But For Grace (HEARTSONG PRESENTS - HISTORICAL)

by Tracey V. Bateman

  Star laughed out loud, gaining her a questioning glance from Miss Hannah. “Tell me about the church service,” she suggested to divert the child’s attention and hopefully keep them both out of trouble.

  “First we all stand up and say the Lord’s Prayer,” Aimee said, her eyes brightening at the fresh topic. “I know it by heart. Want to hear me say it?”

  “I’d love it,” Star answered, not sure what the Lord’s Prayer was.

  “Our Father, which art in Heaven, hallow be thy name.”

  The little girl’s nose scrunched and a frown furrowed her brow. “I wonder why the Lord called his father Hallow, don’t you? Everyone knows God’s name is God, and why didn’t Jesus just call Him Pa, since He’s His son?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “The word’s hallowed, Aimee,” Michael’s deep voice said with a chuckle from the wagon seat. “It means holy.”

  “Oh.” Apparently satisfied with the answer, Aimee turned her attention back to Star. “Ain’t my pa smart about Bible stuff?”

  Star couldn’t deny it. Michael had become quite the teacher in the last few weeks, explaining Scriptures she didn’t understand.

  “Isn’t your pa smart,” Miss Hannah corrected from her seat next to Michael.

  “That’s just what I was saying to Miss Star, Grammy. Pa sure is smart.”

  Miss Hannah shook her head. “I give up.”

  The rest of the trip to town was filled with laughter, and Star felt positively lighthearted until the wagon approached the white church and rolled to a stop.

  Aimee hopped down and raced to join a small girl who was just climbing from her own wagon.

  “Walk!” Miss Hannah called as Michael helped her down. “That child will be the death of me yet.”

  With a shaky breath, Star watched Miss Hannah walk toward the building. She knew she should hop down and follow, but nerves held her fast.

  Wagons lined the small churchyard; and men, women, and children filed into the church, dressed in their Sunday best.

  Star’s stomach suddenly began to churn at the memory of folks, much like these, who turned away from her on the streets of Oregon City. Would she receive the same welcome here?

  “Coming, Star?”

  Michael’s throaty voice brought her about to face him. Heat rushed to her cheeks as she accepted the hand he held out for her. “Sorry,” she muttered, her stomach doing flip-flops from the gentle warmth of his touch.

  “Don’t worry,” he murmured, leaning in close enough that his breath fanned her cheek. “You’ll fit right in.”

  “I–I’m not worried.” Star lifted her chin to emphasize her point.

  A low chuckle rumbled from Michael’s chest. “You ought to check out the Ten Commandments,” he whispered, holding out his arm. “There’s one there about lying.”

  Slipping her trembling hand through his arm, Star smiled in spite of herself. “Maybe I am a little nervous. One look at me, and everyone will know I’m different.”

  “You’re right about that.”

  Taken aback, Star stopped midstep, jerking Michael’s arm as she did so. “Is it really that obvious that I’m not like these folks?” she whispered, ready to turn around and run all the way back to the farm.

  “Yep.” Michael’s brown eyes twinkled down at her. “If any of those girls had your beautiful eyes and curls as rich as molasses, they wouldn’t be caught dead wearing that gray dress. And I noticed you pulled your hair back so tight, your eyes look like you’d have a hard time blinking.”

  So she looked plain. That’s exactly what she had hoped to accomplish, wasn’t it? But somehow, seeing herself through Michael’s eyes brought her no pleasure whatsoever. As a matter of fact, she had the urge to yank the knot from her hair and let her curls frame her face. But Michael’s next words brought her back to her objective.

  “You look very respectable.” He looked at her kindly, all traces of teasing gone from his handsome face. “And not one person in that church will have a reason to think otherwise.”

  “You really think so?”

  Holding out his arm once more, Michael nodded. “I know so—unless, of course, the singing starts without us. It wouldn’t do for the preacher’s brother to walk in late with a pretty girl on his arm. That would set tongues wagging for sure.”

  Star grabbed his arm and fairly dragged Michael toward the church doors. “Hurry up, then,” she insisted, filing away the “pretty girl” comment for another time when she could be alone with her thoughts and remember the pleasure of the compliment upon Michael’s lips.

  The fresh smell of newly cut pine filled Star’s senses as she stepped into the church with Michael at her side. The room, which had hummed when they walked in, suddenly grew silent as people stopped to stare.

  Dropping her gaze to the plank floor, Star took an instinctive step closer to Michael.

  To keep her gaze averted among decent folks was a habit born of years of receiving haughty glances, looks she’d rather die than have to bear—especially today, when all she wanted to do was attend the church meeting, just like she belonged.

  She didn’t want to give Mrs. Merlin anything too juicy to share with her customers at the mercantile the following day.

  Feeling the pressure of Michael’s hand at her elbow, Star glanced up. He inclined his head toward a bench at the front of the church where Aimee and Miss Hannah were already seated.

  Star swallowed hard, a sense of dread pressing on her already nervous stomach. She was going to have to walk all the way up there?

  Michael dipped his head and spoke close to her ear. “We’ll be there before you know it. Move one foot after the other.”

  Spurred on by his sympathetic tone, Star did as he bade. She made haste, keeping her gaze fixed on her destination. Once there, she quickly sat next to Aimee.

  Michael took his seat at the end of the bench, next to Miss Hannah. Disappointment flitted across Star’s heart. She had rather looked forward to sitting next to him. The disappointment was short-lived, however, as Aimee slipped her warm hand inside Star’s, sending an overwhelming sense of contentment through her.

  “That’s Uncle Hank,” the little girl whispered, pointing to the man striding to the pulpit centered at the front of the church. Unlike Andy, Hank’s looks weren’t too similar to Michael’s. His hair wasn’t the reddish-brown she admired so on Michael. It was plain orange, almost like a carrot. She had to admit he was almost as handsome as Michael; and when he found her gaze and smiled, she felt her heart warm to the kindness reflected in his clear green eyes.

  He shifted his eyes and scanned the room. “Shall we stand and say the Lord’s Prayer?”

  Amid the shuffle of the congregation rising to its feet, Aimee leaned closer with a grin. “See? I told you.”

  Miss Hannah scowled at the top of Aimee’s head, and Star felt compelled to place a finger to her lips to shush the girl.

  As one voice, the members of the small church offered the prayer. Though she only comprehended part of their meaning, her pulse quickened at the reverence displayed in the hushed tones.

  In this place, she felt clean, as though perhaps it didn’t matter quite so much that her mother had sold herself to men, and maybe it was okay that Star didn’t know who her father was. And maybe, just maybe, she had finally found a place to belong.

  As in a beautiful dream, Star floated through the service on a beam of wonder. The singing lifted her beyond anything she had ever experienced, causing her to positively ache with joy.

  Though she had spent her life listening to lively, bawdy tunes in the saloons, she had never known the beauty of voices lifted in praise. She felt God must be sitting back in heaven and smiling at the wondrous sound.

  And the preaching! How could one man take the Good Book and cause it to come so alive in a few short moments? Yet, that was exactly what Reverend Hank had done.

  Over and over, Star allowed her gaze to drift to her open Bible so she might reread the text: “Trust
in the Lord with all thine heart; and lean not unto thine own understanding. In all thy ways acknowledge him, and he shall direct thy paths.”

  In the weeks she had been reading the Bible, Star had never read anything so utterly comforting—that God was able to direct her path. And that’s what He had done so far.

  Though her heart still ached at the loss of her mother, and tears still flowed during moments of solitude, Star was learning to accept her circumstances and looked forward to her new lessons each day. She’d been learning the Scriptures and started to do some of the chores; and through it all, God had truly opened up a whole new life for her. She embraced each new day.

  When the service was over, Star stood outside on the church steps with Michael, Miss Hannah, and Aimee. Star’s mouth curved into a timid smile as the little girl proudly introduced Star to the preacher.

  Hank smiled warmly. “I apologize for not getting out to the farm to meet you sooner, Miss Campbell.”

  “I–it’s okay,” she said, ducking her head and feeling perfectly unworthy to be standing before such a good man. “A man such as yourself has more important things to attend to.”

  “Well, I’d like to make it up to you.” He glanced past her. “Ma, how about if we all go over and eat dinner at Joe’s? My treat.”

  “Pay for a meal when we have perfectly good food at home?” Miss Hannah sounded scandalized. “You come on out to the farm, and I’ll make you a nice home-cooked meal.”

  “Now, Ma,” he said with a teasing grin. “You wouldn’t deny your son the pleasure of showing off his lovely mother to the folks, would you?”

  A blush stained Ma’s weathered cheeks. “Oh, go on, sweet talker. Just like your pa.” Her fond gaze belied her scolding tone. With a grumpy sigh, she shook her head and waved a plump hand. “All right then, but I have it from a very reliable source that the prices that man charges are plumb outrageous.”

  “Mrs. Merlin, eh?” Hank chuckled. “It looks to me like she’s headed over there, so the two of you will have a lot to talk about next time you make a trip to the mercantile.”

  Michael chuckled too.

  “Shall we head over to the restaurant?” Hank asked.

  “I still say it’s nonsense to pay someone else to cook a meal when a body has two perfectly good hands, but if you insist. . .”

  Michael and Hank grinned at each other over Miss Hannah’s gray head.

  The men each took up a place on either side of their mother, and Star grasped Aimee’s hand, trailing after them.

  Once they had crossed the dusty street, Aimee ran on ahead while Star hung back, enjoying the coolness of the autumn air as she surveyed the town. She passed the mercantile and the bank, then continued forward.

  To Star’s surprise, the door hung open at the next shop she came to. The sign above the door read Rosemary’s Creations, and Star could only surmise that this was the seamstress whom Aimee thought lovely and the rest of the town believed had no business being single.

  From within, voices carried to the wooden sidewalk.

  “Well, I still don’t think it’s very proper for a young lady to be living out there with a widowed man and his daughter.”

  Star stopped in her tracks. Curiously, she pressed herself against the building and peeked inside.

  “I mean, what is Michael thinking?” The woman who spoke could have been eighteen or thirty. Star couldn’t tell past the sour expression marring a face that might have been attractive, had she smiled. “A person would expect the preacher’s brother to think a little more about keeping up appearances.”

  “I’m sure Mr. Riley knows what he is doing, and his mother is there too,” a quiet voice spoke. “And the young lady seems to be a fine girl. I wouldn’t worry about the preacher’s reputation if I were you, though it’s awfully kind of you to be so concerned.”

  Star viewed her champion. Her blond hair was swept up into a chignon and netted at the nape of her neck. Star had trouble believing behind the gentle face lurked a “teeerrrible” secret as Aimee had disclosed earlier.

  An unladylike snort left the other woman’s lips. “But did you see how she sat next to Aimee and held her hand through the service?” She sniffed. “As though she was the child’s mother. If you ask me, that girl is fishing for a husband and thinks Michael would be a good catch.”

  Star bit her lip to hold back a gasp. What nerve! She was hard-pressed to keep from stomping in there and telling that woman just what she thought of her opinions, and probably would have done just that if not for the soft voice drifting through the doorway.

  “Anyone would be blind not to see that Mr. Riley is a good catch, but that doesn’t mean every available woman is looking to catch him.” The pleasant woman’s voice had taken on a tone that Star could only describe as irritated. “Maybe we should wait until we get to know the new girl before we judge her too harshly.”

  “Well, there’s no need to get snippy.”

  “I apologize, Mrs. Slavens. But Mrs. Barker will have dinner on the table, and she gets mighty upset if her boarders are late. So if the gown is to your satisfaction. . .”

  “Oh, dear me, yes. It’s lovely. I do appreciate your opening the shop for me on the Lord’s Day. I could never have made a trip to Portland without that dress.”

  “It was my pleasure, I assure you. And I truly hope your mother’s broken leg heals quickly so you may return to our fair town without delay.”

  “Why, thank you, Dear,” Mrs. Slavens returned, a flush of pleasure sweeping her pinched cheeks. “How sweet of you to say so.”

  “Coming, Star?”

  Star jumped as Michael’s voice called to her. Glancing toward the sound of his voice, Star caught his questioning frown from down the block. A blush burned her cheeks as she darted a gaze back inside the shop, praying they hadn’t heard.

  But they had.

  Both women stood mutely observing her. Catching the haughty expression on Mrs. Slavens’s face, Star jutted her chin and moved to join the Rileys, wishing for all she was worth that she hadn’t stopped to eavesdrop in the first place.

  Eight

  Tears slipped down Star’s face as she forced her feet to carry her the two miles to Hobbs. Overhearing the conversation at the dressmaker’s yesterday had confirmed what she’d known all along and refused to admit to herself. She couldn’t continue to take refuge and charity from Michael and Miss Hannah one more day. Not when she ran the risk of besmirching Michael’s good name by her mere presence in the house.

  Lying awake, watching moonbeams dance across her bedroom ceiling, she’d made the decision to leave the security and warmth of Michael’s home.

  An hour later, after dressing in the drab gray dress and packing the even uglier brown, she waited until she heard Michael rise, start a fire in the kitchen stove, and head out to do chores. When the door closed behind him, she crept through the house and stepped into the cold morning air. Now, as she neared town, streaks of pink were just beginning to stretch across the gray sky, but even the beauty of awakening dawn did nothing to improve her dismal outlook.

  She breathed only a small sigh of relief when the town loomed before her. She certainly didn’t look forward to serving food to people like that hateful Slavens woman. But what other choice did she have? Even with her newly acquired sewing skills, she wasn’t experienced enough to do it for a living. Except for serving food and drinks, she had no other skills to speak of. The saloon was out of the question, but the service at the restaurant the day before had been so poor, Star figured she could get a job easily and probably do a lot to improve the quality of the cafe.

  Few people occupied the streets this early, but shops were beginning to open. A smile tipped Star’s lips. Aimee had mourned for two days upon finding out she would have to wait another year to go to school.

  Memories replayed in Star’s mind. Memories of laughter, love, stories, and evening Bible reading. Michael and Miss Hannah answered question after question for Star. Her heart swelled with hope
for her future; and although she felt a physical pain at the move away from the Rileys’ farm, peace permeated her spirit.

  “Trust in the Lord with all thine heart ;and lean not unto thine own understanding. In all thy ways acknowledge Him, and He shall direct thy paths.”

  A deep, cleansing breath lifted, then lowered Star’s chest. She trusted Him. Hadn’t He guided her to Michael and Miss Hannah in the first place? Hadn’t He allowed her time to learn His Holy Word? Of course she had a lot more to learn, but she almost never swore anymore. When she did, she immediately repented—even if there was no one around to hear the offending words. She was beginning to recognize that prick of conscience when she committed infractions. Like three mornings ago. Cannonball had jumped on her when she was walking from the henhouse with the morning eggs. She’d been so mad that he’d dirtied her freshly washed dress, she pitched three of the eggs, hitting the bewildered animal before she realized what she was doing and hurried into the house.

  When Miss Hannah remarked over the fewer than usual number of eggs, Star had blurted out that this surprised her as well and perhaps the hens required more feed. Knowing that by not telling the whole truth, she was lying, Star went about the rest of her morning chores in miserable silence. At breakfast, when Michael asked her to say the morning blessing, Star burst into tears and confessed about the three wasted eggs and how she’d let her temper get the better of her. As penance, she offered her breakfast to Michael to make up for the extra two eggs glaringly absent on his plate.

  Michael’s lips twitched as he told her he thought four would be plenty this morning, but to try to control her temper and not throw their breakfast at Cannonball from now on.

  Oh, how she had tried to slow her quickening pulse when he’d winked at her to let her know he was teasing. Even now, just picturing his gentle brown eyes, her heart picked up a beat.

  Immersed in the sweet memories, Star almost passed the restaurant. Had she not smelled bread baking within, she might have missed it altogether. She stopped short at the door. Reaching forward, she tried to gain entrance, but the knob refused to turn. She knocked hard and waited, then knocked again.