Delivering the Truth Read Online Free PDF

mood. Residents and businesspeople talked outside in small clumps with much shaking of heads and faces red with anger at the town’s failure to extinguish the fire. I overheard an older man refer to it as the Great Fire. Following close on the Great Blizzard. What was the world coming to?
    A cluster of several men standing outside Sawyer’s Mercantile included Stephen Hamilton, the student Frederick had taught and tried to help. Now in his twenties, he wore a coat of fine cloth and carried a Bible in his gloved hand, but his hat sat askew and mud covered his fancy boots. He shook the book in their faces.
    â€œNow settle down, Hamilton. Everything is God’s will. Even accidents,” an older man said.
    Stephen wagged his head and pointed a trembling finger. His eyes burned with anger.
    â€œWhy don’t you go home and try to calm down?” the man asked.
    Stephen stalked away, muttering. As I passed, the other man said, “That boy is touched in the head. He rarely speaks.”
    â€œHe’s no longer a boy,” the older man replied. “His father should make him work. He needs a good honest job.”
    I watched Stephen go. I sighed as I made my way up High Street.
    â€œRose!”
    I turned to see Zeb hurrying toward me. “Zeb.” I held out my hand to the tall, wiry young man.
    He grasped it in both of his. His usually delighted expression was replaced by haunted eyes and a wide mouth turned down in grief.
    â€œI’m so sorry about dear Isaiah,” I murmured. “How is thee? And thy parents?”
    â€œWe can barely believe it. Rose, if only we could roll the clock back to yesterday.” He blinked suddenly full eyes.
    â€œIf only.” I laid my other hand atop his.
    â€œThey’re saying it might not have been an accident.”
    A cold knot grabbed my stomach. “Does thee mean someone set the fire with intent?”
    He nodded, his face a study in troubled .
    â€œWho would do such a thing? And why?”
    He only shrugged. He disengaged his hands and shoved them in his pockets, looking up toward Powow Hill. I wished him well and watched him walk away with bent shoulders. As I continued toward home, I mused on who would have purposely set such a fire. Who would want to destroy much of the town’s livelihood, and human lives, as well?
    I caught sight of John Whittier strolling toward the square. I seemed to be encountering all my favorite people on this morning of grief. His prominent nose, erect carriage, and the deliberate gait of his long, lean legs made the well-known abolitionist and poet unmistakable about town. He must have recently returned to his home on Friend Street from his cousin’s at Oak Knoll in Danvers, where he spent his winters of late.
    â€œRose Carroll, how is thee this morning?” His visage was somber above a snowy-white chin beard that left his mouth fully exposed. But he harbored the twinkle in his eye I was accustomed to.
    â€œIt’s a sorrowful day, John Whittier. We’ve lost Isaiah Weed in the fire, and so many others.”
    He nodded slowly. “Has thee heard talk of arson?”
    My face must have given away my surprise at what he said. Two people talking of arson in as many minutes, nearly.
    He continued, “I see thee has. My friend Kevin Donovan was speaking to me not twenty minutes ago of the idea. Thee knows there is that of God in each person.”
    â€œI cannot fathom who might be led to destroy so many lives, so much property.”
    â€œIf the story of arson is true, we must seek to understand how the manifestation of God in the arsonist could allow him to act in such a destructive way. I admit it is difficult to reconcile this contradiction, but persons ignoring the divine within and willfully hurting others occurs all too often in our earthly sphere.”
    â€œTrue. First we must understand who set the fire, and why.” I smiled at John to cushion my response. I hoped he