Maude would be discreet about her questions, Ella thought—but Maude had never had a serious beau, so how could she know how to advise Ella about what Nate Bohannan might be thinking? And she couldn’t bear the thought of Maude’s look of pity if Nate rode away the day after he’d finished the cafe furnishings and made a fool out of Ella for hoping.
* * *
“The story of Gideon and the sheepskin...” For a moment Gil Chadwick looked blank as he sat across from Nate in the parsonage parlor. A few seconds passed while he stared off quietly, then: “Oh! You mean the time Gideon laid the fleece out, to get the Lord to show him a sign.”
Sheepskin? Fleece? It was the same thing, wasn’t it?
The preacher seized a well-worn Bible from his nearby desk and began to thumb through it. “Yes, that’s in the book of Judges, in the Old Testament. Chapter six, to be exact.” He stopped turning pages and smiled. “Yes, that was certainly an illustration of God’s patience with His people as we seek His will,” he added with a chuckle, and began to read: “‘Behold, I will put a fleece of wool in the floor, and if the dew be on the fleece only, and it be dry upon all the earth beside...’”
Nate listened patiently as the young preacher explained that Gideon had insisted that God not only prove He would save Israel by making the fleece wet when the ground was dry, but also the reverse. In His infinite patience, God had done so, and Israel was saved from its enemies.
“May I ask why you’re inquiring about this?” Gil asked.
Nate rubbed his jaw. “Well, Preacher, I...uh...need to make a decision. And it needs to be the right one. My pa told me this story about Gideon once, a long time ago. I wasn’t sure I remembered it right.”
He couldn’t very well tell Gil how he was going to lay this particular fleece—that he would look for guidance from the preacher’s sermon this Sunday as to whether he should go or stay—for fear that it would influence the preacher’s sermon topic.
“I see...”
Nate feared the preacher, who studied him now with perceptive hazel eyes, could indeed see, somehow, what was on his mind. “Papa also used to open up the pages of the Bible at random, when he needed Heavenly guidance,” he said, trying to distract Chadwick.
Gil Chadwick chuckled. “That’s an approach a lot of folks use, but sometimes it works better than others. One time when I was younger, I was rather disheartened about something, and I tried that. My finger fell on the verse about the apostle Judas leaving the temple and hanging himself. I’m very sure the Lord didn’t intend me to do that!”
Nate laughed, too.
“But you know, Nate,” the preacher went on, “the easiest way of all is just to pray about your decision. The Lord wants us to talk to Him as friend to friend.”
“I...I have trouble hearing His answers that way, Preacher. Guess I’m not much good at praying.” He’d never stolen, or murdered, or committed any of the other major sins, but he hadn’t stayed on the straight-and-narrow path all his life. Sometimes he knew he just didn’t listen for what the Lord might be saying.
“It’s hard to be quiet and listen for that ‘still, small Voice,’ isn’t it?” the preacher agreed. “But don’t be too hard on yourself, Nate. This town saw you make the right choice to stay and help, when you could have left George Detwiler and Miss Ella in the midst of the destruction your former employer wreaked. And you’ve helped the church by playing piano so Sarah Walker can prepare for her coming baby.”
“I appreciate your saying that.” Nate was glad he had come. Reverend Gil was an easy man to talk to, even if he did tend to give a fellow too much credit.
A door opened down the hall, and a savory scent reached his nostrils. Nate stood as Mrs. Chadwick entered the parlor and laid an affectionate hand on her husband’s shoulder. The reverend smiled up at his wife.
“Hello, Mr. Bohannan,” she said. “It’s good to see you. We certainly enjoyed hearing you play the piano last Sunday.”
“Thank you, ma’am.”
“Would you like to have supper with us? There’s plenty, and you’re more than welcome.”
“Thanks,” he said again, “but I know Miss Ella’s expecting me at the café. I’d best be leaving. Reverend Chadwick, I appreciate your time.”
“I’ll be praying for you, Nate,” Chadwick said as he extended his hand.
Nate headed for the café, feeling lighter of heart than when he’d arrived at the parsonage. It was clear the young preacher and his wife shared a deep love. Nate wanted that for himself—a wife he loved, who loved him back.
Will it be Ella, if I can find out what frightened her the night before—or some as-yet-faceless lady in San Francisco?
He’d try praying, for sure. But he couldn’t help wondering what the sermon would be about on Sunday, and whether it would shine any light on his decision.
Meanwhile, perhaps he should watch for a sign—one might appear even before next Sunday.
* * *
Nate had never listened as hard as he listened to the sermon that Sunday. Reverend Chadwick spoke about how the apostle Peter had walked on water in the Sea of Galilee just like Jesus, but then Peter had gotten scared and would have sunk like a stone if Jesus hadn’t taken hold of him.
If there was some sort of clue in the discourse about what choice Nate should make, he hadn’t heard it. Then again, maybe fleece-laying was only for holy men, he thought, and he sure wasn’t one of those. But hadn’t God promised to answer any believer’s prayer one way or another? Perhaps he just had to be open to the Lord’s leading.
The preacher concluded his sermon, reminded everyone to come and help out at the café raising the following Saturday, then gave the benediction. Nate sighed a lot more gustily than he’d meant to, but he felt as much in the dark as ever.
Was it merely that the Lord couldn’t be told when to give a sign? Maybe it had been sort of presumptuous of him to expect that the sign would appear right in the middle of church as he’d asked for it to, as if the Creator of the world was his to command.
“What’s wrong?” Ella asked him softly as everyone stood to leave.
He hoped his grin looked genuine. “Not a thing, as long as you save me a couple or three fried-chicken legs for dinner, and some of your mashed potatoes and gravy,” he said.
He was guiltily aware that Ella was puzzled at his behavior. She had to be wondering why he’d kissed her a couple of nights before, then acted as if the kiss had never happened. He’d been as friendly as always, but no more than that, and had not suggested she join him when he’d gone to the church to practice the hymns after supper.
He hated thinking he might’ve given her the impression that the kiss was a mistake. Especially when he’d like nothing more than to kiss her again. But now that he’d asked the Lord for a sign, he was afraid of “muddying the waters,” so to speak. He only hoped God wouldn’t wait too long. Wasn’t there some scripture verse about a thousand years being but as yesterday when it was past? He didn’t have that long to wait!
* * *
“What’s wrong?” Maude asked, startling Ella, who hadn’t realized her friend had followed her away from church.
She was panting a little after having run to catch up with Ella, and was clearly unaware that Ella had just asked the same question of Nate.
“Nothing,” Ella said. “I’m just in a hurry as usual to get Sunday dinner started. Are you going to eat at the café?”
“I’d like to, but I’d better not—Mrs. Meyer made a point of telling me she was fixing pot roast, my favorite. But I thought I’d walk with you and ask why you and Nate are acting so strange with each other. You keep saying you haven’t had a fight, but first he looks at you when you’re not looking, then you do the same when he’s not.”
Ella stopped stock-still in the alley between the jail and the mercantile and faced he
r friend, after taking a wary glance over her shoulder to see if anyone else was nearby. “Maude, when are you going to get it through your head that a person wouldn’t bother to fight with someone with whom she has no more than a temporary friendship? He won’t be staying forever.”
“Maybe you’re convinced about that, but you haven’t convinced me,” Maude retorted. “Isn’t it time to be honest with yourself?”
Ella stared at her, and all of a sudden her long-held resolve crumbled. She needed to talk to someone, she realized—someone who might be able to shed some light on Bohannan’s on-again, off-again manner with her. He hadn’t stolen a glance at her once during the sermon. Instead, he’d seemed to listen so intently it was as if he was trying to memorize it. And he’d seemed disappointed when it was over. Why?
“All right, let’s suppose I do care,” Ella said. “But can we talk about it back at the boardinghouse? The church diners will be descending on the café all too soon—including Nate himself—and this is a chat that’s going to take a while.”
Maude flashed her a triumphant look, as if satisfied that Ella had finally given in. “All right, that makes sense,” she said. “I’ll meet you there right after dinner—unless Bohannan wants to take you fishing.”
“Little chilly for that, I think,” Ella said, pulling her shawl around her more closely, for there was a nip of fall in the air today. But perhaps “chilly” also referred to the state of affairs between herself and Bohannan, for reasons she could only guess at.
Chapter Sixteen
Telling Maude all she had held inside for so long left Ella feeling limp as a fallen cake. She told her everything that had passed between her and Nate Bohannan, from the first spark of attraction she had felt toward the stranger who had saved her from the drunken drifter, through the development of her feelings for him and the way he seemed to care for her, seeing the furniture he’d repaired and the new pieces he’d made for her, and hearing he was going to stay at least through the café raising. Then that kiss...
The tears had begun to flow when she tried to explain the unexplained fear that had caused her to push away from Nate right in the middle of the kiss. Maude pressed a handkerchief into Ella’s hand, and calmly waited until Ella went on.
“I lied to you, Maude. I lied to you all—about where I came from,” Ella said, her voice thick with tears.
Maude’s eyes widened.
“I didn’t live in San Antonio with an aunt until she died like I told you. The truth is, I came here from Llano, where the last café I worked at was. Before that, I worked in Boerne and Round Rock—always cooking jobs, never anything dishonest. I’m sorry, Maude,” Ella murmured through her tears. “All y’all were so nice and welcoming when I came to Simpson Creek... But you’d all grown up here, and had normal lives—at least before the war. Who was I? An orphan, a runaway ‘charity girl’ from an asylum—” she pronounced the despised label bitterly “—who’d lived among insane people. Why would you believe I wasn’t one of the crazy ones? I didn’t know anything about my parents, except the name they’d given me.”
Maude began, “Ella, that wouldn’t have mattered—”
Ella held up a hand. “That’s what Nate said, too. He said I should tell you about it, just as I told him.”
She saw Maude blink in surprise. “You told Nate about this?”
Ella nodded. “I’d never told anyone in the other towns about coming from an asylum. At first I was always looking over my shoulder, afraid they’d find me—the asylum officials. They’d gone after one of the little boys who ran away, you see—they brought him back and paraded him in front of us, his hands still tied, as a warning to the rest of us.”
A tear streaked down Maude’s cheek at this point, but she just wiped it away. “Go on,” she urged.
“I left Boerne because I saw a man who looked like Mr. Antoine, the one who’d taught me how to cook at the asylum. It couldn’t have been him, of course—I know that now. But after that, I ran whenever anyone started asking questions...”
Maude stroked a damp curl back off her forehead. “You poor dear. No wonder you wake up with nightmares. I wish you’d told me this earlier. There was no need to carry this burden around all by yourself—I would have understood, and so would any of your friends in the Spinsters’ Club. As for anyone else, well, there’s no shame in being an orphan, but it isn’t anyone’s business where you came from.”
Ella smiled wanly at her friend. “I don’t know what I ever did to deserve a friend like you.”
Maude grinned back at her. “You’ve been a blessing to me, too, you know. It’s been good to have another female my own age here at the boardinghouse.” She waited a moment, then when Ella said nothing else, she asked, “But may we return to the subject of Nate Bohannan? You said he kissed you, down at the lumber mill,” she prompted. “What happened after that that frightened you? Did Nate...take liberties?”
Something in Maude’s face warned her that the consequences would be dire for Mr. Bohannan if Ella’s answer was yes.
“No, it was nothing like that,” Ella said quickly. “It was...just as I started to enjoy the kiss, I got scared, too. I can’t explain it, Maude. I don’t really understand it myself. I know it’s got something to do with the asylum, and my nightmares...but I always wake up before I can see who it is...”
Maude’s brow furrowed. “Who it is?” she echoed.
“Someone’s reaching out to grab me,” Ella explained. “But I don’t know who.”
Maude pondered that, then asked, “Do you think Nate started acting different because you stopped the kiss?”
Ella shook her head. “I don’t think so... He escorted me back here, and everything seemed fine.” She shrugged. “Who knows? There’s no use worrying about it, Maude. He’s always said he wasn’t staying in Simpson Creek—in fact, he said it was all right to confide in him because he wasn’t staying.”
Fatigue began to wash over Ella now like waves rushing to shore. “I’m just glad he decided to wait to leave till after my café is built...” Her voice trailed off and she smothered a yawn, more tired than she could ever remember feeling, now that she had unburdened her soul.
“You look sleepy. Why don’t you take a little nap, Ella,” Maude suggested.
“Oh, no, I can’t,” Ella protested. She’d been lying on her bed against the pillows, and now she struggled to rise. “It’s nearly time to go start supper at the café.”
Maude pushed gently at her shoulder. “You’ve got an hour,” she told her. “Plenty of time for a little catnap. Close your eyes. It’ll do you a world of good.”
Ella let her eyes drift shut. She just needed a few minutes...
* * *
Nate went to the café for supper as usual, hoping it wouldn’t be as busy as it had been at dinnertime. He’d barely exchanged a glance with Ella then, for she had been continually in motion, as if she was trying to be in three places at once. Hopefully they would get a chance to exchange a few words, and he could assure himself Ella was all right.
Instead of seeing light coming from the window, however, he found the café dark, and a handwritten note showing in the door window—Café closed due to illness of Miss Ella. Meals will resume tomorrow.
What could be wrong with her? It must be something serious, because the note was written about Miss Ella, not by her. If it had been something minor, like a headache, hardworking Ella would have come anyway and soldiered through it.
Without another thought, he turned on his heel and ran to the boardinghouse, fear gripping his heart.
Maude didn’t look at all surprised when she came to the kitchen door of the boardinghouse and saw Nate through the window, breathing hard, his hand poised to rap at the door again. She opened it before his knuckles connected with the wood.
“What’s wrong with El—Miss Ella, that is?” he deman
ded. “I saw the sign...it—it’s nothing serious, is it?” He held his breath while he awaited her answer.
“Shh,” she said. “I don’t want to wake her. Good evening to you, too, Mr. Bohannan,” she said. “No, it’s nothing but a sick headache, and since she was still fast asleep when it came time to wake her, I decided she needed the sleep more than she needed to go cook. Why? Are you afraid you’ll miss a meal?”
He felt himself tense at her tart words. “I know you don’t have any reason to think well of me, Miss Maude, but I care about Miss Ella. I was worried about her,” he said.
“Yet you’re still planning on leaving after her café is built.”
He decided she was being deliberately provocative, but he dared not lose his temper at Maude when he needed information from her. He took a deep breath and forced himself to relax. “I...I don’t know,” he admitted. “Haven’t you ever been unsure about something, Miss Maude? Trying to decide whether the course you wanted to take was the right one?”
Her expression softened. “I’m sorry, Mr. Bohannan. I didn’t mean to be harsh. I’m sure she’ll feel better tomorrow. I’ll tell her you inquired.”
He turned to go, but then he heard her say, “Wait a moment.”
Without telling him what she was going to do, Maude fixed him a sandwich from the leftover ham from the boardinghouse supper. “Ella will fret that you went hungry when she wakes. Let me fix you something—we have plenty of ham left over from our supper here.”
He stared at her for a moment. “Thank you, Miss Maude. You’ll...let me know, won’t you? If Ella needs anything?”
A Hero in the Making (Brides of Simpson Creek Book 7) Page 15