Grace decided not to argue. She removed a note from the box and reached for a fresh scrapbook page. As she applied glue to the back of the note, something brushed against her legs. Assuming Mrs. Kirby had bumped her, she shifted her feet farther under her chair to give the older woman more room. But the brush came again, and Grace sent a peek under the table. A tabby cat with round yellow eyes peered up at her. She dropped the note and the glue brush and scooted away from the table.
“What’s the matter?” Mrs. Kirby gaped at Grace with eyes as round as the cat’s.
Grace pointed. “There…there’s a cat in here.” The biggest cat she’d ever seen. If it wasn’t for the diamond-shaped patch of white flowing from its face to its bib and a matching set of white mittens, she would have suspected the animal was a raccoon. The beast surely weighed more than twenty pounds.
Mrs. Kirby leaned sideways, looked under the table, then laughed. “Sammy-Cat, you old rascal. How did you sneak in here? I was sure I closed that pantry door.”
The cat sent up a purr loud enough to vibrate the furniture. He preened against the woman’s skirt while she stroked his fur.
Mrs. Kirby smiled at Grace. “You needn’t be alarmed about Sammy-Cat, my dear. He lives here with me.”
“You keep a cat in the house?” Aunt Wilhelmina would have never allowed an animal in her house. Grace didn’t know that anyone kept a pet in the house.
“Why, yes, I do.” She scratched the cat’s chin, and he rose up on his back legs with his chin high. “This sweet old boy came to me shortly after my husband, Sam, died—showed up on my back porch early one morning. Of course, you wouldn’t have recognized him as the same cat then. He was scrawny and weak and had the most pitiful meow. The way he looked at me, as if begging me to love him…” She shook her head, smiling fondly at the furry creature. “I was sure the good Lord had sent him to help ease my aching heart.”
Grace understood loneliness. After her parents died, she thought she would wither up and die, too. But God sent her to Uncle Philemon and Aunt Wilhelmina, and they had helped her. She couldn’t imagine a sickly cat filling the deep, aching void brought on by mourning.
“I nursed him back to health, and he’s repaid me by making sure no mice have helped themselves to the stores in my pantry for the past dozen years. Of course, he’s also repaid me in companionship. He’s such a friendly soul.”
The cat placed his front paws on Mrs. Kirby’s skirt and bumped her hand with his head. Grace’s lips twitched with the desire to smile. “I…I can see that he likes you.”
“As a matter of fact, Sammy-Cat coming to me is what gave me the idea of using this big house as a boardinghouse.” The cat purred and kneaded the woman’s thigh, his round gold eyes pinned on the woman’s face. She continued scratching his chin as she spoke. “I figured if a lonely cat could feel at home here, then why couldn’t lonely people? So I hung out a little sign making the empty bedrooms available, and I’ve enjoyed a steady flow of company ever since.”
Grace slid her chair close again. “Your boarders don’t mind sharing the house with a…a cat?”
“Of course not. Why, they all love him as much as I do. And I have to tell you, Grace, Sammy-Cat here has been a great help when it comes to deciding who to allow into my home. The only two people who made a fuss about this sweet boy turned out to be my most difficult boarders, ones who didn’t abide by my house rules and were negligent in paying their rent.” She cupped the cat’s chin and planted a kiss on his forehead where the white diamond peaked. “I don’t know how I’d manage without him. He’s my furry angel.”
Sammy-Cat crossed to Grace again and rubbed against her leg, purring. She slid her hand along his spine, amazed at the softness of his fur. He arched his back and she laughed. “All right, I’ll pet you some more.” She smiled at Mrs. Kirby. “He’s a nice cat.”
“He is. He seems to like you, too.”
The woman’s statement warmed Grace’s heart as much as the animal’s fur warmed her hand. She continued running her hand along the cat’s spine and smoothing the underside of his chin. His purr rewarded her efforts.
“You know, there’s a verse in Matthew—words spoken by Jesus Himself—that says ‘inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me.’ ” Mrs. Kirby spoke slowly, softly, with reverence.
Grace paused with her hand on Sammy-Cat’s fur and gazed at the older woman, transfixed by the tears winking in her gray-blue eyes.
“It’s a scripture I’ve tried to remember when I decide how to treat folks. Not that I’ve always succeeded. Some folks are ornerier than others, and sometimes they try my patience.” She cleared her throat, grimaced, and then continued. “But I think the good Lord smiles down on us when we choose not to turn a blind eye to someone’s need. Even if that someone is nothing more than a helpless creature in need of a little attention, like old Sammy-Cat here.”
Grace lowered her gaze to the cat again. He sat on his haunches and began washing one snow-white paw. His loud, rumbling purr continued.
“Grace?”
Intrigued by the cat using his paw to scrub his face, Grace didn’t respond.
“Grace?”
The insistence in Mrs. Kirby’s tone captured Grace’s attention. She shifted her gaze to the woman. “Yes, ma’am?”
Her gentle smile assured Grace she wasn’t offended. “May I ask you a question?”
“Of course.”
“On the topic of helping others…Do you think Sammy-Cat knew he was sick and needed help when he climbed up on my back porch and mewed at the door?”
Such an odd question. And it didn’t seem terribly important, yet Mrs. Kirby appeared very interested in Grace’s response. So she answered as honestly as she could. “I’m not sure a cat, even a fine cat like this one, would have the ability to realize he was ill. It was probably hunger that prompted him to cry at your door.”
“So he needed a certain kind of help, but he didn’t know that he needed it.”
The statement resembled a riddle. Grace shrugged. “I suppose.”
Mrs. Kirby nodded slowly. “Well, then, what about people? Do you think there are times when a person needs help but doesn’t realize it?”
Grace laughed softly. “Mrs. Kirby, why are you asking me this?”
The woman reached across the table and cradled Grace’s hand between both of hers. “Because, my dear, I’d like to offer some assistance you probably don’t even realize you need.”
Lafayette County, Missouri
Theo
After a week and a half of steady northward movement, Theo had traveled through five counties. According to the map in his pocket, only four more stood between him and the state of his birth. Thinking about crossing the border into Iowa made his stomach dance with eagerness. He patted Rosie’s neck. “Close, girl. We’re getting closer.”
He reached into the bag hanging from the saddle horn. He’d enjoyed a handful of dried apples as a midmorning snack ever since his stop in Stockton. He pulled out the last two withered slices. As he popped them into his mouth, worry descended. Last night he’d used the last of his cornmeal, and only a handful of dried beans and a small chunk of bacon remained in his pack. One more meal and he’d be out of food.
He scratched his chin, thinking, and grimaced at how much his beard itched. The first thing he’d do when he reached Iowa was find a barber and indulge in a shave and a haircut. But first he needed to figure out how to refill his food bags. As had become his habit over the days of travel, he mused aloud to Rosie.
“We already passed Warrensburg. We could go westerly for a bit. Marshall’s likely big enough we wouldn’t stick out enough for folks to remember us.”
Were his cousins tracking him? Even if Mr. Dorsey didn’t tell them that Theo was heading for Iowa, his cousins were bright enough to reason it out. He could hear Claight snorting, “ ’Course he’s headin’ to Iowa. Where else would Theo
go?” Were they closing in on him, or had he evaded them by staying off the main roads? He shuddered, thinking about what the fresh-out-of-prison men would do once they found him.
“Gotta not leave a trail, Rosie. That’s important.”
Veering off toward Marshall would add days to his journey and might make it easier for his cousins to catch up to him. Getting to Iowa as quick as possible was his best plan. He tapped Rosie with his heels. “C’mon, girl, north it is. If my map is right, we’ll get to Lexington before we have to cross the Missouri River.” Lexington was bigger than Marshall, a good city for a fellow not to be noticed too much. So he’d purchase supplies in Lexington, and then he’d hightail it across the river. Once he reached the opposite side of the state’s largest river, he’d feel a lot safer.
He urged Rosie into motion, and he guided her from the protection of a thick stand of blackjack oaks across a farmer’s field and to the main road. The air held a chill, but the sun beamed brightly, warming Theo’s head and shoulders. Shortly after noon he slipped off his heavy jacket and jammed it in his saddlebag. The smell of sweat and dust rose from his body, and he wrinkled his nose.
“I’m thinking when we reach the Missouri River, I’ll dive in and enjoy a good dunking. Can’t hardly stand myself.”
Rosie nickered, as if agreeing, and Theo laughed. Sometimes he thought the animal understood everything he said.
“Of course, this time of year, that water’ll be awful cold.”
The horse snorted.
“That sounded downright scornful, Rosie. Are you accusing me of trying to avoid a bath?” He patted her sleek neck. “Well, don’t you worry. I’ve washed in cold water before, and I won’t shy away from gettin’ clean. It’ll feel powerful good to get all this road dust off me.”
He clicked his tongue on his teeth, urging Rosie to pick up her pace, and he rode in silence for the next hours, keeping alert to other riders. Especially coming up behind him. But not until afternoon was on the cusp of fading into evening did he spot anyone else on the road. Up ahead a team of horses, moving at a snail’s pace, pulled a wagon. But no driver sat on the seat. Theo frowned. Had a farmer’s horses decided to take off on their own?
He gave Rosie a little nudge with his heels. “C’mon, girl, get up alongside that thing.” As he neared the wagon, a weak voice met his ears.
“Help me. Whoever is there, please…help me.”
Theo slid from Rosie’s back and ran in front of the wagon. He held up both arms, intoning, “Whoa, there. Whoa.” To his relief the horses stopped and let their heads hang low, as if glad for the chance to rest. Theo darted to the wagon. He gripped the top of the sideboard and heaved himself into the bed. His boots nearly landed on a well-dressed man’s bent knees.
The man lay on his side on a pile of plump bags, his arms gripping his middle. His blotched red face glistened with sweat. He turned an anguished look on Theo. “Thank God. My prayers have been answered. I need help, mister. I’m—” A groan cut off whatever else he planned to say.
Theo knelt beside the man. He didn’t need to touch him to know he burned with a fever. Did the fellow have something catching? Theo licked his dry lips. “W-what’s wrong?”
“Pain…Unbearable pain.”
So that’s why he held on to his belly.
A horrible grimace contorted the man’s face. “I need a doctor. Please, will you take me to a town? I was trying to get to Wellington, but—” He groaned again, then began to retch.
Theo jumped up and moved aside, helpless against the poor fellow’s sickness. He wanted to get this man some help, but Wellington was a small town. Folks there would remember a stranger bringing a sick man to town, and they’d be able to tell his cousins about him if asked. Guilt struck hard. He couldn’t be selfish and think about himself. Not when this man needed help quick. Then again, Wellington was so small it probably didn’t even have a doctor. Taking the man there would waste time.
The man now lay with his eyes closed and mouth slack, breathing shallow. But at least he wasn’t writhing in pain anymore.
Cringing against the foul smell of vomit, Theo knelt again. He touched the man’s shoulder. “Better doctorin’ will be found in Lexington. How about I take you to Lexington?”
The man’s eyelids quivered. He didn’t say a word.
Theo took his lack of argument as agreement. He jumped out of the wagon bed, tied Rosie’s reins to a metal ring on the back hatch of the wagon, and then climbed up on the wagon’s seat. He glanced into the back. The man’s red face had faded to white. Deathly white. Theo’s stomach rolled in fear.
He gripped the reins and slapped them down hard. “Get up there, you horses! We gotta get to Lexington fast.”
—
“My prayers have been answered.” The man’s words ran through Theo’s mind when he spotted a house on the southern edge of town with a shingle marked “Dr. Wollard” extending from the porch. Full dark had descended, but a trio of lanterns hung from hooks on the porch roof, guiding Theo up the lane.
He drew as close to the house as he could without parking on the porch and then yanked back on the reins. The horses neighed in complaint, but Theo couldn’t worry about the animals. He leaped to the hard ground, shocking his soles, and staggered to the porch, hollering as he went. “Doc! Doc! Need help out here!”
He banged his fist on the door, and before he could give a second whack, the door opened. A gray-haired man wearing a striped nightshirt peered at him through round spectacles. “What—”
“You the doc?”
The man flicked a look right and left and then nodded.
Theo grabbed a fistful of the man’s nightshirt and yanked him toward the wagon. “Got a sick man here. He’s in a bad way.”
“Can he walk?”
“No.”
The doctor rose up on tiptoe and peeked over the edge. He shook his head, his forehead furrowing. He took off for the house. “Lower that back hatch. I’ll fetch a stretcher, and you can help me carry him in.”
Theo paced while he waited, listening to the man occasionally moan or mutter. During their wild drive as Theo pushed the horses into a thundering gallop, the poor fellow had called out for grace more than a dozen times. Theo hoped God listened to those prayers. The man needed saving. But then again, so did Theo.
The front door flew open, and the doctor charged across the porch, dragging a stretcher made of poles and canvas. He swung one end of it toward Theo. “Grab hold. We’ll climb in the wagon, roll him onto this thing, and then carry him to the house. Does he have any broken bones?”
“I don’t know.” Theo climbed up behind the doctor and watched the older man kneel and begin running his fingers up and down the sick man’s frame. “He was moanin’ and askin’ for help. He said he was hurtin’ bad, and he kept holdin’ on to his belly.”
Doc Wollard shot a look at Theo, lantern light making the lenses of his spectacles form circles of blazing gold. “His belly, you say?”
Theo nodded.
The doctor pressed his hands on the man’s stomach. The fellow threw his head back and let out a sound so full of agony Theo flinched.
Wollard’s face turned grim. “Let’s get him inside.” He added under his breath, “Although I doubt there’s anything I can do.”
Theo broke out in a cold sweat. He helped the doc position the man on the stretcher, and then they slid him from the wagon bed. Bracing his arms to keep from bouncing the fellow, Theo trudged across the yard and up the porch steps. A woman, as gray haired as the doctor, with worry lines marching across her forehead, was holding the door open.
She silently followed them into the house and then up a short, narrow hallway to a small room. A bed covered by a white sheet filled the middle of the floor and a table cluttered with bottles, jars, and unfamiliar instruments was pushed into the corner. The clean, ready-for-use room comforted Theo. He’d come to the right place.
He and Doc Wollard lowered the stretcher on
to the bed. The woman touched Theo’s arm and pointed to the doorway. He nodded and scurried out. She snapped the door closed behind him, leaving him alone in the dimly lit hallway. He’d completed his gesture of goodwill, so he could leave now, but something rooted him to the stained wood floor. He recognized the something.
Guilt.
The doctor’s muttered comment—“I doubt there’s anything I can do”—stung. Had he made the wrong choice by taking the sick man to Lexington instead of the closer but smaller town? He’d convinced himself that better care waited in Lexington, but maybe selfishness—fear of being seen and recognized—was his real reason for choosing the bigger city. If his fears cost this man his life, how would he live with himself ?
He should go. There wasn’t anything he could do for that poor, sick man now. And staying for hours on end would make it more likely these people would remember him, could tell his cousins, “Yep, we saw him. You’re on the right track.” He took a step toward the door.
“You lily-livered coward…”
Uncle Smithers’s voice blasted in his memory, and Theo stopped as suddenly as if a tree had fallen across his path. He balled his hands into fists and gritted his teeth. The need to prove his uncle wrong rolled through him. Even if it meant facing Claight, Earl, and Wilton on the doctor’s front porch come morning, he’d stay put.
He’d seen a good-sized barn when he pulled onto the property. There should be room enough for Rosie and the man’s horses to bed down inside. He’d stay out in the barn, too. Dirty as he was, he shouldn’t spend time in the house. But he wouldn’t leave the doc’s place. Not until he knew whether the man would live or die.
Lexington, Missouri
Theo
Something bumped his leg. Theo rolled over and squinted upward. Doc Wollard stood nearby with two steaming mugs in his hands and a weary expression on his face. Long paths of sunlight poured through the barn windows. It must be eight or nine o’clock already. Theo sat up, embarrassment striking. How had he slept so long on his lumpy, scratchy bed of straw?
Grace and the Preacher Page 6