Naomi carefully tucked Johnny's arms into his jacket, then buttoned him up tight. His hat and scarf were the last two items to bundle him against the cold. His gaze did not turn from the small blue cloth horse he clung to tightly with both hands. He turned it over and over in his hands, marveling at its silky, black mane and its button eyes.
Naomi gave Johnny's dark, curly head a fond tousle as she sleepily yawned. It had taken her all night, but she'd manage to cut enough fabric from the bottom of her favorite blue dress to fashion the cloth horse and create the toy for her son. The summer dress would be shorter, certainly, but by the time it was warm enough to wear it again she was sure she'd be able to buy fresh fabric to add to its length. All that mattered today was the joy in her young son's eyes.
A rough cough came from the bedroom, followed by a snarl. "Naomi! You crow Lumbee squaw! Where the hell are you?"
She winced, then walked quietly to the doorway of the bedroom. "It's Christmas," she reminded Bill. "I'm taking the children to church."
"Damn preachers," he grumbled, pulling the blanket over his head. "They're licken' to bleed you dry, is all."
"I'll be back by lunchtime," she promised.
"You'd better. And don't let me catch you talking to those negroes, either. They's born across the river. We're better than them, and don't you forget it."
She pressed her lips together, then went back to her two young children. She drew Polly up in one arm, took Johnny's hand in her other, and stepped out.
The world was beautiful. It was decked in a stunning white frock, laced with sparkles, and the sky overhead was high and brilliant blue. The Blackburn Fork bubbled and burbled over its rocks, and a blue jay called out from a nearby pine.
Johnny looked up at her while they made their way along the deer path through the dense woods. "Mama, why does Daddy hate negroes?"
Naomi reflexively put a hand to her own face. Her father had been from Ireland, gathered up by the English for slavery, along with many other children from his village. And her mother's father had been Irish as well. But her mother's mother had been dark skinned, dark eyed, some sort of mix of negro and Indian. Her granny didn't even know her blood for sure – she'd been raised a servant and had never known her true parents. All she could do is guess by the chocolate-brown skin and long, straight, glistening hair.
Naomi took after her.
When Naomi had been young, it hadn't mattered much. She and her four older siblings had played, laughed, and taken it for granted that people came in all shapes, sizes, and colors. They had black friends and red friends, brown friends and pink friends. The country was not even twenty years old when she was born. Everyone was in the same rough-shod fix. Everyone pulled together to make it work.
But times were changing. With every passing year she could see the lines forming. The English were being separated out, treated differently - elevated. The rest – Indian, black, Irish – were becoming second-class citizens.
She wondered where it would lead.
Johnny pulled her hand. "Mama?"
"I'm sorry, sweetie, what did you ask?"
"Mama, does daddy hate me because my skin is dark like yours and not white like his?"
Naomi dropped to her knee, pulling her son close. "Oh, Johnny, of course not. He loves you and your sister dearly. He just doesn't like to show it much."
"But daddy said darkies – crows - were slow and weak."
She tousled his curly hair. "Daddy just gets grumpy sometimes, sweetie. My brother, William, looks like us – and so does his wife, Elizabeth. Do they seem slow and weak to you?"
Johnny shook his head. "No, Mama. Uncle William is strong. When he helped us, that time the roof fell in, he got the whole thing fixed in less than a day. And Aunt Elizabeth made us that yummy dinner afterwards."
Naomi tweaked his nose. "You little sow cat! I think you had eight helpings of her sweetnins that night."
Johnny blushed, but she could almost see his mouth water at the memory.
Naomi smiled, standing again. Just like her own family, Elizabeth's Oxendine line was made up of mutts. A swirling mix of Lumbee, black, and who knew what else. Elizabeth had skin several shades darker than their own, not having been watered down by the Irish.
Naomi's brother adored Elizabeth, and Naomi felt blessed that the couple lived just an hour's walk away.
She patted Johnny's cheek. "Your cousin, Hiram, will be at church, so we best get a move on."
Johnny nodded, his eyes shining. "Hiram's just like me – he's brown like the tilled earth."
Polly wriggled against her, and Naomi adjusted the carry strap. "That's right, Johnny. The Good Lord made every person with their own color. We are like snowflakes. We're all different, and God wants us like that. It doesn't matter if my skin is dark or your daddy's skin is light. All that matters is how we use the gifts we have."
She folded her son's young hand within her own, snugged her daughter up on her chest, and together they stepped along the snowy path. Clumps of briars lined the edges, their brambles standing out sharply against the white. Off in the distance Naomi could hear the soft shush-shush of the river wending and twisting along the rocks.
It was another half hour before they approached the small settlement tucked around the church. The homes here were sturdier than her own, some with a second floor or attached barn. The church was painted white and boasted an elegant steeple up above its large double doors. Pastor Smith, his creased, brown face showing his advanced age, was standing in the doorway, shaking hands. He smiled as Naomi approached.
"Naomi! There you are. Always a pleasure to have you and your adorable children in our flock. Come on in – the fire's stoked and your pew is all ready. William and his family are already here."
Naomi nodded to him, then moved inside. Sure enough, she could see her brother's sturdy form, his curly, dark hair starting to streak with grey. Alongside him was his willowy, dark wife, Elizabeth. Elizabeth glowed with serenity and contentment; her dark-blue dress fit her with well-tailored style. At her side was their son, Hiram. Hiram was just two years older than Johnny.
Johnny's eyes lit up with delight. "Hiram!" He raced forward to sit alongside his cousin, and immediately their heads were together, sharing whatever it was young boys found most fascinating.
William and Elizabeth smiled fondly at Naomi as she settled onto the smooth wood of the pew. Their voices came in harmony. "Merry Christmas, Naomi."
Her heart warmed as she looked up her older brother. He'd been born a full ten years ahead of her, and he'd always kept an eye out for her. She could remember countless times that he'd pulled her down from a too-high tree or carried her on his strong shoulders when her tiny legs had given out.
William's gaze held her with tenderness, and then he looked down at the cloth horse in Johnny's hands. His face eased into a frown. "I thought –"
She cut him off with a shake of her head. "Johnny likes his horse. Santa brought it for him." She smiled at her precious son. "Don't you like your gift, my sweetheart?"
Johnny nodded enthusiastically. "He's gonna ride me wherever I want to go!"
William gave a tight smile to his nephew, his dark face creased with tender worry. "Of course you will, Johnny. You can do anything you set your mind to."
Elizabeth looked over at Naomi, her plump, glowing face the color of rich coffee. "Are you feeling all right, Naomi? You look plum peaked."
Naomi twined her fingers against the pew, willing herself not to reach for her belly. "I'm fine," she assured them. "Just a long night, is all."
Elizabeth's eyes held concern. "Why don't you three come over after the service, to have Christmas dinner with us. There's always plenty of space."
She paused, then her voice added warmth.
"David will be there."
Naomi barely remembered Elizabeth's brother. He had been at the wedding, of course, some ten long years ago. Naomi had been perhaps fourteen at the time, and she had been swept up in the beautiful dresses, the rich music, and the wealth of delicious food. She had barely taken in the cacophony of strangers who had attended.
"Bill wouldn't like it," she found herself saying. "He wants us to come right home."
William's brow creased. "Naomi, Bill shouldn't be keeping you from your family. Not on this day, of all days. Family is what Christmas is all about."
She blushed, her immediate reaction being to shield Bill. It seemed that was what she spent half of her life doing.
"Bill is our family," she insisted. "We should be with him."
William glanced at Elizabeth, and something passed between their gazes. Naomi's heart echoed with hollowness. She wished with all her might that she had that kind of a connection, that kind of a warmth with a man.
Despair sunk deep within her soul, and she turned her gaze to the humble altar before her. Pastor Smith's church was simple, but it was tended to with great love. The beams were square and solid. The wood was polished until it glowed. The cross hanging on the back wall had been carved by William just last year, and the near-perfect roses curling around its joints were heartwarmingly beautiful. They always seemed to speak to Naomi about the fragile beauty of life; about the powerful nature of sacrifice.
Jesus had sacrificed his life so that his children might life.
She, every day, did the same.
She fought back the tears, and her hands clenched even harder on the pew back before her. If only it weren't so hard. If only there were a man out there who would care for her children the way they deserved – who would provide an environment where they could flourish and grow.
Where they would feel loved.
Where she would feel loved.
She closed her eyes and prayed.
Time drifted ... passed ... flowed like the Blackburn Fork as it headed south, south, to vanish into the midst of the vast wilderness.
She relinquished herself. She placed herself in the palm of God.
She let go.
There was a voice behind her, rich and resonant. It soothed her, wrapped around her soul, and made her whole.
"Merry Christmas, everyone."
Naomi opened her eyes and turned.
He had to be David. He had Elizabeth's rich color, one of coffee and dark chocolate. His well-chiseled face was framed with rich, brown curls, and his eyes were amber and deep. He wore a neatly-cared-for wool coat over dark brown shirt and trousers. But it was the eyes that held Naomi. Eyes that echoed with strength, purpose, and a sense of steadfast loyalty.
Her stomach fluttered, and she could barely breathe.
David's gaze moved fondly from William to his sister, then down to his two young nephews. Finally his eyes drew to hers. They widened and held.
She could easily get lost in those eyes. Wholly, eternally lost.
He seemed to come back to himself with a shake. "You must be Naomi, William's youngest sister. I remember, now. You danced at their wedding. You shone. I'd never seen anyone so happy."
Naomi's world fell away. She remembered it clearly. The way the music thrilled her – the way she spun with joyful pleasure. It seemed a lifetime ago. And now every day was a struggle to simply survive ...
David's brow creased. "Is everything all right?"
She dragged her gaze away from those insightful eyes and looked down at her weathered hands. Her throat was tight. "I'm fine," she croaked out. "It is good to see you again, David. Merry Christmas."
He took the seat next to her. She could feel the warmth radiating off of him. Somehow he had a bearing of strength about him – that no matter what kind of blizzard, flood, or plague of locusts might sweep down, that he'd be there to stand against it.
Elizabeth's soft voice eased in to her roiling thoughts. "David is here visiting us for the holidays. He'd been down in South Carolina with our father, keeping an eye on him."
David gave a gentle smile. "Well, our father raised all eight of us no matter what it took. Harsh, frigid winters or broiling hot summers, he found a way to make it work. So it seems only fair for us to care for him now that he's getting on in age."
William nodded. "Our father only had the five kids, but he was good to us. I know, when he was finally freed of his servitude, that he counted every day a blessing. He swore none of his children should ever have to endure that."
William looked over to David. "Your father, Cudworth, talks about his own release day every time Elizabeth and I visit. How the day of his release was one of the greatest days in his life. Because it meant he could finally court your mother – and have all of you."
Naomi held Polly close to her chest. The sleeping child made a soft mewing noise before settling in again. Naomi closed her eyes. Both of their families had been through so much. Both fathers had endured harsh service to cruel masters and had to wait the length of a contract to finally be free. Whatever she endured now, she knew she should be forever grateful that she was a free woman.
Pastor Smith carefully made his way down the aisle to the front of the small room, and the group settled down into silence. He looked out over his congregation, his rheumy eyes seeming to touch on each person in turn.
"Let us pray."
Pastor Smith's service always soothed Naomi. He gave just the right amount of encouragement and advice. His sermons were a mixture of readings and reminiscing. He conveyed the news of the land in terms she could understand. She'd never learned to read or write, and in this quiet backwater of Tennessee there weren't many passers-by. Pastor Smith used his network of contacts to keep the locals informed of the changes that were going on.
As he finished with the main sermon, he drew his hands together. "My friends, I have some sad news. Meriwether Lewis, who was part of that famous expedition to explore this great land of ours from 1804 to 1806, has perished just a few hundred miles west of us, at the Natchez Trace. It appears he might have been murdered."
Naomi's shoulders pulled together, and she drew Polly in tighter against her. Those roads were rife with robbers and cutthroats. The world they lived in was a dangerous one. It reminded her – again – of why, despite everything, she stayed with Bill. He had a foul temper, and a quick hand, but he would defend his home like a rabid wolf defended its cave.
She could not imagine any thief getting past him to hurt her or the children.
William spoke up. "Pastor, do they know who is responsible for Lewis's death?"
The pastor shook his head. "Seems they shot him and slit his throat, then made off with all his funds. He was heading into D. C. to talk with the President." He sighed. "The man goes all the way to the far ends of our great land, on a Holy quest, and with God's blessing he survives. Then he simply tries to transverse Tennessee and our own boys take him down."
He looked across his flock. "It's been six short years since we acquired from Emperor Napoleon the lands to our west – Louisiana, Missouri, and the like – and doubled our territory in one fell swoop. Louis and Clark were instrumental in helping to explore this new territory and determine is boundaries. We have much to be grateful for, to this man."
His mouth turned down. "But news has come from France that Napoleon is preparing to divorce his beloved Josephine, all because she cannot produce an heir for him. He will instead seek out a woman who is fertile. We should pray for him ... and for her."
The congregation's heads bowed as one.
Naomi's hand went to her belly. To think that Josephine would give anything she possessed to be able to create a new life. And here Naomi was, tortured by her state.
David's voice came in her ear. "Naomi, are you all right? You're as white as a haint."
Naomi drew Polly in against her. "I just need some air." She looked over at Elizabeth. "Could you watch Johnny for me?"
"Of course," assured Elizabeth. "Johnny and Hiram will be fine."
David took her arm, and together they walked up the aisle to the main doors. She slipped through them, stepping out into the brightness of the afternoon. The sharp tension slid away as she took a long, deep breath of the cool air.
A soft snow was falling, light, fluffy, adding a glistening sheen to the wintry scene. There were a scattering of simple homes along the dirt road. Pastor Smith's two-story home was right alongside the church, the split-rail fence neatly set. She could almost see the wealth of wildflowers which would sprawl along that length in the warmth of summer.
Then there was the trading post, a rail for tying up horses out front, large windows showing neat shelves of nails, flour, and cloth. That was where Johnny had laid eyes on the shiny tin horse.
She drew Polly in closer.
David stood alongside her, his breath coming in long, even draws. His voice was low and quiet. "I've been talking with my sister. That devil Bill decided he had better uses for Johnny's Christmas money, didn't he."
Naomi flushed, pressed her lips together, her eyes welling. Bill could do whatever he wished to her, but Johnny was only a child. A sweet, innocent child who deserved all that life had to offer.
David's eyes strayed to the two-story house at the far end of the street. "Come over for dinner after the service, Naomi. Get some solid food into you and the kids. Elizabeth's serving a chicken, and we've got sweet potatoes, too. And chess pie."
Naomi's mouth watered. It'd been a long while since they'd had fresh meat. Bill seemed as if he could live on whiskey and water. Perhaps even just whiskey.
It took every ounce of energy she possessed for her to shake her head. "I can't. Bill's expecting us home right after the service."
"Christmas is about family," he murmured. "You should come and be with your brother. Let the cousins play together."
Her throat was tight. "Bill is my family."
"And yet he refuses to marry you. Even after you have lived together for years." His voice dropped. "Even after you have borne two children for him."
She winced. She wondered just what kinds of conversations David had been having, while visiting her brother. Again, she found herself rising to defend Bill, to justify his actions that, in her own heart, tore her to pieces.
"Bill's an independent man. He don't take much stock in the church. But he's been there for me and the kids."
David's voice gained a growl. "Been there like he was for you last night?"
She flushed hard, drawing Polly in close against her. Her throat went tight. "What do you know about last night?"
David's dark face was lost in the shadows. "I know I saw him down by Sally's, skulking around like a dog after a gyp in heat."
Naomi turned her head away, her chest constricting. It was one thing to know Bill was unfaithful to her. It was another to have him parading it around for all the village to see.
David's voice reached her from a distance. "Naomi, you deserve better than this. You deserve someone to love you. To care for your children. To give you all the life you deserve."
Polly's tiny eyes creased open, and her delicate, dark face scrunched in consternation. She began making soft, mewling noises.
Naomi moved to sit on the bench alongside the church. She pulled her coat over to shield her daughter, and then adjusted her neckline to give her child access to a breast. Polly eagerly latched on and began drinking.
David's eyes shadowed. "Naomi, you can't shield your children forever. What happens when they grow older – when they understand more what is going on in their life? You're barely clinging on as it is."
He paused, and his voice lowered. "What happens if you get pregnant again?"
Naomi wrapped her arms around Polly, holding her close. Darkness closed in on her, threatening to overwhelm her.
She looked up into David's eyes, those warm eyes which held the promise of security. She'd only been talking with him for ten minutes and already it seemed she'd known him a lifetime.
Her throat grew tight.
"David, I –"
There was movement behind them, and the doors opened. Villagers streamed out, offering warm wishes; beaming with smiles and laughter. At last Pastor Smith emerged, his arms around Elizabeth and William's shoulders, the two boys scampering out before them. The Pastor was glowing with pleasure. "Absolutely. I would love to come spend the afternoon with y'all." He looked over at Naomi. "Shall you be joining us?"
Johnny bounced over with a smile. "Oh, can we, can we, Mama? Hiram has a new toy rifle he wants to show me! His daddy made it for him. It's carved and everything!"
Naomi looked up into David's eyes. She could see the unspoken thoughts resonating in them.
It took her every ounce of strength to look away, to shake her head. "Johnny, your daddy's waiting at home for us. We should go back."
His small face fell. "But Mama, daddy will just be angry anyway. And Aunt Elizabeth is cooking chicken! Real, fresh chicken!"
Naomi's mouth watered at the thought. She resolutely pushed herself to standing, settling Polly in against her more securely. She put her other hand out to her young son. "Come now, Johnny. It's time to go. Say goodbye to everyone."
Johnny's face darkened, and he almost looked as if he would willfully refuse. But at last his small shoulders sagged and he wrapped his fingers into hers. He looked around at the people standing around him. His voice sounded more like a dirge than a holiday greeting. "Merry Christmas."
A chorus of echoes responded, and Naomi turned to begin the long, cold trudge back to her small, desolate home.