“Yes, I know,” replied the similarly blonde-haired and blue-eyed Angelia. “But there are ways to go about changing a person’s mind—and ways that… Well, there are methods that cause trouble. I know Papa considers these things that he does to be a part of his work, his faith. And I know that we’d long ago decided to turn the other cheek when we admitted we cannot change him, nor do we want to. But really, evenIthink Papa has gone too far this time. This is the South…the Deep South. Feelings run high here. There is already criticism in the North for what these plantation owners are doing with their slaves, and yet slaves are a part of their economy. Papa simply cannot go amongst these slaves against the plantation owners’ wishes. I know he hopes for a quiet evening of Bible reading and perhaps the opportunity to preach to them of freedom—but he dare not do it—not without serious repercussions.”
“Then you agree with these…these…”
“No, of course I do not.” She pulled a face. “I find the practice of slavery repulsive—and those who condone it bigots. But hadn’t we discussed all this before we came here? Hadn’t we decided to try to change the people gradually? To plant seeds of doubt in their minds as to their activities. Perhaps to sow new ideas.”
Julian Honeywell, Angelia’s junior by a mere year and a half, frowned at her. “Well, it’s no use to lecture me about it now, dear sister. The deed is done. The time for the duel is set. If I don’t appear, I will be branded a coward.”
“Better a coward than dead.”
Julian flashed her a look she knew only too well. She had gone too far. With his chin raised and his blue eyes glaring down at her, he as good as challenged her. He would cease speaking to her altogether if she didn’t back down and apologize.
And if he didn’t talk to her—as he had done so many times in the past—where would she be? She didn’t even know where this duel was to take place.
After untying the apron from around her waist, Angelia knotted the material up in her hand, whereupon she began wringing it within her grasp. “Please understand. I’m sure your honor is important, and perhaps it is better to be dead than to be labeled a coward. But?—”
An explosion of shattering glass abruptly ended their argument as a rock flew in through the window.
Angel gasped. “What in the world?”
Carefully, both she and Julian tiptoed to the rock, which had landed on the threadbare rug. Attached to it was a note that read,Get out of town now, or pay the consequences.
Not again. Were they to be run out of yet another parish?
A shadow stirred on the lawn in front of their house, and glancing through the broken window, Angelia beheld a sight she had hoped she would never see—a burning effigy, the likeness that of her minister father.
Grabbing hold of Julian’s hand, she asked, “Where is Papa now? What has he been doing? And don’t tell me he went to the plantations. Please tell me he has not been preaching freedom to the slaves.”
Julian gave her a wide-eyed stare. “I thought you knew.”
“Knew what?”
“That’s exactly where he is, what he’s been doing.”
“Oh, Julian, no. How could he? Doesn’t he know that?—?”
Crash!
Another flying rock careened into their living room.
“What now? Isn’t one threat enough?”
Crash!
In flew another object, this one slightly less objectionable, being no more than a stalk of corn, followed by a tomato, a head of lettuce, another tomato.
“What is going on here? Is the entire town assembled on our lawn?” She peeked out through the shattered glass. “Julian,” she gasped. “Come look. Who is that fellow those men are chasing? There, off in the distance. He looks to be running for his life. It looks like…like… No, it cannot be.” She grabbed hold of her brother’s hand.
Julian brushed her away as he crossed the room. Two quick strides were all it took to carry him to the gun rack, where he picked up a rifle and a pistol, the weapons already primed.
“Dear Lord! It’s Papa!”
“I know. I see it. Go out back!”
“I can’t. I need to go to Papa.”
“Go out back. Now! Hitch up the wagon. We’ll make a run for it and catch up to Papa. He’ll have to take care of himself until then.”
“But…but…we might be too late.”
