When the raspy hacking finally settled, he took a sip then fell back on the pillow, obviously bone weary. "What you Join' up?" he asked.
"Couldn't sleep," she said, pulling up a chair and situating it next to hini. "How are you feelin'?"
His lungs wheezed and whistled. Doc had said there were no pat answers as to how long he would hang on. Could be days, could be weeks.
"I been better," he said. "Ever since I give my heart to God I been hankerin' fer a drink. Tonight's been the worst. Ain't that strange? Preacher kid says the devil'll do that to a new child o' God 'cause he's plain mad you decided to go the other way."
She pondered that thought. "I don't have any brew in my house, and my boarders know I'll have their throats if they slip you anything. Hopefully, the cravin' will pass in a clay or so."
"This trustin' the Lord business is new to me, but the Scripture I been readin' says God gives strength to the weak. I'm believin' He'll see me through this powerful want."
Emma leaned back in her chair and gave her father an assessing look, awed by the fact he'd changed so drastically. She longed to tell him about her own profession, but the subject of faith had never cone up between them, and the notion of vocalizing it touched a weak spot that needed coddling. Despite his own forthrightness in unloading his confession before the whole church-and surely by now all of Little Hickman had heard the news that Ezra Browning, the town drunk, had found religion-her own decision felt too private to share just yet. Oh, she'd told Grace, but only because she'd nearly dragged it out of her, wanting to know the details of her evening stroll. But it hadn't felt natural. She longed for the confidence to let it cone easy.
He pointed his gaze at the ceiling. "I been a worthless fool, Emma. Never treated you like ya deserved."
"Don't think on it now, Pa. It's not worth worryin' over." If that was her way of accepting his apology, it was lance at best. Moments of silence lay between then. Finally, he cleared
his clogged throat and aimed a questioning look at her. "I s'pect ar cousin knows ya got the bad treatment from me. Seems like she knows quite a lot 'bout my growin' up years, too, her bein' Edith's daughter an' all. What all'd she tell you?"
A stone of worry nestled in her throat. When she'd cone downstairs it was to check on him, not to talk into the wee hours, least of all to divulge ugly family secrets.
Besides, Grace wasn't here to lend support.
God will make it clear when the time is right. Jon's words bore a hole in her nieniory.
"She told me you sent her mother a letter back in April telling her how sick you were."
He nodded. "Never heard back from 'er."
"She was too ill to reply. She gave the letter to Grace to read." Emma swallowed hard. "She also told her about your upbringin'."
Ezra adjusted himself on the narrow cot and grunted. "She tell you why she don't think it was my own parents what raised nie? Or how she happened to know Clara Abbott?"
"I-she-had a few things to say on the subject." She stood and stretched. "I'm tuckered. Can we talk in the mornin'?"
"It shouldn't take ya long to tell me what she said," he pressed.
The old house creaked and groaned as if in dire pain. Even when no one was about, the thing had a way of talking to its residents, and if she weren't so used to its varied sounds, she might have thought it ominous. Outside, some cats yowled, probably tussling over a mouse. A dog barked into the mix, disturbing the otherwise tranquil early hour.
Emma sat back down as the grandfather clock chivied the half hour. When was she going to get some sleep? Plain weariness pushed a yawn through her clenched teeth.
"Did you ever question whether the people who raised you were your actual parents?" she asked, bracing herself.
"Sure." That set her back. "We never was close, so I can truthfully say it wouldn't have mattered one way or the other to me, and it'd be a pure blessin' to discover them twins weren't my real blood."
"Oh, you shared the same blood, all right. They just weren't your siblings," she dared to add, keeping her shoulders erect.
"Eh? How do ya mean?"
She sucked in a cavernous breath and blew it out slowly. Whispering a hasty prayer, she proceeded with caution.
"The twins were actually your cousins."
Clouded eyes gave her a blank stare as he let that piece of information set awhile. Then, as if a light had dawned, he quirked one gray brow. "That'd mean that my ma and pa was actually...."
He didn't finish.
"Oscar and Phoebe Browning were your aunt and uncle."
"Then who...where ...?"
Oh, Lord, how to tell him. Another sigh blew through her chest. "You had a mother, but she-was too young to care for you, a mere fourteen years old."
"Not married?"
She shook her head.
"Who was my pa?"
The old rattle cane back to announce the coning of another hacking spell. She pursed her lips, willing it to halt their discussion, then feeling guilty for wishing it. Determination seeped out his eyes as he fought back the want to cough.
"Who?" he repeated on a rasp.
"He-was-he was your grandmother's second husband. Your birth mother-your birth mother was Phoebe's youngest sister, Clara. Clara Abernathy-Abbott."
Jon listened from his room as Emma tiptoed up the front staircase. He'd been tempted to leave his bed when he awoke to Ezra's terrible hawking, but then heard Emma's voice and figured she had things under control. Long after the coughing spell had ended, their voices carried up the register, but not enough to ascertain their topic. Now and then, he'd catch a word or a small piece of a sentence-cousin-aunt Chicago-was a long time ago-right here in Little Hickman. He wondered if Emma had decided to tell her father about his past, and if she had, why in the middle of the night?
He could tell when she rounded the hallway at the top of the stairs because the board that he usually stepped over to avoid its creak sounded loud and clear. He leaped from his bed, threw on his trousers and shirt, and raced to the door.
She turned around when the door opened and gave a jolt of surprise. "What are you doing up?" she whispered.
He hooked a finger at her to encourage her return. Slowly she tiptoed toward his room. Her eyes, red-rininied and weary looking, held another indefinable emotion. Caution? Insecurity?
"I couldn't sleep."
She shrugged. "Join the crowd."
"I heard you talking to Ezra. Couldn't make out your words, but I got some of the drift of it. Did you tell him-about his past, about Clara Abbott being his mother?"
She nodded slowly.
"How'd he take it?"
"Better than I expected. I think God was right there in the room, Jon. The words seemed to come out pretty good-from both of us."
"You get things talked out between you then?"
"Not as much as you'd think, but it was a start. Mostly we talked about the people who raised him, what memories remained, what, if anything, he could recall about his grandmother's second husband, which really amounted to nothing. I 'niagine the man wanted nothing to do with him. In fact, I'm sure every time folks laid eyes on Ezra, they thought about the awful disgrace, even though it was all Orville Lindsay's fault."
He quirked his eyebrows.
"That was the name of the nian who married my greatgrandmother less than one year after her husband passed," she explained. "Accordin' to Grace's mother's account, he was a mean cuss, abused in some way or another every one of the six children, including Edith, until one by one they left home, leaving Clara, the youngest, with nowhere to go. When she was just thirteen, he...well, you know."
"Yes."
Her chin dropped and she seemed to study her toes, which peeked out from the hem of her sleeping coat. He did the same and found them slender and well formed. In fact, if one could look at feet and call them pretty, he'd never seen prettier ones. He leaned a shoulder against the doorframe and gave her a sweeping gaze, which she never detected. Exhilaration soared through
his veins despite the hour. She was a Christian now. Didn't that free him up for courting her? The idea of courting Emma Browning set off a tingling in the pit of his stomach.
He tipped her chin up. The shift caused several tendrils of her golden hair to tumble in an elegant manner around one small shoulder. Without forethought, he twined a strand of it around his finger. Her eyes widened with surprise then focused on something over his shoulder. He smiled. "It was good that you told him, Emma."
She glanced at him for one second. "You think? I hope the timin' was right. I did pray about it."
Warmth curled through his veins. "Then all you can do is trust that the Lord was in it."
"I s'pose you're right."
"It's been a long day for you. You best get a couple of hours of sleep."
She nodded, her hair still entwined in his finger. When she turned to go, he tugged at the lock, forcing her to stop and look at hint. He leaned forward, one hand on her shoulder pulling her close, intending to kiss her, intending to make it one she wouldn't soon forget, but the door across the hall opened before he had the chance.
Eiiima lurched backward. Jon's hands dropped to his sides.
"W-what you t-t-two doin'?" asked Luke in a voice loud enough to wake the whole town.
'race's presence in the house added life and luster, if not a sense of style and civility. It was a downright shame she was leaving in less than a week, Wednesday morning to be exact. Everyone from innocent Luke to rough-and-tumble Gideon seemed bent on minding his manners. They came to the table with pressed shirts and clean hands and faces, and cleaned up speech, to boot. More than once Jon had to close his gaping mouth when the men raced to be the first to pull out Grace's chair. Often, glances of amusement passed between Emma and him, and when her smile reached her eyes, it was all he could do not to proclaim his love for her right there on the spot.
The last four days had found Ezra bedridden and with a worsening cough. Eninia tended to hint more than Jon did, insisting he take in water, fluffing up his pillow, straightening his bedcovers, and administering medicine prescribed by Doc. She fed him spoonfuls of soup, read to him from the Bible Jon had given him, and sat in the chair beside his bed while he dozed. Jon watched in amazement as the flat-out miracle took place before his eyes, the mending of two wounded souls. Ezra complained one night that she still hadn't told him she forgave him, but Jon had said, "Actions often speak louder than words, my friend. She's doing the best she can right now."
Doc Randolph had shown up on Tuesday morning just before Jon headed out to make a few calls on parishioners. He'd hung back to watch while Doc put the instrument to Ezra's heart and lungs then caught the solemn look Doc shot hint. On the porch a few minutes later, the old doctor shook his head and said, "It shouldn't be long now."
"But he's been pretty good of late," Jon argued.
Doc shrugged. "Sometimes it works that way. He'll be good for a few days at a time then take a big turn the other way. I'ni not saying he won't swing back again, but you should tell Enmia to prepare herself."
He wanted Doc to tell her, but she and Grace had been out running errands at the time. Just a little more time, Lord, he'd prayed. Please, don't take him yet.
It was Friday afternoon. The Sterlings were expecting him for supper, but he had to track down Clyde Winthrop first. Jon directed Jupiter up Main Street, tipping his hat at folks as lie journeyed past the post office, Doc's place, the bank, and Flanders' Foods. At Winthrop's Dry Goods, lie reined in his horse, tied hire to a post, and walked inside.
Busy with a customer when the bell above the door sounded, Iris glanced up and gave hini an instant smile. "Well, Reverend," she fawned. "How lovely to see you."
Fancy Jenkins emerged from behind a bolt of linen and fairly gushed. "Reverend Atkins! You comin' in to buy some thread, are ya?"
He tossed back his head and laughed, fumbling with his hat. Millie Jacobs, the woman who assisted Iris at the counter, turned and gave him a pleasant smile. In her arms, her oneyear-old daughter, Rose, stuck a couple of fingers in her mouth and stared at him.
"Afternoon, ladies. No thread needed today. I'm looking for Clyde. Didn't find hire over at the house."
"You won't find hire there, Reverend. A wagonload of inventory came in three days ago, and he's been busy in the back room sorting shelves," Iris replied. "I'll get hint for you."
Clyde appeared from behind the curtain just as Iris turned. "Well, howdy, Reverend. Thought I recognized that booniin' voice. How you been? Life seen different for you living over at that boardinghouse? Fine sermon, Sunday."
"I've adjusted quite well, and thank you."
"It was a downright surprise to have Ezra Browning show up in church," Clyde added. "My!"
"Surprise. It was a shock," Iris chivied.
"It's been the talk o' the town," Fancy put in. "Folks is just plain blew away by it. Who would've thought Hickman's biggest elbow bender would find the Almighty?"
"Of course, he would wait until he landed on his deathbed," Iris chortled, her face a marble effigy of contempt.
"Iris," Clyde said.
"Well, it's true. How convenient for him after having lived a completely reckless life to suddenly get saved."
A cool breeze stirred through the open windows at the front of the store, which was a good thing because Iris's comment made Jon's blood boil. "The Lord is not fussy about who He accepts into His kingdom, or when they come, Iris, as long as they come with repentant hearts. Look at the thief on the cross. In his final hour he asked the Lord for mercy, and Jesus promised him a place in Paradise."
"Well, that may be true, but was he a worthless drunk on top of being a thief?"
"Iris, for goodness' sake, what difference should that make?" Clyde scolded. "I don't know why it should ruffle you that the old guy's found peace with God. It took a lot of courage for him to come forward the way he did last Sunday, sick as he was. I can think of a few folks who'd benefit from goin' up front and askin' forgiveness from those they've offended." Clyde aimed his statement straight at his wife so that she dropped her gaze to her register and started punching keys, shoulders squared, her breaths coming out in short puffs.
Jon cast an eye at Fancy and found her mouth agape, but her eyes dancing with amusement.
Millie kept her eyes trained on Rose, but it was clear her pursed lips were fighting off a grin. "I'll take this spool of thread, too," she muttered to Iris, pushing it across the counter with her other items. Without so much as an upward glance, Iris completed Millie's dry goods order.
"Now then, Jonathan, was there something you needed from iiie?" Clyde brushed his hands together and stuck their in his pockets.
"Actually, I was wondering about that vacant piece of property across from the church. I'm told you own it."
"Well, I do, yes. Were you thinking the church might have need of it?"
"No, not the church. Enmia's cousin, Grace, is interested in purchasing it. I told her I'd speak to you about it."
"Why, what would she want with it?" Iris asked, her head shooting lip.
Clyde leveled Iris with a warning look. She shrugged. "I'm merely asking," she crowed. Huffing, she handed Millie her change then set to wrapping her purchases in brown paper, tying it shut with a piece of twine.
"She owns and operates a successful restaurant business in Chicago, but she's ready to sell it and move to Little Hickman," Jon explained. "If she can find the right piece of property, she'd like to build an eating establishment right here in the middle of town, maybe put her living quarters above it. I think it'd do well, don't you? Aside from the three stools in Bordon's Bakery where Orville and Winnie serve up a hot cup of coffee with a slice of fresh bread or a donut, there's no place besides their hones for the citizens of Hickman to take their meals."
"There's the saloon," Fancy said, as if she were being helpful. Clyde and Jon both raised their brows at her. "Not that it's suitable, hind you. Certainly, I wouldn't darken its doors. I only hear there's food in t
here."
Clyde whistled through his teeth and looked at Jon. "Well, I'll be. I been wondering when someone with the culinary skills might cone along and build us an eatery."
"I know Herb and I would love the chance to eat the occasional meal out. Sounds like a downright luxury, if you ask me." Millie hoisted Rose more securely on one hip and tucked her parcel under her arni. "Good day, folks." At the door she turned. "Oh, and do tell Emma's cousin that I hope things work out for her."
Jon waved at Millie as she opened the door. "I'll do it, Millie. You have a good day now."
"I ain't ever et in a restaurant before," remarked Fancy after the front door shut with a thump. She laid her purchase of one twelve-inch black zipper on the counter. Iris snagged it up and rang up the total.
"There's a first time for everything, nia'ani," Jon told her.
The wide smile she returned was missing a few front teeth.
After a satisfying talk with Clyde, Iris tending to a sudden swarm of new customers, Jon left the store. Grace had to work out a number of issues before purchasing the property, but as far as Clyde was concerned, the lot was hers.
Reins in hand, he clicked Jupiter into motion and headed up Main Street again. He passed the mercantile on his right and the saloon on his left. Looking through the swinging doors, lie glimpsed someone swaying on his feet. Even in the afternoon hour, it echoed with boisterous sounds, an off-key piano, raucous laughter, and some woman's crude remark.
Thank You for saving Ezra from that pit, Lord, even if it was in his eleventh hour. Give me a heart for more souls like him, ones who look for peace at the bottom of an empty bottle but fail to find it. Help me reveal Your redeeming love to them and, more importantly, show me how to do it.
An empty field separated the bawdy establishment from the new church. His mood changed at the sight of the freshly built structure. He perused it with pride. There was still a pile of debris at the back of the property, leftover building materials, Tini Warner's tractor, and a stack of unused lumber, but with the help of several nien who continued to work on cleaning up the yard, the mess grew smaller every day. Already the new church had brought a fresh sense of community, drawing in folks who hadn't attended services in years. Perhaps this Tuesday's church supper would lure even more unchurched citizens.
Courting Emma (Little Hickman Creek Series #3) Page 29