Chapter 13: The Breaking of Silence

A fateful day in October 1879 starts with Thomas in the pre-dawn hours caught in a dream of biblical proportions. Has God finally answered his desperate prayers?

October 1879

The anticipated breeze never materialized as Marietta endured a sweltering, early October heat wave and Thomas faced another sleepless night. The wet plaster burned against his chest, filling the screened-in porch with sharp, pungent vapors that made his eyes water. He pressed against the smelly concoction of ground mustard, flour, and water, hoping for a moment of reprieve from the burning sensation and acrid fumes that pierced his nose. His doctor’s recommended treatment didn’t seem to help his heart condition, yet he continued to suffer the burning plaster, hopeful his ailment would heal one day. Sweat soaked through his nightshirt as he kicked away the clinging bed sheet.

On sweltering nights, he took his sleeping to the porch that opened from their bedroom, while Jerusha remained inside. Perched off the second story with screens to fortify from unwanted pests, the porch offered a measure of relief from inside the house where he struggled to catch his breath during long spells of insufferable heat. Despite the marginally cooler refuge, nightly anxiety raced through his mind, presenting unsolvable problems.

The yard below was dark and silent. He could see the foundation of the burned barn rising from the grass, like a ruin from a distant land. Six months later and the officer’s investigation had gone nowhere except to suggest foul play. An arsonist likely doused the floor of the barn with kerosene before fleeing into the night. Jerusha and the women at church were finding some success with their temperance work as a few saloons had closed, but her success was overshadowed by his conversation with Mr. Gerst. Was Gerst threatening them in that moment, he wondered? Could he be responsible for the barn fire?

Thomas squirmed as a sharp stab of pain radiated from his chest. He pressed down on the plaster above his heart and felt a large bump that could only be a blister. He groaned as he reminded himself to speak with Kate about the proportion of mustard to flour she was using. The blisters were nearly as bad as his heart ailment. Why bother with the plaster if this was the outcome?

His thoughts drifted to the railroad as they did most nights now. The mysterious notes had been shared with the press. The board steered Senator Moore towards a favorable bill. The community was outraged to learn about the poor management of the M&C. His plan was working. He should be overjoyed that their economic circumstances could improve rapidly, but his hopes were overshadowed by thoughts of Harrison. The deaths of his workers should have been revealed, but he couldn’t bring himself to expose his cousin and tarnish the family’s reputation. Images of boys crushed under heavy beams and rock in a railroad tunnel overwhelmed his mind whenever he thought about the M&C.

He imagined himself in exile, trapped on a mountaintop as wind and rain lashed at him. All alone, he was without shelter or a viable plan for escape. Jerusha’s religious certainty, while necessary to bolster his lack of faith, offered no real counsel — only divine mandates. Mary’s moral clarity remained strong both in criticizing Jerusha’s crusade and in emphasizing his own compromises. Gerst seemed genuinely concerned about his family’s well-being that day in his carriage. Could their actions be implicated in the lives of others?

Chimes rang out from the mantel clock in the hallway.

“One, two, three, four, five,” he counted quietly. His eyelids fluttered as waves of delirium beckoned him to lie down again, but the vapors and burning sensation wouldn’t allow it. Another hour of sleep would be futile, so he got out of bed to sit on the wooden chair in the porch's corner where he could read until the family awoke. He felt around on the small table nearby for a match to light the lamp and picked up the evening newspaper.

The whining buzz of mosquitoes droned in his ears, impossibly loud in the silence of the pre-dawn morning, while the wings of moths flapped gently against the screens, attracted to the light of the lamp. The words on the page blurred into a single strand of incomprehensible letters as his eyes grew heavy. He nodded forward, his body giving way to total exhaustion.

A light breeze tousled his hair, stirring him awake with shock and disbelief as the walls of the porch incomprehensibly repositioned before him. He found himself standing in the front hallway of their home as it steadily began to burn. Blue flames grew in impossible directions, crawling down the walls like spiders before crisscrossing the floors only to reappear somewhere else. As one room fell away, another rose in its place like the coming and going of tides. Jerusha and her mother appeared behind a window, sitting in rocking chairs, conversing as flames surrounded them. Thomas grabbed a brick from the rubble of his home, bashing it into the window over and over.

“Jerusha! Mrs. Gear! You must get out!”

The window would not break.

“Where are the children? Where is Kate?” Dropping the brick, he slammed his palm on the window to no avail.

They remained seated as the room was consumed by the inferno, and soon their faces vanished.

“They should have known. You should have known,” said Mary, who was suddenly at his side.

“We have to help the children escape,” he said, pleading with her.

He turned back to his home as flames shot into the night. The walls began to crumble, and yet despite the burning chaos, all was silent. As eruptions of sparks settled on growing piles of ash, a distinguished older man appeared standing amongst the ruins of the Ewart home.

“Mary, do you see that man?” he said, hand shaking as he pointed. He turned to find her, but she was gone. “Mary? Where are you?”

The man lingered before Thomas, his gaze upon the dirty floor, not making eye contact.

“Who are you?” Thomas demanded, heart racing at the presence of a stranger. “How did you get into my home?”

Thomas was astounded to find the man remaining calm, unaware of the surrounding danger.

“Can’t you hear me? We need to leave! My family is trapped!”

The man's elaborately decorated robe was torn from neck to hem, revealing his sore-covered body. Thomas watched as he sat down in the ashes while the remaining strips of fabric hanging from his shoulders and waist fluttered around him amongst the flames. His body was filthy with ash and dust. Before him lay the remnants of Jerusha’s china. The man sorted through the shards before selecting a piece to scrape a sore on his foot. Despite his decrepit state, Thomas recognized this was a man of dignity and power, utterly transformed from suffering.

“Why won’t you answer me? We’re going to die here!”

Thomas’s stomach turned at the sight of the sores running down his arms, across his chest and face. He wondered how anyone could endure such pain. The stranger's mouth opened as he spoke in a low, resonant voice that filled the air.

“Where were you when I laid the foundations?” the man asked, still avoiding eye contact with Thomas, pointing to the burning house around them.

In that moment, Thomas understood who was before him. The scripture had been ingrained in his mind since he was a child.

“Job? Are you truly Job? How can this be?”

Collapsing to his knees from the shock, he clasped his hands before him and prayed. His heart stammered in his chest. This could only be Job. Was God finally speaking to him?

“Father, if this is You speaking to me… if this is Your message… I’ve waited so long to hear from You. Please, help me understand.”

Squeezing his eyes shut, he waited for what felt like an eternity, yet his questions remained unanswered. Images of his parents urging him forward in the revival camp flashed before his eyes as every moment of his doubt was laid bare.

Thomas opened his eyes, as the man shifted his gaze to the heavens. A beautiful golden halo emerged from the smoke, centered over his head.

“Job, you who suffered and remained faithful; tell me what God wants. I’ve committed my life to the word… but doubts cloud my faith.”

The man’s eyes remained averted as he lifted one hand to cover his mouth.

“I’m sorry, but I don’t understand! Please speak to me.”

The remaining walls of the house crashed around the stranger as he stood and turned away from Thomas, walking into the flames.

“Please don’t leave me here. I have so many questions,” Thomas yelled, forgetting about the fire as he scrambled to follow him. Hopping over the debris of his home, he reached out to grab the man’s shoulder but was stopped midway by a force he could not explain. The man turned to him and placed his palm on Thomas’s forehead. A searing pain shot through his temples as he saw images of his family, eyes wide with fear, fleeing something terrible he could not see. He watched as his children ran into fields of corn, not looking back. Shaking, he knocked the man’s hand away as he fell backward into the ash and dust.

“Thomas, Thomas! Wake up! Good Lord, don’t you take a swipe at me.”

His eyes flicked open, darting around the porch as the early morning came back into focus. Jerusha leaned over him, her hand on his shoulder as she shook him awake. Searing pain raked across his chest as the plaster loosened and pulled away from his skin. He stood up frantically, pulling off his nightshirt.

“What is wrong?” she cried out, helping him pull the shirt over his head.

His vision blurred as the pain continued to throb across his chest with every breath. Hands shaking, he peeled the plaster off his skin.

“Oh my! What a mess. Let me help you,” she said, pushing his hands down as she took over.

Thomas felt his skin tear away as a blister broke open. He bit his bottom lip, stifling a yelp as she pulled the remaining poultice off him.

“There, there. Take a deep breath. I’m almost finished.”

The burning sensation subsided, and he sat back down in his chair. Still shaken by the visions, he was disturbed. Was the dream a message from God? Was this a warning?

“I heard you yelling nonsense. “Were you having a nightmare?” she asked as she set the plaster aside.

“There was… a man.”

His mind raced to remember the details, to make sense of the scene before they slipped away. Forever faithful, Jerusha could help to interpret what he saw, but he feared the answer. The man's silence, despite the surrounding chaos, was unnerving. It confirmed his lifelong belief that where he was concerned, God was mute.

“What man? You were dreaming.”

“I know, but this was different, as if it was a sign.”

Jerusha kneeled in front of him, eyes narrowed as she stared at him intently.

“Pray continue, Thomas. Was it a sign from God?”

He steadied himself, afraid he would reveal his lifelong doubt if he was not careful.

“I don’t know; it was nothing,” he said, wiping the sweat from his forehead.

“Look at me. Who was the man?”

“I’m unsure. Our house was on fire, and there was chaos all around him, around us.”

“Did he say anything?”

The memories of the dream were already dissolving as slowly as the growing light of dawn. “I don’t clearly remember. He didn’t speak except to ask me one question.”

“Think, Thomas. What did he say?” Her eyes grew wide with anticipation.

Thomas recalled the embers and piles of ash as the man pointed to the wreckage of his home. “He asked me… where I was when he laid the foundations.”

She caught her breath, gripping his hands. “It was a sign from God! It was Job!” she whispered excitedly.

In a moment he recalled the same from his fading memory, but anxiety crept over him as he wondered why God would send him a message now after a lifetime of silence.

“I don’t know, Jerusha. It was a nightmare. The family was fleeing something in terror. Everything was destroyed by fire. How can this be a sign from God?”

She stood up, pacing quietly in front of him.

“You’re mistaken.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Because God is showing us that, like Job, we will be tested by our enemies, but our righteousness will be vindicated.” Her voice was unwavering, each word deliberate and final.

“Jerusha, please lower your voice. The family is still sleeping.”

“No, listen to me. The fire represents God’s cleansing work. He is purifying us and our cause.”

“Listen, this is simply a reflection of my anxiety. I’ve been under tremendous pressure preparing for the meeting today.” He was careful not to share more about the railroad, though he could tell she wasn't listening to him.

“What else did he say?”

“He was utterly silent, other than the one question.”

“Silence means we must act on faith, not wait for words. He expects us to know what’s right.”

Images of the burning house remained in his mind as he watched her continue to pace. Was the dream a premonition of danger? He squeezed his eyes, trying to understand the man’s cryptic gestures. The image and meaning were harder to grasp as the minutes ticked by.

“I don’t understand what it meant, but it felt… important. Terrible, but important.”

She stopped in front of him, her full attention on him once again. “God has given us this revelation. We must discern His will.”

“But the fire, the children fleeing, everything was so ominous.” He was careful not to mention he had seen her as well, in circumstances that would have alarmed her.

“The fire isn’t a warning. It’s a promise that God will burn away all opposition to His work. We must take this as a sign to continue.”

“Continue with what?”

“Your plans to strengthen the railroad and my work with the women to cleanse our town of vice. Remember I asked you to pray repeatedly for guidance? Well, here we are, and He has spoken.”

At the mention of her temperance work, he was finally fully awake. The cause had taken on a life of its own in the last six months, with Jerusha leading the charge. His fear and anxiety from the dream shifted to the ever-present concern about the crusade. Her work was yielding results. The women had convinced some saloon owners to close as members of the church supported their tactics more and more. He appreciated the purpose and distraction it brought to her as he continued to scramble to save the railroad. Any objection he could raise in his mind was overruled by his dependency on her spiritual confidence. She seemed to have a connection to God he could not grasp, so he let her carry on, hoping her faith was enough for both, even while doubts about Mr. Gerst remained in the back of his mind.

“I think it was just a nightmare,” he said.

“Thomas? Honestly, your doubt shows you’re not fully surrendered to God’s will. This dream is a clear call to action. Why do you always question what’s made plain?”

“When have I questioned?”

“Perhaps not directly, but I see it in your eyes from time to time. I know your heart.”

“I don’t know what you are talking about,” he said, averting his gaze. He was reminded to be more guarded in how he spoke to her about faith and now, what he carried in his eyes for fear that the full extent of his doubt would be revealed.

The first rays of sunlight cut through the screen, promising another day of sweltering heat.

“I think I will sleep out here again tonight. It seems another repressive day is upon us.”

She looked around the small porch and to the backyard below. He wondered what she saw when looking at the ruins of the barn.

“I must wake up the children. Are you going to be all right?”

“I’m fine,” he said, waving her away.

“Kate can prepare a salve for these blisters. I’ll tell her now.”

“It’s fine. Don’t interrupt her morning routine. I’ll be fine.”

She looked at him wearily, like she looked at their sons occasionally.

“Some women from the church will join me here this morning to discuss my final arguments.”

“I trust Mary is assisting you, as I asked.”

“Yes, of course. She seems willing to contribute.”

He noted a lack of enthusiasm in her voice. “Good luck in court today. I’ll see you there.”