“Who shall find a good woman?” the man replied, and I knew he was not asking a question. He was quoting the Proverbs, trying to get on Papa’s good side. For some reason, this made me mad enough to really look at him. I noticed right off that he was tall and bony. His hair and eyes were both real light, and he had a beard the same whitish-yellow as his hair. Maybe it was those light blue eyes, almost clear like ice, but it seemed to me that there was a coldness about him that I did not like. His pants and shirt were both a dusty gray, and he looked hungry. Ruth must have thought so too, or else she read my mind, because the next thing she did was ask him to come inside and eat.
“We was just about to eat supper, Mr. Johnson,” she said. “Won’t you join us?”
“It’s Ezekiel, ma’am, but please, call me Zeke,” he said. “I have not ate much since I left our property yesterday morning, if you’re sure there’s enough.” I could tell what it cost him to add that last politeness, and it softened me to him, just a little. I was lucky enough not to know what real hunger was. Ruth said the way we lived at Heavenly Shepherd was primitive compared to the way things once were, but that we had luxuries that plenty would kill for now. That was because my great-great-grandfather, Jedidiah Miles, went overboard on the planning and laying in supplies, and also because there ended up being nowhere near as many people on the compound as he planned.
One of the people who should have been there with us, enjoying all of Jed’s foresight and supplies, was my mama, forced to run away and leave me for her parents to raise. I thought of her as I stood there in the yard, looking up at that strange man, not of my choosing, who had been brought to make a baby with me. What would she think of that, I wondered, after all she had given up to keep me safe? She had to leave her home and her family to avoid being picked up and taken to a C-PAF—Center for the Preservation of the American Family—and bred to strangers. Was this really all that different? But no sooner had these thoughts flashed into my mind than I shooed them away. Of course it was, I told myself. This was God’s will, and I figured my mama would tell me that herself if she could. This man was not a monster; I just didn’t know him yet. We would have time, wouldn’t we, to talk and learn about each other? Please Lord, I prayed as I followed the three of them into the main house, just give me some time.
Two
Ruth had gone all out for supper, so I knew then that she had been expecting company. She’d killed a chicken and stewed it in salty broth with the soft dumplings that were my favorite. I couldn’t decide if this was by way of apology or her sign to me that something special was about to happen. There was a big pot of young poke leaves, boiled in three changes of water and then scrambled with eggs from the henhouse. The first muskmelons were in, and she had cut one into neat cubes and put them with new blueberries in a clear glass bowl to show off their pretty colors. There were warm rolls of soft white bread and fresh-churned butter. That meal was a message to the man, and I read it loud and clear. This was my dowry, meant to sweeten the pot. Looking over the table spread with food like this man had probably never seen, a worried thought crossed my mind: How ugly am I, if it takes all this to entice a starving man?
I didn’t know where that thought came from, and I tried to send it away. I tore my eyes from the table and looked where everyone else was looking: at the man. His eyes were welling up with tears that did not quite spill over, and his hands shook. I knew he had probably never had white bread in his life, for starters. Most people hadn’t had the foresight to stockpile things like flour, salt, and sugar, at least not like Jed had. From the looks of him, this man, Zeke Johnson, had not seen food of any kind for more than just the day and a half he claimed it took him to get to our place. I tried to feel compassion for him, a hungry stranger who, after all, had not done me any wrong or harm. I was being selfish and mean-spirited, and I knew that if Ruth could read my thoughts, she would be ashamed of me.
We all sat down, and Papa asked Zeke if he would like to say grace. He looked up then, almost guilty looking, like he had been caught at something sneaky. “No sir,” he said shakily, “this is your table.” Papa’s eyes stayed on the man’s face in a long, shrewd gaze before he closed them and began to pray in that formal preacherly way he had.
“Heavenly Father, we thank you for this food and for the fellowship at this table. We thank you for your many gifts to us, for the chances you give to your sinful creations again and again even though we are not worthy. We pray that you will bless this food to the nourishment of our bodies, that we might be strong enough to do your work. Make our bodies the vessel for your will, Lord, and make our minds and hearts clear, that we may receive your signs and messages when you send them. For Thine is the power, and the kingdom, and the glory, forever and ever. In Jesus’s name we pray, amen.”
When I opened my eyes, Papa was looking right at me. Could he know my thoughts? Did he know that my heart and mind were not clear but were as dark and cloudy as a July thunderstorm? Ruth glanced from him to me to Zeke, then quickly picked up Papa’s plate first and began heaping it with food. This was a message too. Papa was the man of the house, and this was his table. But was the message meant to put the stranger in his place, I wondered, or to reassure Papa? Next she filled Zeke’s plate, and he watched it hungrily with his hands in his lap, like he had to fight hard to keep from reaching out and snatching it. I did feel a little sorry for him then. I knew how it felt to have to wait and control myself when I couldn’t have what I wanted until it was given to me. Being the only child in a world of cranky adults had not always been easy.
Zeke looked at Papa and saw that he didn’t wait for everyone to be served before he started eating, so he followed suit. Ruth chattered on while she filled the plates for my uncles, Jacob first and then David, then the plates of my aunts Rachel and Billie, then mine. She served herself last, as always. My aunt Amber was not at the table, which was true about half the time, but it surprised me that she would not come to see the rare guest. When all the plates were full, Ruth sat down, and for a while there was no sound except for forks clinking against plates and teeth. We never went hungry at Heavenly Shepherd, but we didn’t have meals like this every day either. Gradually, though, the eating sounds faded away, and the lack of talk started to feel less natural. No one seemed to want to look up from their plates.
Zeke took a long swallow from his glass, and Ruth seized the opportunity. “I hope that sassafras is not too sweet for you, Mr. Johnson,” she said. “Of course we can’t get lemons anymore, but it reminds me of the lemonade my mama used to make when I was little, so I like to make it a little sweet like she did.” She looked at him expectantly.
“No, ma’am, not too sweet,” he replied, “although I can’t say when I last tasted sugar. And how did you get it to be so cold?”
“Well, I make it up by the jug and set it in the spring house,” she said, smiling. “Do you have a spring house on your place?” She was digging a little now.
“We had one when I was a boy, but since I went out on my own, I haven’t thought about such comforts.” He seemed to be weighing his words carefully, and he looked straight at Papa before he spoke again. “My father was not such a strong man in the Lord like yourself, Reverend Miles, and I’m sorry to say that the state of things got to him and broke him down until he wasn’t really no kind of man at all. My mama did the best she could, rest her soul, but she kinda just curled up and wasted away by the time I was the age of Ami here, and I knew I’d have to strike out if I was going to survive.”