“Everyone knows the way to a pastor’s heart is through his stomach.” She kept her tone light.
Adele followed on Bo’s heel, stifling a yawn. “I think I’ll go home and catch a short nap.”
“Is the baby sleepy?” Elly teased.
“Exhausted, and the child ate far too many dumplings.”
Elly watched her friend walk down the path and across the road to the Sullivan farm. An ache rose in her for Adele. Elly’s life was unfolding before her, and Bo seemed ready to move on as well. Poor Adele had secured her life with a man she loved, and a senseless wagon accident changed everything.
Elly jumped when Gideon approached from behind to wrap his arms around her waist. “Mighty fine cooking, love.”
She leaned into him. “Gideon, you are aware the dinner was appalling. Those dumplings were better suited as bricks than dinner. And the chicken—”
“I wouldn’t say appalling. Improving. The dumplings were near done and though dry, I got them down. The chicken was a little chewy but in all, you did a fine job. You can make me chicken and dumplings every night of the week and you’ll never hear a complaint.”
“That hen was overcooked. I could have shaved erasers in the broth and the texture would have been more pleasing.”
He nuzzled her cheek. “Walk with me?”
“I’d love to—but isn’t that thunder I hear?”
Another rumble sounded in the distance to prove her point.
Gideon squeezed her tighter. “The storm is still a ways off. Could miss us altogether.”
Elly turned toward him and gently lifted his hair off his forehead. He pleaded with his eyes for her to join him. “I’ll get one of Pa’s slickers.”
“I would rather watch the storm from your porch, but my milk cows will be waiting beside the barn. They get downright cantankerous if I’m not on time.” He smiled warmly. “It won’t be so long before we can watch storms together.”
The winds had picked up, but from the road Elly could see that the storm was still building in the distance. Blustery skiffs were coming from the north, but the storm could blow over. Elly draped a light shawl around her shoulders and carried the folded slicker under her arm.
With her skirt and petticoat billowing, Elly let her thoughts inventory the day. Bo’s sermon touched her in a new, exciting way. Another one like that, and he would have her fully believing in a merciful God.
Her neighbors and friends shared a not-so-wonderful dinner she cooked, and no one died.
Third, Pa and Milt hadn’t killed one another, but she learned something about Washington politics. She hoped she never had to go there.
Fourth, Bo walked Cee home. True, her feelings tumbled a bit over seeing the two of them enjoying each other’s company, but no one could claim the couple was not ideally suited.
And lastly, she was walking Gideon home—at least halfway or until the skies opened up.
Life was finally falling in place.
Gone were the hours she’d stood in front of the window and watched for Bo to come home. She no longer spent days hoping a letter would come to explain why he had been away so long. Dashed were the dreams of his homecoming—the embraces, the kisses, his husky voice whispering low in her ear—Elly…
“Wouldn’t you say?” Gideon’s voice yanked her back to the present.
“Sorry… Could you repeat that?”
“I said, I guess you’ve realized you missed a bullet.”
Shaking her head, she tried to make sense of his words. Had someone shot at her? Her gaze skimmed the countryside. There wasn’t a soul in sight. “Sorry, I’m muddleheaded. I’ve been up since before dawn preparing the meal. What’s that about a bullet?”
“I said… ” He paused. “What are you daydreaming about?”
“Besides my bed? Only how lovely the whole day has been. There’s nothing sweeter than good company and unseasonably warm weather—until now. The wind has a bite to it.” She unfolded the slicker and slipped into the garment.
Gideon accepted the response. She would have to be more careful in the future, stay in the present, and let the past be the past.
They strolled by a stripped bog that should have been void of berries. She eyed the forgotten row. “I thought Pa and the farmhands picked this fen yesterday. I’ll have to finish up in the morning.”
Gideon’s attention focused on the road. When he looked up, the full power of his brown eyes made her heart thump. “I was referring to the conversation after dinner. If you’d married Bo you would have to deal with a father and father-in-law in direct contention over politics.”
“Yes, I’ve thought about it.” Especially this afternoon, when she was tempted to dash a bucket of cold water on the two contenders. They were getting worse as the years passed. Apparently, Pa didn’t prescribe to the belief that politics and religion mixed like kerosene and a match. Both subjects were best avoided in social settings. Voting was a serious matter and should be exercised with careful consideration, but minds often varied. And they varied loudly.
But she had dealt with Milt and Holt’s bickering over the years. She and Bo used to escape the brawls by retreating to the swing… where they’d rather have been anyway.
“You agree you dodged a bullet?”
He was still insecure. “Agreed,” she said for him. “And if Susan B. Anthony has her day, women will win the right to vote regardless of who wins the election.” Only the good Lord knew how hard those women and others like them worked to achieve the goal.
Gideon stopped in his tracks. “What did you say?”
“I said, someday women will have the right to vote.”
“Elly Sullivan. I’ve never heard you talk like that. Why would women need to vote? Their husbands can take care of them.”
A raindrop hit Elly in the forehead. “Why? Because… ” She bit her tongue. Gideon had proven in the parlor that he didn’t like conflict. As his wife she would need to tame her tongue on women’s issues.
She opened her palms to feel the first drops of rain. “Drat. I need to start back.”
Gideon pulled her close for a kiss and then gently tucked her slicker closer around her neck. “You don’t ever have to worry about ‘women’s rights.’ I’ll take care of you, provide everything that you need. Your job will be to take care of me and our children.”
“Thank you, Gideon. You’re very kind.” An active household and dirty diapers. What woman could need more?
A light rain pocked the dirt road and pattered on dry leaves as she walked toward home. She should have invited Gideon to stop by later that week. She could make time for it somewhere in her busy schedule.
Odd that the thought had never crossed her mind.
Chapter 10
By the time home came into view, darkness settled like a weary child over the saturated ground. A fine mist chilled the air to the point of misery. Although the glow of lamplight drew her inside, she headed for the shed to stow her wet slicker, a habit engrained in her by Pa. Instead, she followed a distracting, pungent odor around the corner of the barn. Her heart nearly stopped when she saw a mountainous pile of manure heaped in her garden patch—enormous and fragrant. She mentally groaned.
Gideon. Who else? She didn’t know another person who possessed that much manure, and he’d wasted no time in getting a load to her. He’d taken Bo’s invitation to provide manure for her vegetable garden literally, sent a message by the neighbor child to his hired hand while the other dinner guests visited, and instructed the help to bring the smelly load while she was walking Gideon home.
For heaven’s sake! His love was going to kill her. Tears smarted and her eyes burned. What was she supposed to do with all those cow droppings?
A familiar baritone broke into her thoughts. “You’re planting a little early this year.”
She whirled to see Bo striding toward her carrying two rakes and a shovel. Mist covered the shoulders of his jacket. He must have walked Cee home and returned to his house promptly. Lik
e anyone who raised cranberries, he couldn’t resist another look at the stripped bogs.
“Look at this.” She swept her hand over the sight. “I know he means well… ”
“Gideon?”
She sighed.
“Right thoughtful man. Beef and manure. The man sure knows the path to a woman’s heart. I’d probably have gone more with flowers or perfume.”
“You’re not funny.”
He nodded toward the rake in his hand. “I thought you could use some help. Ma’s got a weak stomach, and the wind’s carrying the stench toward the house. No one will get a bit of rest at the Garrett house until the odor’s tamped down.”
“This is Sunday, a day of rest.” Harvest six days; rest on Sunday. God said so.
He studied the heaped pile. “It’s a single load. We can do this in no time.”
Her back ached. She needed liniment and a hot cloth.
He handed her a rake. “Saddle up, partner.”
With a grunt, she grabbed the hoe and dragged her aching feet to the putrid pile.
“Count your blessings,” he called over his shoulder. “It’s not steaming.”
Manure hardly seemed a blessing at this hour, but her spring garden would appreciate the boost. She reached the garden and began spreading the manure over her plot. She eventually stopped gagging and, with grim determination, set to work.
Their rakes pulled and pushed to spread the manure in a thick layer over the garden site. Bit by bit the pile diminished. Bo broke into song, singing an old gospel hymn, “Lord, I’m Coming Home.” Elly joined in, hitting the high notes and harmonizing. They used to sing together as kids. They didn’t sound bad together then, but Bo had decidedly improved.
So absorbed were they in their musical talent that they missed the arrival of Milt and Faye. Faye pressed a hanky to her nose and mouth. Elly explained how she’d come to be in possession of a mountain of manure.
Milt sniffed. “Lord Almighty, Gideon’s lost his mind. You’ve got your work cut out for you. Need some help?”
Bo and Elly answered in unison, “No!”
“You’ve had a full day, Pa. We’ll be done soon.”
Milt cast a doubtful look toward the pile. “I’ll leave you two crazy people to it, then. But you might want to quiet down. You’ll wake up the whole county.” He winked at Bo after he said the last bit.
Milt and Faye walked home, but it wasn’t long before other neighbors happened by, and they brought their shovels and rakes to help. Mr. Stack had sniffed the air and heard the singing. Somehow, he’d recognized a need. He carried a shovel with him. “Can you use an extra hand?”
Elly nearly cried. “Oh, Mr. Stack. Yes, thank you.”
Allen Bachmeir arrived next. He could still cut a load of wood with one arm, so he said manure wasn’t going to faze him and Ma had the kids. Even Pa came out, pulling on a coat to assist. “I must be getting old. I fell asleep in the chair. I never heard or smelled a thing. I smell something now.”
Word spread, and before Elly could protest, neighbors were joining her and Bo. Women either brought sandwiches and hot coffee or cheerfully carried a rake and dug in. A manure pile had turned into a town social—one sorely needed at the end of a long picking season.
When full night settled in, lanterns were lit. Faye and Milt returned with hot cocoa and warm cinnamon muffins. Everyone stopped, washed their hands in the watering trough, and enjoyed the treats. Elly noted the weary lines around Milt’s eyes. He should have gone to bed hours earlier. He managed to loop his arm around her neck and pretend to give her a knuckle burn. His heart was failing, but he still had a young man’s feistiness.
By midnight, the odorous task was finished. The vegetable garden would produce nicely in the coming summer, especially with the whole winter to percolate. Men and women picked up shovels and rakes and headed for home and a short night of rest.
Elly lay flat on her back beside Bo on the side porch, watching the lanterns bob their way down the road and go out—plink, plink—like tiny fireflies settling in for the night. Friends and neighbors wouldn’t get much sleep, but their hearts would be filled with the knowledge of fulfilling the commandment to “love thy neighbor.”
Leaning back on his elbows, Bo studied the stars. “I’d forgotten how good folks are here.”
“I think your sermon this morning might have lit a fire underneath them.”
“Ah, you’re just being nice, Miss Elly.”
“No, really, I hated to see your first sermon end.”
“My first sermon in Berrytop.”
“I stand corrected.”
“You may be hearing more of me than you’d like. Richardson’s cold doesn’t seem to be improving.”
“That wouldn’t be so bad. I pray the Reverend improves, but I’m not anxious for him to be back—not anytime soon. I wish you’d been around when I was growing up.”
He turned to face her. “I was,” he reminded her softly.
“You weren’t this Bo.” The first honest thing she’d said to him in weeks.
It was too dark to see his face, but Elly heard the melancholy in his tone. “Well, that means a lot to me, Elly. I hope to preach the gospel and see folks receive the Word with new hope.”
If love cured the world’s problems, then his message should be preached and shouted more often. “Is that how you speak to your flock?”
“That’s it. I’m not fancy with words. I repeat what the Bible says. They get it or they don’t. I have a young flock that’s been through some rough times. They’ve faced every heartache and betrayal one can imagine. They don’t yet understand they have a loving Father who will never leave them or forsake them, but right now they’re struggling to gain that knowledge.”
Elly knew all about feeling alone with troubles. “God should have left us with more explicit instructions.”
Bo’s voice smiled at her through the darkness. “He did. He called it faith.”
“Faith.” She made a dismissive noise. “You once assumed I believed in God. Well, sometimes I do, but other times I can’t understand His ways.”
Bo chuckled. “His thoughts are higher than our thoughts. You’re trying too hard. He left us with the instruction to have faith. He didn’t mention a thing about questions.”
She got up and shook dried manure off her britches. “You make faith sound easy. That hasn’t been my experience.”
He sat up and reached for his hat. “I make faith sound easy? Well, it’s not. Faith in the face of all that’s contrary is nearly impossible. You have to hold on to one word, Elly.”
“Faith?”
“Forgiveness. Freedom comes from forgiving and, more importantly, forgiving ourselves. Second chances are a gift from the Father.”
Elly cleaned the manure from her body and dropped into bed, groaning. Every muscle throbbed. She thought about getting Ma’s liniment and rubbing down, but she was too tired to make a fuss. Sleep would mask the pain.
But sleep didn’t come. She tossed and turned, fluffing and then battering her pillow. She finally surrendered to her sleepless state. She puffed a curl out of her face and belatedly realized what robbed her of rest: guilt. She’d promised herself to Gideon and she had just experienced her best, most enjoyable night in seven years, spreading manure with Bo.
Wasn’t this a fine mess? The work she’d put into forgetting flew right out the window.
Gideon was a good man. He’d demonstrated an odd sense of romance and generosity, but she refused to back out on him a second time or cause him any heartache. Bo would always have her heart, but she had learned to live with the fact. She could learn a new life—a new way. And if God were truly merciful and kind, He’d help her change into a fine young woman who loved Gideon Long with all of her heart and soul.
A man—or a woman—was only as good as his word. Pa and Bo had taught her that much.
Chapter 11
Two hours of sleep made for a very early morning. Elly rose before the rooster to bake Gideon
a cranberry-raisin pie, a small compensation for having had a good time without him. She should have sent word about the work party his pile of manure had caused. He would have come. She just plain forgot to do so. Her forgetfulness said nothing of her feelings for him. Of course she loved Gideon. How could she not? He’d more than proved his love with his patience, the two steers, and now all that manure.
The new day brought a fresh perspective. The manure, though worrisome at the time, was his way of saying “I love you.” The same explained the cattle. There were easier, less backbreaking ways to express a man’s devotion, but she couldn’t fault him. She would reward him for his thoughtfulness with a fresh-baked pie.
Yawning, she poured another cup of hot coffee and stirred the bubbling pot of cranberries and raisins, adding a pinch of salt and a little flour for thickening. Still half asleep, she rolled out the crust, dumped in the bubbling mixture, and added three dollops of butter. Then she rolled out the second lump of crust, cut crisscross slices, and laid them neatly across the filling. Shoving the pie into the oven, she sat down to add sugar to her coffee.
Pa wandered through on his way out to the bogs. “Aren’t you working today? It’s Monday, girl. Got a whole week ahead of us.”
“I’ll be along shortly.”
The pie sat on the counter cooling for the rest of the day. Finally, after the sun had sunk low and Elly finished cleaning up after a light supper, she told Pa she was off to deliver the pie to Gideon.
“Get home before dark,” he called. “There are night creatures out there.”
Night creatures? “How old am I now, Pa?”
“I don’t care if you’re as old as Methuselah. I don’t want you out alone once it gets dark.”
“Yes, sir.” Still grumbling, she tied her bonnet strings and put her shawl in place. Methuselah? I bet he didn’t have a curfew.
She left the house and began the tiresome two-mile walk. Gideon was her beau, her intended. He lacked for nothing but love and children. She would be the one to fill those holes. And soon Gideon’s life would be complete. Sighing, she glanced at the pie. Very pretty, if she did say so herself.
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