Aunt Miriam gave them a smile. “It is never right to argue about God, girls. He loves you both and desires that you come to Him willingly. He only wants the best for you.”
“Well, I don’t think God is the best for everyone.”
Abrianna was surprised to hear Militine say such a thing in front of her aunt. She looked to Aunt Miriam for confirmation of this being the most scandalous thing a person could say, but the older woman only nodded.
“That is a decision that you must make for yourself.” Aunt Miriam did the unthinkable and excused herself to oversee supper.
A protest rose in Abrianna’s throat, but Militine spoke before she could make her thoughts clear. “Aren’t you going to tell me how awful I am to think that way? Aren’t you going to try to force me to read the Bible and see where I will die for all eternity without accepting Jesus as my Savior?”
It was exactly what Abrianna had hoped her aunt would do, although it was a shock to hear Militine state it so unequivocally.
Aunt Miriam paused in the archway. “Child, Jesus came for all the world to be saved, but He already knew that many would reject Him. Even so, I cannot call to mind a single time when Jesus shared the love of His Father with someone and demanded they accept it. Even when a rich young man came to Him and asked what he needed to do to be saved, Jesus told him to sell all he had and follow Him. When the man walked away unwilling . . . Jesus let him go.”
It was true. Abrianna knew the story well. It vexed her to admit that perhaps she had caused more harm than good. It was clear that Militine was not nearly so offended by Aunt Miriam’s words as she had been with Abrianna’s.
“I won’t demand you listen to me nor will I argue the points of what I believe to be true in God’s Word,” Aunt Miriam concluded, “but I will pray for you.”
The two young women stood in silence for some time after Aunt Miriam’s departure. Militine seemed to be considering what the older woman had said, while Abrianna was dealing with her conscience. Would matters of spirit and heart ever be simple?
Thane Patton marched his checker piece all over the board, cleaning Wade’s meager showing off the board. “I think that’s enough for tonight, don’t you?”
Wade leaned back in his chair. “I suppose it better be, or I’ll owe you my entire stash of cookies. Thank goodness Miss Poisie thought to send me home with extra.”
Laughing, Thane picked up another of the oatmeal cookies and popped the entire thing into his mouth. The buttery sweetness met with his approval. He washed the cookie down with the last of his coffee. However, cookies didn’t fix the fact that he was unhappy with his job of mending boats for Davidson Taylor. Nor did it give him the raise that Mr. Taylor had refused.
“So have you decided what you’re going to do?”
Thane looked up from his cup and met Wade’s gaze. “I suppose I’ll just go on working as I always have. I don’t expect Mr. Taylor to understand my need for a raise. He doesn’t care that I intend to do more with my life than just mend boats.”
“Maybe they will hire you into a paid position at the fire department. After all, you did say they were doing more of that these days.”
“Yes, but you have to know someone to get those jobs. I might one day find a sponsor to help me get one of the lower positions, but that will still take time. This city has so much to do regarding fire safety, and it has little money to spare. The City Council has its hands full trying to figure out how to get a better water flow throughout the city.”
Thane pushed his hand back through his wavy red hair. He’d lived in Seattle for ten years and in all that time had worked for Mr. Taylor, learning to repair small sea craft. His real interest had changed, however, when one of the customers convinced him to become a volunteer fireman. There was something about working in that capacity that made him feel alive—worthwhile. Almost like the past would never matter, even if the truth were told.
Wade returned from pouring them both more coffee. “I read that the pressure isn’t enough to reach all of downtown. Sounds like a major problem waiting to happen.”
The protests had been many, and Thane had been known to raise his own concerns. “The wooden mains are too small and feed too many hydrants. That makes the water pressure unreliable. If there is more than one fire at a time, there is never enough water.” He got up and pulled on his coat. “You’d think being a harbor town would resolve all issues for extinguishing fires, but when the tide is out, there are very few streets from which the pumps can reach any substantial amount of water. It makes working as a volunteer fireman quite a questionable adventure.” He drank the lukewarm coffee in one gulp.
“I can see that.” Wade wrapped Thane’s winnings in a section of newspaper and handed the package over. “I’m just glad we have men like you on the force.”
Thane tucked the cookies under his coat. “Well, they won’t have me or anyone else for long if the council doesn’t figure out how to resolve some of these issues.”
He left Wade’s and started back to his small apartment not far from the docks. The cold air nipped at his bearded face. Maybe it was time to leave Seattle. Maybe go south. He’d heard great things about Portland and even San Francisco. The latter would surely always need another fireman.
He noticed a couple of old men hunkered over a small fire. They were wearing ragged clothes, and from the look of it hadn’t bothered to groom themselves in some time. Was that all that Thane had in store for his future? What about family? Surely there were happy ones out there somewhere.
“Hey, fella, got some change for a pint? Need a bottle to help ward off the cold,” one of the men said as he passed.
Thane handed him the only change he had. “Better to get a meal, friend.”
The old man smiled a mostly toothless grin. “Gin goes down easier. Thank ya kindly.”
Thane shrugged. It was the old man’s business what he did with the money . . . and with his life. Just as it was up to Thane to decide his own future. Unfortunately, the past weighed heavy against him, and he did well just to survive the present.
2
By Sunday Militine felt able to once again deal with church and the idea that God existed and cared for her well-being. There were certainly worse things to ponder, and today was a day of rest. There would be no tiresome cooking and sewing classes, nor studies on table settings and flower arrangements.
Abrianna arrived at her door just as Militine secured a warm wool bonnet. “Goodness, but it’s cold outside. I’m not looking forward to walking to church. Aunt Miriam told Aunt Poisie and Aunt Selma that the weather has given her a great determination to purchase one, possibly two, carriages.”
“That would be quite an expense. Carriages aren’t cheap. But I would prefer them to traipsing through the snow. I hope she will buy them immediately. As tiny as you are, you might well disappear in a snowdrift.”
Abrianna put a hand to her breast. “To ne’er be discovered until spring thaw.”
Militine smiled and pulled on her gloves. She seriously doubted her friend could keep quiet that long. “I suppose we shall just have to walk arm in arm and help keep each other warm. Shall we?”
Abrianna wrapped her hand around Militine’s. “We shall.”
Their sense of ease had returned, letting their previous argument about God wait for another day. Militine liked that about Abrianna. The young woman could get so very passionate about various subjects, but her love of those around her always helped to temper her outbursts. At least after the first two or three times.
Abrianna’s friendship meant a great deal, however. Militine had never had a friend before arriving at the school. Coming to Mrs. Madison’s had been an act of desperation, but surprisingly it had proved to be a blessing. But she doubted it would last.
As they did every Sunday, Wade Ackerman and Thane Patton arrived early to walk with the ladies to church. This had been a common practice for as long as Militine had been on the premises, and Abrianna declared it to have gone b
ack much further than that. Mrs. Madison and the other ladies considered it inappropriate for women to travel unescorted by a male. The city was a dangerous place, and unaccompanied females were asking for trouble, according to the matron of the bridal school. But Militine had found more danger from a violent-tempered father than the strangers in Seattle.
Abrianna once asked about her parents, and Militine hadn’t known how to respond. She could lie and say they were both dead, as Abrianna’s parents were, or she could tell the truth and risk someone learning about her past. The lie seemed easier.
“Come, ladies,” Mrs. Gibson directed. “Let us form a proper line for our sojourn.” Mrs. Gibson was a dear friend to Mrs. Madison and her sister, Miss Poisie. Together the trio kept the school running in an orderly fashion, training each student on the details of how to better prepare themselves for matrimony.
Mrs. Madison and Miss Poisie appeared bundled from head to toe in navy wool. “It is quite cold today, and with the snow there are bound to be accidents. I implore you to walk slowly and in pairs. Hold fast to one another so if one slips, the other may help her up, just as Ecclesiastes says.”
“Or both will end up on their backsides.” Abrianna was well known for her comments, and while she barely whispered this to Militine, Mrs. Madison’s frown made it clear she’d overheard.
“We will practice care,” Mrs. Madison stressed.
As they journeyed, Militine noticed the shoveled path. It didn’t go unnoticed by the older women.
“I suppose we have you two to thank,” Mrs. Madison said, looking to Wade and Thane.
They grinned and shrugged. “Might have been angelic beings making sure you could get to church on time,” Thane commented.
“Angelic beings, eh?” Mrs. Madison smiled. “Or decent young men. Either way, we are thankful.”
By the time they reached the small stone church, the girls around her were chatting and giggling up a storm as they did every Sunday, despite Mrs. Madison’s suggestion that the walk be spent in reflection and prayer. However, once they entered the church, the ladies were all respectful and silent. Militine followed the others inside and took her seat. Only a moment later one of the elders rose to the pulpit.
“I am sorry to say we have suffered a great loss in the life of the church. Pastor Klingle has gone home to be with the Lord.”
The old ladies of the Madison School gasped. “God rest his soul,” Miss Poisie declared.
“Amen,” Mrs. Gibson and Mrs. Madison murmured, their usual response to the younger woman’s blessing of the dead.
Gasps, sniffles, and whispered words were heard throughout the sanctuary. Militine exchanged a glance with Abrianna, whose expression suggested deep sorrow. She pulled a handkerchief out of her reticule and twisted it between her hands. Militine’s thoughts and emotions floundered. Should she say something? Perhaps wrap an arm around her friend? Abrianna and the old ladies had always spoken with great love for the aging pastor. No doubt this would hurt them deeply.
“We know our dear brother is in a much better place,” the elder continued, “however, our pain is certain. Pastor Klingle was a solid man of God who did much to lead this congregation in truth. We will miss him.” The man coughed as if to clear the emotion from his voice.
Militine glanced around the room. She felt uneasy with her own lack of emotion over such sad news.
“The funeral service is scheduled for Wednesday. I know we will each want to say our final good-byes. The church will be open at noon and the funeral held at three o’clock. That will give time to view the deceased prior to the service. The elders and deacons met and it was agreed to ask the Reverend Swanson from the Lutheran church to officiate at the service, as he and Pastor Klingle were the best of friends.”
Murmurs of approval traveled throughout the congregants. “The pastor will be buried beside his wife in the church graveyard. However, there will be no outdoor services due to the cold.”
After this another man led the congregation in several hymns and then they had a time of silent prayer before church was dismissed. Militine knew the loss of the pastor and the upcoming funeral would be the topic of discussion for the day. The older ladies of the church barely waited for the final amen before coming together to make plans for their part in the arrangements.
“I am grieved to the depths of my soul,” Abrianna declared. She had taken out a handkerchief shortly after the announcement, but only now did tears come. “I will sorely miss Pastor Klingle. I’ve known him all of my life. Why, there has never been another man in the pulpit while I’ve come to this church. How will we ever find anyone so kind and knowledgeable? The man was a paragon of godly love and wisdom.”
Wade joined them, Thane close on his heels. He patted Abrianna’s shoulder. “I know you’ll miss him. We all will. Pastor often came by the shop just to see how I was doing.”
She sniffed. “He was so good to help me with the friendless and old sailors. They trusted him, you know. But of course, who didn’t trust him?” Tears streamed down her cheeks.
Militine marveled at the sense of loss felt by the parishioners. Abrianna wasn’t the only one crying. Some of the men, pillars of the community and church, were also damp eyed. It was hard to understand the impact of one man upon so many.
Wade put his arm around Abrianna. “They’ll learn to rely on another. God will surely send us another pastor. It might take time, but trust can be earned. Right now we need to focus on what we can do to be useful to the church.”
“Of course.” Abrianna wiped her eyes. “I will endeavor to be brave and strong.”
“I’ve never known you to be anything else.”
Wade was right. Militine had never known Abrianna to be anything but a rock of strength. Maybe that was what troubled Militine at times. Abrianna seemed to have a clear understanding of how to face life’s challenges in a bold and sure manner. No doubt the redhead would declare this had everything to do with her faith in God.
Militine shrugged. Maybe it did.
“What was that for?” Thane asked.
Militine met his blue-eyed gaze. His handsome face rather startled her. “What?”
“You shrugged. I just wondered what that was for.”
“I don’t suppose it really matters. Sad thing for the pastor to die. I know there are many who will miss him.”
“But you aren’t one of them?”
“I don’t feel that I knew him all that well. After all, I’ve only been here a little over a year. Frankly, some of his sermons left me feeling . . .” She shook her head. When did she become so blunt and opinionated? “It’s not important. I won’t speak ill of the man. I’m sure he did his best.”
“But at times you felt God more a tyrannical judge than a loving Father? Someone to be avoided rather than embraced?”
She looked at Thane and marveled he could be so astute. “Why would you say that?”
He stroked his neatly trimmed red beard. “I don’t know. I guess I’ve seen something in your eyes—a look that reminds me of myself. Maybe that’s why I enjoy your company so much.”
Militine’s face grew hot. He enjoys my company? She wasn’t used to this kind of attention, and the few times Thane had singled her out for conversation at the receptions or dinners at the school, Militine had thought he was only being gentlemanly.
Mrs. Madison signaled to her ladies that it was time to depart, so there was no chance of pressing the matter. Militine fell into step beside the other silent women, her arm looped with Abrianna’s. Their attitudes were vastly different than on the journey there.
“But at times you felt God more a tyrannical judge than a loving Father? Someone to be avoided, rather than embraced?”
How very strange that Thane should so clearly speak her heart. Her own father was exactly as Thane suggested. Especially when it came to avoiding rather than embracing. She shuddered, almost feeling the blows of her father’s belt upon her back.
Coming to Seattle a year earlier had
been a risk for Militine. She had actually hoped to put a greater distance between her and the life she’d hoped to forget. Her father and mother had settled about sixty miles northeast of Vancouver some thirty years ago to set up a trading post. Her mother ran the post most days while her father trapped and journeyed out for supplies. Other children had been born to the couple, but only Militine had survived. Much to her father’s displeasure, for he saw little value in a daughter.
It hadn’t been easy to convince Mrs. Madison to take her on at the school. Apparently she liked to have references and detailed accounts of her students. Militine could offer neither. Finally she threw herself on the mercy of the elderly trio and begged for their help. She confessed a sad and tragic past that included the death of her mother and her father’s descent into alcohol. She hinted at the brutality she’d received but nothing more. They would have rejected her for certain had they known everything. As it was, they told her that there would be strict rules to adhere to and a great deal of work to accomplish. Militine agreed to do whatever was required, and it hadn’t been easy.
She knew that the purpose of the school was to teach household management skills to young ladies with the intent of making them better prospects for marriage. However, for Militine that had never been the reason for attending. The Madison Bridal School seemed the perfect place to hide, especially if you were a woman who had no intention of marrying. No one would have expected her to seek refuge in a place such as this.
Abrianna had let Militine know early on that the way to progress to the place where suitors were allowed to court you was to be accomplished in your various duties. There were lessons in etiquette and elocution, French, sewing, cooking, and of course household arranging and cleaning. Militine could hold her own at most of the basic things, but she didn’t want anyone to know, and early on had taken on the pretense of extreme clumsiness. This, coupled with her genuine lack of knowledge where etiquette and speaking were concerned, seemed to vex Mrs. Madison and her cohorts. She had heard them whisper that next to Abrianna, she was their greatest challenge.
Refining Fire Page 2