Shannon Farrington - Handpicked Family

He had already spoken to Reverend Webb about making certain the men from the road didn’t try to claim a second helping of cornmeal. The preacher agreed. As softhearted as he was, he realized better than anyone the necessity for stretching what they had to help as many people as possible.

A story from childhood scripture readings suddenly flashed through Peter’s mind, the one about how the Lord fed five thousand with only five loaves of bread and two small fish. Daniel’s favorite story. He quickly shoved the memory away. Reminiscing won’t help now.

“Before we open our doors,” Reverend Webb said, “let’s pray.”

Peter no longer believed in divine intervention, but he wouldn’t disrespect the reverend’s request. In his mind, God had created the world, then sat back and let it run unimpeded. Evil men had and would continue to have their way. The only thing a decent man could do was try to stem the tide of injustice and look after the people caught in its wake. People like Caroline and her child.

Fending off the despair that threatened to wash over him, he moved toward the center of the room, where the rest of the group had already converged, stepping up to the parson and his wife. Mrs. Webb shifted her position at the last second to make more room in the circle. Inadvertently she placed Peter between herself and Miss Martin. He saw the flush come over the young woman’s face when the reverend then requested that they all join hands.

What words the preacher actually prayed Peter couldn’t say. He was much too conscious of the slenderness and softness of Miss Martin’s fingers, testaments again of her sheltered life. She had no idea what heartbreak was waiting for her outside.

She will soon find out. Not that he wished to deliberately hurt her, but someone needed to educate her on the realities of the world today. Peace had been declared and the reconstruction of the Union had begun, but the people outside had been impoverished by their own country. Of the Confederate veterans who had managed to return, few were able-bodied. Arriving home, they found their lands in ruins, and no longer their own, for they had been confiscated by the Federal government.

The only thing taking root around here is the seed of resentment. What will they do if they are given the opportunity to avenge themselves? An angry man may be all too willing to lash out at anyone he can find—even someone as harmless and well-intentioned as Miss Martin.

Of course, not every man out there was a danger or a threat. Many were well-intentioned themselves, simply seeking a way to get on with their lives, but lacking the resources to move forward. The slaves were free, but the freedmen Peter had talked to had been told by Federal authorities to remain on the plantations, let their masters feed and clothe them until the end of this year. What kind of freedom is that? Their masters have no food to give them. The slaves had been promised forty acres and a mule of their own. Taking their chances, many were migrating north, seeking work in any form, desperate to be reunited with loved ones.

Peter couldn’t help but then think of the ordinary family farms, and the people on them who had simply disappeared. Who will gain their land? In time enormous profit will be made from these derelict farms, but it isn’t going to be claimed by the ones who had once labored on them.

The world was a cheap mess. Someone was going to profit, of that Peter was certain. Someone always did.

His lame leg was aching. It always bothered him when the weather was damp or he had stood on it for too long. He would have to remember to use his cane. Presently, though, he couldn’t remember where he had left it. He shifted his weight just as the reverend offered prayers for the regional garrison commander.

“Bless him, Lord. Give him the wisdom to look after those in his care...”

Peter couldn’t help but think that that request, if heard at all, would be better presented on behalf of Reverend Webb himself. In Peter’s time here, no leadership, save one overworked preacher trying to shepherd what remained of his refugee flock and protect it from encircling wolves, was doing anything to help.

But for so many, there is nothing to be done. Too many men had gone into battle never to return. Reverend Webb had told him there were at least a dozen surnames in this community that were destined to die out upon the widow’s death. Either her sons had perished, leaving her childless, or daughters alone would struggle to carry on a father’s legacy.

As for the children Peter had come upon, some weren’t even old enough to attend school, meaning they had been born since the start of the war. What had those men been thinking, fathering children while knowing hostilities were on the horizon? Deep down he knew he shouldn’t be angry with Daniel, let alone his brother Matthew, for being among them, but he couldn’t help it.

Inadvertently, he cast a glance at Miss Martin. Her head was bowed. Her feathery auburn eyelashes rested against her creamy skin. She was the picture of youthful innocence. The sooner she learns that romance breeds nothing but trouble, the better off she will be.

Peter released her hand the moment Reverend Webb pronounced his amen. He turned at once, bound for the front door. The preacher had already asked him to greet and give those outside their instructions. Dr. Mackay, however, stopped him.

“Take Miss Martin with you,” he said. “She can assess their medical conditions, then direct patients to either me or Emily.” He turned to her before Peter had a chance to object. “Remember, no typhus or smallpox inside the church building.”

“Yes, sir,” she said.

Peter drew in a deep breath. He knew the effects of those two epidemics and didn’t like the idea of Miss Martin being the doctor’s first line of defense.

“Perhaps you should do the assessing, Doctor,” he said.

This time Miss Martin took immediate offense. “I’ve dealt with infectious diseases before,” she said before Mackay could speak.

“Indeed,” the doctor then said. He looked back at Peter. “And I’ve not time to explain to you how to assess patients.” He went on to deliver instructions to his brave little nurse. “Make them aware of our stations and send any with acute needs to me, the lesser ones to Emily. You know what to look for. Just like our days in the hospital.”

“Yes, of course.”

He then handed her several sheets of paper and a pen. “Take down their names, and the location and number in their household if they will divulge such information. It will be helpful to know for future ventures.”

“Certainly.”

Clearly the matter had been firmly decided. Peter wanted to press that point, but Miss Martin was already headed for the door.

* * *

The chill Trudy had felt previously evaporated the moment Mr. Carpenter had taken hold of her hand. She scolded herself for such a reaction, even though it was only a fleeting feeling. The moment Reverend Webb pronounced the amen, Mr. Carpenter gave her a look as if to tell her he thought the whole arrangement of the circle had been her idea. He then gave Dr. Mackay an almost icy stare when the physician suggested she accompany him outside.

He clearly does not want me here. Evidently he thinks I am unsuited for the task.

Trudy blew out a breath. Determined to prove him wrong, she marched to the front door before her employer could say or do anything else. Stepping outside, however, she gasped. Emily had been correct in saying that line wrapped all the way around the church building. It wasn’t the number of people, though, that disturbed Trudy. It was their condition. They were even more desperately downtrodden than the men on the road. Most of them were young women and children. The women were presumably now widows because no man was beside them, and by the looks of them, no man has taken care of them for quite some time.