Leora_Bride of California

by Kit Morgan

  “Come now,” he said through his chuckles. “They’re not as bad as all that.”

  “Easy for you to say. Did you run the Christmas play rehearsals last year? What about the town’s winter concerts?” She leaned against the table and narrowed her eyes at him. The Ladies’ Society for Godly Living , perhaps?”

  He burst out laughing again. “Do you know how adorable you look when you’re flustered?”

  “If you think this is flustered, wait until you see me tomorrow! What am I going to tell these people? I don’t know anything about preparing for a winter concert series, or being the president of … of anything! The Christmas play is all I can handle … and I’m not even sure I’ll be any good at it!”

  “Then tell them no.”

  “I know that’s what I should do, it’s just that…”

  “What?”

  “I don’t want them to think I can’t.” She sighed. “I’m your wife and they expect the pastor’s wife to be able to do all these things and then some.”

  “They never expected me to do all those things.”

  Leora rolled her eyes. “That’s because you’re the pastor. You have more important things to attend to than a winter concert.”

  “Or a Christmas play?” He reached across the table and took her hand. “Yes, what I do as their pastor is important, and it is a lot of work. But what they’re asking you to do is also important. They’re looking for leadership, Leora. Nothing more.”

  “That’s just it, Theron,” she said with a helpless shrug. “I’ve never led anything. I’m not a leader.”

  * * *

  The next morning Leora found herself sipping tea in the parlor of Mrs. Oliver, a petite woman with dark hair streaked with gray and big chocolate-brown eyes. “Why yes,” Mrs. Oliver commented. “For years Mrs. Pleet was president, but it’s been a long time since she’s held the position. The current president has held it for far too long, if you ask my opinion.”

  “Hildy’s right,” Mrs. Brown agreed. “We need a new president. Please tell us you’ll consider it?”

  Leora bit her bottom lip and tried not to sigh in exasperation. She’d done enough of that the night before at the supper table. “With Christmas play rehearsals, I’m not sure if I’ll have the time.”

  “You wouldn’t take the post until January,” Mrs. Oliver informed her. “You won’t have the Christmas play to worry about anymore.”

  “Yes, but … there’s the winter concerts,” Leora stammered.

  “Which also end before the post begins. More tea?” Mrs. Brown offered.

  These women weren’t taking no for an answer. Hadn’t she already told them as much before the tea was poured? “You’re very kind to offer me the position, but I’m not sure if I’ll have the time, even if the position doesn’t begin until then.”

  “Of course you will,” said Mrs. Oliver. “The post lasts for one year.”

  “I thought you said the current president has had it for longer,” Leora said, then thought, did she say that?

  The two matrons glanced at each other and began to fidget. “True,” Mrs. Oliver said, “our current president may have held the post longer than normal, but…

  “Why?” Leora asked. “If the post is only supposed to be for one year, what is she still there?”

  “Well … you see … it’s just that …,” Mrs. Brown began.

  “No one was available for the post until now,” Mrs. Oliver finished for her.

  “No one?” Leora asked in disbelief. “What makes you think I’m available?”

  “Well, because you’re new here, of course,” Mrs. Brown said, as if Leora was naïve for even asking.

  “What has that got to do with anything?” she asked. Really, this was getting ridiculous. “Who is the current president?”

  The matrons paled.

  “Oh no. Don’t tell me it’s Mrs. Rutherford?”

  Mrs. Brown and Mrs. Oliver exchanged a guilty look. “I’m afraid so,” Mrs. Oliver confessed. “But she’s too busy for the post and … and doesn’t give it the attention it needs. The Ladies’ Society for Godly Living needs, er … fresh blood, you might say.”

  Leora, not caring at this point about being ladylike, placed her elbows on her knees and put her face in her hands. “Mrs. Rutherford is going to have my head,” she mumbled through her fingers.

  “Now, it’s not as bad as all that,” Mrs. Brown said, giving Leora’s knee a pat. “We vote on it, you know. It’s not like we’re going to just toss Ophelia out.”

  Leora looked up. “But no one knows me. What makes you think I’ll get more votes?”

  Mrs. Brown and Mrs. Oliver exchanged another quick glance. “Let’s just say that Ophelia has served the presidency past her term. She needs a break.”

  Leora eyed them. “And everyone is too afraid to ask her to step down.”

  Mrs. Oliver rubbed her palms against the skirt of her dress a few times. “Well, I wouldn’t put it that way, but … one must admit, Ophelia is hard to deal with.”

  Leora blew out a breath. “So you need me to go up against her, to get rid of her for you?”

  The two matrons looked at each other once more. Leora felt her chest tighten – every time they did that, something worse than what they’d just said came out of one of them. Sure enough … “She doesn’t know you,” Mrs. Oliver blurted, “and doesn’t know what you’re capable of.”

  “All I know is that the woman hates me,” Leora told them. “Now you want me to go up against her in a race for the presidency?”

  “If she’s goading you, it’s only to see how far she can push you,” Mrs. Brown said.

  “If she had her way, she’d push me off a cliff.” Leora put her teacup in its saucer and set it on the table between them. “I’m sorry, ladies, but I’m going to have to decline.”

  “But if you don’t run for the position,” Mrs. Oliver said in a rush, “no one will challenge her and we’ll be stuck with … I mean, she’ll have to serve another year. We couldn’t do that to poor Ophelia.”

  Leora fought against a groan. Ophelia might well be a dragon – and she was the knight errant being recruited to slay it. “Why don’t I sleep on it?”

  “That would be wonderful!” Mrs. Brown said in relief. “We’ll come by tomorrow for your answer.”

  Leora stood and reached for her shawl. “Fine. Thank you for the tea.”

  Mrs. Oliver got up, walked her to the door and gave her a heartfelt hug. “We can’t tell you how happy we are that you’re here. Pastor Drake has needed a wife for a long time.”

  “I keep hearing that.” And I’m not sure what it means, she added silently.

  Mrs. Oliver let her go, opened the door and gave her a happy little wave. “We’ll see you tomorrow!”

  Leora gave her a weak smile, stepped out onto the porch and stared at the street. Now what was she going to do? It was hard enough for her to figure out what to do with the Christmas play, let alone this. She shook her head and headed down the porch steps. She still had to meet Mrs. Gaston, Mrs. Moody and Miss Smith regarding the winter concert series they wanted her to head – and with her luck, Mrs. Rutherford ran that too.

  She headed toward the church, beginning to see a definite pattern in all of this. Clearly many of Mrs. Rutherford’s so-called “followers” wanted nothing to do with her. She was reminded of stories in The Pirate’s Peril and Other Adventures about lone men standing up against brutal tyrants and fierce freebooters. In those tales, the plucky underdogs always won. In real life … she wasn’t so sure.

  “These people don’t want a leader,” Leora said to herself as she trudged along. “They want a hero.” A role for which she felt decidedly ill-equipped.

  Nine

  Leora had guessed right – Mrs. Rutherford did head the winter concert series, which took place in the church sanctuary each Saturday evening in December. Each program consisted of a small orchestra and choir performing Christmas music. People could come, enjoy the concert and sing alon
g if they chose. All in all, Leora thought it a fine thing.

  That did not mean she wanted to be the one to head it up, though.

  “There you are,” Theron said as she entered the church office. “I was beginning to wonder if you were ever going to get here.”

  “Mrs. Moody did her best to convince me to take charge of the winter concerts.”

  He raised an amused eyebrow. “Did it work?”

  Leora draped her shawl over the back of a chair. “They were very convincing. Mrs. Gaston makes delicious cookies.”

  Theron’s eyes widened. “Ah, they tried the cookies on you, did they? The ones with the nuts in them?”

  “And the chocolate,” she added.

  “Those are the ones,” he said and sat back in his chair. “They want you badly?”

  “No,” she said on a sigh and sat. “What they really want badly is get rid of Ophelia Rutherford – she runs that committee as well. And she’s the current president of the Ladies’ Society for Godly Living.” She gave him a pointed look. “Did you know that?”

  “Actually, I wasn’t sure who was president. I thought they’d voted in a new one last year.”

  “Apparently not,” she said, leaning against his desk. “Though I must say the winter concerts are a lovely idea. I don’t think it would be too hard to handle, but …” She shrugged helplessly.

  “Between that and the Christmas play, you'd have your hands full. But busy hands are better hands.”

  “It’s all well and good until you have to deal with Ophelia Rutherford. I swear the woman heads up everything in this town except for the mayor’s office and your church.”

  “Mrs. Rutherford does like to have her say in things,” he commented dryly.

  “Well, if busy hands are better hands, why hasn’t that worked for her? She’s still causing trouble, for me anyway. Tomorrow is another rehearsal for the play and I’m not looking forward to having to deal with her.”

  “Take charge, Leora,” Theron said gently. “I know you can. I think Mrs. Rutherford knows it too, or she wouldn’t be giving you such a hard time.”

  Leora’s eyebrows rose in question. “I think she’s picking on me because she knows I can’t fight back.”

  “Can’t, or won’t? Or just haven’t?”

  Now that was a thought. “You tell me. You’re the people expert,” she said sharply.

  “I’m no expert, really – I’ve just had more experience. The real expert is my father. Now there’s a man who can read someone and know what they’re made of, quick. My mother can do it too. It’s an uncanny ability.”

  “Don’t you have it?”

  “I’m not sure. I’ve never tried to find out.”

  She was about to comment when there was a knock at the door. “If that’s another person wanting me to head something up, I’m not here,” she said, and turned in her chair to face the opposite wall.

  “Be still, dear wife,” he teased as he got up to answer it.

  He opened the door to find Mr. Short, the butcher, on the other side, hat in hand. “Pastor Drake,” the man greeted. “Can I speak with you a moment?”

  “Certainly, Frederick, come in,” Theron said and stepped aside to allow him to enter.

  Mr. Short came into the office, took one look at Leora and flinched. “Oh, er… do you think we could speak in private?”

  “Of course,” Theron said, then turned to Leora. “Do you mind?”

  “Not at all – I’ll go home and make lunch. If you’ll excuse me, Mr. Short?” She rose from her chair and walked around him to the door. “I’ll see you in an hour?” she asked Theron. He nodded and smiled, and she closed the door behind her.

  She stood and listened to their muffled voices coming from inside the office, sighed and headed to the house via the backyard between the two buildings. Once inside, she tossed her shawl over a chair, put on an apron and gathered the ingredients to make a new soup Mrs. Pleet had told her about – one simple enough that she wouldn’t need a recipe.

  As she worked, she began to think more and more about the winter concerts. It had been a town tradition almost since the Gold Rush days, and it would be a shame not to see it continue. But a series of concerts wasn’t the issue – Ophelia Rutherford was. What on earth made these people think that she could go up against the woman? She wasn’t a leader, and definitely wasn’t a hero.

  No – what she was, she realized, was new, just as Mrs. Oliver and Mrs. Brown said. She was fresh, untouched for the most part by Mrs. Rutherford’s verbal barbs and power plays, and didn’t owe any money to her husband’s bank. Everyone else had been buffaloed by the woman, it seemed – including perhaps Theron. Only she had been spared, because she hadn’t been around.

  It wasn’t the Christmas play or the winter concerts or even the presidency of the Ladies’ Society for Godly Living that she had to worry about. No, it was one angry, critical, cranky woman who took pleasure in making everyone around her miserable. At this point, no one knew how to deal with her or wanted to. They just wanted to be rid of her – and didn’t want to have to do it themselves. Thus, they looked to Leora.

  Dear God, they really did expect her to be the dragon-slaying knight, didn’t they?!

  She cut up the vegetables she needed, found the seasonings and started to throw things in a pot. “Ophelia Rutherford,” she said as she set the pot on the stove. “What happened to you to make you into the harpy you are today?”

  She shook her head. What she should be asking, however, was if she was willing to find out.

  * * *

  Theron came in for lunch at half past one. “What took you so long?” Leora asked him as she sat at the table.

  He smiled ruefully. “A very extensive conversation with Frederick Short.”

  She set a bowl of soup in front of him. “Is there anything I should know?”

  He shook his head. “You have enough to worry about without concerning yourself with the local butcher.”

  “I don’t know – we’ll need a turkey for Thanksgiving, won’t we?”

  He chuckled at her wit. “That we will.”

  She took a bowl of biscuits out of the warming oven and set those on the table, then sat and waited for him to say the blessing. As soon as he was done, she asked. “Is there anything I can help with?”

  He smiled. “No – like I said before, you have enough going on. Speaking of which, have you decided how you’re going to handle Mrs. Rutherford tomorrow if she acts up?”

  Leora swallowed hard. “I’m trying not to think about it.”

  “You’re going to have to learn how to deal with people like her, you know.”

  “I’d guess Lottie doesn’t. I doubt she has a Mrs. Rutherford to contend with in Clear Creek.”

  Theron’s head shot up. “Clear Creek? Oregon?”

  Leora sat back in her chair and folded her arms across her chest. “Yes. You know of it? I know you’re from Oregon, but it’s an awfully small town …”

  Unable to help himself, Theron chuckled. “Well, what do you know?”

  “Know what?”

  He quickly shook his head. “Nothing, nothing at all. Eat your soup.”

  She uncrossed her arms and picked up her spoon. “I’m sorry about snapping at you earlier in your office.”

  “Oh yes. Think nothing of it – I wasn’t bothered.”

  “I know it’s my responsibility to handle Mrs. Rutherford. I’m just not sure how.”

  “If you’ll recall, I told you to let me know if she gets out of hand,” he reminded her.

  “From the sound of things, she’s been out of hand for years. But I should be able to do this myself.”

  He sat back in his chair and gave her a tender smile. “You weren’t expecting it to be like this, did you?”

  She scooped up a spoonful of soup. “Not exactly. I’m sure a lot of my co-workers from the mill are … well, never mind.”

  “Doing better than you?” he guessed.

  She set her spoon down.
“I’m no good at being a wife.”

  “You’re doing fine so far.”

  She gave him a tiny smile. “You’re just being kind.”

  “No, I’m being honest, Leora – I have no complaints. The only one who does is Mrs. Rutherford and I didn’t marry her – I married you.”

  She stared at him, unsure of what to say. He was right, of course. As her husband, his opinion was what mattered. Even if some of what poured out of Ophelia Rutherford’s mouth was valid – a doubtful proposition at best – what Theron thought of her trumped anything she had to say.

  “Leora, I know it’s not easy at times being a pastor’s wife. Maybe if you wrote to Lydia Wingate and explained your challenges, she could give you some advice. If anyone knows how difficult the job can be, it’s her.” He thought for a moment, then added, “Actually, she’s probably faced far worse than you ever will.”

  She nodded. “I’d imagine so. What other advice do you have?”

  He leaned toward her. “You want my advice?”

  Her eyes met his and she nodded again.

  “The Good Book says to treat your enemies with kindness, that to do so is like heaping burning coals upon their heads.”

  “Yes, but does it say what to do when they turn around and start throwing those coals at you?”

  He smiled. “No, but if anyone does, you come to me.”

  “But what if you’re not there? What if you’re out of town visiting another church or family or …”

  “Leora, stop.” He got up, went to her side of the table, bent down and gave her a hug. “There will always be Mrs. Rutherfords to contend with. The world has no shortage of them.”

  “Am I being a coward?”

  “No, you just have no experience. But, as you pointed out a few days ago, with Mrs. Rutherford around, you’re bound to gain plenty.”

  “I did say that, didn’t I?”

  He laughed and kissed her on the cheek. “Yes, you did.”

  Leora sighed. “Then I’ll try to make the best of it.”

  “You’ll be fine, you’ll see.”

  Leora picked up a biscuit as he returned to his chair. “I hope so.”