She had to have a dozen slivers in that hand.
He walked her over to the lumber pile and made her sit. Then he placed her most injured hand in his. “A few of these I can just pull out, but they might hurt.”
She nodded.
He pulled out five easily with just his fingernails. Then he removed his pocketknife and opened it.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m going to use the edge of my knife to get under the end of the slivers to pull them out.”
She nodded.
He pulled out three more before he ran into a difficult one. “Look away.”
Her stomach flipped. “Why?”
“Trust me.”
“I do, but please tell me what you’re about to do.”
“This one broke off inside the wound. I need to cut the skin to reach it.”
“Is your knife sharp?”
He nodded. “And clean.”
“Then go ahead.” She didn’t take her eyes off her palm.
“Don’t you want to look away?” Tenderness etched in his voice.
No, she would show him she was strong. “I’m fine.”
When he pressed the point of his knife on her palm, she shifted her gaze to his face and willed herself not to jerk her hand when the pain came. She would study his face. He had grown out his winter beard. Pain stabbed at her hand. She sucked in a breath through clenched teeth but did not jerk her hand away.
His worried gaze met hers. “Are you all right?”
She nodded.
“I’m sorry I hurt you.”
“It has to be done or it will fester.” She was glad he had the nerves to do what needed to be done. When she was younger, she had hidden a sliver once until it festered into painful red sores that were worse than the small piece of wood that lay beneath. To distract herself, she focused on wanting to touch his wavy brown locks.
He went back to his task, finishing with the worst hand and making quick work of the other. He brushed his thumbs back and forth across both her palms, searching for unseen slivers.
The caressing sent tingles up her arm and through her body. Her heart sped up like she’d just been the victor in a three-legged race. She shivered.
He stopped. “Are you all right?”
Fine. Wonderful. There was nowhere else she wanted to be.
He stood. “Stay here. I’ll be right back.” He disappeared down the street.
He had let her help, and then he tended to her injury. Though it was a small gesture, he showed tenderness toward her pain. She had hope.
Willum returned with a small jar of salve and cloth bandage rolls. He dabbed salve on the palm he’d had to cut the slivers out of then wrapped it. “You shouldn’t have any trouble with that.”
“Thank you for taking care of me.”
His gaze darted between her eyes and her mouth and back.
She licked her lips. Would he kiss her? She hoped so. Then she’d know everything was all right between them.
A dog barking down the street caused Sassy to get up from where she’d been lying and bark.
Willum turned to his dog. “Sassy, come.” The dog obeyed.
The spell was broken. She wanted to get it back. “I really am sorry for ever accepting a ride from Mr. Seymour.”
Willum looked to the ground. “It was never about the ride.”
She realized her mistake. She’d made it worse. She shouldn’t have brought up Mr. Seymour. “Then what?”
“Doubts. Trust.”
“I don’t have any doubts. I trust you. Can you ever trust me again?”
“You doubt I can provide. I have doubts about your steadfastness. We both have doubts. Until we settle those, neither of us can fully trust.”
But she did trust him and had no doubts. If it wasn’t for her doubt in the first place, he wouldn’t doubt her. “What can I do to make you trust me again?”
“I don’t know. But I do know I have a church to build.” He pulled a pair of new leather work gloves from his back pants pocket. “These may be a little big, but they were the smallest I could get. They will protect your hands.”
She took them, and they blurred. He was making it easier for her to help him instead of shooing her away because she got hurt. “Thank you.”
“I don’t want you getting any more splinters.” He cleared his throat. “Besides it’s a poor use of time. Daylight’s short this time of year.”
After securing one more board, Willum stopped to receive a wagonload of hay. He and the men transferred the bales from the back of the wagon through the stud wall in the front to the floor inside. She watched him work. He worked so hard. Hard enough to always provide for her.
He was right. Her thoughts always came back to whether or not he could provide. Needing the proof and not trusting. She kept picturing that tiny cabin. How did one banish doubts they didn’t want to have? Lord, take these doubts from me. Help me trust unconditionally.
Chapter 11
For the next three sunny days, Natalie arrived at the church ahead of Willum. It pleased him to see her eager, smiling face first thing. She helped him finish the exterior siding then they moved inside to the interior walls. The work went much faster with her help, and by the first week of December, the interior walls were all up and stuffed with straw to make the building hold heat in the winter. Then he finished the surface of the interior walls and painted the church inside and out. He painted the outside, while Natalie painted the inside. The church would be done in time for the Christmas Eve service, with a week to spare.
The congregation would be nice and warm when they celebrated the Lord’s birth, because he had installed a stove with pipes that ran through the floor, providing heat from front to back. The heat from the stove turned a fan that would push air through the pipes and up through vents in the floor.
The bare tree branches of the nearby oak scraped against a back window. The eerie sound prickled his flesh. He’d walked Natalie home hours ago before the storm became too strong. He had a little bit of interior work to do before moving in the pews and presenting the building to the reverend. This storm’s timing was absolutely perfect. A gift from the Lord.
He lit a candle from the lamp and headed toward the closed front door. A blowing storm was just what he needed to check for drafts. He held the candle up to the frame of the door and moved it around the entire frame slowly. The flame never flickered. No leaks. He did the same with the walls and windows down one side. Sassy followed him around the room. His flame stayed steady.
As he reached the rear window, the branch became more insistent in its knocking. He hoped it didn’t break the glass. Then, with a flash of light, a crack of thunder, and a huge crash, the branch careened through the window and smashed the wall around it, blowing out the candle and knocking Willum to the floor. Boards came down, and pain shot through his head and arm.
Natalie sat in a rocking chair near the fire, knitting a scarf for Willum. She had decided that the only way to prove to Willum—and herself—that she was trustworthy, was to be around him as much as possible and be trustworthy. This last month of working on the church had been a challenge and made her ache in places she didn’t know she had.
A dog barked at the front door. Not just any dog. She recognized that bark. Sassy! That meant Willum was here. She stood.
Papa looked her direction. “Leave it. It’s probably just a stray looking for food or a warm fire.”
“No, Papa. That’s Sassy. I know her bark.”
Papa held up a hand to her to keep her at bay and rose. “Let me check.” He opened the door a crack, then wider, looking down and then out into the dark. “Where’s your master, girl? Do you want to come in?”
Sassy put her front feet over the threshold and barked then hopped back out. Her coat was soaked through.
Natalie came closer. “What are you doing here without Willum?” She looked out into the darkness but didn’t see him.
Sassy barked at her and ran into the storm
then returned and barked again. She went back and forth several times.
Matthew came up beside her. “I think she wants us to follow her.”
Mama joined them at the door. “In this weather?”
Natalie’s insides knotted. “I think something must be wrong with Willum. We need to follow her.”
Papa took his and Matthew’s coats off the pegs by the door and tossed Matthew his. “Let’s go hitch up the buggy.”
Natalie grabbed her coat. “I want to go, too.”
Papa sighed. “I don’t suppose I can stop you. Wait here, and we’ll bring the buggy around.”
Papa and Matthew were fast, and soon the three were speeding in the storm toward the center of town.
Natalie twisted one mittened hand in the other. “Should we go to the church or his cabin?”
Papa wrapped his arm around her shoulders. “Sassy’s heading toward the church. He was likely working to finish the inside. We’ll try there first.”
Matthew urged the horse faster.
As they neared the church, they saw a fire. Then a flash of lightning lit up the scene. Half of the split oak tree had fallen into the side of the church, and the other half glowed with flames.
When Matthew reined in the horse, Papa climbed down.
Natalie didn’t wait for Papa to help her but jumped down behind him and ran in through the front door. A lantern glowed brightly in the middle of the room, sending eerie shadows through the spindly tree branches and fallen timber. Willum lay face-down under the wreckage.
She ran to where his arm lay exposed. “Willum!”
He didn’t move or make a sound. Please, Lord, no.
Papa knelt beside her. “Take the buggy and get Isaac. Bring him back here then fetch your mama and David if he’s come home.”
“I don’t want to leave Willum.” She couldn’t leave him.
Papa gripped her arms and turned her toward him. “Go. Matthew and I will start clearing the debris from him so your mama can look at him.”
The look in Papa’s eyes said what he feared but didn’t speak. He didn’t want her to see if Willum was dead.
Tears filled her eyes and spilled. “Papa, please save him.”
Papa’s expression became even more despondent. “I’ll do my best. Now go, quickly.”
She ran out into the rain and climbed aboard the buggy. Lord, save him. He was building Your house. Save him. Oh please, save him.
Willum’s arm throbbed and his head felt like a knife was digging around in it. He turned his head. The pain increased. He forced his eyes open. The room was strange. Ceiling beams and trusses. He did not build this room. He’d never been here before. Where was he?
He tried to focus on the rest of his body, from his searing head to his throbbing arm and aching leg. He seemed to be in a bed. Not his bunk or bedroll. A real bed.
His arm that wasn’t in pain seemed to be paralyzed. He couldn’t move it. He tilted his head to look at it.
Natalie lay with her head on his hand and arm, her face turned toward him.
And he knew.
Natalie didn’t have to have confidence in his ability to provide. He had enough confidence for both of them. He could provide, and she would come to believe it, too. He didn’t have to doubt her. He could just trust. Trust the Lord.
He wished she didn’t look so distressed in her sleep, with her eyebrows pinched. He wanted to soothe away her troubles, and so he raised his other arm with that intent, but it was bound in a plaster cast. The movement shot pain through his arm, and he groaned.
Natalie jerked awake and stared at him. “Willum!”
He tried to talk but only let out a croak of sorts through his dry throat.
Sassy put her front paws up on the edge of the bed. He patted her head.
Natalie picked up a glass of water from the floor and held it to his lips.
He drank with some running out the side of his mouth. “Thank you,” he whispered.
She stood. “I’ll go get Mama.”
He gripped her hand. “Don’t leave me.” He didn’t want to let her go.
She smiled at him then turned her head toward the door.
“Mama!”
He squeezed his eyes shut. “Ow.”
“I’m sorry. Mama wanted to know when you woke up. I need to get her.”
“I’m sure she heard you.”
She bit her bottom lip and sat back in the chair.
Two hours later, after Mrs. Bollen had examined him and deemed he would live, Willum dressed and climbed down the stairs with much help and support of the walls, railing, and Natalie.
Natalie shook her head. “Mama, tell him he shouldn’t be up.”
Mrs. Bollen shook her head as well but had a look of resignation on her face. “You should be in bed resting.”
Willum smiled. “I appreciate your concern, but we both know you can’t stop me. I need to survey the damage. The Christmas Eve service is five days away.”
Mrs. Bollen exchanged a look with Natalie. “It’s three days. You were unconscious for a day and half.”
How would he ever make the repairs in time for the congregation to use the church Christmas Eve?
Mrs. Bollen pointed to a chair. “You sit while Natalie and I hitch up the buggy.”
Now he was the one to shake his head. “That’s not for women to be doing.”
Natalie put her hands on her hips. “You sit and wait, or I will be stopping you.”
Mrs. Bollen smiled. “My daughter can be quite stubborn. You best do as you are told.”
He obliged and was soon sitting next to Natalie on the seat of the buggy. He reached for the reins with his good arm.
She pulled them away. “I’m driving. You rest.”
“I’ve never known you to be so bossy.”
“When it comes to your well-being, I am.” She snapped the reins, and the buggy lurched into motion.
He gripped his arm around her waist to catch his balance then left it there. “I’m sorry I missed going to the Whitworth party with you. Did you have fun?”
She turned to him. “I didn’t go without you.”
“Why not?”
“I never could have had fun with you lying in a bed half dead.” She turned back to the road.
And he realized the depth of her love. “You never left my side, did you?”
“Of course not.”
He saw tears rim her eyes.
“I was afraid if I left you, you would—” She blinked several times. “I was willing you to live, begging you. I didn’t want you to slip away.”
“Thank you.” He kissed her cheek.
When Natalie reined in the horse at the church, the four Bollen men and his three best friends were pounding away, repairing the damage.
No! He was commissioned to build the church.
“You fulfilled your call. ”
He had built the church with Natalie’s help. A peace that could only be from the Lord washed over him, letting him know that this was the way it was supposed to be. He’d been set free of the burden of working alone. The repairs belonged to others.
He turned to Natalie in the seat next to him. “Did you do this?”
“I didn’t do much. I asked Papa if he could help. Papa asked your friends.”
“Thank you.” He leaned closer and kissed her. He’d missed her.
Chapter 12
The day of Christmas Eve, the repairs to the church were complete. Natalie stood happily with Willum’s arm around her, holding him up. Willum’s mother stood on the other side of him. One of Willum’s friends had telegraphed his folks in Seattle about his accident, and they had arrived yesterday. Willum’s father, along with Papa, her brothers, and Willum’s friends unloaded another set of pews from a wagon. Apparently, in the evenings when Willum couldn’t work on the church building, he’d been constructing pews and carving designs on the endcaps. Each end showed an event in Christ’s life, either from the Christmas or the Easter story. The congregation co
uld all worship together at the Christmas Eve service in the church this evening.
Willum was healing well and feeling much stronger, though he still walked with a limp. Did he really need to lean on her, or was he just using his injuries as an excuse to so boldly put his arm around her in public? She didn’t mind. Part of her liked him needing to lean on her, but for that to continue he wouldn’t be healing. She wanted him to heal but didn’t want to lose his arm around her. He hadn’t kissed her again since the day he’d woken up, but seemed content with her at his side, almost happy with her again.
Willum’s arm tightened around her shoulder. “Take a walk with me.”
“Are you sure you should be walking?” She worried about his bruised leg. “Maybe you should rest. You’ve already done too much today.”
He squeezed her shoulder. “I’ll be fine with you next to me.” He took limping steps, Sassy following along beside them.
Why would he want to walk in his condition? But as long as he was willing to let her be with him, she wasn’t going to question him. As they made their way down the street, she could feel the tension within him, like he had a huge decision to make. What if he was thinking of telling her it would never work between them? That he couldn’t get past her doubt? Her stomach knotted.
Please don’t let this be good-bye. Tears welled in her eyes. She blinked them away. “Willum?”
“Hmm?”
She seemed to have pulled him out of his thoughts. “Before, you said that you were only staying in town until you rebuilt the church. You aren’t going to leave now, are you?”
He was silent for a moment then pointed to some steps. “Can we sit? I’m tired.”
She led him over to the steps and realized it was the house he had been building for a year and a half. Did he realize it, too?
He used his good leg to lower himself to the steps. “I need to ask you a question.”
She sat and folded her arms for warmth. Was this a good question or bad? “You haven’t answered mine.”
“Mine first. Don’t answer too quickly. Think about it.” He turned and looked her in the eyes. “Do you trust me?”
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