Chapter Thirty-two

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Chapter Thirty-two

I was carried to my bed and lay there in a state of insensibility until Lorin returned and found me. The whole household was paralyzed; not a stitch of work was done nor a sound was heard save that of weeping. The hens’ eggs lay on the ground ungathered, and in the kitchen the milk curdled in its pail. All were stricken with the agony of overwhelming and debilitating grief. The thought crossed my mind to go to my family for comfort, yet I could not sufficiently rouse myself to do so. I lay numbly upon my bed.

Lorin bathed my face and brushed back my hair, all the while talking to me gently. “Brother Richards and Hamilton from Carthage have brought home the bodies. We went out to meet them. Hamilton was kind enough to wash them and build boxes. It’s so hot today that they had to cover them over with branches. Brother Huntington is downstairs preparing them for burial.”

My heart was touched as Lorin served me, and my tears began to flow. He continued to wipe my face with a cool, wet rag.

“Lucy has gone to William and Olive. Brother Richards talked to the people. Almost the whole city came out to hear him.”

“How did it happen?”

“’Twas over quickly and they did not suffer. A mob stormed the jail, which was inadequately protected. Ford left them in the charge of the Carthage Grays, of all troops! Like Pilate, Ford’s infamy will stink through the centuries for that deed. The mob was painted black. They attacked from both the stairs and the window of the jail.” And here Lorin took my hand for comfort. “Your father died first from a shot through the door. He said, ‘I am a dead man.’ To save the lives of the others, Brother Joseph jumped through the window and was killed. It was over quickly, and the mob ran away. Brother Richards escaped the bullets unharmed."

I roused myself to ask, “Was anyone else killed?” Oh, that this calamity might not come upon any other household, that none other be left orphaned as I.

“Brother Taylor was wounded. All the other brethren had been chased away.” Lorin leaned down and kissed me. “Lovina, you still have me. We have each other.”

“Oh, Lorin, how is it that you can comfort me when you must feel the pain too?”

“I do feel it, like a great empty rock in my soul’s center that I must drag about with me. But I was prepared for it. You were not. I have shed my tears.”

I remembered.

“Can you bear it if I do Brother Joseph a service and leave you?”

“Aunt Emma?”

“Yes.”

“How does she bear it?” I asked. Aunt Emma had been a bastion of strength in every trial. Could she bear this one, this last, final test? I began to weep for her.

“Do you remember the day the wall of the Seventies Hall blew down? I t was strong and straight and tall. One thought it impregnable. And then the winds came and blew it down. The wind has come to Sister Emma. She has collapsed like the bricks and mortar. It will be our job to rebuild that wall and care for it. That is the charge Brother Joseph gave to us.”

I rose from my bed. There were worse things than my own heartache. I was needed. “Go to her, Lorin. I’m going to Mother. She too may need me, and I know I need her!”

My own mama was gone home years ago, but Mother had found her own place in my heart. I belonged by her side in this hour.

My little sisters could not understand. “Where’s Papa?” they asked me. What could I say? I gathered them in my arms and wept for them. How I knew their pain! I was but ten years old when Mama died, and how I missed her! And now these poor mites would grow up without their papa. He was torn from their sides by hatred. It was not fair!

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