by Megan Besing
“Ladies.” Margaret arrived behind her, placing her hands on the back of Sophie’s chair as if to offer support. Good thing, because she needed it. Oh, how Sophie wished the chair beside her was open so Margaret could weather this storm near her. “We have at least four pianists in our congregation, not counting the learning children. And I don’t think you are eager to find a replacement for your bench on Sunday morning quite yet? Am I right, Judith?”
“Well, no, but I…” Judith bustled, the lemonade sloshing inside the crystal pitcher. Her nose rose so high it seemed she was trying to guess what someone planned to cook for supper. “Through the years, all of Hillside’s preacher wives have…”
Sophie’s cheeks heated. She eyed the lemonade pitcher. Perhaps she could take it and press it to her face? This would have been an excellent moment to have had one of Momma’s fans. How was she going to convince these women she had to be voted in as their pastor’s wife? She had to marry Amos. Her future depended on it.
An elderly woman hobbled over. Her weathered skin was spotted and wrinkled, but her eyes sparked with life. She tapped her cane on the grass. “You cats are scaring this poor girl to death. Honey.” She tilted Sophie’s chin upward. “My name’s Beulah.” Her smile was missing two top teeth, but it wasn’t lacking warmth. “Do you know how to stitch? Before you answer that, Hilltop Chapel may be known for its quilts, but there’s no shame in not knowing how to sew. We’ve been blessed to have plenty who can teach. Isn’t that right, Linda?”
The button-nose lady sat up straighter. “Yes, ma’am. Mrs. Grouse taught me how to improve my blind stitch. We’re a church who gives their knowledge, their time, and their quilts, of course.” She smiled proudly, but then her face paled, and she blinked at Sophie. “I’m sorry about before.” She whispered. “Margaret and Mrs. Grouse are right. We don’t need another pianist.”
Sophie set her plate under her chair and grabbed a needle from an opened kit. There was no need for an apology. Heaven knows worse things had been said about her than not being able to play an instrument. “Will you show me where I’ll be most needed?”
Linda’s smile returned. “It would be an honor.”
“There. That sounds like a hearty Hilltop welcome. Now, hop to it. We’ve got children who need blankets. If we finish four by sunset, I’ll make everyone some of my apple dumplings.”
And just like that, Beulah had the women silenced and their needles darting. The old woman gave Sophie a slight case of homesickness. Not for her old attic room or even for Momma, but for Mrs. T and her daily encouragement. “Us newcomers have to stick together.”
Sophie couldn’t help the confusion she felt line her face.
“It seems like yesterday I was like you. Trying to find my chair in this hen circle. I, too, was a mail-order bride.” She patted Sophie’s shoulder. A slight aged tremble made her nod appear more like a swinging motion. “There’s your chair, and trust me, once you’re in, you’re in.”
Margaret raised her needle in the air as if to toast in agreement with Beulah. As long as she had Beulah and Margaret on her side, things would go smoothly. After all, the Lord knew they had to.
If only He’d remove the nervous flutter threatening her stomach. Shouldn’t it be growing weaker instead of gaining strength?
On their evening walk, Sophie rolled her tight shoulders. She and Amos approached the Olmstead’s house, their alone time disappearing like their conversation had. Amos hadn’t once asked any more about her past or Pastor T. How could he not have understood who Pastor T was from her letters? Had he not cherished her words as she had his?
Sophie bit her lip and braved asking Amos about her ruining Hillside’s tradition. “Do you think the board is upset about my lack of piano skills?”
He chuckled until he read her expression. “Nothing was said in seminary about the need for me to marry a pianist. A God-fearing woman, yes, but your lack of piano skills wouldn’t be a good enough reason to break my promise to wed you, even to Hillside. Unless…” His arm tensed under her fingers. “Are you wanting released from our pledge? From the engagement?”
Sophie pressed her free hand to her chest. It didn’t quite erase the sharp pain of panic. He wasn’t serious, was he? How could anyone not want Amos to marry them? His childhood sweetheart had been a fool to reject him. He was honest, and dependable, and loved the Lord. And…she felt her cheeks blush as she took in his handsome profile.
She forced her voice steady. “I’m looking forward to being your wife.” Even if that meant taking piano lessons or learning to juggle fire.
Once they ascended the porch steps, Amos set his hazel eyes on hers with an intensity that stole her breath. She prayed he liked the idea of marrying her because of who she was, and not only to please a congregation that wanted him to be married—to anyone.
He cleared his throat. “May I…since we…Could I kiss you good night, Sophie?”
Her gaze dropped to Amos’ mouth then back to his eyes. He wanted to kiss her? Her heart thumped in time with the fluttering in her stomach. The very thing that hadn’t stopped since he’d asked if she wanted to take a stroll after supper.
She squeezed her fingers around a handful of the fabric on her dress. “Mmm–hmm.”
A bug buzzed near her ear, and the steady clipping of Dusty’s claws on the porch set her nerves ablaze. Should she say something else? All she managed to do was swallow.
Amos clasped her hand and brought it to his lips. He brushed them against her skin, just as he’d done the first day she’d arrived.
It was lovely. And perfect. And disappointing.
The front door flew open. Margaret held up a wooden spoon. “Perfect timing.” She waved the spoon toward the kitchen. “Doughnuts are done, and William’s already had half the batch. If the two of you don’t hurry, there won’t be any left.”
“Actually, Margaret,” Amos said, “I think I need to head back to the parsonage. I have some things to attend to.”
“Oh.” Margaret said with a huff, her smile slipping away.
William filled the doorway, wiping a crumb from his beard. “More for me then. We should have visitors stay with us more often. You’ve not cooked me doughnuts in forever.” William steered Margaret back toward the kitchen. “We’ll leave you two to your good night.”
Amos traced his thumb in a circle on her hand, a gesture she could get used to. Was that her who sighed?
“Thank you for walking with me.” His voice low, his thumb still tracing.
“Mmm–hmm.” Really? That’s all she could say?
Amos released her and shoved his hands into his pockets. “Well. Until tomorrow.” He did sigh. “Actually, I have a pretty full schedule. I’m sorry, but—”
“You don’t have to apologize.” Disappointment almost made her dizzy, but she tightened her features to keep it from showing. She needed to remember the church came first.
His eyes seemed darker, deeper tonight under the dimming sun. He nodded. “It’s a good night then, and I’ll see you soon.”
“Good night, Amos.”
“Night, Sophie.” He rocked forward once, twice, and then retreated down the steps.
Dusty whined and followed at his heels. The smell of Margaret’s dessert danced in the air. Amos paused before he reached the end of the grass. He wiped his palm down his face and then marched back.
Sophie curled her toes in her boots. Had he changed his mind about the piano thing? She couldn’t read his reaction when he avoided her eyes.
Stopping inches away, he ran his knuckles along her cheek. His gentle, inviting touch was so different from her memories that she didn’t flinch when he erased the space between them. He lowered his lips to hers. There was no past, only the present. Right now, in the safe arms of Amos—her future.
Her first kiss.
And it was perfect.
“Good night, my Sophie.” His voice was barely louder than her drumming heartbeat. She never wanted to miss him saying her name like tha
t again. My Sophie. “I’ll miss seeing you in the morning.”
“Mmm–hmm.” Was he holding her up? He had to be. Her legs were numb. Did all kisses do that?
He kissed her on the forehead then took two steps away. “It’s getting late.”
Sophie gained control of her legs and turned the door handle. “I’ll…” Her lips tingled. “See you soon.”
His crooked grin made her stomach do another round of flutters. “Mmm–hmm.” His voice rumbled in his chest.
Sophie tucked a piece of hair behind her ear and crossed the threshold. She closed the door, pressing her back against it. Her fingertips rested on her grin, feeling its foreign shape on her face. Becoming a mail-order bride was by far the best thing that ever happened to her. Well, almost. But not much could beat giving away her first kiss to her soon-to-be husband.
If only that wasn’t one of the last “firsts” she had to offer him.
Chapter 5
Amos finally figured out how to be a good fiancé. He’d just skip it.
“I think we’re going to move up the wedding.” His folks would be disappointed to miss their eldest son’s wedding, but the way Sophie leaned into him during their parting last evening, he was confident she wouldn’t oppose the idea.
William stopped the bucket in his hands before a drop splashed into the trough. The momma hog snorted in disapproval, hopefully from the lack of water. “Hadn’t heard Pastor Gable was coming in earlier.”
The wind shifted, and Amos wrinkled his nose. One didn’t have to see the hogs to know they were near. After setting the scrap bucket near the gate, Amos covered a yawn. It wasn’t the anticipation of another milk run that had kept him up. But the lack of sleep was worth it because it earned him a plan. “Thought Sophie and I could travel his way. Save him a trip, or we could head to the nearest town and—”
William raised his brows and emptied the bucket of water. “Now you know plain well Margaret has her heart set on Hilltop celebrating your wedding.”
Momma hog dipped her snout into the water, and air bubbles filled the trough. She lifted her head with a more encouraging expression than William’s. If only Margaret would let Amos and Sophie get a word in to each other during dinner. Discussing flowers and lace and cakes wasn’t particularly helpful in establishing a relationship.
“It’s not exactly her wedding.”
William stepped into the pen and the piglets raced toward him. His boots sank into the muck, right where Amos should be for saying such a rude comment.
Two slurping steps later, William surprised him with a smirk. “Right you are, boy.”
Amos ground his jaw. Boy? He looked young, however, that didn’t mean the Lord hadn’t given him wisdom and the ability to make his own decisions. Good decisions. Like having Sophie as his wife come this time next week, or better yet—tomorrow.
“You’re anxious, and the two of you seem well suited. But you can wait a couple more weeks, can’t you? It would look better to the whole congregation if you did. The elders may be doing the actual casting of ballots, but…”
William plucked the littlest piglet, flipping him over, and held him like an infant. “A little marriage advice.” He rubbed the piglet’s ears as if it were Dusty. “A husband always takes his wife’s nag—” He glanced at the back porch. “Her helpful and constant suggestions. But anyone worth his salt will consider his wife’s opinions. The quilting circle doesn’t have you and Sophie’s bridal quilt complete. And you know what that means.”
Amos kicked at an escaped mud clump on his side of the fence. It’s not like he and Sophie couldn’t use the quilt on another night. Or several other nights. Unfortunately, William was right. Amos needed every vote. His longing to lead Hilltop’s congregation was worth the long weeks, even if he could hardly wait to make Sophie his.
Hilltop was any preacher’s ideal church. What kind of people volunteered to help those they’ve never met, miles away? None of the area churches had offered aid to his burnt hometown church, but Hilltop had sent enough funds to completely rebuild.
It wasn’t fate that on the very week Amos finished his seminary studies, Hilltop’s pastor moved to Kentucky to further help the orphanage their church assisted. It was God providing opportunity. Now if only Amos could get more of them to bring their Bibles to service. But maybe they’d given those away, too? He’d settle on them agreeing to a midweek service along with Sundays.
“William.” Eugene’s voice interrupted the noise of the hogs as they rolled and scampered about. The wiry, gray-haired milkman bent over near the lean-to shielding the fattened hogs. After he stopped gulping air as if it were molasses, he spared a glance Amos’ way. “Hanson’s holding an elders’ meeting.”
A growl rumbled in William’s chest. The piglet in his arms squirmed and the others fled from around his ankles. “Lord, help me. That man…he ain’t what he used to be.” William set the piglet near its momma, before slamming the gate shut. “Let’s get to it. Can’t wait to see what he’s come up with this time.”
Amos pumped his arms to keep up. At their pace, it was as if they were heading for battle. Maybe that’s why Eugene was sweating? The white church did look a bit like a surrender flag high on the hill. William kept grumbling, and Amos did what he could—prayed. If only he knew exactly what he was praying for.
Come to find out, it was convenient the elders were meeting. They may have to vote on replacing the front doors the way William barreled through them.
“What’s this all about, Hanson? This isn’t protocol.” Mud splattered off William’s boots, raining down on the floor. Poor Beulah. How did that woman in her age manage to shine those boards on her hands and knees? The second time this week he’d caught her hard at work, even though the wood was already as clean as Margaret’s serving platter.
Hanson stood behind the pulpit. He murmured something that sounded like, “Be happy you’re here at all.” He pointed to Amos. “Lowry, stay outside.”
William blocked Amos’ chest with his arm, as if they were seated on a buckboard and William was protecting a child during a sudden stop. “If this is an elders’ meeting, Pastor Amos should be included. This will soon be his church.”
Hanson narrowed his eyes. “Have it your way, William. But your way is about to end.”
Amos followed William to the third row. Where did Hanson’s anger stem from? Amos had jumped through all the hoops Hanson had set up. Agreed to the trial months as temporary pastor. Had referral letters from other preachers sent—all required five of them. Endured three grueling interrogations that these men called interviews. Had even secured a mail-order bride just to prove his ability to become their full-time preacher.
Hanson propped both elbows on the podium. “Remember how I wanted a deeper background check on Lowry but not a one of you listened?”
William stood. “This is how we’re starting the meeting?”
“We don’t need all your legal mumbo jumbo. Everyone can tell we’re all accounted for.” Hanson shot a glare at Amos. “Even have an extra.”
“Perhaps I’ll start with prayer?” No one protested, unless Hanson’s crossing of arms counted, but before Amos could bow his head, Hanson stepped in front of the podium and started.
“Sent my boy to check on Lowry’s hometown and to that seminary he claimed he went to.” Hanson ran his tongue over his teeth. “Lowry told the truth.”
Who would have guessed the word truth could sound as if someone had died of dysentery?
A man in the front row rose. He was some relation to the family who ran the barber shop, a cousin, or maybe a son-in-law? “I left Nancy’s side for that?” He slapped a cap onto his balding head. “If I miss her giving birth for a meeting we didn’t need, she’ll have both our hides.”
If Sophie were here, she’d have remembered the man’s name. Didn’t it start with a V? Victor or Vernon, maybe?
“Sit down, Willes.”
Willes? Yes, it was Vernon. Nancy and Vernon Willes, because Willes
in Amos’ memory meant Nancy “wills” have another baby soon. They always sat on the second to last row on the left. Amos could tell exactly where each of the men in the room sat during service, but for the life of him couldn’t name half of them. Quite a thorn in his side for a preacher to have such a problem.
Amos sent up another prayer thanking God for Sophie and her knack for faces and names. Yesterday on their way to visit with the Fleming children, she’d patiently explained how to tell between the girls: Beth and Bertha. Amos would have never thought to inspect their earlobes.
“I wouldn’t think to bring you here for nothing. I told you all. Lowry’s the wrong preacher for Hilltop from the start. Now you’ll see I’m correct. If a man can’t even get his bride right, how can anyone trust him with the matters of this church?”
Amos’ gut clenched. How dare he bring Sophie into this?
William cleared his throat. “Hanson. You best watch yourself. Miss Ross is—”
“A sin-infested saloon girl.” Hanson nodded at the collective gasp from the four packed rows. “That’s right, men. And I will not allow my church to be drug through the mud because this—this naive, blinded-by-pretty-looks preacher…For the hundredth time, he’s too young. Too inexperienced. A pastor’s wife should be one of upstanding, moral conduct. All of which a saloon girl is not. I re-propose we offer the pastorship to Emerson Pokis. He’s twenty years Lowry’s senior. And his wife plays the piano.”
Amos pressed his back against the pew and glared at the piano. He pried his grip from the board beneath him. Never would he have guessed a member of Hilltop would stoop to lying to get their way.
“Why do we need another piano player? We already got Judith and Miss Hays, and I think even Mrs….” The middle-aged man whose seat during service was next to the middle window flinched when Hanson slapped his palm on the podium.
Hanson’s nostrils flared, and the mole above his eyebrow seemed to grow. “A. Saloon. Girl. Is there corn in your ears? You want to go to a church where your wives and daughters are being mentored by a dance-hall girl?”