A Western Romance: Nathaniel Yancey: Taking the High Road (Book 6) (Taking the High Road series)

by Morris Fenris

“Parson, sir,” said Caroline, from just inside the open door, “I wonder if I might trouble you for just a minute?”

  Was ever any man so beset by so many women in so short a time?

  Still, this was another rescue, and he appreciated the effort. “Of course, Carrie. Anything serious?”

  “No, not a bit. But we’ve all been discussing your sermon, and a question came up that—well, no, never mind. You’re busy out here, so we can wait till later.”

  The littlers were not the only devil-children in this bunch. Older she might be, but clearly Carrie was cut from the same cloth when it came to mischief and mayhem. Even from some feet away, he could see the impishness sparkling in her eyes.

  “Quite all right.” Nathaniel hoped his eagerness to escape didn’t show too much. “I’m always happy to talk about my homilies. Miss Porter, you will excuse me, won’t you?”

  “Hmmph.” Stymied once again, she pursed her lips and closed the fan with a sharp snap. “Certainly, Reverend. When duty calls… But you must promise me you’ll accept my invitation another time.”

  “Oh, by all means, another time.” When push comes to shove. When pigs fly. When hell freezes over.

  Once safely inside the front hall, he closed the door firmly behind him and leaned his back against its wooden frame, as if to further barricade himself from entrance.

  Then his gaze met Caroline’s, and both burst out into unseemly laughter. Finally, quieting down, he solemnly and only half-judiciously chided her.

  “Oh, I didn’t lie about interrupting you,” she protested. “We have been coming up with some questions. Besides, I’ve got great experience with this sort of roundelay. Many a time I had to extricate my father from Miss Porter’s little traps to snag him.”

  “Your father? She was after—I mean, she was trying to waylay—I mean—”

  “Stop that,” Caroline giggled. “At this rate, you’ll have me rolling on the floor in hysterics. Yes, my poor father. We girls got so we’d keep a lookout, so that when she showed up at the front door, he could slip out the back.”

  Nathaniel shook his head in wonderment. And consternation. It seemed this posting to Virginia City would not be the paradise he’d thought, after all. Apparently there was a fly in the ointment. And its name was Parris.

  “M’h’m,” she agreed, following the direction of his thoughts. “So you’re welcome. And you may thank me now, Nate.”

  For the moment, he was suddenly lost. Had his name ever sounded so sweet on anyone’s lips? Especially lips that curved upward, mulberry-colored and enticing, in a face of such beautiful intent?

  “Uh—yes. Thank you, Carrie,” he stammered.

  Her smile showed all the grace and clemency and warmth of a Botticelli Venus. “Delilah is ready to call all of us for dinner. Come in, now; Luke would like to talk with you a little more.”

  V

  Routine was good. Routine was safe. Routine was comfortable.

  “Oh, hang routine!” grumbled Nathaniel after a couple weeks or so.

  Odd. He had never known such restlessness of spirit during his school years, or while attending seminary. Then, being certain of a day’s schedule, able to plan any event in advance, setting up what came next or later, appealed to him. Now, it didn’t.

  Now, busy with writing sermons, or occasionally visiting a parishioner who had fallen ill or victim to accident, accepting an invitation to someone’s home for the midday meal, he found himself wishing only to push everything of routine aside.

  The mid-June weather was breathtakingly beautiful, with clear blue skies and a strong breeze. He wanted to race with the littlers to the town’s nearby open field and fly a kite, as he remembered doing in boyhood days with his older brothers.

  One afternoon, those blue skies turned dark and treacherous, as a storm rolled in. With rain pounding upon the rooftop and slashing against the windows, he wanted to join the littlers at the kitchen table with their paint pots and brushes, creating extravagant pictures for someone to ooh and ah over.

  A touring troop of actors arrived, invited by the Virginia City Mayor to perform several musicals at The Grand Hotel and Opera House. He wanted to throw caution to the wind and ask Caroline if she would accompany him for an evening of stardust and sin.

  But, of course, he couldn’t. Especially the last. The Little Chapel would never live down such a slight to its reputation, that their very own clergyman might actually enter such a den of iniquity. Nor would he.

  Even bypassing that, though, was the young lady herself. Keeping company with Luke Dundall—damn and blast his banker’s hide!—on a regular basis, their future together seemed a sure thing. And when Mr. Dundall showed up at his study door to ask for her hand in marriage, as might be expected soon, Nathaniel would have to simply grit his teeth and give consent.

  Several weeks of sharing the parsonage space had accustomed Carrie to his moods. Considering the bedlam that often rioted from one floor to the next, thanks to three rowdy children and an equally rowdy cat, he seemed surprisingly even-tempered and easy-going. Tolerant, accepting, content. Until recently.

  Recently, he seemed itchy and restive. Unsettled, almost.

  And she wanted to find out why.

  Shut into his study one mid-morning, he answered her knock immediately and, serene as usual, ushered her inside. She closed the door behind her as he resumed his seat behind that rampart of a desk.

  “Am I interrupting anything?”

  “Nope. Just tryin’ to put t’gether some thoughts for Sunday’s sermon. You musta got used t’ that kinda stuff, with your paw.”

  She settled into the upholstered chair, spreading her lightweight summer skirts around her and crossing her ankles as a lady should. “I visited his grave on Monday,” she commented.

  “Didja? I’m sorry, Carrie, that you went alone. That must not’ve been easy. You shoulda said somethin’ to me, so I could go with you and pay my respects.”

  A small shrug. “I would have, Nate. But that was the afternoon that Emmie and her gang of cutthroat sisters decided to see which of them could throw rocks the farthest, and which one had the best aim. Once they broke two of Miss Porter’s summer house windows, you had your hands full, dealing with her.”

  “Oh. Yeah.” He shuddered a little, in remembrance. Another little talk, this time more lengthy and much more severe. He and Delilah together had not yet put together a plan to keep that child out of mischief, and it was eating at his innards. Let go much longer, and some serious trouble might arise. “Miss Porter was—uh…well, not too happy. Even though I got all three girls t’ apologize, and then some.”

  “And you’re paying for her windows. Just having you go over to her house voluntarily, to spend time with her for whatever reason, must have encouraged her no end.”

  “Encouraged?” Nathaniel, leaning back in his chair, had one hand up, fingers supporting his chin, as he considered his guest. “I surely do hope not. Better t’ discourage that lady, instead.”

  Parris was, as time went on, making more and more a nuisance of herself. The accidental meetings at the parsonage door or the church hall, the repeated invitations to dinner or supper, the veiled insults toward all six Winthrops, the catty remarks about Delilah’s housekeeping or appearance—Nathaniel was not dealing well with such ongoing harassment.

  Caroline tipped her head to one side, brilliant blue eyes meeting dark brown. “Well, you could do worse,” she pointed out. “Parris lives right next door, she knows the town well, she’s about your age…well, maybe a trifle older. Aren’t you interested?”

  Aghast, he shoved upright. “Good Almighty—I mean, no. Not the least bit. Too much goin’ on in this household t’ try takin’ on another’n, wouldn’tcha say?”

  “And then there’s the problem of what to do with Emmie.”

  “Ahuh. Been givin’ that some thought, too, Carrie. Gonna get the girl a horse.”

  Unprepared, she blinked. “A horse.”

  “Gotta be somebody ro
undabout that can give her ridin’ lessons, make sure she’s properly fitted out and knows what she’s doin’. Should be a good outlet for all that spare energy she’s got. And takin’ care of her own mount would teach her responsibility.” The more Nathaniel had mulled it over, the more he liked the idea. His enthusiasm began to shine through.

  “And you could sometimes go riding with her,” guessed Caroline shrewdly.

  “Well, there is—huh. Howdja know I was thinkin’ of that?”

  Another small shrug, which shimmied the pretty pink lawn across a pretty bosom. Probably pink, as well. “You have your moments of being quite transparent.”

  “Carrie.”

  “Yes?”

  “Been wonderin’ about somethin’…”

  Silence, while she waited, while he studied her face as if choosing his words with care. Outside the open study window, Jezebel brayed her startling cat cry and went charging away through the grass in quest of a wayward butterfly. Farther away, the littlers cranked their swings higher and higher on an old metal frame, to the accompaniment of rattles and creaks.

  “You were—what, ’bout sixteen when your paw brought the kids home to live here. Howdja feel about that?”

  She glanced down, smoothed her skirt, and glanced up again to once more meet his gaze. “About as happy as Parris Porter over her broken windows,” she admitted frankly.

  “Ahuh. Portia feel the same way? And Tina?”

  “It seemed like the three of us versus the three of them, you see,” she tried to make him understand. “And they were very tiny and appealing. In fact, Hollie was just a baby.”

  “Needin’ care, needin’ attention, and needin’ more’n anybody ever dreamed,” Nathaniel finished up for her. “And your paw already run thin at the edges, with your maw gone and the church callin’ him.”

  “I don’t know what we would have done without Delilah. She’s always been a godsend, but never more so than during those first couple of years. It was a—it was a hard adjustment.”

  His expression radiated sympathy. “I can only imagine.”

  “But we made it through, once the resentment was gone. We accepted, and we older girls were able to pitch in and help a lot. That was good for all of us. Now—well, we’re just a family of six. All Winthrops.”

  Pleased, he nodded at the details. “Thank you, Carrie. I appreciate your sharin’ that with me.”

  Again, that slight tilt of the head, with its weight of curly black hair that caught and held every ray of the summer sun. “You listen a lot to people, don’t you, Nate?”

  “I do. And I try t’ listen with compassion and perception.”

  “And who listens to you?”

  “Huh. Beg your pardon?”

  “When you need counseling, who do you go to?”

  His chair squeaked a little as he settled his backside more comfortably into its confines to ponder. “Fair question, Miss Winthrop. Delilah told me you got a good head on your shoulders. I begin t’ see she’s right.”

  Now it was her turn to study his face, the lean, rawboned look of him, with the longish black hair that refused to obey a comb or brush, and the beard that always, even when freshly shaved, showed dark against his skin.

  “Huh. Reckon nobody. ’Less I talk t’ Delilah, maybe, or hook up later on with another preacher in town.”

  “How about me?”

  “You.”

  She chuckled, a warm soft sound like the leisurely gurgle of brook waters flowing over mossy stones. “I’m a listener, too, Nate. As the oldest in this house of women, I’ve had to be. What’s bothering you lately?”

  He straightened sharply, rolling his castered chair straight into the desk so that his middle hit with a little “Oooof!” “You doin’ fortune-tellin’, too?” he wondered.

  “I’ve noticed that something is wrong. Papa would have called it being off your feed. Just—I don’t know…not right. Can I help?”

  Mulling that over, the Reverend shifted his gaze to the open window, where a slight summer breeze toyed with the heavy curtains, and the intoxicating fragrance of new grass and mountain pine drifted in. Sporadic hammering from not far away: Parris, with two windows to replace, had decided to have more carpenters’ work done, from shoring up porch steps to repairing shutters. The littlers’ excited voices and clump of running feet, in pursuit of some new activity.

  “I like it here,” he said slowly. “When I first arrived, I must admit that—well, I had—doubts, wonderin’ if this was actually where I was s’posed t’ be. But I’m settlin’ in, gettin’ used t’ things, and likin’ the people of my church.”

  “And they like you, Nate,” Caroline hastened to assure him. “No. Most of them love you. You’re a good, gentle man who really cares, and they see that.”

  His eyes lit up with his smile. “Thank you, Carrie. I hope I can make a difference, do some good, and help out anybody who needs it. The services have been goin’ well, seems like, and attendance has hardly dropped off a’tall.” The smile stretched into a self-deprecating grin. “Must be due t’ that wonderful organist we’ve got. Mrs. Howell, right?”

  “Yes, Mrs. Howell. She is wonderful, isn’t she?”

  “Been here a long time herself, so she was tellin’ me. Ten years or more. Really gives her talent t’ God, I’d say.”

  “Playing that pump organ isn’t her only talent. Wait till the next bake sale comes up, and you have a chance to taste her gooseberry pie.”

  “Ahuh. Good t’ know.”

  “Nate?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Go on.”

  The smile turned a shade wistful. “You don’t give up on much, do you, Carrie?”

  “Not when it’s important.” Brushing back a tendril of hair that had escaped its clip, she leaned forward. “Things have been going like a whirlwind since you first set foot on this place, and you’ve been going as well, non-stop. Working is fine, Nate; we all need a purpose in life, and you’ve obviously found yours. But you need some playtime, too.”

  “Playtime. Huh. Maybe I am gettin’ a little—uh—bogged down.”

  The curve of her mouth, slanted up slightly sideways; the high cheekbones, wearing a pink flush of urgency; the rich blue eyes, fringed by black lashes and smoky with intensity—what a picture she presented, sitting there in his study, in the warm summer sun. The question flashed through his mind: so beautiful now, how must she look during the height of passion?

  At the immediate, embarrassing response of determined bodily parts, Nathaniel quickly shifted position in a futile search for relief. Get thee behind me, Satan! A reminder that she was practically betrothed to another man had the effect of being doused with icy-cold water. Clearing his throat, he shifted once again and tried to continue on.

  “I’ve seen you looking out the window, when you thought no one would notice,” she informed him quietly. “As if you were wondering how you happened to be tied down in this one place, with a bunch of females, when there’s a whole wide world out there, waiting for you to explore.”

  Startled by her perception, he nearly fell off his chair. “Good Almighty—I mean—you—”

  “So, then. I’m going to serve as doctor, dear Reverend, and write out a prescription for you. Every day, I expect you to reserve some time to relax, get out, and enjoy yourself. Not just meditation. Although I understand that’s necessary, too. But something in the fun and games department. What did you do as a boy?”

  “Oh, Lord, what didn’t we do?” he reminisced, chuckling. “Ran our poor mama ragged, that’s for sure. Me and nine brothers, all just a-hootin’ and a-hollerin’…causin’ a lotta mischief. That’s prob’ly why I’ve figured out Emmie so well, is b’cause—”

  “Nate,” she interrupted reproachfully.

  “Yes. Well. Fishin’ and swimmin’ in the Edisto River, or in St. Helena Sound. Horseback ridin’ all over the place. Playin’ pirate or cowboy, makin’ up adventures. In between all that, we even got in some school time, with a
tutor.” He grinned at her.

  She returned the grin. “Good to hear,” she mimicked his own often-used phrase. “Children need an education. Just as Portia and Tina and I work with the littlers, during summers off, to keep up with reading and arithmetic. Anyway.” Caroline rose, swishing her skirts back into place. “I’ve taken up enough of your valuable day, Nate. But please heed my advice. Can you do that?”

  “Sound advice, Carrie. Words I mighta told someone my own self. And I’ll surely try.”

  “That’s all anyone can do, Reverend.” Kissing the tips of her fingers to him, she slipped away.

  VI

  And so matters progressed at The Little Chapel in the Pines Parsonage on Old Oak Road.

  Nathaniel’s first order of business, in between his ecclesiastical duties, was to consult with one of his parishioners. Earl Benedict owned a large cattle ranch spread over the sweet sagebrush hills some ten miles out of town. While he was not a regular churchgoer, his wife, Eudora, certainly was; and, after twenty-five years of marriage, she could usually wear him down when there was something she wanted. Like attending The Little Chapel.

  Or so the good Reverend’s source, one Delilah Trubody, informed him.

  One lovely mid-morning in late June, Nathaniel walked to the stationmaster’s livery to rent a horse and carriage. Then he had set out for the Lazy E Ranch, with Emmie beside him and a picnic basket, full of the housekeeper’s best home cooking, stowed in the back.

  The little girl was so excited that she could barely contain herself. And, to tell the truth, she had rather lorded this special excursion with Nate all by herself over her younger sisters, who were befuddled and bereft at being left behind. Linnie ran for the comfort of Delilah’s open arms, and Hollie turned on the waterworks—an unfair tactic devised to turn Nathaniel’s heart into helpless mush.

  Hoping to lighten the emotional scene, he had promised similar excursions later on to both littlers being left behind.

  Delilah had shaken a sagacious head. “That won’t work, Parson, sir. Kids live for the moment. They don’t wanna hear about somethin’ some time in the future; they want it now. But you can work all that out. You go on, and take care of what you’re doin’. Linnie and Hollie and I will just take a nice walk to Smith’s General Store and see what we can find. How’s that, girls?”