She leaned close to his ear. “I’m so grateful God gave us another chance.”
Hubert’s smile stole her breath. “I’m grateful you said yes.”
“All right now, folks.” Pastor Witherspoon beckoned to the congregation. “Let’s take our places. Hubert, you and Pearl stand right here.”
Pearl smoothed the bodice of the soft blue brocade dress the ladies had helped her sew for her wedding. Tessa handed her a bouquet of black-eyed Susans and purple coneflowers and stepped over to stand on Pearl’s left side. Everett, bandages still binding one hand and arm and swathing one side of his face and neck, stood to the right of Hubert.
The pastor cleared his throat. “We almost didn’t get to see this wedding happen. If it hadn’t been for Everett here and the way God used him, Hubert and Pearl might not have been here for this day. So we first want to lift our praise and thanks to God for allowing this union to take place.”
Hubert squeezed her hand, and she caught a glimpse of Everett from the corner of her eye. He was smiling.
Pastor Witherspoon continued. “So friends, we are gathered here in the presence of God and this company to witness the joining of this man and this woman in holy matrimony.”
The words of the traditional vows as the pastor spoke them and Hubert echoed them fell sweetly on Pearl’s heart. When it came time for her to repeat her promise to love, honor, cherish, and obey, the precious vows spilled from her lips without any prompting.
Hubert took her left hand and slid a gold band onto her fourth finger. The pastor was speaking, but Pearl’s senses were fixed on the gift God had given her, the man standing before her, holding her hand. Their love, forged and strengthened by God, had been tried, refined, and revealed by fire and had emerged as pure gold.
“You may kiss your bride now, Hubert.” The pastor’s words broke through her consciousness.
Her groom cupped her face gently in his hands. Pearl’s eyes closed, a prayer of gratitude forming in her heart as a benediction on their first kiss as husband and wife.
Scars of MERCY
Dedication
To Suze:
Thanks for being there when I needed you.
Chapter 1
Willow Creek, Iowa, 1885
Everett Behr shot a scowl of self-loathing at his reflection in the hand mirror. If it weren’t for having to shave, he might well refuse to own a mirror. With cautious, deliberate strokes, he drew the razor around the scars along his jawline on the right side of his face. He’d hoped a thick crop of whiskers would hide the scars. He couldn’t abide the stares, however sympathetic. They only served to remind him that the price of his arrogance would be forever branded across his face. Much to his frustration, his beard grew in patches, refusing to sprout in the scarred areas he most wanted to hide. The fragments of whiskers popping out in an irregular, crazy quilt pattern surrounded the scars instead of covering them, as if framing the ugliness for display.
He wiped the last of the shaving soap from his face just as the bell on the little church at the end of the street began calling the people of Willow Creek to worship. Everett didn’t hurry. Attending church services meant doing so on his terms. Accepting his scars was one thing, and he wanted to know more about the God who’d allowed them. He just didn’t relish mingling with people before or after the service.
He turned the mirror glass-side down on the washstand and released an involuntary huff. With practiced fingers, he tied his cravat and combed his hair—grateful he could perform those duties by feel rather than by sight.
By the time the church bell stopped clanging, Everett knew most of the congregation had entered the building and taken their seats. With curious eyes now safely confined within the walls of the church, Everett picked up his Bible and prepared to walk to the church and slip in unnoticed.
He descended the recently completed back steps that afforded him a private entrance to the living quarters over the mercantile his father owned. In the past several months he’d memorized every alley and wooded path so he could avoid walking down the town boardwalk whenever possible.
A squirrel chattered from a nearby tree, scolding Everett for disturbing his breakfast. Digging into his pocket, Everett withdrew a few peanuts and held them aloft. “Here’s your treat, little buddy.” He tossed the peanuts at the base of the tree from which the squirrel regarded him, now with less animosity. But the little creature switched his bushy tail back and forth like the lash of a buggy whip and refused to come closer until Everett backed off.
“All right, I don’t blame you. Nobody else wants to come near me either.” A twinge of guilt over his self-pity pricked him. He should be grateful to be alive. Everett turned and proceeded toward the church. By the time he reached the edge of the churchyard, the sounds of the hymn singing beckoned him to draw near the little house of worship. He hoped he’d find a seat at the back near the door.
The congregation’s enthusiastic praise rang within the walls of the church as he opened the door just enough to step inside. It didn’t seem to matter to these people that their church had no stained glass windows, thick carpeting, or ornately carved pews. They raised their voices to God as though they stood in a magnificent cathedral.
“How firm a foundation, ye saints of the Lord, is laid for your faith in His excellent Word.” Everett’s heart started singing along with the congregation in praise to his newfound Lord.
He closed the door silently and took his place on the bench against the back wall. No heads turned, no pitiful or repulsed looks greeted him. Everett relaxed. The hymn ended, and the congregation sat. Everett opened his Bible, being careful to turn the pages quietly.
Looking over the backs of the heads in front of him, he located Father with his new bride. Hubert and Pearl Behr sat in the second row near the aisle. When Pearl leaned closer to his father as they shared one Bible, Everett berated himself again for his past misguided efforts to separate the two. Pearl was a good woman, and she made his father happy.
Across the aisle from Father and Pearl, Tillie O’Dell sat with her family. Her dark blond hair, pinned up and secured with a green ribbon, gleamed in the morning sun streaming through the window. A memory teased his subconscious. The afternoon he’d spent with Tillie last year at a church picnic wafted across his mind like a gentle breeze. He shook himself and pushed the picture away. That was a lifetime ago—before the fire that left his face and hands mottled with ugly scars. No sense in entertaining thoughts now far beyond the reach of reality. Even if his face, neck, and hands weren’t scarred, the disdain with which he’d treated Tillie a week after the picnic when he learned she worked in the hotel dining room ensured she’d want nothing to do with him.
Everett pulled his attention back to the sermon. Deep in his heart he wanted to know how God could use him. Could God take a broken and marred vessel like him and remake it into something good? Doubts pricked him, but he listened intently anyway, hoping to grab on to some fleeting comment from the pastor—anything to give him a glimmer of worthiness.
He followed along as the pastor read the scripture and made a notation in the margin of his Bible in preparation to return to the passage later and study it in depth. But his attention kept drifting to the back of Tillie’s head. Something within him kept tugging at his mind, a futile wish to turn back the calendar and recant his arrogance. He supposed nobody lived without some regrets of one type or another, but his behavior had hurt people he cared about.
The singing of the congregation startled him. He’d been so lost in his own brooding, he’d missed the rest of the sermon. Heat crept into his face, even though he was relatively sure his presence at the back of the room had gone unnoticed. He stood and slipped out the door, hurrying down the steps before the people began spilling out of the church.
Halfway across the churchyard, he heard a familiar voice call out his name.
“Everett! Wait, son.”
He welcomed the pleasure of his father’s company, but he’d rather choose a l
ess public place. Stepping into the shadow of the thick cedar trees that lined the churchyard and casting self-conscious glances around him, he waited for his father and Pearl to approach.
“We weren’t sure you were coming to church this morning, son.” His father extended his hand and clasped Everett’s.
Pearl reached out and touched his arm. “We’d be pleased if you’d join us for Sunday dinner.” Her blue eyes twinkled. “I suspect that you’re partial to my chicken and dumplings, since you asked for seconds the last time I made them.”
Everett’s mouth watered. He’d never tasted anything quite as good as the simple, hearty dishes Pearl served at her table. Even the fancy beef roasts and lobster on which he’d dined while growing up in his grandparents’ home couldn’t compare to Pearl’s chicken and dumplings.
The rest of the congregation milled about the churchyard, shaking hands with the pastor and visiting with each other. If he wished to escape their scrutinizing stares, he needed to give Pearl an answer.
“I would enjoy that. Thank you for the invitation.”
“This way, son. Our wagon is over by those cottonwoods.” Father placed a tender hand on Pearl’s back and led the way to the conveyance. Just as Everett started after them, another voice hailed him.
“Everett? Everett Behr.”
His feet froze momentarily. The unmistakable lilt identified the voice as belonging to Tillie O’Dell. Two other times in recent weeks she’d called out to him in the churchyard, but he’d pretended not to hear. No longer the same man with whom she’d spent a carefree afternoon almost a year ago, he couldn’t face her. Even if he wanted to apologize for snubbing her, the fingerprint left by the flames on his face and hands made him wish he could duck into a cave somewhere and never emerge again. He forced his feet to move rapidly toward his father’s market wagon.
Tillie O’Dell plunked her hands on her hips and heaved an exasperated sigh as she watched Everett hasten away. Goodness, that man was as elusive as a will-o’-the-wisp. She hurried to help Ma gather her younger siblings into their family’s farm wagon and then turned toward her father, who was checking a hoof on one of the horses.
“Da?”
He dropped the hoof and straightened. The moment he fixed his gaze on her, merriment danced in his eyes. “Lass, you look like a cat preying on a sparrow.”
She pressed her lips together. No use trying to fool Da. His sage insight pierced right through her. “Would it be all right if I go talk to Everett Behr?”
Da glanced across the churchyard, where Everett was climbing into the back of the wagon his father used to make deliveries from the mercantile. A wistful expression came over her father’s face as he ran one finger over the scar that carved a ragged furrow from the bridge of his nose to his ear—an unconscious gesture she’d seen her father do from time to time, usually when he was contemplating something. If he had any misgivings about her spending time with Everett, he’d say so. Instead, he gave her a nod, and she could have sworn she caught a glimpse of a smile.
“Thanks, Da. Don’t bother waiting for me. It’s a delightful day for a walk.” With lifted chin, she scurried across the yard before the Behrs’ wagon left.
As she approached, she caught Pearl Behr’s eye. The sweet, gray-haired woman sent her a warm smile and then flicked her gaze over her shoulder where Everett settled himself behind the bench seat. Taking the welcoming smile as encouragement, Tillie walked up to the wagon and drew in a deep breath.
“Hello, Miss Pearl, Mr. Behr…Everett. How are all of you this morning?”
“Hello, Miss Tillie.” Hubert Behr’s mustache always jiggled when he smiled and spoke at the same time. “Fine Lord’s morning, isn’t it?”
From the corner of her eye, she saw Everett hunch his shoulders and pull his collar up despite the warm sunshine. His left hand slid toward his face, and he turned away from her. A pang of sadness twisted within her, and she wished Everett weren’t so self-conscious of the scars he had sustained in the fire.
“Yes, it’s a lovely day. Don’t you think so, Everett?” She’d use whatever means at hand to engage Everett in conversation, even a trivial discussion of the day’s weather. To her dismay, Everett merely shrugged a noncommittal response and tugged his broad-brimmed hat a bit lower. Clearly she needed to come to the point. She sucked in another deep breath to fortify her waning courage and plunged ahead.
“Everett, I’ve been trying to speak with you for weeks now, but every time I see you, you hurry away. Is there some reason you don’t wish to talk to me?” She waited to see if her boldness might loosen his tongue.
“I apologize, Miss Tillie. I didn’t mean to be rude.…” Everett’s mumbled reply from behind his hand barely reached her ears.
“Tillie, won’t you join us for Sunday dinner?” Miss Pearl’s graciousness made Tillie’s heart speed up and her cheeks grow warm. She hadn’t been fishing for an invitation to dinner, but if it meant spending the afternoon with Everett, the prospect sent a tingle all the way to her toes.
“Why, that’s so kind of you, Miss Pearl. I’d love to.”
Everett jerked his head toward his stepmother. The expression on his face—either anger or panic, she couldn’t tell which—pulled his mouth into a frown. For a split second, she thought maybe Miss Pearl might rescind the invitation, but she didn’t, and Tillie’s acceptance put a smile on the woman’s face, if not on Everett’s.
Since Everett made no move to help her climb into the wagon, Tillie turned with her back to the wagon and placed both palms on the edge of the tailgate, hoisting herself up. She tucked her feet beneath her to steady herself and scooted back farther into the wagon bed. Not a very ladylike maneuver, to be sure, but since Everett chose to leave her to her own devices, she scrambled aboard the best she could. Once seated across from him, she primly arranged her skirt to cover her ankles. With teeth clamped together, she forced a smile and willed herself not to make mention of Everett’s lack of gallantry.
“Everybody set? Let’s go. I can smell the chicken and dumplings from here.” Mr. Behr released the brake and slapped the reins on the horse’s back. The lurching motion of the wagon caught Tillie off balance, and she careened into Everett’s shoulder. His hand flew out to catch her, but he immediately snatched it back.
“Oh, I’m sorry.” Telltale heat climbed up her neck, and her mind raced to remember which of Everett’s arms was burned. “Did I hurt you?”
Everett glared at her from under the brim of his hat. “No harm done,” he mumbled, and shifted his position until she could barely see even the unblemished half of his face.
Tillie brushed an errant strand of hair from her face. “I missed seeing you in church. I was hoping I could speak with you before the service.”
A soft huff defined Everett’s opinion of her attempt at conversation. “I arrived late.”
“Oh.” She waited to see if he would elaborate. He didn’t. “You know, my Ma and I made a huge batch of Irish soda bread yesterday. I just love it with fresh currant jelly. I should have brought you some. Perhaps Miss Pearl and Mr. Hubert might enjoy some as well. As soon as the currants are ripe for picking, I’ll bring you a jar of jelly. With six brothers and sisters, we certainly go through a lot of jam and jelly at our house. My brother Phillip can eat almost a whole loaf of bread by himself if he has a jar of jelly at hand. Ma and I just finished putting up a double batch of strawberry jam, and the blackberries should be ready in a few weeks. Do you—”
Everett cleared his throat. “That’s fine, Miss Tillie. I’m sure Father and Pearl would appreciate it.”
Too late she remembered her Da’s twinkling eyes when he teased her. “Don’t know of another female who can outchatter a magpie like our Matilda.” Clearly Everett wasn’t inclined to engage in small talk. Either she could carry the conversation, or they could sit in uncomfortable silence.
Perhaps silence wasn’t uncomfortable to Everett. Growing up in a houseful of noisy children, with a blarney-filled father and a m
other who liked to sing while she worked, the O’Dell house was never quiet. She didn’t even know if Everett had siblings.
They rode the rest of the way to the Behr house without any further attempts on her part to coax Everett into talking. Tillie studied his profile—what she could see of it. His hat brim shadowed his brow and eyes, but the corner of his mouth bore a distinct downturn, evidence that he wasn’t happy being stuck with her company. If he remained in such a sullen mood, a very long afternoon threatened to stretch out before her.
Chapter 2
Tillie set a china bowl of green beans on the linen-covered table and sneaked a glance from the dining room into the living area. Everett and his father sat across from each other in large leather chairs in front of the fireplace. She’d caught the grimace in Everett’s expression when they stepped into the Behrs’ house and he had to remove his hat. He’d seemed relieved when she offered to help in the kitchen. Pearl set the tureen of chicken and dumplings on the table and called to the men. Everett hesitated, and Tillie could only guess by his reticence that he was trying to think of a way to excuse himself and leave.
Instead he walked into the dining room and held Tillie’s chair for her before seating himself to her right. She thanked him, her face warming at his polite gesture. As soon as they were all seated, Hubert held out his hands, one to Pearl and one to Everett.
“Let’s join hands and pray.”
Join hands? Well, of course they held hands at home when Da offered the blessing at mealtime. He always teased that it was to keep the boys from snitching his portion of the food while his head was bowed. But now, Hubert and Pearl were waiting for Everett to take Tillie’s hand. She could feel his reluctance hanging like a thick fog in the space between them.
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