Molly Noble Bull
Page 19
While Mrs. Jordan talked, a current of warmth started in Honor’s heart and spread throughout her body. Until now, instructing Lucy in reading had merely been a job. But Mrs. Jordan made teaching seem like a calling—a Christian ministry, as Jeth would say.
Honor wanted to continue talking to this dear lady, but she knew that she should start the lesson. Nevertheless, she would be eternally grateful to Lucy’s mother. She’d helped Honor see herself in a fresh way.
After Mrs. Jordan had left the room, Honor sat down by Lucy on the couch and pulled a slate and a piece of chalk from her carpetbag. “I guess we can start now.”
“Why don’t we pray first?” Lucy suggested, and then immediately bowed her head. “Lord,” she prayed. “Teach us what You would have us learn during today’s lesson.”
When the prayer ended, Honor drew the letter A on the slate and gave the chalk to Lucy. “What are the long and short sounds of this letter?”
Lucy took the chalk between her thumb and forefinger. “Let me see.” She tilted her head. “A gives its short sound in words like apple.” Lucy put a small chalk mark over the a. “And it gives its long sound in words like table.”
Honor smiled. “Very good.”
Lucy produced the sounds of all the letters in the alphabet and read several verses from the Bible aloud. She wasn’t the best reader Honor had ever heard, but she was showing a lot of improvement.
“You’re reading well, Lucy. I’m proud of you.”
“Thank you for saying that.”
“It’s the truth. I wouldn’t have said it if it wasn’t.”
Honor put the slate and chalk back in her bag.
“You’re in love with Pastor Peters, aren’t you, Miss McCall.”
Shocked by Lucy’s question, Honor stared at her. Then she fumbled with the leather handle of her bag, wondering how to reply.
“I’m sorry,” Lucy said. “I had no right to ask that question.”
“Don’t worry yourself about it.” Honor rose. “But I really must go. I have shopping to do before I return to the boardinghouse, and I’d better get started.”
“I’ll walk you to the door.”
Honor forced a smile. Forgiveness didn’t come easy to her. But she planned to be extra nice to Lucy the next time they met.
After the lesson, Honor was picked up in the wagon by Jeth. “Would you mind stopping by the general store before you drive me back to the boardinghouse?” she asked when she’d taken her seat beside him. “I need to buy thread and a few other things.”
“I wouldn’t mind at all.”
As soon as Honor stepped inside the store, a bell rang above her head. Several women were huddled around Mrs. Baker, talking, their backs to the door. When they heard the bell, they turned and looked at Honor, watching her for several moments.
Honor hated attention and knew she must be blushing. At last, they turned around and continued their conversation.
Honor dismissed the incident and went directly to the display of threads on a small table near the jars of candy. She selected spools of white and pale blue and dropped them in her carpetbag, intending to pay for them later.
Now, what else do I need? She puzzled, trying to remember. I should have made a list. Oh, yes, white material for a new blouse. She gazed at the piece goods area, close to where the ladies stood.
Taking her time, Honor surveyed every table as she meandered through the store. She needed shoes, and she picked up a pair of brown high-buttoned ones that she immediately saw were much too big. She put them back and moved on down the aisle.
From the rear of the store, she slowly made her way back to the table where cloth was displayed, hoping none of the women would notice her.
Honor ran the palms of her hands over rolls of white material, trying to decide which one felt the softest.
“Are you saying Pastor Peters ordered an engagement ring?” one of the women asked.
Honor paused to listen.
“Yes, that’s exactly what I’m saying,” Mrs. Baker answered.
Honor jerked her hands from the fabric as if it were hot. Did this mean Jeth was engaged? Or about to be? And who was the lucky bride? Lucy Jordan?
“Does anyone know who the pastor’s lady-love is?” another woman asked.
“I can’t say for sure, mind you,” Mrs. Baker went on. “But I was told on good authority that…” Her words faded into a whisper.
Honor strained to hear more but couldn’t.
The bell over the door chimed.
A gray-haired man whom Honor had seen at church came into the store. Honor didn’t want to be caught eavesdropping. Grabbing her carpetbag, she quickly walked away from the group of women. She was about to open the door when she remembered that she hadn’t paid for the thread.
Whirling, she snatched the spools from her bag, tossed them on the nearest table and dashed outside. She’d almost reached the wagon when a new thought hit her. Could she be the future Mrs. Jethro Peters?
Impossible.
She didn’t smile when she climbed onto the seat beside Jeth, but she didn’t frown, either. She simply sat there like a wooden statue, contemplating.
Three days later, Lucas lay in bed awaiting his breakfast. He licked his lips. Mrs. Kline was a good cook and he smelled bacon frying. Lucas was feeling better and had begun to get out of bed for a few hours each day. Now he reached for the pitcher on the table by his bed, and as he poured water into the glass, he thought about what he used to drink in the morning. It wasn’t water.
Casually, he glanced out the window beside his bed. A woman in a dark cape was trudging through the snow outside. Lucas looked again. Could it be his sister? Opening the window wide, he leaned closer to it. A draft of frosty air made him shiver. Lucas hugged his arms close to his body and watched. He couldn’t see the woman’s face, but her purposeful gait reminded him of Regina.
The woman turned. She was Regina. Where was she going? Was she looking for him? Lucas doubted it.
Then Regina moved out of his line of vision. Lucas hoped she would turn around and walk by his window again, although he wasn’t ready to talk to her face-to-face. He might never be.
Lucas partially closed the window, settled back in the bed, and pulled the covers around his shoulders. Reverend Kline had told him that if he hoped to recover from the fever, he should stay warm.
Reverend Kline also had left Harriet’s Bible on the table. Lucas recalled that Regina had studied the Bible every day after she’d learned to read, and so had his eldest sister, Clara. Lucas was the black sheep of the family—just like Pappy. With those memories came the thought that a shot of whiskey sure would taste good right now.
Lucas gazed at the Bible again and saw a gold ribbon dangling from it. He’d been carrying that Bible around since the day Ruby had given it to him. Why hadn’t he noticed the ribbon before?
Sipping his water, he wondered what the ribbon meant. Why was it there? He had no intention of reading the Good Book. However, the ribbon intrigued him.
He put down the glass, reached for the Bible and opened it. Holding the Bible with his left hand, he ran his fingers down the marked page. The silk ribbon felt soft to the touch.
Lucas looked closely. Some of the words had been underlined. He shook his head. Who had the audacity to write in a Bible? He’d always been taught that such behavior was shameful. His schoolteachers would have switched him if he’d underlined words in a school book. Still, he was curious to know what was written on that page.
His eyesight wasn’t as good as it had once been. Squinting, he stretched his arms out almost as far as they would go and read.
For God so loved the world, that He gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in Him should not perish, but have everlasting life.
“I noticed you squinting,” Reverend Kline said. “Are you having a hard time reading?”
Startled, Lucas glanced toward the doorway and closed the Bible. He hadn’t known the reverend was watching.
Reverend Kline came closer, and pulling a pair of spectacles from the pocket of his shirt, he placed them over the Bible like a paperweight and glanced toward the window. “The house is a little drafty. We best close the window there by your bed, Mr. Scythe. It’s getting cold in here.”
Since Lucas made no attempt to do as he suggested, the minister leaned over the bed and closed the window all the way. “That’s an extra pair of spectacles I’ve had for a long time,” the minister added. “I thought you might like to have them. They’ll make it a lot easier for you to read.”
“I don’t need nothing like that. ’Cause I ain’t planning to do no more reading—at least not the Good Book. But if you have any of them ‘shoot ’em up’ stories, I’d be obliged if you would bring one of them in here so I could read it. I like to read about outlaws and cowboys and Indians.” Lucas coughed. “When am I getting out of this here bed?”
“The doctor said you could be up and around as soon as your fever goes down.”
Lucas glanced at the Bible again. “I noticed somebody’s been marking in the Good Book,” he said. “Guess it must have been my wife. This here book belonged to her ’fore she—” After telling everybody in Pine Falls that his wife was still alive, he almost let it slip that Harriet had died. “As I told ya, we raised her niece as our own. That’s why I came here to Pine Falls, to find the girl. But nobody’s done seen her. Least, I ain’t found anybody what has.”
“God knows where your niece is.”
“How do you know that?”
The minister glanced at the Bible. “It’s all right there—in God’s Word.”
Lucas thought of the underlined words again. “My pa would have taken me to the woodshed if I’d marked up an expensive book like Harriet done.”
“I would never take someone to the woodshed for underlining verses in the Bible,” Reverend Kline said. “In fact, I encourage those in my congregation to draw lines under Scripture verses they want to remember and read again.”
“Still, it’s a shame to mark up a nice book like that, ain’t it? Books cost money. Mama always kept the family Bible out where folks could see it when they come for a visit. And when we were little, us kids weren’t allowed to touch it.”
“That’s a shame. Children should be able to pick up the Bible and read it whenever they want to.”
“I played in the dirt a lot when I was a kid, Preacher, and my hands was always needin’ washing. What if I’d gotten dirt or mud all over Mama’s book? What do you say to that?”
“I would have said, ‘Lucas, the Bible is God’s Holy Word. Read it as often as you can. The Bible teaches us how to live the abundant life. How to be happy no matter what troubles come our way.’ But I would also have told you to wash your face and hands first.”
“You sound like my mama.” Lucas chuckled softly. “She was always trying to get me to wash myself. Used to take hold of my ear and half drag me to the bowl and pitcher.”
The minister laughed. “My mother did the same thing to me when I was a boy, but she never pulled hard. Did your mother hurt your ear when she dragged you?”
“Naw. I just pretended it hurt so Mama would stop. Back then, I shore did hate soap and water. And I loved to get a rise out of Mama.”
The preacher smiled. “I guess all young boys are pretty much alike. I never did like bathing until the Lord washed me clean once and for all.”
“God gave you a bath? Why, I never heard of such a thing. What do you mean by that, Preacher?”
“Remind me to tell you about it sometime when you’re feeling better. It’s quite a story. That makes two stories I owe you.”
Lucas smiled, wishing the preacher would tell the stories now.
He liked the Klines. They had been kind to him, and he thought they liked him, too. Why else would they bring a near stranger into their home and care for him? But they would hate him if they knew Lucas was the one who broke into their house and stole the silver tray and coffeepot.
After Reverend Kline left the room, Lucas put on the spectacles. They did make things less fuzzy around the edges. With a quick look to make sure Reverend Kline wasn’t watching, he picked up the Bible and began reading. He told himself it was something he could do to pass the time…until he could leave this place for good.
Saturday was baking day. Honor and Belinda Grant were busy baking cakes, pies and cookies. Snow had fallen on the previous night. Honor had promised Jeth and Belinda that she’d help build a snowman as soon as the noon meal was over and the dishes were washed and put away.
Honor pressed down on the cookie cutter. Dough in the shape of an evergreen tree appeared on the flour-covered table where she worked. She was about place the bit of dough on the greased pan when she heard a knock at the front door.
“Just a minute!” Honor wiped her hands on her apron and started for the entry hall. “I’ll get the door, Mrs. Grant.”
“Thank you, Miss McCall,” Belinda called back from the mess room.
Honor noticed that flour was dusted on the front of her apron, and some of it had turned the long sleeves of her dress a whitish-blue. She rubbed her itchy nose with her forefinger, then wished she hadn’t. She probably had a white nose now and maybe a ghostlike face, as well.
Jeth had already opened the door by the time Honor got there. Miss Sally Bennett stood beside him in the entry, holding a tray.
“I baked a cake for you, Reverend,” she said to Jeth.
“How thoughtful. Thank you, Miss Bennett.” Jeth glanced at Honor. “Take the tray, will you, Miss McCall?”
“I’ll be glad to.”
“I want to help our guest with her cape.”
Honor took the tray in both hands. Miss Bennett had just carried it in from the cold, yet the metal platter felt warm to the touch and seemed heavier than she had expected.
Snowflakes drifted to the pine floor when Jeth helped the middle-aged woman off with her furry, black cape. Honor fought a frown.
I just mopped and waxed that floor, she thought.
Jeth looked back at Honor. She forced a smile.
“That tray looks heavy.” He took it from her. “Would you mind taking Miss Bennett into the parlor while I put the cake in the kitchen?”
“Of course. And please excuse the way I look, Miss Bennett. We’re baking today.”
“No apologies are necessary. I baked this morning myself.” Miss Bennett pulled a lacy handkerchief from her purse. Reaching over, she wiped something from Honor’s nose. “There, that should do it.”
Honor felt her face heat.
The older woman dropped the handkerchief back into her purse. “Was it flour?” she asked.
“Yes, ma’am, it probably was,” Honor responded. She gestured toward the parlor. “Please sit down. The settee is very comfortable, but anywhere you would like to sit would be fine.”
“Thank you, but I’ve been here many times and know my way around.” She glanced toward the most comfortable-looking chair in the room. “Mrs. Peters is a good friend of mine.” She started to sit down, then stopped and glanced at Honor. “But of course, you wouldn’t know because you’re new in town, aren’t you.”
The sarcasm in her tone hurt. But it wouldn’t be Christian to hit back. “Would you like something to eat or drink, ma’am? We have fresh cookies, and I could warm up the coffeepot.”
“No, I wouldn’t care for a thing.”
The older woman’s gaze found Honor’s again. From the look on her face, perhaps Miss Bennett hoped to climb inside Honor’s brain. The spinster finally sat down.
A photograph of Jeth’s parents on their wedding day sat on the small table beside Miss Bennett’s chair. She reached for the frame. After studying the picture for a moment, she offered it to Honor.
“Regina was so young when she married the pastor’s father,” Miss Bennett said. “I didn’
t know her then. But as you can see, she made a very beautiful bride.”
“Yes.” Honor nodded. “She certainly did.” Honor crossed the room, photograph in both hands and returned it to its proper place on the table.
“Speaking of brides, have you heard the news, Miss McCall?”
“What news?” Honor found a chair and settled onto it.
“Pastor Peters has ordered an engagement ring for a young lady. And I heard Miss Lucy Jordan will be getting a very nice Christmas gift this year—if you know what I mean.”
So, it’s Lucy after all. Honor bit her lower lip. I knew it. She squirmed in her chair, trying not to look at Jeth’s guest. Honor needed to leave the room before she did or said something she would regret.
Miss Bennett tapped her long fingernails on the table at her side. Then Jeth returned from the kitchen, all smiles. Honor rose, straightening the skirt of her dress.
“How have you ladies been getting along?”
“Just fine,” Miss Bennett said, “haven’t we, Miss McCall?”
“Yes, ma’am.” Honor stepped to the door, looking down at the toes of her black shoes. “But if you will both excuse me, I have things to do in the kitchen.”
“Don’t forget,” Jeth reminded her. “You promised to help me and Mrs. Grant build that snowman later.”
Honor stopped and looked back at him. “Sorry. I won’t have time to build a snowman. I have too much to do.” Then she headed for the kitchen—determined not to cry.
Chapter Sixteen
Later that same day, Elmer brought in a stack of letters and laid them on the kitchen table. “Give them letters to the pastor for me, will ya, miss?”
Honor nodded. “Of course.” She reached for Jeth’s mail. “I’ll just put them on the pastor’s desk.”