Sister Ruth and Kid Cole were in New York to hear the revivalist, Charles Grandison Finney, speak. He was a radical preacher, believing in equal education for everyone, including African Americans and women. He also preached that one was saved from hell when they were saved from their sins. Ruth believed all this too and found his preaching inspirational, so Kid had surprised her with this trip for their anniversary.

In the course of their visit, they'd heard of an unusual church, St. Ann's Church for Deaf Mutes. It was exceptional in that it had a service on Sundays for the deaf. She'd never heard of a church doing that before. It might have been the one and only of its kind.

They'd had a regular service that morning for the hearing, but Sister Ruth was interested in the one that took place in the middle of the afternoon for those who couldn't hear.

Kid smiled as he watched his wife shift on the pew with excitement as she waited for church to start. "You'd think you couldn't hear," he teased, "you're so happy about taking part in this service."

"It's not that. It's just I never fully realized before that our deaf brothers and sisters couldn't be fed inside a church, couldn't worship in a church, at least not without feeling cut off. I'm excited for them."

He patted her knee. "I know you are, baby. That's why I love you."

The minister spoke, but he interpreted with his hands as well.

"Wow, his hands really fly," she whispered in amazement.

"They have to; he's a Yankee. They all act like they got to push their words out before the world comes to an end."

She was torn between laughing and chastising. She did neither though in the end as she caught sight of some of the enraptured looks of the small group of people receiving the gospel in this unique way.

May 1848

Brothers were born for adversity. They were also born to pummel each other.

Ruth's sons were going at it in the back of the wagon. Isaiah, a strapping six-year-old, currently had Gideon pinned underneath his superior weight, but Gideon was scrappy and his little fists were flying.

Her two sweet sons couldn't have been much more different from each other.

She understood Gideon's problem well because she had suffered with the same problem, still did really. He was born with too much energy and when you were stuck in the back of a wagon all day with little to do but enjoy the scenery, that energy had to go somewhere. And it was all too tempting for a four-year-old boy to release it and stir up some excitement with an easily riled older brother.

Kid passed the reins and reached back snagging the back of Isaiah's collar to pull him off. "If ya'll want a fight, I'll give you one. We're here now, so get yourselves together."

Mercy, the eldest child, was safely quelled up in the corner, reading. Though she looked up to see what would happen now that her father had gotten involved.

Though wearing a sullen expression, Gideon backed off. Isaiah didn't know the meaning of letting sleeping dogs lie; he was still ready to finish it. Kid hauled him through the opening of the covered wagon and pinned him to his lap until he was ready to simmer down.

Which didn't fully happen until the revival had started that evening, and only then because he'd fallen asleep. Gideon wasn't far behind him. Mercy stayed at the wagon to make sure they didn't wake up and have an episode during the revival.

Ruth had the singing and preaching first, but she finished with faith healing.

Four girls and a boy came up. She'd never had so many from the same family come up at once. They looked healthy enough with varying shades of golden hair and rosy cheeks. Their parents weren't lacking in the ability to get them medical treatment for their clothes were finely tailored and made with rich fabric.

"Hello, children, ain't ya'll a handsome bunch?" Sister Ruth greeted then. "And you've all been setting through the service so nicely." They had no reaction to her compliments though they looked straight at her. She looked to their mother for an answer.

"My babies can't hear, not a single one of them. They were born deaf and so are mute. I'm wondering if you can open their ears?" She was hopeful, yet Ruth could tell she was trying not to get her hopes up.

God had given people their hearing back both in the Bible and in her revivals. She couldn't ask the children to have faith because she couldn't talk to them, but she could still ask the Lord to restore their hearing.

Placing a hand on the oldest and youngest child, she prayed, "Father, have mercy on these little ones. Bless them. We ask You to give them their hearing, so they can hear all the wonderful things You have to tell them and praise Your name, but above all we ask for Your will to be done. In Your Son's holy name we pray, amen."

When the prayer produced no responses of surprise or delight or any of the things a child hearing for the first time might experience, the mother became crestfallen. Ruth's spirits lowered with hers.

This family pulled on her heartstrings, the isolation the children must feel separated from the people around them and not to know how much God loved them. Her heart became burdened for them to learn the gospel, to be able to do something as simple as talk to their parents. There had to be a way.