Courting Emma (Little Hickman Creek Series #3)

by Sharlene MacLaren

A light breeze picked up, creating a problem with her skirt, but she righted the situation when she set down her plate and cup and positioned herself next to Lill.

  Two crows swooped down in hopes of finding a few scraps of food on which to feast, but Ben shooed them off with a wave of his hand. "How have you been, Emma?" lie asked, little Molly on his knee stealing food from his plate, her fingers red and sticky. "Those boarders keeping you on your toes?"

  She took a sip of punch, dabbed her mouth with her napkin, and nodded. "I thank ya for askin'. I'm busy, all right, but I like it that way."

  Liza shook her head. "My goodness, I don't know how you do it, manage a houseful of men. I can barely keep one happy." She leaned into her husband and giggled.

  He plopped a kiss on the top of her head. "I do my best to make life difficult."

  "Do you like ar new school?" Lill asked, eager to change the topic to something of interest. "Ain't-um-isn't it just grand? I wonder who they'll get to teach us this fall. I hope it's Mrs. Barrington. She wants the job is what I heard. Course she won't be near as good as the teacher we had last year." Lill sent her stepmother an impish grin with twinkling eyes to match, causing the dimple in her lift cheek to spring forth.

  "Oh, silly Lill," Liza jibed, laughing off the compliment with an exaggerated flip of her wrist.

  "It's true," Lill argued. "You were a fun teacher. Then Papa went and married you, and you couldn't be our teacher anymore. Well, I mean, I'm glad he did and all, I wanted hint to, but-oh, you know what I mean."

  The adults laughed, seeing her predicament.

  "Actually, it was the school fire that kept her from finishing out the year, Lil," Ben clarified. "And it's this upcoming baby that's preventing her from going back to the job."

  All eyes except Molly's seemed to make a natural trail to Liza's rounded belly. As was typical with most pregnant women, Liza gently rubbed the mound while a tranquil smile appeared from nowhere.

  "Anyway, Lill," Emilia quickly inserted, "to get back to your earlier question about how I like the new school, I think it's positively wonderful. The menfolk did a fine job." She picked up her fork and started to dig into Iris Bergen's potato salad, actually strategizing which delectable item on her plate to try next Martha Atwater's mouthwatering strawberry concoction or Gladys Hayward's cheesy macaroni. Then there was Frances Baxter's meatball recipe, Mary Sterling's apple and raisin salad, and-

  "I helped!" Lill announced, interrupting Emma's absorption with her food choices.

  "Really!" Emma responded between chews. "What was your responsibility?" She took another sip of punch.

  "I held lots of boards for Papa so he could cut 'em straight. Well, and Reverend Atkins stood behind me and helped hold, right, Papa? Plus, I painted some of the wall. See that spot over there under the window?"

  Emma turned and strained to see the area Lill indicated with pointed finger, but instead of finding it, her eyes fell on the reverend himself. He was facing her, squeezed in tight right between a little boy and a young woman with flowing black hair! Across from him sat a middle-aged man and two more children, and the entire lot of then were laughing hysterically over something Jon had said, their boisterous mirth carrying across the yard. The new family Fancy Jenkins had mentioned, Emma silently ruled. It had to be, for she'd never seen any of them before. And from what she could tell, Fancy hadn't exaggerated when she'd clued her in about the oldest girl's fair looks. Why, even from a distance, anyone could see she was a beauty.

  "See it?" Lill was asking. "I painted that blue part around the window; well, just the bottom half."

  But Eninia barely heard the girl, so glued was she to the new family and its dinner companion. "Yes," she muttered. "I see it."

  "Ain't it nice?" A second slipped past. "Miss Browning?"

  Just then, Jon lifted his head and appeared to look straight at her, after which she quickly swung around on the bench and returned to her meal. Suddenly, for no distinct reason that she could determine, Martha's strawberry concoction didn't seen nearly so appetizing.

  "Nice that new family could make it today," Ben said, nodding in the direction from which she'd turned. Had he caught her watching them?

  "Oh, I agree," Liza said. "How sad about their mania's passing. It does appear they're all holding up well, though. They'll find acceptance here in Little Hickman, don't you think?"

  "Hicknian's a friendly place, I'll grant you that," Ben answered. "In fact, I believe Jon Atkins has been sitting close enough to that oldest girl to make her feel more than welcome."

  Was it her imagination, or had he intended that statement for her benefit? Even now, his laughing eyes seemed to be studying her reaction to it. Emma dug into her meal with single-minded determination, eating as though she hadn't seen food in weeks.

  "Oh, you!" Liza gave her husband a playful swat. "You mind your own business, Benjamin Broughton. Jon's the cordial sort. I declare, if a snake crawled under his feet about now, he'd find a way to welcome it."

  Everyone laughed, and even Eninia looked up and forced a flippant chuckle, feeble as it was.

  As the afternoon waned, Emma prepared to head home. In the end, she'd truly enjoyed herself, despite the glitch in her emotions when she'd discovered the preacher in the company of the lovely Clayton girl. It was such a silly thing, she brooded, caring with whom he chose to associate, as if she had the right. Ridiculous. In fact, the town council could vote to hang her before she'd ever admit to caring one iota what Jonathan Atkins did with his life or how he chose to live it.

  Still, she did catch herself spying on him from time to time, watching when he took his leave from the Claytons to mingle with the crowd, noting the way he showered everyone with affection and care, and witnessing his parishioners reciprocating his devotion. When the Claytons meandered back to their wagon, Jon ran to catch up with them, coming between Mr. Clayton and the pretty girl, resting his hand on Mr. Clayton's shoulder as they walked. Once at the wagon, they gathered in a little circle, and Jon bowed his head.

  My, but it took a great deal of time and energy to be a preacher, she decided.

  The Broughtons took their leave after little Molly fell asleep in her father's arms and Lill had fallen and skinned her knee while chasing some other children around the schoolhouse. The Callahans, with whom Emma had enjoyed chatting, left with their two sprouts shortly after Ben and Liza. Then, one by one, other families waved and shuffled off, dishes and youngsters in tow, horses and wagons waiting under shady trees. With a contented sigh, Emma made her way to the food table to collect her chicken casserole, the bowl scraped nearly clean.

  "So you're the one responsible for that tasty chicken recipe. I'd wondered if it night be yours when I saw the familiar dish." Before turning, she recognized the voice of Billy Wonder. He lifted his tall-crowned bowler hat and bowed ever so slightly.

  She smiled. "You guessed right."

  He was another one who'd made his rounds with the crowds today, but for different reasons than the preacher, she suspected. He looked dapper in his gray striped trousers, white shirt, Windsor tie, and charcoal gray vest, a matching frock coat hanging over one arm. By most standards, one would even consider him quite a fine-looking man-squareset jaw, wavy, dark hair, snappy, coffee-colored eyes, a pencil thin moustache, curled just so at the ends.

  Gathering up her large round container and wooden spoon, she politely remarked on the lovely day and the nice community picnic, while out of the corner of one eye, she glimpsed Jon heading in their direction.

  "Might I give you a lift back to the boardinghouse?" Billy hastened to ask. "I brought my wagon, as you can see." He'd parked the colorful rig and horses in plain view, for advertising purposes, no doubt, but it being Sunday and all, had refrained from selling his commodities or performing any trickery. Now, wouldn't that have created a stir with the proper Mrs. Winthrop had he tried to push his wares on the Lord's Day?

  "Well, I actually rode out with the Crunkles," she replied with some hesitation. "But I
told then I preferred to walk back."

  His thin, dark eyebrows drew into a frown. "But I insist. The road is much too dusty for walking, and with the afternoon sun beating down as it is, why, you'll be hotter than a chimney in December by the time you reach town. I won't take no for an answer."

  She thought about telling him she was accustomed to walking everywhere, but he looped his arm for her to take and waited.

  "Emma," Jon broke in, still a few yards away.

  In an impetuous act, she curled her arni through Mr. Wonder's then lifted her gaze to the approaching preacher. "Yes?"

  "I just wanted to say hello," he said, quite out of breath, his eyes focused briefly on the hand looped through Billy's arm. "To both of you, of course," he added, giving Mr. Wonder a quick glance. Strange how he didn't appear as eager to lavish Hickman's newest stranger with the same sociability he'd afforded everyone else that clay, in particular the Claytons and that lovely young woman.

  "Nice you could join us for services, Mr. Wonder."

  "Why, thank you, Reverend. I surely did enjoy myself," Billy replied, shifting his weight. "Even though my legs grew weary of standing."

  Jon's expression seemed less than sympathetic. "Well, that was unfortunate." He twisted his wide-brininied hat in his hands before turning his gaze on Emma. "Thank you for coming."

  He looked as well turned-out as Billy, but in a different way. Whereas Billy dressed to impress, with his expensive shirt and tie, neatly pressed pants, gold watch chain draped from his vest pocket, hair parted and greased back to perfection, Jon dressed to match his jaunty, happy-hearted self, his sandy hair flying free in the breeze. Yes, he'd worn a frock coat, matching pants, and a nice white shirt with a bowtie to services, but sometime today, he'd shed the coat and tie and rolled up his sleeves to reveal tanned arms. She liked that about him, his unconventional manner, the way he fit so comfortably in his own skin. Somehow, she couldn't picture Billy Wonder ever learning the art of relaxation, so great was his need to uphold his enchanting personality.

  "No thanks needed. I cane of my own accord, and I enjoyed your sermon," Enna responded.

  "You did?" He looked downright pleased.

  Strange how his sermon had come at a time when she'd been questioning the aspect of praying in Jesus' name. Coincidental even. And what he said had struck a chord of truth in her deepest parts, made her want to sit down one day soon and write the mysterious Grace Giles.

  His eyebrows arched in a questioning manner. "And what did you like about it?"

  Not prepared to comment, she took a second to respond. "I just found it interestin' is all, your idea about prayin' with the mind of God. Askin' for things in His name, but makin' His will be our will and all. I liked how you said it."

  He chuckled. "It all conies straight from the Word of God, Emma. I assure you it's not some notion I concocted. Christianity requires faith because parts of Scripture can be paradoxical."

  Para-zi'hat? Dared she tell him he'd stumped her with the word? Oh, she hated that he was so book-smart and she was such a-a bumblehead!

  Billy cleared his throat and clucked as if thoroughly bored. "Shall we go, Miss Emma? Sun's a beatin'."

  She allowed Billy to give her a nudge. "It was nice the way you honored the Winthrops," she said with a quick turn of the head. "I thought Iris was going to faint dead away from all that extra attention. Did you see how she sped up that fan on her face?"

  Jon gave a hearty laugh then rocked back on his heels. "She did appear delighted, didn't she? Can't say the same for poor Clyde. Course, he understands the importance of keeping Iris happy. If Iris ain't happy, ain't nobody happy." To this, he laughed harder, and she couldn't help the emergent giggle. Billy managed a weak smile, not knowing the infamous Iris Winthrop.

  "You do have a way with her." And with that pretty Clayton girl.

  He shrugged. "Just being myself."

  "Well, we'll see you back at the house."

  "Oh, don't plan on me for supper. I'm invited elsewhere."

  "Oh." She tried to cover her ridiculous disappointment. No doubt it was that Clayton girl who'd extended the invitation. How silly of her to have rambled on like that-as if they were on friendlier-than-normal terms. "Well then...."

  "We'll talk later," he assured her.

  Humph. She didn't need his assurance. Bucking up, she pointed her gaze at Billy. "Shall we go, then?"

  Billy sighed with pleasure and patted her hand, and together they walked to his gaudy, gussied-up rig.

  -6~ Y~(~

  onday was Jon's clay for making his rounds, visiting the sick and elderly, and calling on as many regulars as the day would allow. It was an overcast day, clammy and warns, and in the air there was a whisper of impending rain. Even the birds seemed less eager to move about, content to sit clustered on tree branches, chirping in a nervous sort of prattle, as if they were privy to something no one else could know.

  Jupiter seemed skittish and touchy, throwing his head at the slightest sound, watching his footing with fastidious vigilance. No doubt about it, a storm brewed in the distance. That's why he'd decided to visit old Ezra first. If a storm was going to hold him up later, he'd sooner be stuck with someone other than Ezra Browning again. Even the elderly widows Marley and Jacobsen, sisters who'd been living together for the past ten years, sounded more appealing. At least they kept their cupboards well stocked with plenty of sweets.

  Jon steered Jupiter down the trail toward the Browning farm. When he arrived, the goat greeted him, and the chickens came running. He climbed down from his horse and tossed the reins over the repaired hitching post, then sauntered up the narrow lane, shooing the chickens out of his way. So far, vandals had left the old man alone, and it even appeared by the look of the rose bushes Liza had planted on the north side of the house that he'd managed to get out and pull a few weeds. Would wonders never cease?

  He gave a light rap on the door and peered through the window, hearing Ezra's cough before noting his plodding shuffle to the door. Jon stepped back to wait for the door to swing open. When it did, he witnessed something different in the man's eyes. A hint of pleasure, a flash of jubilation? Sadly, the expression quickly died.

  "You again? What I got to do to convince ya to leave nie be?" he snapped, holding open the door and stepping back, neither inviting Jon in nor chasing hini away. Jon took it as a definite invitation. He grinned and walked inside. One day at a time, he told himself. Inasmuch as you have done it unto the least of these, my brethren, you have done it unto me. So You've said, Lord.

  He stayed for an hour, most of which passed with Ezra's coughing spells and bits of conversation. While they talked, Jon straightened the little shack as best he could, washed a few dishes, and scrubbed the table and tiny counter space. This time Ezra didn't question him as to why he'd cone, just watched and wheezed, stubby fingers tapping away at the table.

  "Haven't seen you in town for a while, Ezra," Jon said, finishing what he could around the place and deciding to sit for a spell before heading out. His next stop would be Clarence and Mary Sterling's neat little farm. Would she have any of her oatmeal raisin cookies on hand? "You still working at the saloon?" Ever since the drunken episode on the Fourth of July, there'd been little noise from him. Were his prayers working?

  "Sure. Jus' not as often, that's all. I got -1 ain't uh...."

  Jon waited before deciding to prod, edging forward on his chair. "You ain't what?" he ventured to ask.

  Ezra shook his head and shot Jon a mocking smile. His filthy fingers tapped a little faster. It was clear he had something to say, but whether he would was another matter. "I go when I can," he finally conceded.

  "Meaning some clays you're not well enough?"

  A siniple nod was all he got in return.

  "Have you gone to see the doc? He might be able to give you something for that cough. It's a nasty one. Seems to nie you've been fighting it for some time now. Might not hurt to-"

  "Yer a nosy cuss, ain't ya?" Ezra blurted
. But even as he said it, Jon detected a faint teasing. "I never asked ya to start comin' out here, preacher kid. And it still ain't clear to me why ya do."

  Jon sighed. "I'm sure you won't believe this, Ezra, but I enjoy our friendship."

  Refusing to acknowledge his remark, Ezra sniffed and took out a thin piece of rice paper from his front shirt pocket along with a small, round container of tobacco, then set about to create a cigarette, his fingers so shaky he could barely make them operate.

  "I've heard those things aren't good for your lungs," Jon remarked, somewhat fascinated as Ezra creased the paper then laid it flat on the table. With trembling movements, he poured a dense line of tobacco down the middle of the paper.

  "Too late fer worryin' about that," he said with a snort, a sad, disparaging tone sneaking in to mix with the cynical. After a hearty attempt to roll the tiny paper, it slipped from his grasp, spilling on the table. Frustrated, he shoved the entire contents to the floor with a flip of his wrist and leaned back, breathless and weary eyed. "Can't even make my own cigarettes anymore."

  Lord, help me reveal Your love to this man. Somehow, help him spot Your light in the midst of his dark, hopeless world.

  "You see niy girl much?"

  The question set Jon back. "Emma? Sure, I see her every day. She's a fine cook and good housekeeper, takes her job very seriously." Prettiest girl in town.

  "She cone out here the other clay."

  Jon's spine went straight as a pin. "She did? Well, that's good news, right? Did you two have a nice visit?"

  Lord, I've been praying for this, praying that You'd start to mend this broken relationship before its too late.

  A huffing sound spilled out. "Don't know as you'd call it that. It weren't a social call, but she did wind up stayin' awhile. Even cleaned up my place-like old times. Wanted to know if I knew someone who's been sendin' 'er letters. Course, I couldn't help her any. I only know one person from Chicago and it ain't the name she give Inc."

  "What nave did she give you-if I nay ask?"

  "Don't 'nieniber now."