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

by Morris Fenris

  Still feeling miserably like a cad, Nathaniel had escaped. Thank God for the wisdom and comfort of an ex-hooker when dealing with these unpredictable children!

  Emmie, unaware of the real reason for her trip, chattered delightedly away about anything and everything under the sun. All that Nathaniel was required to do was flick the reins occasionally and, here and there, murmur an acknowledgement of the one-sided dialogue.

  Close to noon, he chose a spot along the road for their picnic dinner. Shade from the giant oaks, plenty of soft grass and a creek nearby for the horse to browse, and boulders for the energetic little girl to climb over and explore. That provided such a pleasant break that he wondered why he hadn’t done this more often. And was reminded of Caroline’s prescription.

  Along with that thought, he also wondered what she was doing today. While the littlers stayed mostly homebound and underfoot, the older girls, being all grown up and adult, pursued their own choices for the day. They took turns with the summer’s home schooling; they paid visits to church members, as an adjunct to ministerial calls; they helped with housecleaning and laundry and work in the garden that, once begun, never stopped producing.

  It did seem that Carrie had mentioned another sojourn to the library, possibly in the company of that bounder, Luke Dundall. Didn’t the man ever work for a living? Didn’t he have regular hours to fill at his precious bank?

  Mentally Nathaniel, stretched full-length on a blanket in the shadows while Emmie frisked about, gave himself a mental slap for such a lack of Christian charity. Good thing thoughts were kept hidden in the head, instead of spread out like a newspaper for everyone to see.

  Their arrival at the Lazy E set off a whole raft of questions, not to be fully answered until the owner of this abundant acreage appeared.

  “H’lo, there, Reverend,” said Earl, with a hearty shake of the hand. “Almost didn’t recognize you, outa your parson’s duds.”

  Nathaniel joined in his host’s comfortable laughter. “Yes, my clerical collar and black coat didn’t appear t’ be quite so appropriate t’day. So here I am, in denim. It feels as strange to me as it must look to you.”

  Another round of laughter. “And you, young lady—Emmie, is it? Would you folks wanna come in for some coffee and dried-apple pie?”

  “Thank you, Earl. But I got a bit of business t’ take care of, first. I’ve been told that you might have a pony available for sale.”

  “A pony, huh? Yep, I think I can find one hereabouts. Got a colt that should be perfect, halter-broke and saddle-broke and smart as a human. For Miss Winthrop, eh?”

  Miss Winthrop had stopped dead in their stroll toward the corrals, her face alight with hope and wonderment. “Nate!” she gasped. “I mean—Reverend!”

  He reached down to ruffle her cloud of pale blonde hair. “Yes, Emmie. A pony. For you. All your own. Thank you could handle him?”

  “Uh-huh!” Her small head bobbed up and down with vigor. “Yes, sir!”

  “You got arrangements made back in town?” wondered Earl, as they continued on.

  “I spoke with Buckwell Murray, over at the train station. We’ll be able to stable Emmie’s horse at his livery, and his son will be happy to start with some ridin’ lessons, and so on.”

  “Well, then.” Earl nodded, satisfied. “C’mon over this way, and take a look.”

  The return trip was made with their purchase tied to the back of the carriage and trailing quite contentedly along behind. After some spirited bartering between the present owner and the future, which both thoroughly enjoyed, a price was agreed upon; and the black yearling colt, touched with a triangle of white on his forehead, became the property of Miss Emmerson Winthrop.

  Almost beside herself with elation, she kept bouncing on the seat and turning to talk to the colt, to reassure him, to entice him with clucking sounds.

  “Got a name for him yet?” wondered Nathaniel, as they reached the edge of town.

  “Uh-huh. Blaze. Howzzat?”

  “I’d say that’s just fine. Good choice.”

  At the stable, where Blaze joined several other horses in the corral, Emmie suddenly turned to Nathaniel and wrapped her arms around his waist in a tight hug. “Thank you, Nate,” she whispered up to him. “I’ll take the bestest care of my horse. I can’t believe he’s mine!”

  Yours unless the extreme naughtiness sets in again. As every parent knows, children can be bribed into good behavior, as well as punished for bad. Not the greatest rule to live by, but one to which many have succumbed. However, he wasn’t about to mention any such possibility during this shining moment of happiness. He’d wait to see how things went. Sometimes patience truly is a virtue.

  “And I can come see him ev’ry day?” she pestered, as they trudged along to the parsonage in late afternoon.

  “Every day,” the Reverend assured her. “And twice on Sunday.” He grinned.

  “And ev’rybody can come meet him?”

  “Absolutely, just as soon as you want. Except—uh—maybe t’morrow, Em, ’steada t’night, whaddya say? You got me plumb tuckered out.”

  The Fourth of July arrived in a splendor of flags, bunting, and parade marches. Handguns and rifles were fired off so indiscriminately by revelers that the sheriff had to recruit an extra arsenal of deputies. He was heard to complain, while hauling off one more to the hoosegow, “Damn fool jackasses. Jist another excuse t’ get drunk and shoot up the place.”

  A celebration picnic had been planned for The Little Chapel, as well. Leading the pack, and chairing the committee that made arrangements, was none other than Miss Parris Porter. Early on, she had invited the good Reverend to share her picnic basket under the church’s wide-spread elms. “Fried chicken,” she pressed him. “Quite delicious, I assure you. I have so many things to discuss with you; please do accept.”

  More fried chicken? Was that her cook’s specialty, or did she know how to prepare nothing else? Nathaniel wondered if there were any chickens left running around in this town.

  Again, he begged off; quite politely and tactfully, of course, explaining that it was his duty as shepherd of his flock to socialize with everyone, rather than singling out any particular parishioner.

  Overhearing that comment, from the front porch where she and Luke had come for some privacy, had crinkled Caroline’s blue eyes with amusement.

  That day passed in a haze of activity, from target practice to three-legged sack races to ringing games of horseshoes. In making the rounds from this group to that, Nathaniel not only cemented his position but also indulged in the playtime that Caroline had recommended. He was cheered on by an enthusiastic crowd, congratulated for wins, and commiserated with for losses.

  All in all, a successful foray into the secular, decided Nathaniel, as he fell into his bed that night, exhausted and aching in every muscle.

  Except for…Yes, that blue devil dog of jealousy had raised its ugly head once more, upon seeing Luke wander off with his acquisitive arm around Caroline’s slender waist. Imagination painted a nasty picture of the two: seclusion somewhere, chaste kisses, careful fondlings, more kisses not so chaste, more fondlings not so careful, and eventually…eventually…

  “Arrrgh!” groaned Nathaniel, despairing of sleep no matter his fatigue.

  Out from under the sheet, he took it to his God. On his knees. In prayer.

  When the time came, just let him accept what his heart insisted was unacceptable. And go on with life, bereft of a partner who would have made it so much more worthwhile.

  Riding lessons commenced for Emmie, with great success. Bills for this and that and the other thing began to pour in, and Nathaniel paid them without one whisper of complaint. The newfound air of peace in the household was worth any amount of money.

  She learned the proper way to climb aboard and actually set her steed in motion, how to curry and clean, how to check over the animal’s hooves, the necessity of fresh water and suitable food. Every day brought a new revelation at the supper table, a new d
iscovery she was happy to share and expound upon until most were ready for a change of topic. Especially her younger sisters, who were envious and not slow to show it.

  Which left Nathaniel still struggling to benefit them in equal measure.

  Another consultation with Delilah sent him on a quest downtown. At Smith’s, he looked over supplies without success, but was able to obtain information and a catalogue. His next stop was the post office, to mail off an order form and a sizable check.

  As with Emmie, he kept Linnie’s ultimate endowment a great mystery, other than letting her know that a package would arrive one day soon, addressed to her. Witnessing her thrill of waking up every morning in expectation, and her disappointment later on of finding an empty mailbox, were almost too much for the family to bear. Nathaniel, wishing too late that he’d kept silent about the whole affair, began to slink guiltily in and out the back door so as not to run into the child.

  But then, one day in late July, sure enough…

  “Linnie! Linnie, sweet pea, come in here!” called Delilah from the back door into the play yard. “C’mon, come see!”

  Buckwell had arrived from the station with an enormous wooden crate that had him huffing and puffing up to the front. Plunking his burden down on the porch, he pulled out a bandanna to wipe his sweating brow, flushed florid by heat and exertion.

  “Gawdalmighty, whatcha got in there?” he demanded, shoving the receipt under Nathaniel’s startled nose.

  “Heavy stuff. Thanks, Buck. I appreciate you bringin’ this round t’ the house.”

  Unfortunately, at that very minute, Parris Porter happened to be passing by. Her own nose twitched with curiosity. “Yoo hoo, what an interesting package!” she called out, plainly hoping to be invited in. “Have you ordered yourself some of those books on child discipline, Reverend?”

  It is not the easiest task to speak through gritted teeth, but somehow Nathaniel managed. “Oh, we’re doin’ just fine in that department, Miss Porter. Thanks for your interest, though!”

  In the kitchen, where Linnie had just excitedly arrived, Delilah turned from the stove with a troubled look for what Nathaniel was carrying. His muscles were bulging, and his skin had gone an unhealthy shade of sallow red.

  “Lord love you, Parson, sir, but you—well, all this…couldncha plan on birthday gifts, maybe?”

  He had already set the crate onto the table and fished out his pocket knife, without which no self-respecting man, even one of the cloth, ever started his day. “No,” he answered shortly. “This is a Just Because present.” He smiled at Linnie, then pried off the lid and set it aside. “Okay, my girl, have at it.”

  Lindsay was the most timid child of the three, the most introspective. She crept closer, and then climbed onto a chair to investigate. Packed into layers of shredded newspaper lay tubes and tubes of artists’ oil paint— “Real paint!” she breathed. —a complete selection of camel hair brushes, turpentine for cleaning, a palette knife and board, and several canvases of varying sizes, blocked and ready for use.

  Her audience drew in a collective breath as she pulled out item after item with reverent fingers.

  “But, Parson, sir—” Delilah, feeling like the only grownup in the room, tried to register a mild protest, “—she’s only five. A mite young t’ be—”

  “You’re never too young to learn, Delilah,” Nathaniel assured her. In fact, his own emotions were of such high elation and goodness of heart that he threw one arm around her shoulders and squeezed, through overwhelming delight.

  “Well, I reckon not, but—”

  “Emmie and her colt will grow together. Linnie will paint as she will and produce marvelous works of art. I’ve already contacted a Mr. Walter Symonds, through the manager at Smith’s. He’s a local artist and will be overjoyed to give our Linnie some lessons.”

  She turned to look up at him, then, this tall compliant and complaisant man whose arrival at their enervated, grief-stricken household had already made such a difference in so many lives. Her eyes were filled with unaccustomed moisture.

  “Why, Delilah!” he said with surprise. “No need to cry. You gave me the idea, and I acted on it.”

  “I know, but—” Overcome, she picked up the skirt of her apron to dab at tears. Finally, she whispered, “You are a dear, good human being, Parson, sir, and I bless the day you showed up here.”

  Deeply touched, Nathaniel glanced around the kitchen, the heart of this home, with its three oldest black-haired daughters examining all the parts of Linnie’s treasure and its three youngest towheaded daughters chattering to everyone at once.

  “Me, too, Delilah,” he said quietly, and squeezed her shoulder again. “Me, too.”

  Before he could make any decision on what to do for little Hollie, Portia asked if she and her fiancé might be able to come in to his office for a consultation. Ah, yes. The first of three. As he immediately assented, Nathaniel felt a burst of happiness mixed with a touch of sadness. Truly one bittersweet moment, marrying off the girl he had come to care for as a very precious member of his household.

  Wedding arrangements came first. Because, of course, Portia explained, they would like him to perform the ceremony.

  “I’d be greatly honored,” he told them, with obvious humility. “Have you set a date?”

  Sometime in September, he was told. Whichever date suited his church calendar.

  “Sure, we can work that out. Now, as t’ all the other arrangements…”

  He made careful note of all the necessary details: full names of each, dates of birth, current addresses, and so on. They planned to set up housekeeping in a small rented house, far enough away from the mines and all their dust and noise, close enough to the town proper to still feel a part of The Little Chapel.

  “You plannin’ on takin’ a honeymoon trip?” he asked, after some thought. Leaning back in the chair—his favorite position—he steepled his fingers and considered the young couple looking so demurely and yet so yearningly at each other. So he, too, might have looked, bringing a new bride into his life.

  “Well…we hadn’t really talked about that, yet,” admitted Portia.

  “It’ll prob’ly take all I got saved t’ find us a house, first off,” added her stalwart intended. “And all the furniture and what-nots that this lady seems t’ have in mind.”

  “Andy!” she protested fiercely, grabbing his hand. “I told you I don’t care about any of that. I just want to be with you, together, in our own home.”

  Nathaniel nodded, approving. “Well, you two, I’d sorta like t’ help you out here. A wedding gift. Either payin’ for the honeymoon, or getting’ you set up. Would that be okay?”

  “Nate!” Her eyes rounded and her cheeks pinkened, much as her adopted sisters’ had done, earlier. “That would be wonderful! Just wonderful! But—oh, no, we can’t let you do that!”

  “Why not? It’s a gift, Portia, and money is only beneficial when it’s doin’ some good for somebody. I’d be right pleased if you’d accept.”

  Andy Templeton rose, leaned forward, and shook hands, man to man. “Reverend, this is—we never thought—it’s just so damn much!”

  “Ssshh, Andy!” exclaimed the girl, horrified.

  A laugh, hearty and hale, in which the couple soon joined. “That’s settled, then. All right. Reckon you’d better be checkin’ with Delilah, too, b’cause she’ll be wantin’ t’ do some special stuff. Congratulations, you two. I look forward t’ the day.”

  Within a week, Christina made her way to the Reverend’s study, with her red-faced swain in tow, and a lovely garnet ring sparkling on the third finger of her left hand.

  “We’ve come to ask your blessing, Nate,” she began, on a deep breath.

  “Permission,” hissed Josh in an aside. “We better ask his permission, first.”

  “Oh. Yes. I guess so.” Giggling, blushing, sashaying, Tina was the picture of an idealistic young girl on the brink of womanhood. “Can we talk with you?”

  He could
n’t help smiling. “Of course you can. Sit down, both of you, and tell me what’s goin’ on. I take it that—” the wave of his hand indicated hers, “—is a new acquisition?”

  “Betcher bottom dollar,” Josh asserted, puffing his chest somewhat with pride. “Pretty, ain’t it? But not as pretty as my Tina, here.” In a romantic gesture not lost upon the Reverend, Josh lifted the fingers of his betrothed to touch lightly with his lips. The two seemed lost in each other, oblivious to the man they had come specifically to see.

  “Ahuh. Well, then.” Carefully, Nathaniel cleared his throat, pulled forward his tablet, and began making notes for the same routine questions: name, date of birth, current address, and so on.

  Queried as to the wedding plans, Tina confided they’d set the month for April of next year. “So—um—it’s all right, Nate?”

  “Don’t see any reason why not. Both your families are happy with your plans, aren’t they? Then so’m I. Now, then.” Again, as with Portia, he extended his offer of paying for a wedding trip or helping to set up housekeeping, whichever they preferred.

  The bridegroom-to-be looked stunned. “That’s mighty generous, sir, and we thank you for the offer. But why wouldja?”

  “Hard t’ explain the whole reason, Josh. But I’d like to do this, and I’m hopin’ you’ll take me up on it.”

  After the two finally wandered out, hand in hand and whispering to each other, Nathaniel pushed back from his desk and stood. A productive few weeks, he reflected, standing in front of the big window to watch the littlers playing on the swing set. An amazingly productive—and gratifying—few weeks.

  Now. A surprise for Hollie, since it was her turn to receive a tribute truly magnificent; and then something really special to present to Delilah, who deserved a mountain of appreciation for all she had done for this family.

  All while he waited for the last shoe to drop: a request by Caroline that she and Luke be able to consult with their pastor on a very important matter…