Bill stood as tall as his five and a half feet would allow. "I'ni the bank president."
"Oh, my!" Wonder blustered, looking abashed. His gaze slid over the crowd, whose gaping mouths and wide eyes revealed their keen attentiveness. "Well, that does pose a problem, folks. It seems your president is a shyster."
"Now, see here," Bill started.
"Mr. Whittaker, would you mind opening your jacket?"
"What's that?"
"Your jacket, sir. Just reach inside, if you don't mind, and check that inside pocket."
"Well, I don't see...."
"Just do it, Whittaker," someone from the crowd bellowed.
Bill Whittaker gaped at Wonder, but he did as told, stuck a hand inside his coat and reached into the chest pocket. When he drew out a card, the crowd gasped in amazement. But when he revealed it as the ten of spades, an even louder shriek skittered through the throng of disbelieving observers.
And it was right about then that Rose Marley fainted dead away.
Emma stood back from the supper table to give it one last inspection. With Mr. Wonder joining them for the next few days-or weeks-it would mean setting an extra place at the table and preparing a dab more for each meal. But, of course, it would also mean a bit more pocket change. And who couldn't use that?
Ever since the arrival of this magic man-or whatever name he'd given himself-Luke had not stopped talking about him. And when Luke talked fast, his stutter only worsened. She smiled to herself. Perhaps one day she would pay a visit to one of Billy Wonder's shows. As skeptical as she was about such things, hand trickery was an interesting phenomenon, and she'd heard from everybody that there was no finer magician. The medicinal aids he sold by the flaskful might be questionable, but, after all, he forced no one to purchase. If folks wanted to throw away their money on a bottle of syrup that claimed to heal a body of everything from arthritis to poor eyesight to kidney pain, then that was their problem.
"Something smells awfully fine down here," said a familiar voice. Her heart lurched crazily when she realized Jon Atkins had entered the dining room. She turned to give him a cordial greeting, but her breath caught at the sight of him. He was dressed quite smartly, as if he were about to go courting. Without thinking, she pushed several loose strands of hair back behind her ears. It'd been hours since she'd fashioned the thick bun at the top of her head and stuck a blue ribbon around it. And not only that; she had a gravy stain running down the front of her yellow blouse, one she'd tried to wash out but had only made worse by scrubbing. She pulled back her shoulders and studied him, though not too carefully lest he notice.
"We're... having gravy and meatballs with scalloped potatoes and corn," she replied, turning to straighten Charley Connors' cloth napkin. "And rhubarb pie for dessert. My rhubarb's straight from the garden."
"Hni. Sounds wonderful. Unfortunately, I've been invited elsewhere tonight. I only just realized that I forgot to tell you earlier. I hope I haven't inconvenienced you."
"What? No, that's fine." She hastened to walk around the table and remove his plate, fighting down deep-settled disappointment. She'd wanted him to help carry the conversation with their dinner guest.
"You sure?" he asked, sticking his hands behind his back. Out of the corner of her eye, she admired his fancy trousers and pale cotton shirt. His tanned, muscular arms made a fine contrast.
"Absolutely. Who's invited you for supper?" she asked, regretting her nosiness almost immediately.
"A new family that's just moved in down on Cream Ridge, just over the creek's bridge and not far from the Broughton's property line. I haven't even niet them yet myself. Heard there are four kids and a father. Apparently, the oldest girl acts as mother to the kids since their own died in that diphtheria outbreak last spring."
"I've heard of them. They come from Nicholasville. Fancy Jenkins met the oldest girl yesterday in Flanders' Foods. Said she's a pretty thing. The last name is-"
"Clayton," they both said simultaneously.
"That's it," Emma said, suddenly rattled. Was it because he looked so handsome and she didn't quite know how to act? Or was it that he'd been invited out for supper-and the cook was a pretty young lady? Fancy had said the girl looked to be in her early twenties with ink black hair and eyes the color of a summer sky. Of course, leave it to Fancy to keep everyone abreast of Little Hickman's happenings, big and small.
She couldn't help but wonder what had precipitated the invitation, particularly since Jon said he hadn't even niet the family yet.
"It was Reverend Miller who set up the invitation," Jon added, as if he'd read her mind. "Seems he's known this family for some time, used to pastor their church when he was out riding the circuit. He wants them to feel at home here in Hickman, so he figured my going out to their place for a meal and inviting them to Sunday services was a good start."
She nodded, remembering the upcoming community picnic day after tomorrow.
"How about you? Are you coming this Sunday?"
She'd been trying to decide that very thing when Lucy Fontaine had knocked on her door two days ago and asked her to donate a casserole for the potluck. She gave a slow nod. "I've been asked to bring a dish to pass, so I might better go to church."
One brow quirked with humor. "You make it sound like a death sentence. It won't be that bad, Emnia, I promise." His soft tone unnerved her.
"I'll keep that in mind." What would he think if lie knew she'd been reading from Clara Abbott's Bible every night before turning down her lamp-had even pondered the meaning of the verse "If ye shall ask anything in my name, I will do it"?
Jon glanced down and saw the extra place setting. "You expecting someone else for dinner?"
She noted a badly folded napkin and decided to redo it. "That character, Billy Wonder, will be takin' his evenin' meals with us," she said. "Soon as lie arrives in any town I guess he goes in search of a restaurant. Since I'm the closest thing to one, 'cept for the bakery, he asked if he could join us. I obliged." She replaced the refolded napkin.
He frowned. "You don't say. Well, I'd watch my step with that one."
She'd been about to ask him what he meant when the knocker on the front door sounded and Luke ushered their guest into the dining room.
"Madame," Billy greeted by way of a ceremoniously gallant bow, followed by his reaching for her hand and bringing it to his mouth for a tender kiss. The move so surprised Emma that it took a moment to register what he'd done. But when she felt his lingering hot breath leaving a damp spot on the upper part of her wrist, she quickly withdrew it, wiping it as discreetly as possible on the back of her skirt.
"Good evenin'-sir."
"Oh, please, Billy will do."
Jon chortled loudly. "She barely calls her closest friends by their first navies, Mr. Wonder."
"Oh, but I insist," he said, winking at Emma as if they were old acquaintances. "I'll simply not answer to anything else." At that, he surveyed his surroundings. "What a lovely old house. Such intricate carvings on that old grandfather clock in the foyer. Where may I ask did you come across it? And the piano-niy, what a fine piece. I'd ask to play it later-if I had a clue how to find middle C." He laughed at his own joke.
He continued scrutinizing the house. "Your paintings are quite grand, too. I'm assuming you must have inherited them-from a relative, perhaps-or maybe your own parents. At any rate, it's a lovely home. And the food." He put his hand to his flat belly and rubbed a circle. "Might I say your cooking nnzst be quite superb if the fine aromas coming from the kitchen are any indication?"
"She's a good cook, all right," Elliott Newman said, entering the dining room. "Haven't heard the supper announcement yet, but I'm assuming it's pretty near ready."
"Yes, Mr. Elliott. If you'd like, you can call the others in."
"I'll do it," Luke volunteered, turning his head and bellowing at full voice, "Everyone c-c-cone to the t-table. Now!"
An exasperated look crossed Elliott's face. "I don't think that's the sort of announce
ment Miss Emma was looking for, Luke."
Emma hid her smile with a lightly fisted hand as the boarders started trickling into the room.
Rather than apologize, Luke's eyes trailed over Billy with sheer adoration and fondness. "Can you sh-sh-show us some m-magic later?" he asked.
"Well, now, I bet I could find something up my sleeve, but what say we make the food disappear first?"
"Huh?" Luke asked, not getting the intended joke.
Billy laughed and turned his attention to Emma. "Where would you like me to sit, fair lady?"
Emma looked at the table. She could have had him take Jon's place, since he'd be absent this evening, but since the place setting was already directly to her right, she pointed. "You'll be sitting right next to nee, Billy," she replied, the first name unwittingly slipping out.
A great puff of air blew past Jon's nostrils, as if he'd just received the news that someone had stolen all his sermon notes. When she glanced at him, she found his expression pinched. Wasn't there something in the Good Book that warned against men of the cloth showing their wrath?
"Well, now, I consider that a place of honor," Billy cooed. "May I assist you?" At breakneck speed, he slid behind her and pulled out her chair.
Emma laughed. "I-thank you for that, but I'm not quite finished in the kitchen. Go ahead and take your seats-everyone.
Charley Connors was the first to sit, and the rest of them followed suit, no worries with any of them as to the proper protocol. Billy, however, remained behind her chair. "I'll wait for the lady to sit," he announced to the others.
Charley shrugged. "Suit yourself."
Flustered, Enema escaped to the kitchen, not surprised when Jon followed. "Doc was right; the guy's a shyster, a greasecoated snake," he spit in a whisper.
"Shh. I think he's charming."
"And I thought you weren't easily charmed."
He had her there. "And I thought you had a dinner (late."
"It's not a dinner date-as such."
"Well, no matter. You don't want to be late," she scolded, taking up the mashed potatoes in one hand and the gravy in the other. "That pretty young lady is probably even now sitting on pins and needles." Without meaning to, she let her cynical tone slip out.
He leaned into her. "Are you jealous?"
She glared at him. "What? That's the silliest thing I've heard since-since-those horseless carriage contraptions!
The comparison earned her a frosty glimmer. He gave the kitchen clock a frenzied look and blocked her passage. "You called him Billy."
She rolled her eyes. "That's his name."
"And Jon is mine," he rasped.
The desire to laugh nearly overtook her. "Well, ain't that a mercy. You're sounding more like a spoiled child than a minister of the Word."
"I am not!" lie hissed, his breath tickling the hairs around her temple.
She stared at him for a full ten seconds, forcing her lips to stop their trembling. Oh, if only she could smile, but with mere inches separating their stubborn faces, she dodged the impulse. What was this sudden battle of wills?
"I'ni merely suggesting it wouldn't kill you to call nie Jon once in a while."
Something melted at her core, and she felt herself caving. "Okay, Jon," she said. "Will you kindly step aside?"
Now his mouth curved upward, and the melting escalated. "Was that so hard?" he asked, moving out of her path.
She sighed. "I declare, for a preacher, you're not only a scamp, you're touchy, to boot."
When she returned to the kitchen for the remainder of the meal, she saw the back door slain shut.
1 y 9:55 a.m., five minutes before the start of the service, it was standing room only. Billy Wonder looked a trifle put out when he sauntered through the doors at 9:59 only to be ushered to a spot next to a back window along with several other latecomers.
Jon sat on the platform at the front of the schoolhouse while Bess Barrington played "Praise Him, Praise Him" on the school's donated upright as a prelude to worship, the buttons on his jacket nearly bursting with the joy of it all. Carl Hardy sat beside him looking equally gleeful, new hymnbook in hand. Some unidentified contributor had left several cartons of brand-new hymnals on the schoolhouse steps-and in the middle of the night, no less. All, the joys of humble, selfless giving, with no thought for recognition!
To add to his pleasure, there sat Emma, directly in the middle of the congregation, fifth row back, crammed in between young Lily Broughton and the rotund spinster, Esther Martin. It was a big step for her, coming to church, and he longed to tell her he was proud of her for doing it.
Thankfully, the schoolhouse fire had not touched the church benches, as they'd been stored in a shed at the back of the property. Every Saturday night like clockwork Harvey Coleson, Gerald Crunkle, Clyde Winthrop, and Tini Warner had shown up to push the school desks to the back of the room and haul in the benches. Of course, once the new church was in place, the new pews would remain stationary.
Jon had made a point to tell one of the ushers, Irwin Waggoner, to seat Clyde and Iris Winthrop in the front row. Iris would think of it as a position of honor, which was, of course, his purpose in putting them there. Not that he was into applepolishing, but a little couldn't hurt where Mrs. Winthrop was concerned.
Irv and Flossie Martin, faithful attendees, had visited literally every congregant's home to take up an offering on Clyde and Iris's behalf. Quite surprisingly, folks had come through in their spirit of giving, their contribution amounting to enough to buy the couple a fine dinner at the recently built Hotel Nicholas in Nicholasville and to hire a driver to get them there in his new folding-top, four-seated surrey. Jon doubted Clyde would consider such a gift the height of enjoyment, but Iris would nearly swoon at the thought, and that was what counted. He planned to present it to them along with a well-written letter of thanks composed by Liza Broughton and signed by the church council. Besides that, he would hand over a bouquet of roses straight from Flora Jarvis's garden that even now wafted a fine aroma from its hiding place behind the piano. All this would occur at the conclusion of the service.
Jon perused the rest of Little Hickman Community Church's eager assemblage. The Crunkles and Martins sat in the third row, and next to them was the entire Clayton family. Hannah, the oldest of the Claytons, had prepared a generous meal of thick chicken noodle soup, cornbread, and orange marmalade cake on Thursday night. Fancy Jenkins had been right when she'd said Hannah was a pretty little thing, but in Jon's estimation, she didn't hold a candle to Emma Browning. He gave himself another mental scolding. It was a fine fix he was in, finding himself attracted to a woman who had no interest in spiritual natters. But she was here, sitting in the fifth row, and shouldn't that count for something?
Behind the Claytons were the Haywards and the Jacobs, and then there were the Fontaines, Toni Averly, and Clarence and Mary Sterling. Even the Swains had shown up with their entire clan, including little Ernialine, who still sported a cast on an arm and a leg. Somehow, Fred had figured a way to carry her in and plop her into his lap in the front row beside the Winthrops, her broken leg sprouting forth like a young tree branch.
The service went well. The singing was heartfelt, Bess's piano playing masterful, the vocal solo by Anna Johnson not exactly polished, but at least above average, and his sermon, well, he supposed satisfactory, considering he'd taken less time than usual in his preparation for it. In the beginning, he'd intended to base his message on praise and thanksgiving, but mere days ago, the Spirit told him otherwise. And so his message centered on prayer.
"Unlike Billy Wonder, God's no magician," he'd stated during the course of his message, the remark gaining him a few snickers. Billy himself had looked tickled to have his name mentioned. "Does God still perform miracles? Of course. Does He always answer prayer? Yes! Are His answers consistent with our needs? Absolutely. But are the answers He provides always the ones we're looking for?" He'd paused for effect. "Not necessarily.
"God answers prayer ac
cording to His divine will and purpose for our lives. John 16:23 says, `Whatsoever ye shall ask the Father in my name, he will give it to you.'
"Did you get that, folks? Praying in Jesus' name is the key. However, it's not a magic formula; it is a plea that our petitions will align themselves with Jesus' perfect desires and that we will long to pray with this mind-set.
"Thus, the aim of prayer shouldn't be that we change God's mind about any given circumstance, but that we allow God to change ours.
"In short, His will becomes our will, and whatever the outcome, we find peace and assurance that He loves us and has our best interest in mind. That should be our prayer."
Among the congregation, he'd sensed a desire to know the mind of God, as if the Lord Himself had done the talking, a most humbling thought from Jon's perspective.
As for Emma Browning, he shouldn't have worried that she'd consider his sermon too heavy or too judgmental, or even too convicting. This wasn't about keeping Emma coni- fortable, he told himself; this was about simple obedience to the Father.
Besides, when he'd glanced at her midway through his sermon, she'd appeared intrigued.
"Miss Browning, sit by us!" young Lill Broughton called, her squealing voice loud enough to shatter glass. Emma laughed with glee at the sight of her bouncing up from her place on the picnic bench and sliding over to provide space for her to sit.
"Yes, do," invited Liza Broughton, waving her over. The entire family had perched themselves at one of the many makeshift tables built from sawhorses and long pieces of plywood and covered with tablecloths of various colors and patterns. Hard benches had been fashioned to fit each table. At first glance, the schoolyard resembled a huge patchwork quilt, augmented by myriads of Queen Anne's lace, goldenrod, and pink curled thistle growing wild in the field. It was picture perfect. Emma approached the Broughton's table, plate of food in one hand, tin cup of red punch in the other.
"Thank you, Lill," she said. "I was just wonderin' where I might sit."
Courting Emma (Little Hickman Creek Series #3) Page 13