“This verse was written in regards to young widows who had turned aside from their first faith upon the deaths of their husbands and had not yet recommitted themselves to Christ. In fact, some of these women had, and I quote, ‘begun to wax wanton against Christ.’ They were encouraged to remarry and to keep themselves engaged in good works so they wouldn’t stray away any farther, and that they might be brought back into the fold. Gossip was one of the tale-tell signs to Paul the Apostle that all was not right in the lives of these women. Men are not exempt from gossiping, mind you, but in this epistle, Paul was directly addressing the problems facing the women, and that’s why I’m doing so as well as we quote the scriptures.
“In this verse, he’s referring to a segment of women who were choosing to idle away their time rather than filling their days with good works. Rather than seeing to the needs of their own homes, they were visiting neighbors and neglecting their tasks. There’s nothing at all wrong with paying friendly visits, but I believe the Apostle was speaking against times when it’s done to excess, and one’s own home suffers for it.
“Instead, he encouraged these women to marry and to turn their attentions back to homemaking. In our day, he would probably encourage us to find good ways to spend our time as well—clothing the naked, feeding the hungry, and finding ways to use our hours in His service rather than wasting our time gossiping with our neighbors.”
Robert looked down at the pulpit, even though there was nothing there but his Bible. He needed a second to clear his thoughts before beginning again.
“Brothers and sisters, I put forth to you that where gossip is present, the spirit of the Lord cannot dwell. He does not desire us to spend our time speaking of others behind their backs. He does not desire us to delight in speaking of others’ misfortunes or taking pleasure in their misdoings. What He does desire us for us to put aside our own opinions and instead, to offer love and kindness, and a hand up to those who have stumbled. When we see that someone is in need, we are to do what we can to fill that need, not letting one hand know what the other is doing.”
He took a deep breath. The faces of some of the members of his congregation had become hard, just as he had known would happen. But he had to forge on. New strength filled him, and he knew what he wanted to say next.
“When the words we speak are full of love, when our intentions are to bless the lives of those around us, when our goal is to be of service to the Lord, then He can truly use us in His kingdom. He can put us in the paths of those who need us and who need to hear the uplifting things we can say to them. We can be of no service to others if our intent is to belittle and condemn, and that is all gossip is—belittling and condemning, judging others, considering ourselves to be better than they are.
“I am here to tell you, none of us are better than any of the rest. We all fall short, and that is where the Lord’s grace is extended to us. But it is His determination alone as to the depth to which we have fallen. I cannot determine it, and you cannot determine it. We are not judges, and we are not to attempt it. He is the only true and proper judge, and when we seek to point out another’s faults, we are seeking to flout God’s ultimate wisdom. He knows all, and He forgives. And not one of us sitting here in this room has the right to look at someone else and conjecture about their lives and arrive at a conclusion about their standing with the Lord. That is the ultimate pride—to believe that we know better than God.”
He looked down and gripped the sides of the pulpit. “Brothers and sisters, I am a sinner. Every person sitting in this room is a sinner. Every person walking upon the face of the earth this day is a sinner. The amazing thing is that the Lord knows it and He loves us anyway. His grace is sufficient for us all, and it is His power alone that makes us clean before Him. Leave the judgement to Him, for He is the only one qualified. Now, we will sing a closing song.”
After he gave the hymn number, Robert collapsed into his chair. This was a shorter sermon than he usually delivered, but he didn’t have the strength to go any longer. He had never been so direct with his congregation before. He had never believed in the “fire and brimstone” approach. It was not a day for a feel-good sermon, however. It was a day for everyone to know how he felt about gossip, and far more importantly, how God felt about it as recorded in scripture. He prayed that the people had been touched and would evaluate their own lives to ask the question, “Lord, is it I?”
As everyone gathered up their things and made to exit the chapel, Robert tried to catch Miss Markham, but she was out of her seat and down the aisle faster than he’d thought a woman wearing that many yards of skirt could move. Then one of the men wished to speak with him, and soon he couldn’t see Miss Markham at all. He sighed. Speaking to her would have to wait yet again.
“I must say, that was an unusual sermon,” Mr. Grant said, his face lined with worry. “My wife’s not too happy about it.”
“I didn’t mean to cause anyone grief, Mr. Grant. It was just something we all need to be reminded of from time to time.”
“Well, she’s sure your eyes fell on her while you were preaching. Are you sure you didn’t mean to single her out? I’m not one to pick a fight with clergy, but if you were singling her out, Pastor, we’d need to have a talk, you and I.”
“I assure you, I wasn’t.”
Mr. Grant nodded. “All right, then. I’ll make sure she knows that. She was too upset to speak with you herself.”
Now Robert felt terrible. “I do apologize. That wasn’t my intention at all.”
By the time everyone had cleared out of the building, Robert had been scolded, lectured, glared at, and snubbed. One very vocal woman had congratulated him on calling the sinners to repentance, her tone making it very clear that she considered herself far above all the others, and Robert wondered if she would experience any sort of change of heart in time. As he locked up the building and pocketed the key, he said a silent prayer, asking to know if he’d done the right thing. He felt peace and calm, despite his misgivings, and he knew that indeed, he had. The truth was hard to hear. Now he only hoped that he’d be able to hear his own truths and make the changes necessary in his own life.
The train whistle blew, signaling the arrival of yet another batch of passengers. Olivia would be busy for two hours at least, and he had a lunch appointment with the Thomas family. Then the second train would come. He made a firm resolve—he would be standing on the front steps of that hotel as soon as supper was cleared.
Chapter Eleven
“We’ll get your other two done this week,” Abigail promised as she studied Olivia’s new lavender dress, which hung on a peg in their room. After Olivia had bathed the night before, she’d rinsed the dress out as best as she could, but she didn’t know what could be done about it. It had taken on a greenish hue from the algae. She would wash it thoroughly the next day after they did the linens for the hotel, but she wasn’t holding out much hope.
“Thank you. It will be nice having a change from this pink.” Olivia smoothed down her skirt, quite tired of it. She’d never worn the same dress so frequently in all her life except for her work uniforms.
“But Mr. Perry hasn’t been to church, so he’s never seen you in that before,” Rachel pointed out from where she sat on her bed, her needlework spread out in front of her. She’d been trying to untangle a knot in her thread for the last five minutes.
“That’s true! Thank you, Rachel. That does take a load off my mind.” Olivia grabbed her hat and pinned it in place, then gathered up her reticule. “I do believe I’m ready to have a very pleasant buggy ride.”
“Just mind he stays on the road and doesn’t take any shortcuts,” Abigail cautioned, a twinkle in her eye.
“Of course.” Olivia gave a return grin and headed down the stairs.
When Mr. Perry pulled up a moment later, she was waiting. If he was the reason why she’d come to Topeka—that is, if there really was a grand design for everything—she couldn’t wait to learn all she could about him.
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“You look as lovely as a painting, Miss Markham,” Mr. Perry said as he took her arm to escort her to the carriage. She was glad to see it wasn’t the pastor’s this evening.
“Thank you. It’s quite a change from what I was wearing the last time you saw me, isn’t it? That reminds me—where shall I return the shawl you borrowed for me?”
“That belonged to Mrs. King.”
Olivia paused in the act of gathering her skirts to climb into the carriage. “Mrs. King lent you that shawl? Did you tell her why I needed it?”
“I told her you had taken a sudden chill and I was giving you a ride home. I assure you, I did not mention the pond or the pastor or any other such thing.”
Olivia couldn’t hold back her laugh of relief. “Thank you, Mr. Perry. You’ve saved me from more embarrassment than I can even explain.”
“I have sisters, Miss Markham, who have educated me in the ways women criticize each other when they’re of a mind to. Perhaps I do understand—at least a little bit.”
Mr. Perry guided the carriage down by the river, where he brought them to a halt and then pulled out a small basket. “My grandmother is one of the best cooks in the county, and she insisted that I raid her pantry,” he explained. “I have a vast assortment of cookies in here, most of them blue-ribbon winners from the fair, and you’re invited to try each and every flavor.”
“Oh, my goodness,” Olivia said, peeking inside. “I don’t think I could possibly eat that many. I’ll start with this one, though.”
They sat in the buggy for over an hour, talking and laughing, sampling the treats. As the sun began to descend, Mr. Perry looked at it regretfully. “I hate to bring this to a close, but I have an early meeting in the morning, and I’m only half prepared for it. May I call on you again, Miss Markham? Our local theatrical society is putting on a small play in a few days, and I would be delighted to escort you.”
“I’d like that very much,” Olivia replied. She hadn’t seen a play in months—it would be like cold lemonade on a hot afternoon.
“Then we shall plan on it.”
They chatted all the way back to the hotel. As they approached, Olivia saw someone sitting on the veranda. He was in shadow, so she couldn’t see who it was at first, but when they came to a stop, she identified him as Pastor Osbourne. She did not want to speak with him, but if he insisted on showing up, she might as well have it out with him and get it over with. The inevitable was just that—inevitable.
“Please tell your grandmother thank you for the cookies, Mr. Perry,” she said as she prepared to climb down. “They were all delicious.”
“Would you like me to stay for a bit? I noticed the pastor is here waiting for you—do you feel comfortable speaking with him?”
What a kind and generous offer. “I’m quite all right, thank you. He’ll be getting a piece of my mind and not the other way around this time.”
Mr. Perry laughed. “Very well, then. I’ll leave you to it. Have a good evening, and thank you again for coming out with me.”
“I enjoyed myself very much. Thank you for the invitation.”
Olivia stood in front of the hotel until Mr. Perry’s carriage was far out of sight. Then, exhaling with resignation, she turned and climbed the steps to the wraparound porch.
“Hello, Pastor,” she said as she walked toward him. “What brings you by this evening?”
He came to his feet, his hat in his hand. “I must speak with you, Miss Markham.”
Olivia remembered Miss Hampton’s comment from the night before. “Well, as there doesn’t seem to be a pond nearby, I suppose we could have a chat.”
He winced. “May we go for a stroll? I noticed that the hotel has some guests tonight, and privacy may be called for here.”
Olivia shrugged. “That’s all right with me, I suppose.”
She followed as he stepped off the porch and began to walk. He didn’t take the same route they had traveled the last time they walked together—instead, he turned toward the train station. There was precious little out that way—he must want privacy quite badly.
“My treatment of you was despicable,” he began. “It was rude and coarse, and I never should have done it. I’ve berated myself constantly ever since, and I want you to know how very sorry I am.”
Olivia glanced over at him. His voice had caught a bit as he spoke, and she could see the genuine remorse on his face. Was this even the same man?
“I’d like to tell you a story,” he continued before she could gather her thoughts enough to respond. “I expect that you’ll view me quite differently afterward, and I’ve even considered not telling you at all, but I strongly feel as though I must.”
“You’ve certainly made me curious,” Olivia replied, wondering what on earth he could possibly be getting ready to say.
Having fulfilled its duty for the day, the train station sat dark and quiet, and the pastor led her up the steps of the platform. They sat on the bench and looked out over the land, at the way the track curved as it disappeared into the horizon. Olivia had heard that the land to the west was even bleaker than it was here—she could hardly imagine it.
“I’ve been a pastor for the last five years,” he began. “It’s not a path I had ever envisioned for myself, though. In fact, when I was a boy, I wanted to own a saloon, like my father.”
Olivia blinked several times in utter surprise. “Your father owns a saloon?”
“That’s right. I grew up hearing tales of card games and fistfights—he talked like it was great fun. A saloon sounded like the most wonderful place on earth. When I got a little older, I went in to see for myself. Music, alcohol, pretty girls—it was everything I’d imagined, and more. I never wanted to leave, and pretty soon, my father had me running it with him. I did his errands, kept the place clean, and had a bit to drink from time to time. I honestly thought I was happy.”
“I can’t picture you in a place like that,” Olivia said, shaking her head. It was too much to comprehend.
“I’m glad. That means I’ve come a long way since those days.” He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees, his gaze focused on the prairie.
“So what made you change?” she asked, wondering if she even had a right to the question.
“The woman in charge of the saloon girls had a teenage daughter. Her name was Bess, and she was the prettiest thing I’d ever seen. I fell for her hard from the moment I first saw her. Living in the environment we did, I suppose it was natural that we would fall into some dangerous behaviors. You must understand, Miss Markham, that I knew nothing about religion at this point in my life. I’d heard of the Bible, but I’d certainly never read it, and its teachings were as foreign to me as any language spoken in the world. When I was seventeen and Bess was sixteen, she came to me and told me she was expecting my child.”
Olivia tried to mask her sharp intake of breath, but she couldn’t. That was the last thing she’d ever expected him to say when he’d invited her on this walk.
“I offered to marry her. In fact, I’d decided quite a while before that she was the girl I wanted for my wife, but her mother refused to let me wed her. I had taken after my father in a number of ways, including his temper. I’d hit Bess a couple of times over silly things, and her mother didn’t want her married to an abusive man. So she decided to send Bess to live with her aunt while she was in confinement. They told everyone that Bess was a young widow.”
Pastor Osbourne still stared out at the landscape, not meeting Olivia’s gaze at all. “His name is Johnny, and he’s seven years old now. Bess lets me see him once in a while, and she tells the neighbors that I’m Johnny’s uncle. Johnny . . . Johnny’s who made me change.”
Olivia finally found her voice enough to ask, “How?”
“Bess allowed me to come see him right after he was born. She was living about a hundred miles away, so I got on a train as soon as I could. When I held that little baby boy in my arms for the first time and looked down at his tiny face, somethin
g happened inside me. Something woke up and said, ‘This isn’t the life you’re meant to live.’ He was so pure, such a miracle—I couldn’t believe that someone as imperfect as I was could have helped create something so amazing.
“After I left Bess’s house, I walked toward the train station and saw a church along the way. Lights were on inside, so I entered and found an evening service being held. The sermon was about the grace of God and His power to forgive. I drank those words up like I’d never had a drop of water in my life. After the service, I spoke with the minister for hours. He helped me understand that in the Lord’s eyes and through grace, we’re never truly lost unless we choose to be, and that we’re the only things separating ourselves from Him. I made a commitment that day and completely changed all my ways. I quit working at the saloon, I stopped drinking, and I undertook a year-long study of the Bible, reading for hours each day.”
He finally sat back and glanced at Olivia. “After that year, I knew what I wanted to do—I wanted to share what I’d learned with others. And that put me on the path that brought me here.”
“What did your father say when you quit working at the saloon?”
He laughed, a bitter note in the sound. “I can’t repeat exactly what he said—it’s the Sabbath, you know. But he was none too pleased. I tell you all this, Miss Markham, so that when you speak of my living in an ivory tower, unable to understand the trials of the people around me, you’ll know that I actually understand them all too well. I was the drunk in the saloon. I was the gambler at the table. I was the boy flirting with the girl and doing her wrong. I was every unsavory character you could dream up in your imagination, and the Lord brought me out of all of it. He showed me a better way, changed my heart, and made me a different man.
A Clean Slate (Kansas Crossroads Book 4) Page 8