister to have members of his family in his church, but my connection with the Winslows is distant. Sky, of course, is part of the Southern branch of the Winslows—while my own family has made its home in the north for many years.”
Several of the church members who had looked on the new pastor with some satisfaction, now scrutinized him more closely. Smiles faded, and Davis lifted his chin, saying in a firm voice, “Yes, I am from the North—and as some of you know, I served as an officer in the United States Army.”
A disturbance in the back interrupted Davis. Belle saw Hiram Coggins moving out of his pew, herding his wife and two children ahead of him. His face was red with anger as he turned to face Davis. “I fought you from Bull Run to Five Forks, Yankee—and I’ll never darken the door of this church again until the bishop gets enough sense to send us a man of our own kind!” He turned and raked the congregation with his eyes, adding, “And the rest of you ought to leave like me and my family! You, Henry—you lost two boys and a sonin-law to the bluebellies! You gonna sit there and listen to a man who maybe killed them?”
Henry Cooper was a small man who rarely spoke in public. The church waited with bated breath. Would he follow Cog-gins? Henry had no sons left to carry on his name, and his wife was past childbearing age. His eyes met those of Davis. The new pastor did not flinch. A silence fell across the room, and everyone realized that the fate of the young minister lay in Henry’s hands. Almost every family had lost some relation to the war—a son, a brother, a father—and the bitterness of four years of struggle hung heavily in the room.
Finally Cooper shifted his eyes to Hiram Coggins and in a mild voice said, “Hiram, my sons are gone. Nothing can bring them back. But I’ve got three girls, and I aim to do my best for them—and for this church.” He gave Davis another quick evaluation and nodded, “The bishop’s not a fool, Hiram. He knew what this man would be facing when he sent him—and he’s my pastor until he proves himself unfit.”
Coggins glared with outrage, whirled, and screamed, “Be a fool if you want! I refuse!” He stalked out, and two other families followed, giving Davis a withering look as they left.
Davis bowed his head for one moment. When he raised it,
he spoke quietly to Henry Cooper. “Thank you, sir. I have some idea of what that cost you.” Then he stepped out from behind the pulpit and came to the edge of the platform. There was an assurance in his manner that in no way resembled the young man who had visited the Winslows years earlier; and as he spoke, Sky measured him with fresh interest.
“You have been wondering why the bishop waited so long to send you a pastor. When he comes, he will no doubt inform you. I can tell you what he told me—that it was the most difficult choice he’s ever made. Why send a Yankee, a former officer in the United States Army to pastor a people who have just fought a bitter war against the government?” A smile creased Davis’s face, and it made him look younger. “That was exactly what I asked him. He had narrowed the choices to me and a man from South Carolina—a former chaplain in the Army of Northern Virginia. When he said he was sending me to Richmond, I begged him to choose the other minister!”
Not a sound was heard. Every eye was fixed on Davis. “He told me God had directed him in the matter, and that was that. But we discussed it at length, and I think I know what was in his heart. There are hard times ahead for the South—and he believes that only as the wounds of war are healed will there be hope for her people.”
He searched their faces, and his voice took on a different tone. “I didn’t want to come to this church. I have had no experience. I am a novice and will have to continue my biblical studies as I pastor the church. Frankly, I am not wise enough to pastor a church of this size; it would have been my desire to go to a small church for an apprenticeship. But the bishop persuaded me, believing there was something I could do here, and I will do my best. Some of you are already convinced I will fail—but I want to make you one promise. While I am your pastor, I will preach the truth as I hold it, and I will serve you as faithfully as I can. But if at the end
of six months, a majority of the membership feels I should step down, I will do so.”
Jaws dropped in surprise, and he smiled. “That’s not the Methodist way, but I made it clear to the bishop it would have to be, and he agreed.” Then he said, “Now I am introduced to you. You will introduce yourselves to me very soon, and as we serve the Lord Jesus Christ together, it is my prayer that our judgments of one another will not be whether we wore a blue or a gray uniform—but whether we manifest the simple love of the Savior of the world! In the time that is left, turn in your Bibles to the Gospel of Mark, chapter eleven, verse twenty-two.”