He turned slowly, his gaze marking where hillside fell away into river valley. Could he indeed find his place here if Truth made the decision to accept him?
And if she did not, where would he go? Possibly home, to see his sisters one last time, at least. But then what?
Heart aching, he searched the edge of the valley where he knew Truth’s farm lay past the folds of the mountainsides. Oh God, can she forgive who I am…who I was?
Then there was the matter of how long she might wait to let him know what she’d decided. Would she make him stay here the whole winter long, hoping he’d simply leave?
He blew out a long breath, watching the plume of steam disappear on the breeze. Enough already. Christmas Day or no, he had snares to check. At the least, he’d have a bundle of furs to carry down to the fort and trade in a few weeks. The keeper of the post had promised whatever provisions he wished in exchange. It was just rabbit and squirrel now, but if he could barter or work for a decent rifle, there was more to be made in deer or bear pelts.
The longing hit him like a blow to the chest, and he shut his eyes. Oh Truth. . .
A shot echoed across the mountainside, and he looked up again, scanning the forest. An odd morning for someone to be out hunting, and this community didn’t seem to be given to the customary feu de joie of the lower country. But no more shots followed, and after a few minutes of listening, Micah climbed down off the rocks and went to check his snares.
They’d passed Truth’s favorite hunting rock, and as they neared the cave where she’d found Micah taking shelter all those weeks ago, she found her heart beating unaccountably fast.
You know where to find me. Would he even be there?
Ah Lord, let him be there!
They rounded the last bend, and she made everyone stop at the big oak where she’d stood signaling for him that first time. She handed the rifles off to Patience, and then facing the half-hidden cave entrance, she pursed her lips and sent out the call again. Whip-poor-will! Whip-poor-will!
Silence, and the wind in the bare treetops above, rattling the few browned leaves remaining.
Her heart plummeted. What if he’d gone away already?
Then her eye caught on the fresh prints laid in the snow, leading from the cave entrance. Her pulse leaped anew.
“Here—hold my rifle and stay here until I tell you otherwise,” she said, taking Papa’s rifle from Patience.
She wouldn’t go far—surely he’d be back, and they had plenty of preparations to make before their feast would be ready. But she couldn’t resist tracking him a short distance, at least.
Cradling the rifle, she set off up the trail. She recognized the winding path—so he’d gone to the lookout? It had been a while since she’d been there herself—
And then—there he was, climbing toward her from a slightly different path, winding upward through the laurel. He stopped, eyes widening, then hurried on toward her. A pair of rabbits dangled from his hand.
Suddenly, she could hardly breathe.
He stopped a few paces from her, head angled, eyes searching her face. His chest rose and fell—the climb, or her sudden appearance? Warmth shivered through her at the thought that she might affect him at least as much as he did her. She certainly couldn’t seem to find her tongue.
“Truth,” he breathed.
Of habit, she glanced over his gear—haversack, knife, hat, gaiters, mittens. “You’re missing a few things there,” she blurted.
The corner of his mouth tipped. “I’ve been doing all right.”
“Well—” She forced her feet to move forward a step. “You need—this.”
And she held out Papa’s rifle.
A flush crossed his pale cheek. He searched her eyes then hesitantly reached for it. “You’re—certain?”
She nodded, sure her own cheeks must be red as holly berries. They felt hot enough to catch on fire.
He gently, reverently took the piece from her hands. Her throat closed, and she unstrapped Papa’s powder horn and shot bag. “These too,” she whispered.
He took them, looped them one-handed across his shoulders and over his body. “Figured you’d be saving these for Thomas,” he murmured.
She shook her head, swallowing. “It’s my thought—they won’t be leaving the family.”
He went still, and she could not tear herself away from the hope in his dark eyes.
“If what you said to me last time means what I think it does,” she went on.
A smile dawned, flashed into a grin. “Sweet Truth. This is your answer?”
Oh, he made her both soft and weak. She could only manage another nod. What if she’d mistaken his intent?
He eased closer, knuckles brushing her cheek. His brows knitted for a moment. “You’d forgive me enough to marry me?”
Another nod. She was drowning in those eyes.
He took off his hat, swept an arm around her, and kissed her with such suddenness that her own hat fell off. But she only kissed him back, reveling in the contrast of warm lips and cold cheekbone, and in the strength of him in her arms.
After a very long moment—or several—he pulled back, breathless. “Surely you didn’t come alone?”
She giggled. “No. I left the young’uns at the cave. We brought Christmas dinner.”
Micah could hardly believe the happy blur of the next hours. Tramping hand in hand back to the cave, he’d seen Thomas and all three girls jump for joy and cheer then fly toward him with open arms. They’d brought not only a ham but a turkey—that was the shot he’d heard from the lookout—and half of them set to dressing the bird while the other half stoked the fire inside the cave and set up the spit. The pumpkins were tucked around the edges of the fire for roasting, and when all was set for the long wait of cooking, Truth sat them all down and laid the Bible in his lap. “Would you do us the honor of reading?”
He met her pleading half smile with a grin of his own then opened to where she’d already marked the passage with a scrap of ribbon. The print read, “The Gospel According to Luke,” and she pointed to chapter 2.
This task had always been taken by his father and then by his eldest brother. It wasn’t that he disbelieved, but Micah had felt detached from the words they’d read—pronouncements and decrees from an ancient, distant God. But today, touching the pages and seeing the expectant faces surrounding him as the firelight flickered on the cave walls, Micah thought he sensed the nearness of God as never before.
Had God truly heard and answered his prayers?
Truth leaned toward him, her fingers covering his on the page. “We had our reading last night, for Christmas Eve. But this—this is why we came today.” Her eyes, pale as mist, begged him to understand. “Just—read it, and I’ll explain.”
With a nod, he found his place and began. “ ‘And it came to pass in those days, that a decree went out from Caesar Augustus, that all the world should be taxed…
“ ‘For mine eyes have seen thy salvation, which thou hast prepared before the face of all people; a light to lighten the Gentiles, and the glory of thy people Israel.’ ”
Truth’s hand covered his again, and he looked up.
“This is why,” she said, her voice soft, her gaze earnest. “On Christmas we celebrate the birth of the Christ, yes? The One that God sent to later die for our sins. Mine, Micah, as well as yours.”
“And what sins might you have, sweet Truth?” He knew well his own.
“Pride,” she answered without hesitation. “But—His grace covers it all. And I cannot expect Him to forgive me if I’m not willing to forgive you.
“Whether or not you were directly responsible for Papa’s death…” She faltered and blinked. “You did not know, and it’s past. You are here now. And I’d be wrong to refuse this gift of grace that God is offering me, in you.”
He turned his hand to clasp hers, and she gripped it tightly. Those misty eyes shimmered in the firelight.
For a moment, he nearly forgot they were not alone.
/>
“And I confess I’ve become”—he was sure she blushed—“accustomed to having you about.”
A chorus of giggles greeted that pronouncement. With a grin, he took them all in. “And what are your thoughts about this?”
Patience only smiled shyly, but Thomas snorted and said, “You’d better marry her while you can. She’s never let anyone else get close enough to kiss her.”
While they all laughed—Micah and Truth included—Micah set aside the Bible, rose to his feet, and drew Truth into his arms. She nestled into his embrace then tipped her head so her mouth was close to his ear. “Of a certain, you’re the only one I’d want defending me,” she whispered.
Warmed through, and not by the fire, he tucked her closer. “For the rest of my life,” he murmured back.
The Calling
Kathleen Fuller
Chapter 1
Unionville, Ohio
1820
Milly Kent! When’s a fair lass like you gonna settle down?”
Milly laughed along with Mr. O’Reardon, a man old enough to be her father. “I suppose when the good Lord tells me to.” She put a plate of sliced cold beef, chunks of white cheese, and a thick piece of rye bread slathered with fresh butter in front of him. The tin plate thudded against the wooden table.
Mr. O’Reardon smiled. The balding Irishman was missing nearly all his bottom teeth, but with his twinkling eyes and natural Irish charm, she barely noticed. “The man the good Lord brings ye will be a lucky one, indeed.”
“Thank you.” Milly curtsied, which made him grin all the more. She went back behind the tavern counter, wiped her hands on a towel, and looked out the large window facing the road. Flakes of snow floated down, landing on the grassy yard in front of the tavern like powdered sugar over an apple fritter.
“Milly, quit your daydreaming.” Cornelius Kent burst out of the kitchen, his wide forehead slick with sweat despite the December chill outside. “The dishes need washing, Daughter.”
“All four of them?” Milly winked. It was two days before Christmas, and the tavern was nearly empty. The last stagecoach was scheduled to arrive about an hour from now, and she doubted there would be many passengers. Winter traveling was dangerous, especially with the unpredictable snowfall between here and Buffalo, New York.
“Yes, all four of them.” Cornelius wiped his brow with the back of his hand and looked at the front door. A shadow passed in front of it. He groaned. “Lands, doesn’t that woman take a day off ?”
The door opened, and Milly’s aunt Louise bustled inside, dusting the snow off her thick woolen shawl. She lifted her heavy chin and waddled to the counter.
“Mrs. Crosby.” Mr. O’Reardon stood and took off his cap. He lifted the corners of his mouth in a jaunty smile.
“Mr. O’Reardon.” She passed by, giving him the barest of polite glances.
O’Reardon’s jovial expression faded as he shrugged and sat back down. He pulled a folded newspaper out of the breast pocket of his wool coat, unfolded it, and chewed on a piece of cheese as he started reading.
“Louise.” Milly’s father took a couple of steps back. “I was just heading to the kitchen—”
“Then my timing is impeccable, as always. I’ll take a roast beef sandwich. With plenty of gravy. And if you have any of those little potatoes, add a decent portion to the plate. Don’t skimp.”
“Anything else?” Cornelius spoke through gritted teeth.
“Make sure the roast beef slices are tender, Cornelius.” Aunt Louise fiddled with her shawl. “Yesterday they were filled with gristle.”
“Yes ma’am.” Cornelius disappeared into the kitchen, muttering something about marrying into the wrong family.
Milly turned to her aunt and smiled. Unlike her father, who could barely stand her aunt Louise’s company, Milly thought she was amusing. Except when she was matchmaking. Her aunt didn’t understand that Milly wasn’t interested in anyone in town. Only one man had captured her attention, but he wasn’t aware of her feelings. Milly intended to keep it that way, for both their sakes.
Aunt Louise leaned over the counter. “Don’t make any plans for Sunday eve.”
“Why?” Milly asked.
“I invited that nice young man Carl Weatherspoon to sup with us.”
“And why would you do that?”
Aunt Louise sighed. “Don’t be coy, Millicent Kent. You won’t find a suitable man in this”—she looked around the tavern and sniffed—“establishment. I shudder to think of the kind of men that frequent this place.”
“You frequent this place.”
“That’s different.” She peered at Milly over her upturned nose, the same shape as Milly’s. The same shape her mother’s had been. “You spend all of your time here, except when you attend church service.”
“I live here. Plus I enjoy my work. Interesting people stop by.” Milly thought of one person in particular. She kept her smile to herself.
“I see nothing humorous about this conversation, Millicent. Now, Sunday supper. My house. Six sharp. Don’t be late.”
Cornelius came out with Louise’s food. He walked across the dining room to the table farthest from the kitchen and set the plate down with a clatter. A piece of potato fell off the edge and onto the table. “Your dinner,” he said before storming back into the kitchen.
Aunt Louise wrinkled her nose. “Humph. Your father could learn some manners.”
“My mother found his manners just fine, Aunt Louise.”
“Your mother, God rest her soul, had the patience of a saint.” Louise looked at her food then back at Milly. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I don’t want my lunch to get cold.”
Milly nodded. As her aunt walked away, Milly added, “You do know I supped with you and Mr. Weatherspoon three weeks ago.”
Louise turned around, her thick eyebrows narrowing. “You did?”
“Yes. We didn’t hit it off very well.”
“But Mr. Weatherspoon accepted my invitation right away. Why would he do that if he didn’t like you?”
Milly sighed. “I think he likes me too much. Auntie”—she lowered her voice—“he was a bit…pushy.”
“Ah.” Aunt Louise’s plump cheeks turned red. “I apologize then. I will cancel the invitation posthaste.”
“Thank you.”
“Not to worry.” She tapped her thick finger against her chin. “Have you met my friend Kate’s nephew Franklin?”
“Your dinner is getting cold, Auntie.”
“Oh yes it is.” She bustled to the table. “We’ll discuss Franklin at a further date.”
Milly heard Mr. O’Reardon chuckle. When she looked at him, he moved the paper in front of his face.
The sound of horses’ hooves penetrated the walls of the tavern. Her heart pounded in time with the cadence. She knew it was improbable, but she couldn’t help but hope the man who held her heart would be on the stage. His image filtered through her mind—his black hair that curled at the ends, his slender frame, and the crispness of his suits, which were always precisely tailored. But more importantly she thought about his kindness, his unending politeness, and the brilliant smiles he gave her, smiles seemingly meant just for her.
But they weren’t. A wonderful man like Elijah Montgomery would want little to do with a tavern girl. And that’s all she would ever be.
“ You cannot ignore the Lord’s calling any longer!” Percival Montgomery slammed his fist against his mahogany desk. “Remember what happened to Jonah? He was punished for his disobedience and spent three days in the belly of a great fish.”
Elijah Montgomery fisted his hand at his sides. He was more than familiar with the biblical tale. He looked at the florid face of his father then to the disappointed one of his mother as she stood by her husband’s side. It wasn’t the first time his parents had accused him of avoiding his destiny. But today would be the last.
The stagecoach lurched forward, jerking Elijah out of his slumber. He blinked, looking around the dimly lit coach
and trying to gain his bearings. He’d been in a deep sleep, which was unusual for him. He’d gotten little rest in the past year, since his parents had told him he was destined to preach in the western territories. “My son will be a great voice in the wilderness,” his father had said to almost anyone who would listen.
Elijah didn’t think he’d be a great voice anywhere. But his parents were insistent that he was called to preach, like his father and his grandfather. Unlike them, Elijah had the opportunity to go west, to follow other preachers and deliver the Word of God—just like the prophets of old.
The thought made his stomach turn. Not that he didn’t love the Lord. He did with all his heart. But the few times he’d preached in his father’s stead had been disastrous. One time he lost his place during his sermon, and it took him several minutes to find it again and continue. The next time he broke out in a cold sweat on a freezing winter day before he even started speaking. When he delivered his last message, he had quoted so many wrong verses and chapters his father had cut Elijah’s preaching short.
How could Elijah be called to preach when he had no gift for it?
He looked out the window, watching the familiar scenery, and pushed the uneasy thoughts from his mind. Despite his inner turmoil, a heady feeling rushed through him at the thought of seeing Milly Kent again. The lovely tavern maid, always quick with a sweet smile and encouraging word, warmed his heart whenever he saw her.
The stage pulled up to the front of the tavern. Elijah grabbed his case from the floor and waited for the driver to open the door.
“Thank you.” Elijah stepped down, the only passenger on the afternoon stage. He placed a few coins in the driver’s hand. “When will we depart for Cleveland?”
“Tomorrow morning, bright and early.” The driver gripped the coins in his gloved hand. “Thank you, sir.”
Elijah nodded, blowing out a puff of frosty air as he headed for the tavern door. The snow that had started to fall an hour ago now lay in an inch-thick carpet on the grass and roads. Light glowed from the tavern window, a warm beacon in the fading daylight.
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