Tabitha: Bride of Missouri (American Mail-Order Bride 24)

by Amelia C. Adams

  “I’ve never thought about it from the clergyman’s perspective, but I imagine it must be difficult to prepare a sermon week after week and to choose the topics.”

  “It is difficult, especially when I feel I should address a potentially divisive subject. Some people comment on the sermons as though they’re giving a book report in school, grading me on my delivery or my chosen scriptures.” He chuckled. “It’s rather exhausting.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that. I hope most of your congregation is kind.”

  “Most of them are, and I’m very blessed. It’s just those few who keep me up on Saturday nights, wondering if my sermon will be any good. Shall we sit?”

  They had reached the small park in the center of town, and Tabitha took a seat on the bench Pastor Reed indicated. He sat next to her and cleared his throat. “Miss Phillips, I have a problem, and I have no idea how to fix it. I wondered if you would take a moment and offer some advice.”

  “I’ll try, but I can’t say that I’m particularly good at giving counsel.”

  He leaned forward and put his elbows on his knees. “There are certain expectations placed on a pastor that I must fulfill. In addition to my weekly sermons, I’m to attend to the ill and the needy, be present at town events, and make myself available to any who need spiritual guidance. I do all this willingly and eagerly—I very much enjoy and am edified by my calling. However, there is one expectation I have yet to meet, and that is taking a wife.”

  “That’s an expectation?” Tabitha should have known better than to think he was calling on her for any other reason.

  “It is. I set the example for the congregation, and it is God’s good will that men and women should marry. If I remain unattached, I can hardly expect my congregation to believe me when I speak to them about it. I must find a wife who is modest, filled with charity, willing to work alongside me, and is not guilty of perfidy. Of course, if she happens to be pretty, I certainly wouldn’t complain.”

  “Perfidy. That’s a rather weighty word.” Why couldn’t Tabitha think of something more to say?

  “It’s a rather weighty issue. My wife must be completely above reproach, and I haven’t found a young woman in this small town who fits those requirements. None of them seem to be sober in their thoughts or refined in their speech. But then I met you, Miss Phillips, and I realized that you are exactly the type of woman I need by my side. Mrs. Smith was right.”

  “Mrs. Smith suggested that you call on me?” Now things were starting to make sense.

  “Yes, she came to see me shortly after you arrived on the train. She outlined your qualities, and I’ve found every one of them to be well represented. Will you reconsider, Miss Phillips? For my sake, and that of my congregation?”

  “You want to marry me because it would be good for your congregation?”

  “It would be good for me as well. I’m sure of it.”

  Tabitha looked out across the park. The grass still retained most of its color, although patches of it were starting to turn brown and wither away. She remembered what this place looked like in the summer, a riot of greens and yellows as the dandelions bloomed. The gardener in charge of this plot worked round the clock to keep the little monsters at bay, but they kept coming back, brighter and more cheery each time.

  “Do you ever think about falling in love?” she asked after a long moment. “Do you ever imagine your heart pounding when you see her walk into the room, the thrill of hearing her speak?”

  “I don’t think about things like that,” he replied. “I must stay focused on my calling. If I spent my time daydreaming, I wouldn’t be effective as a pastor.”

  “But you want to be in love, don’t you? There’s nothing in the Bible to condemn it. In fact, I’d say that God wants us to be in love or He wouldn’t have created it.”

  “I’m sure I would love my wife. We would appreciate each other’s qualities and admire each other.”

  Tabitha looked at him in disbelief. “I’m not talking about appreciating each other’s qualities! I’m talking about holding hands while strolling down the street. Gazing into her eyes across the dinner table. Dancing with her in the kitchen because you want her in your arms. Love, Pastor! I’m sure you know what that is.”

  He looked down at the ground. “I’m not supposed to desire selfish things.”

  “You feel that being in love is selfish? What about all the blessings you’d bring into her life? When a woman knows she’s loved, she can do anything. Loving her would be serving her, and that would be the greatest service of all.”

  “I never thought about it that way.” He looked back up and smiled. “You’re very wise, Miss Phillips. Wise, and yet cruel. This is a rather firm rejection.”

  “I’m sorry, but yes, it is.” She reached out and touched his arm. “I wish all the best for you, and the best is to find that girl who makes your heart sing. She will stand by your side because she loves you, not because she feels she has to. Then you’ll truly be happy.”

  “And you believe that girl exists?”

  “I do. If God wants you to marry, He’ll make a way. I’m sure He’s a much better matchmaker than Mrs. Smith.”

  Pastor Reed patted her hand where it lay on his sleeve. “Thank you, Miss Phillips. You’ve given me a lot to think about.”

  “You’re a very good man, and you deserve every happiness. Now, I’m getting quite cold and I’d like to head back, but may I invite you in for some chamomile tea?”

  “I think I’d like that. Thank you.”

  ***

  Tabitha and the pastor had a nice chat over their teacups, and by the time he left, she felt much relieved. He had accepted her rejection—at last—and was eager to find a woman he could love and respect simultaneously. She didn’t know why he’d thought he had to choose one or the other—perhaps he thought that a woman righteous enough to be a pastor’s wife wouldn’t also enjoy twirling around a kitchen floor with him. She was glad for the chance to set him straight.

  Then it was time for her other pressing concern. Making sure her bedroom door was closed, Tabitha untied the bundle of letters and spread them out on her bed, arranging them by date. It looked like Thomas had written Ivy once a week for the first month, then increased to twice a week.

  She felt like a thief as she opened the first letter. She wasn’t quite as upstanding as the pastor thought, was she? Perhaps she should have told him about this little dishonest streak of hers—that would have chased him off rather quickly. Shaking her head to clear out the thought, she read the letter, impressed by Thomas’s neat penmanship.

  He thanked Ivy for answering his advertisement, then went on to describe himself and the town. Tabitha’s initial opinion of him was correct—he was a storyteller. Even if she wasn’t already familiar with the town, she would have been able to picture it from his descriptions. He told Ivy about Hoss and the other men who worked at the mill, and as the letter came to a close, Tabitha felt like she’d just spend a very nice afternoon getting to know some new friends.

  The following letters were all written in the same friendly tone of voice, never asking too much of Ivy, never putting himself too forward. That was a relief to Tabitha. She’d been afraid to find out that he was pressuring Ivy or being unkind about her lack of return communication, but he was ever patient. By the time she reached the last letter, she was more convinced than ever that Ivy didn’t deserve him.

  Now was the part that really had her nervous. What could she say in return? She’d just taken a walk through the heart and soul of this man, seeing his appreciation for everything around him, his goodness of character, and his integrity of spirit. She didn’t want to write and let him down—she wanted to marry him and let him teach her how to be the kind of person he was.

  After several false starts and unsuccessful attempts, Tabitha came up with something she felt might work.

  Dear Thomas,

  I’m sorry I haven’t written in such a long time. I’ve been very busy getting read
y for the school year, and all those children with their individual learning styles and tastes are hard to figure out. I want to do my best for each of them, and the planning has taken much of my free time.

  I’ve gone shopping for the fabric for my new school dresses. One will be yellow sprigged muslin, another will be blue, and a third will be beige. I really wanted something fancier, like a party dress with rows and rows of fluffy fabric. But I must look respectable now, so those dresses are my top priority. Perhaps a party dress will come later. In the meantime, I’ve made my school dresses as attractive as I can with ribbons and lace, and I found the loveliest buttons. I’ve always thought it a shame that something so functional couldn’t also be pretty, so I’m quite pleased.

  Robert Holmes was very helpful as I chose out my fabric. He’s especially partial to blue, so he suggested I get that one. He’s such a nice young man. He makes shopping pleasant—I do hope Mr. Worthington keeps him behind the dry goods counter for a long time. He does have aspirations to go into law, however, and when he does, I just don’t know what I’ll do. He gives the best recommendations for thread and other notions.

  I must apologize for my penmanship. I’ve been doing so much writing in preparation for school that my hand is a bit tired.

  I hope things are well, and I’ll try to do better at writing. I really must keep my priorities in line, mustn’t I?

  Tabitha read this over and decided it would do. She’d gone on a bit about clothes, something she was sure would annoy any man, and introduced the idea of another suitor. She glanced at the calendar and calculated about how long it would take for Thomas’s recent letters to arrive in Dover so she’d know when to pen those replies. Hopefully, he would change his mind about Ivy long before then.

  She slipped the letter into an envelope and addressed it. Then she bent it back and forth a few times so it wouldn’t look so crisp and new. In the morning, she’d put a postmark on it, but she’d smudge it so Thomas wouldn’t be able to tell that it was the Atwater postmark and not the one from Dover. She truly hoped this would work, that his heart wouldn’t be broken. As far as the rest of it went, she wouldn’t even think about that. It was best to see what the future held rather than trying to force it.

  Chapter Eight

  Thomas awoke before dawn the next morning, as he always did. He’d thought that since he wasn’t working, he’d be able to sleep in a bit later, but no—his body was wired to get up and get moving.

  He sat on the edge of his bed and studied his hand, trying yet again to make the fingers move. They still wouldn’t respond, and he was getting worried. It had been several days now—surely they ought to be moving, even if it was just a little twitch. But no. Nothing.

  He fixed himself a slice of bread and butter and poured a glass of milk. Mrs. Davis had been kind enough to sell him some things from the restaurant kitchen so his shelves wouldn’t be so bare while he recovered. After eating, he went outside and surveyed his property. He’d had an idea the night before that wouldn’t leave him alone. He was still contemplating when Hoss rode up.

  “Morning,” Hoss called out as he dismounted.

  “Well, if it isn’t a Hoss on a hoss,” Thomas greeted him. “What brings you by?”

  “Hardy har har. I came to see how you’re faring. I’ve got to be at the mill in half an hour, though, so don’t talk my ear off.”

  “I’m doing all right. I’m hatching up an idea.” He nodded toward the ground he’d been studying. “I want to build a little gardening shed there, with a lean-to summer kitchen on the side. If someone were to start the nails for me, I’m pretty sure I could drive them in the rest of the way with my left hand.”

  Hoss raised an eyebrow. “Why don’t you just hire it done?”

  “Well, you gotta have money for that, and second, I need a project before I lose my mind with boredom. I’ve already got some lumber and nails left over from the house repairs I did, and maybe it’s enough. What do you think?”

  “I think it sounds like a good undertaking, but I don’t know where you’re going to find someone to drive your nails for you. He’d have to be a pretty patient fellow, a good friend, someone with lots of free time.” Hoss scratched his head. “Can’t think of anyone.”

  Thomas reached out and slapped him on the back. “Thanks, Hoss. Why don’t you come by after work and we’ll get started?”

  “Fine, fine. But as soon as your hand is better, you’re doing your own work. Hear me?”

  ***

  Thomas leaned against the side of the ticket office, waiting for Tabitha. He couldn’t get started on the shed without Hoss and he really had nothing else to do, so he figured he might as well spend some time doing something enjoyable, like chatting with a friend. He grinned when he saw her approach.

  “Good morning, Miss Atwater. I’ve come to help carry your mail.”

  She seemed surprised to see him, and he liked the way her eyes lit up. Perhaps she’d needed a friend that morning as well. “Hello. You’re always welcome to join me.”

  The arrival of the train nearly drowned out her reply. She handed over the outgoing mail and took the new bag, then Thomas slung it over his shoulder and they walked back toward the post office.

  “You wouldn’t happen to know any eligible young ladies in town, would you? Or from any other town, for that matter?”

  Thomas chuckled. “Well, that’s a pretty unusual question. What are we talking about, exactly?”

  “I’ve finally got the pastor convinced that he doesn’t want to marry me, but now he needs to find someone else. He says the girls he’s met since coming here aren’t quite right.”

  Thomas nodded. “I can see that. There are plenty of nice, pretty girls, but I can’t picture any of them as a pastor’s wife.”

  “So what about back in Topeka? I’m sure he’d be willing to take a little train trip if it meant finding someone.”

  Thomas thought for a moment. “There might be a few, but no one perfect comes to mind. Tell me, Miss Atwater, are you giving up the post office business and going into matchmaking?”

  “No, I’m just doing him a favor. And don’t call me that.”

  “Why not? I enjoy seeing how flustered it makes you.”

  “You should enjoy it a lot less.”

  She unlocked the post office and motioned for him to set the bag on the counter. Then she reached inside and began to pull out the letters. Thomas leaned on the counter and watched, hoping beyond hope that there was something for him. One letter fluttered to the ground and Tabitha stooped to get it, disappearing behind the counter for a second before popping back up again.

  “Oh! Look!” She held up the next letter, waving it like the flutter of butterfly wings. “Look!”

  Thomas’s stomach flipped as he reached out to take the envelope. It was from Ivy. He closed his eyes a minute, his heart racing.

  “Go on—open it. There’s a rocking chair on the porch if you’d like some privacy.”

  “Thank you. I think I will.”

  Everything else seemed to fade away as Thomas sank down into the chair and stared at the letter. He’d been waiting for so long—he wanted to prolong the moment, make it count for something. Finally, he pinned the envelope between his cast and his knee and used his left hand to rip it open.

  He read it quickly, then went back and read it again slowly. Ivy sounded busy, but upbeat and cheerful. She hadn’t said a thing about the wedding or setting a date or coming to Atwater, but with so much on her mind, she probably just forgot to bring it up.

  Tabitha was sorting mail when he went back inside. She looked up and smiled. “Was it a good letter?”

  “Very good. She didn’t set a wedding date, but she sounds happy.”

  “I’m glad to hear that. Would you like to write her back?”

  Thomas thought about that. “No, let’s wait a day or two. I’m starting a project tonight, and I’d like to give her a status report.”

  “Oh? What sort of project?”


  Thomas used a few envelopes to create a map of his property. “Over here is the house, and here is the road. In this corner is an empty space, and I was thinking it would be nice to have a gardening shed with a summer kitchen. Then I’d put in a flower bed here and a vegetable garden over here.”

  Tabitha studied his makeshift diagram. “That sounds wonderful. And you’re starting tonight?”

  He nodded. “Hoss is going to come help me. I sort of roped him into it.”

  Tabitha laughed—he liked the sound. “Good. I’m glad you won’t be attempting it alone. I’ve been worried that you’ll overdo it with that hand.”

  “Not a chance. I’ve been very careful.”

  The door opened, and Gilbert, the delivery boy from the general store, walked in, his arms loaded with packages. “Miss Phillips, on behalf of . . . um, on behalf of . . . well, because you won the contest.” His ears turned red, and Thomas wondered how many times he’d practiced that little speech only to forget it anyway. “These are your prizes.”

  “Oh. You can put them here,” Tabitha said, motioning toward the end of the counter she wasn’t using.

  Gilbert set down everything he was carrying and shook out his arms as though it had been quite a burden. Perhaps it had—Thomas couldn’t tell how heavy the parcels were. “The merchants of Atwater are pleased to be . . . beshow . . . bestow on you their bounty. Uh, what’s ‘bestow,’ Miss Phillips?”

  Tabitha smiled. “It means to give someone a gift.”

  “Well, gosh. Why didn’t they just say that? Anyway, I brung you a ham and some apples and some fabric for a new dress, and some sugar and some coffee and tea. Kind of a weird prize, if you ask me, but nobody asked, so I didn’t say.”

  “What would you have given me?” she asked, the amused smile still on her face.

  “Penny candy. Bags and bags of it. Only prize worth having.”

  “Well, why don’t you get yourself some as a prize for a fine delivery?” She handed him two pennies, which he clutched tightly in his fist.

  “Thanks, Miss Phillips! And congratulations!” He ran out of the building, and the door slammed behind him.