by DiAnn Mills
She flushed. “That’s not necessary. I’m used to getting about on my own.” “I’m sure you are. But this once you won’t have to. You have a friend to help. Aunt Clara,” he called, “be back shortly.” With that, he opened the door.
Angelina preceded him into the starry night, and he closed the door behind them. But before she took a step she felt herself being whisked off her feet and into his strong arms. “What do you think you are doing?” she railed, mortified at the situation and the informality of it all. She hadn’t known the man but a few days!
“Helping a friend,” he said evenly.
“A friend who can walk on her own,” she countered, craning her neck to make sure they weren’t being observed.
“If she had to—which she does not. Besides, I haven’t done my good deed for the day.”
Unsure whether to laugh or cry, Angelina settled for the former—not that she had much choice in the matter. “Surely you don’t intend to carry me all the way home! I’m too heavy, and it’s too far.”
“Heavy!” he snickered. “I’ve carried sacks of coal heavier than you!”
“Really, Reverend,” she began.
“Do you think you could possibly call me by my Christian name, as my other friends do?” he teased.
“Certainly not! It isn’t…proper.”
A chuckle rumbled from his chest. “You actually prefer that sort of stilted friendship?” he asked, not even winded as he strode over the cobbled street. “My forever calling you Miss Matthews, and your referring to me as Reverend Winters? Times are changing, you know. Honestly, little Noely’s the only one who’s got the whole thing in perspective.”
Angelina laughed again. It had never entered her mind to be so familiar she’d resort to using his Christian name. Gabe. Gabriel. It did suit the man—he was so much bigger than life.
She hadn’t had a true friend for many years. Ruby, though chummy to a certain extent, had a husband, a life of her own. Gabe Winters was the first person in a long time who offered real friendship. What harm could there be in accepting it—at least while they both shared a concern for Noely?
Sooner than she’d have expected, the minister set her down on her stoop. “Friends, then…Angelina?”
She almost couldn’t breathe. “I—I suppose.”
“Good. We really do want you to come by the parsonage every day—or whenever you can. I’ve had my fill of stuffy church business, starched deacons and elders, proper protocol. You and Noely have been like a breath of spring to Aunt Clara and me.”
“That’s nice to hear.”
He nodded, and his gaze remained fixed on hers. “Look, it’s bound to be dark and cold in there,” he said in all seriousness, motioning with his head toward her house. “Would you like me to get your fire going? Bring in extra wood or coal?”
“Certainly not!” she gasped. “We’ve probably caused scandal enough as it is. And anyway, aren’t you forgetting? You’ve done your good deed for the day.”
He grinned. “So I have.”
“And I can manage. Truly. But thank you for offering.”
“Gabe,” he prompted.
“Gabe,” she whispered, waiting for lightning to strike her dead. When it did not, she expelled a pent-up breath and dug into her pocket for her key.
He took it from her and unlocked the door, nudging it open. “Well, take care, then. Will we see you tomorrow?”
“Most likely. Your aunt told me you’ll be taking Noely around to some of your parishioners this week?”
“That’s right. We’ll see that she gets a good home, I promise. Good night.”
“Good night, my friend. Thanks for seeing me home.”
With a nod, he backed away, and Angelina stepped inside, closed the door, and leaned against the jamb. How many people in the world could boast of having an angel for a friend…for if ever one walked the earth, he had to be a lot like Gabriel Winters. Her heart felt strangely warmed with the knowledge. And she had no trouble at all thinking of him by his given name. Reaching for the box of matches, she lit the parlor lamp and then the wood she’d laid earlier.
An indescribable peace flowed through her regarding Noely. Gabe would keep his promise…to both of them. Could she help it if a tiny part of her hoped he wouldn’t find a home for the child too soon?
Gabe rolled over and punched his pillow, trying to get comfortable. He hoped he hadn’t been too forward with Angelina. Overfriendliness had always been his greatest fault and rarely endeared him to the fairer gender—in fact, one or two refined lasses had proclaimed him an oaf to his face! Well at least he’d finally managed to overcome the tendency to trip over his own big feet or bump his head going through low doorways, but maintaining proper protocol would forever be a trial.
The trouble was, the profound loneliness in Angelina’s dark eyes reminded him of his own, and he desperately wanted to ease her heartache. He knew someone so beautiful as she would never look twice at a big ox like himself—and after the way he’d pushed her tonight, he should count himself fortunate that she even agreed to be his friend!
Then a darker thought surfaced. Once Noely was out of the picture, would Angelina take her leave as well? Releasing a slow breath, he rolled onto his back and laced his fingers beneath his head, staring up at the ceiling.
Chapter 5
Her arms full of fabric scraps, Clara entered the back door of the church. Gabe had already stoked up the furnace for today’s gathering of the mission society, and the pervading warmth helped erase the chill. If all the women showed up, the many nimble fingers would easily finish another quilt by day’s end. Never fond of stitching, much less possessed of such talent herself, Clara contributed by tearing donated materials into strips or cutting needed shapes for the various quilt patterns, an arrangement which seemed to suit everyone.
She descended the stairs to the basement supply room and piled her burden into a large basket, together with needles, thread, and several pairs of scissors. Then she took the items up to the side room where the activity was held. To her surprise, she heard voices. Some of the ladies had come early.
“You can’t tell me there’s not something scandalous going on,” came Lucinda Blackwell’s distinctive high-pitched pronouncement. “And under our very noses, no less.”
Clara stopped in her tracks. The Old Crows’ Society. Not one to eavesdrop, she nevertheless paused and waited for an opportune moment to enter.
“Saw it with my own eyes, I did,” Miranda Keys affirmed. “Pretty as you please, him carrying that hussy in his arms, right past my house for all the world to see! Near brought me to heart failure right then and there, I daresay. That woman’s at the parsonage every single night and stays till past dark. And not even a member of the church, at that! I suppose the rest of us are expected to believe she goes there to see that urchin. Hmph! It’s downright sinful, if you ask me. Mark my words.”
Hortense Witherspoon went into her usual fit of coughing. Clara could just picture the other biddies thumping her back with their scrawny fists. “Why, it’s a sheer disgrace,” she croaked after the coughs subsided. “That’s what.”
“Never did approve of calling such a young preacher to our church,” Widow Blackwell told the others. “I let the board know my opinion in no uncertain terms, as if it mattered—they voted him in anyway. Well, if you ask me, it’s high time a special meeting was called. We’ll see what the high and mighty elders think of these goings-on.”
“True, true,” Mistress Keys said. Clara could envision the old gal’s nod of assent. Miranda had little backbone of her own, and usually went along with anything her cronies said.
Tucking a strand of stray hair into her coronet, Clara reached for the latch.
“Wait, girls,” came the annoying nasal voice again.
There were far worse sins than listening in, Clara reasoned, detecting a sinister change in Lucinda Blackwell’s tone. She settled back onto her heels.
“Maybe we shouldn’t stop with the Board of Trustees,” the
widow went on.
“What are you saying?” the others asked as one.
“Just this. I’ve never approved of that child-placement sideline of his. Philadelphia isn’t a fledgling colony anymore. The city has institutions to handle that sort of thing. People paid to deal with riffraff. I’ll wager the authorities would be mighty interested to hear of the preacher’s dabbling in affairs beyond his calling. That orphan brat belongs in a proper asylum, and I intend to see she gets there.”
Clara’s hand flew to her throat. In the pregnant silence that followed, she could almost see the sly conspiratorial smiles spreading from one self-righteous face to the next. Determined to squelch this nonsense before it went any farther, she opened the door and entered.
The maleficent expressions became amazingly guileless as the three bony women turned. “Why, good day, Clara,” Widow Blackwell gushed. “You’re looking spry. I was just remarking to the girls about how well our little church is functioning under the fine hand of your nephew.”
“Indeed.” The outright lie stole any more deprecating response Clara might have made. Moving stiffly to the storage closet, she took down the folded in-progress quilts and spread each out on the long tables with precise deliberation.
Hortense Witherspoon broke into another spasm of coughs.
Clara, still searching for the exact words to put the presumptuous busybodies in their place, opened her mouth, but the arrival of two more members stayed her tongue. She knew it was for the best, seeing as how it spared her from having to repent afterward. But all the same, Gabe should know about this. And know he would, as soon as she got home.
“Don’t tell me you took that folderol seriously!” Gabe looked incredulously at his aunt over pie and tea as Noely played with clothespins and buttons on the parlor rug.
“Of course I did. And so should you.”
He forked a chunk of the dessert and stabbed at the air with the utensil to punctuate his words. “Those meddlesome widows have been nitpicking ever since we got here, Aunt Clara. If it isn’t about one thing, it’d be another—whatever their idle imaginations can conjure up and pass on to itching ears. It’s not worth losing sleep over.”
“But ye didn’t hear them, Gabe. They won’t stop until they’ve done as much damage to your ministry as they possibly can, to say nothing of—” She glanced in Noely’s direction. “It was all I could do not to be tellin’ those troublesome biddies off, and in no uncertain terms.”
“And what would that have accomplished?” he asked quietly. “We’re all equally capable of wounding another person with the sharpness of our tongues. Only through His grace can those women’s cruelty be tamed, and our words tempered and used to praise rather than crush. I’m glad you remained quiet.”
“I’m not sure I am, to be quite truthful.” She crossed her arms and rested them on the table.
He gave a comforting pat to her worn hand. “You and I both know there’ll never be a perfect church until the Lord Himself comes to establish His. No matter how hard His servants labor for the kingdom, or how selfless and faithful their service, there’s bound to be some devil’s advocate right in the thick of things, stirring up trouble. All I can do is my best to remain faithful and continue to seek and do God’s will. Meanwhile, He will handle those Old Crows—as you so aptly termed them.”
“I only pray He will,” she said quietly.
“What crows, Pastor Gabe?” Noely asked, coming to the table and draining the last drops of milk from her glass.
“We’re just talking about some grownup matters, pumpkin,” he said gently. “Nothing for your little head to worry about.” He studied the young child as she returned to her play, then exhaled deeply. “I have more pressing matters to occupy my mind, Aunt Clara. No point worrying about idle threats. Dress Noely up real pretty this afternoon. I’ve a few calls to make.”
Angelina often noticed a slight improvement in her weak limb during milder weather, and even more so after having been spared a long walk in the night chill.
She hardly felt the smile that crossed her lips as she thought back on it. Never would she have imagined she could relax and be herself in the presence of a virile, compelling man like Gabe Winters. Of course, having established the boundaries in her mind, she would never presume anything beyond friendship.
Besides, she had resolved years ago never to set herself up for another heartbreak. She had learned that particular lesson well on the first try, when a young man she thought loved her took her home to meet his parents. Nothing matched the cruel sting of that humiliation…the raised brows, the faces beginning to redden slightly, the oh-so-polite stammered excuses which rendered swift death to the blossoming romance.
And no one needed to point out that for all the interested first glances she received from young bachelors who crossed her path, there rarely came a second. But she had come to terms with her solitary destiny. Yes, Angelina resolved inwardly, friendship was blessing enough, for a cripple.
“Any news about that homeless tyke?” Ruby’s query interrupted Angelina’s musings. Removing her eyeglasses, the willowy girl wiped them on her work apron, then resumed stitching a ruffled gown of sapphire taffeta.
“No. Nothing’s turned up for Noely as yet, I’m afraid. But Reverend Winters is still trying to find her a home. At this moment she’s probably accompanying him on his pastoral calls so folks can meet her.” Angelina clipped a little extra trim for the remainder of the neckline on the coffee satin frock, then turned the raw edge under and tacked it. She snipped the thread.
“Then she shouldn’t be on her own much longer, I’d expect.”
“No.” The sad reality disturbed Angelina greatly.
“Well,” her coworker mused, “with Christmas comin’, she should have a nice new family to call her own. Case she doesn’t, though, will you be givin’ her a present?”
“I hadn’t thought about it,” Angelina admitted in dismay. “I really should get her something to remember me by, I suppose.”
“Or make her somethin’. A doll, mebbe.”
“Do you think there’s time, Ruby? Oh, I should have thought of it myself, only I’ve been so busy!”
Ruby gestured toward the remnant bin in the corner. “Dig through that when we’re done. Might be Mistress would let you have whatever you need. It don’t take much to do a doll.”
For the first time in years, Angelina felt a measure of joy at the thought of the approaching holiday barely a week away. She’d been contemplating the story Gabe had read to Noely regarding the significance of the event, and as she lay in bed, long-buried childhood memories had surfaced. She could recall taking part in pageants, being filled with the wonder of the birth of the Holy Child, the One destined to suffer a cruel death on a cross so that all who believed on Him would one day live with Him in Heaven. And she recalled uttering a simple girlish prayer that He might come to dwell within her own heart. So long ago that had been. She wondered if God still remembered her.
“Will you look at that!” Ruby declared suddenly. “It’s the last one! We’ve finished them all!”
“Why, so we have.” Angelina laughed. “At least, those needing to be done for the holidays. Tomorrow we’ll start back to work on the more ordinary garments.”
“Yes, those.” Grimacing, the auburn-haired girl hung the newly completed gowns, then began tidying the work table in readiness for going home. “Don’t forget to look through the remnants, Angie.”
But Angelina had already started rooting through the various fabrics in her eagerness, absolutely astounded that there were so many to choose from. Wouldn’t Noely be surprised!
Her feet fairly floated over the cobbles that evening, limp and all. Her employer had been wonderfully generous. Patting the soft bundle of materials in her pocket, Angelina visualized them made into a Christmas doll. A shorter visit might be prudent this evening to allow time at home to work on the project.
Though she felt surprisingly at ease when Gabe welcomed her at the par
sonage, she found the mood there somewhat subdued. Several peculiar glances passed between the minister and his aunt during supper, and Noely, overtired from her long day, fell fast asleep at the table and was whisked off to bed.
“I take it you were unsuccessful,” Angelina remarked when Gabe returned from tucking the little one in.
“That’s an understatement.” He sank wearily into a parlor chair. “My three best possibilities, and not one was the least bit interested in taking on a three-year-old.”
“Well, she can’t remain three forever,” Angelina said, trying to raise his spirits. “In fact, do you even know her birthdate?”
He raked his fingers through his hair. “Actually, yes. I came across it when I checked the birth and death records of the only Carrolls known to be in Philadelphia. Noely will turn four on April tenth.”
“Would either of ye be wantin’ more tea?” Aunt Clara asked, stacking supper dishes on a tray.
“Not just now,” Gabe answered.
Angelina rose. “Nor I, thanks. I’d best be on my way.”
“Already?” he asked, getting up also. “You’ve only just gotten here.”
“Yes, but I have something urgent to do at home.”
“Need my assistance?”
She barely stayed her blush. “Actually, I’m much better this evening. But if you could spare the time to walk with me part of the way, I really would like to talk with you.”
“As you wish.” Fetching her coat, he helped her into it, then put on his own, and they took their leave.
The night was chilly, with blue-white clouds drifting across a velvet sky and a partial moon. The arm he offered aided her greatly as they strolled toward Elfreth’s Alley.
Gabe broke the silence. “What did you want to discuss?”
Not quite certain how to put her thoughts into words, Angelina peered up at the minister, feeling quite at ease with him, drawing strength from his presence. “It’s…well, it’s about the story last night. The Christmas one.”
“And? What bothers you about it?”