“Here. This should chase the sleep from your eyes.” The doctor offered one of the mugs.
Theo took it with a sheepish nod. “Thank you, sir.” He stuck his nose over the mug, savoring the rich scent rising from the black liquid.
Doc Wollard squatted next to Theo. “About your friend…”
“He isn’t my friend. To be honest with you, I just came upon him on the road yesterday afternoon. He looked in a bad way an’ said he needed doctorin’. So I brought him to you.”
A deep frown carved furrows in the man’s brow. “You aren’t acquainted with him at all?”
Theo shrugged. “No, sir. He’s just a traveler, like myself.” Only cleaner. And with more belongings to his name. He took a sip. “How’s he doin’?”
“He died about an hour ago.”
The coffee lost its appeal. Theo lowered the mug and swallowed hard. “He—he died?” Although the man had been a stranger, a sense of loss settled over him. He hated death, had already seen too much of it in his lifetime. He hung his head. “Wish I’d found him sooner. Wish I could’ve got him here quicker.”
“Wouldn’t have mattered.”
Theo sent a sharp look at the doctor.
“His appendix ruptured, probably hours before you found him. Once that happens…” He sighed and shook his head, his eyes sad. “Death is almost always a surety.”
“But if I’d come upon him sooner—”
“Aren’t you listening to me?” Doc Wollard plopped his hand on Theo’s shoulder. “He’d had gut pain for days and ignored it, thinking it was just worry about moving to a new town and taking up his first job as a preacher. He made the wrong choice, and that’s all there is to it. At least you tried to get help, didn’t leave him to die alone on the road. You were his good Samaritan.”
In the far recesses of his brain, Theo recalled Granny Iva reading him a story about a wounded man and the one who carted him to help. If he remembered rightly, the rescuer paid for the wounded man’s care. He gulped. “I…I’m not sure I have enough money to pay you for tending to him.”
The doctor stood, his knees cracking as he straightened. “It’s all right. He had my wife bring in one of his bags, and he told her to take my fee from his purse. He knew he was dying, and he didn’t want to leave this earth beholden to anybody. Seemed to be a very honorable man.” His gaze roved across Theo from head to toe. “And it seems to me you could use a bath and a change of clothes. Maybe a good breakfast.”
Theo pushed to his feet, careful not to spill a drop of the now-lukewarm coffee. He’d drink it even cold, and he’d let it be his breakfast. No sense in troubling this kindly doctor and his wife any further. “Thank you, sir, but I need to get on the road.”
He scowled. “Are you an outlaw?”
Theo looked the man square in the face so there’d be no question about his sincerity. “No, sir.”
The doctor nodded. “I didn’t think so. As I told my missus, an outlaw would’ve just robbed the poor fellow and left him. But your, er, scruffy appearance had her a little worried. If you don’t mind bathing out here in the barn, I’ll fetch the tub. You’ll have to fill it yourself, though. I need to see to the deceased.”
Theo grimaced. He didn’t envy the doctor’s task.
“Once you’re clean, you’re welcome to make use of my razor and shaving soap, too, before you sit down at the table for some eggs and ham.”
Theo scratched his scraggly chin, tempted. “I don’t want to be a bother.”
“It’s the least we can do to repay you for trying to save Mr. Dille’s life.”
Theo shivered even though the barn was plenty warm. “Mr. Dille? Is that—I mean, was that his name?”
“Rufus Dille, twenty-five years old, fresh out of preacher training in Bowling Green.” The doctor set his lips in a grim line, his narrowed gaze pinned on Theo. “He talked and talked between bouts of pain, like he needed to get everything important said to somebody before he passed.”
Theo would never forget Granny Iva’s last day on the earth. She didn’t speak a word no matter how many times he poked her and patted her and tried to get her to open her eyes and talk to him. But Granny Iva had been old—much older than Rufus Dille. Maybe all she’d needed to say was already said by then.
“My missus wrote as much of it on a pad of paper as she could. Some of it I’d like to tell you while you eat breakfast, if you don’t mind.”
“Why?”
A sad smile curved the doctor’s lips. “I’ll explain that later. Get yourself bathed, shave off those whiskers, and put on some clean clothes.”
Theo glanced down his own length. He’d already swapped out his clothes twice. “Well, I’ll gladly take the bath an’ put the razor to my face, but I don’t have anything clean left in my pack. I planned to wash my clothes when I got to the Missouri River.”
Doc Wollard headed for the barn’s wide doorway. “I’ll bring you some of Mr. Dille’s clothes.”
Wear a dead man’s clothes? Theo went hot, then cold. He hadn’t even gotten into his cousins’ things while they were in prison. “But—”
The man aimed a look over his shoulder. “It’s what he wanted—told the missus and me to make sure we gave you his clothes. We assumed it was because the two of you were friends, but I’m thinking now he wanted to repay you for helping him.”
Theo didn’t want any pay for finding the man too late. “But I—”
“Come with me so I can show you where to draw water for your bath and lend you my shaving things. We’ll talk while you eat.”
The prospect of a hot breakfast stole the last of Theo’s resolve. He nodded and followed the doctor.
Fairland, Kansas
Grace
Thursday morning Grace barely had time to unlock the post office’s front door and put her shawl and small reticule on their hooks before her first customer arrived. She swallowed a groan when she recognized Mrs. Perry. Uncle Philemon often chided her for her un-Christian feelings about the woman, but the outspoken milliner brought out all her insecurities.
She forced a smile and cheery tone. “Good morning, Mrs. Perry. How can I help you today?”
Mrs. Perry placed an envelope on the counter with as much flare as a king bestowing honor on a knight. “Postage, please, for a letter to Boston.”
Grace opened the stamps drawer and withdrew a three-cent stamp with George Washington’s image on its face. While she applied glue to the back of the stamp, Mrs. Perry kept up a stream of one-sided conversation.
“I’m sending my nieces another order for collars. I want two dozen this time. My lands, those frilly pieces have gained popularity! Before long every woman in town will be wearing a Perry collar on her Sunday dress. And why not? The collars are lovely, of course, but mostly they’re such an affordable way to add a bit of beauty and femininity to the most drab and dreary frock.”
Grace didn’t look up to find out if the woman was frowning at the gray dress she’d donned that morning.
“If my reckoning is correct, there’s only one more week until Reverend Dille arrives in Fairland. Am I right, Grace?”
A flutter of excitement tickled Grace’s chest, but she tamped it down. Last night while working on more pages for Uncle Philemon’s remembrance book, Mrs. Kirby had mentioned that gossip fires were blazing about the likelihood of Grace and the new preacher hitching up as soon as he arrived in town. Mrs. Perry loved stoking the fire, and Grace didn’t want to give her fuel.
She pressed her thumb to the stamp, wishing she could clamp it on the milliner’s tongue instead. “Yes, ma’am, you’re right. Six or seven more days, depending on road conditions.” A giggle tried to escape, and she cleared her throat to cover it. If her voice wouldn’t quaver each time she spoke of Rufus’s imminent arrival, perhaps the gossipers would lose their interest in using her for fodder.
Mrs. Perry’s expression turned knowing. She tilted her head, giving Grace a careful perusal. “I see
you’ve changed your hairstyle. I’m so flattered you took my advice.”
She wouldn’t have if Mrs. Kirby hadn’t suggested it, but how could she refuse the dear woman when she spoke so sweetly and earnestly? She twirled a strand falling in a soft coil along her neck, a habit she’d picked up in the last few days. “Mrs. Kirby helped me.”
Mrs. Perry beamed. “I’m so glad. Why, loosening some of those pins and giving your natural waves the freedom to show has done wonders for bringing your ears out of prominence.”
Grace’s ears heated. She battled an urge to cover them. Partly to hide them, partly to shield herself from what the woman might say next.
“Now you be sure and come to the shop in the next few days and choose a hat and a frilly collar. I’ve already sold a fair number of my new spring bonnets, but there’s still a nice selection. I’m sure we can find something to pretty you right up. A girl can never do too much primping to let her gentleman friend know how much she wants to please him.” With a little finger wave, she flounced out the door.
Grace sagged against the counter, releasing a deep sigh. Each day that passed, bringing her closer to meeting Rufus face-to-face, increased the tumultuous dance of anticipation in her chest. But thanks to Mrs. Perry’s comments, worry now rose in equal measure. During their weeks of letter writing, she’d formed an image in her mind of how Rufus looked. She’d confided in Mrs. Kirby, who agreed the picture Grace had painted in her imagination was one that would appeal to any young woman. But then she took Grace’s hand and spoke earnestly.
“It’s a fine thing to dream, my dear. But be careful you don’t build up such a fanciful dream no one can complete it. Rufus Dille is a flesh-and-bone man, not a character from a storybook. It wouldn’t be fair to him—or to you!—to build him up to something so perfect the real version falls flat and leaves you dismayed and him rejected. I’ve never met a perfect man, not even my Sam. But even an imperfect man has the ability to steal a woman’s heart and make her ache with happiness.”
Grace appreciated the older woman’s wise counsel, and she’d spent time in prayer last night, asking God to help her be realistic in her expectations. So why did the image persist in the fringes of her mind? Perhaps God wasn’t interested in answering prayers pertaining to whimsical daydreams.
She chewed her lip, frowning. Did men engage in fanciful musings, too? Somehow she doubted it, based on her observation of the boys with whom she’d attended school. They all seemed firmly grounded in reality, scorning the girls for swooning over tender heroes in romantic stories found in periodicals. In all likelihood Rufus would arrive in Fairland carrying no preconceived notions of her appearance. Dare she hope he would take one look at her, be instantly smitten, and do his utmost to steal her heart so she would have the opportunity to ache with happiness?
Dear Lord, please—
She huffed, ending the prayer. God would begin to think she was a complete ninny if she continued to regale Him with pleas concerning Rufus Dille. She should be focused instead on her duties as postmistress.
She turned to place Mrs. Perry’s letter in the outgoing box, and she caught a glimpse of her reflection in the window. Despite her determination to return to work, she froze, unable to turn away. Even as a giddy schoolgirl noticing boys for the first time, she hadn’t spent hours in front of a mirror examining herself, the way many of her friends had done. Uncle Philemon and Aunt Wilhelmina raised her to believe that inner beauty, a quiet and gentle spirit, was more important than outward appearance because God looked on the heart. She’d always strived to be the kind of woman who would please her heavenly Father.
In that moment, however, she wanted to see herself the way Rufus might. The new hairstyle—parted in the center and brushed gently into a looser bun from which a few waving strands escaped—seemed foreign after the years of slicking her hair back as tightly as possible. But she agreed with Mrs. Kirby. She looked younger and more carefree.
She touched the plain, round neckline of her simple dress. Would one of the tatted-lace collars from Mrs. Perry’s shop transform the drab gray frock into something appealing? Her focus drifted to the wavy tendril of hair lying along her collarbone. She fingered the strand, allowing herself to explore its silky texture, to admire the way it bounced back into a lazy spiral when she tugged it straight and then released it.
She took a step closer to the window, moving directly into a band of sunlight. Her hair changed from brown to burnished bronze. She frowned. Why couldn’t she have gold hair? In school the boys always crowded around Abigail Beeler, the girl with hair as yellow as a daffodil’s petal. Abigail was the first of Grace’s friends to marry after being pursued by half a dozen young men.
Jealousy pricked her, and she turned away from her image before the emotion grew to the point of coveting. Aunt Wilhelmina did not approve of covetousness.
She organized the stamps drawer, an unnecessary task, as it was never out of order. Mrs. Kirby said she had pretty hair, and Uncle Philemon said a woman’s hair was her crowning glory. If her hair couldn’t be a glorious shade of daffodil yellow, at least it was thick and wavy and fell almost to her waist when released from its pins. She sneaked another peek at the window, seeking her reflection, but all she saw was the red brick wall of Hicks Feed & Seed across the street.
Disappointment momentarily sagged her shoulders, but then she straightened her spine and smacked the drawer shut. Why was she engaging in such a useless, frivolous, self-centered activity? Hadn’t she been taught to think of others before herself ?
“But I am thinking of someone else…” Grace relaxed her stiff frame and leaned lightly against the counter. “I’m thinking of Rufus. Of pleasing Rufus.” She steepled her hands and touched her fingers to her quivering lips. Would he find her pleasing? How she longed to see approval in his eyes when they met hers for the first time.
The familiar flutter of mingled eagerness and nervousness danced through her frame. Six more days. Or perhaps seven. But soon, very soon, she would meet Rufus. Then all her imaginings and suppositions would come to an end, and she would know.
Lexington, Missouri
Theo
Theo pushed his empty plate aside and took a quick peek out the window. Impatience made him fidget. The sun was climbing—midmorning already. He needed to be on his way, but Doc Wollard still hadn’t returned from doing whatever needed doing for poor Reverend Dille. And Mrs. Wollard, even though she stayed close and kept his coffee cup filled, hadn’t spoken a word the whole time he ate.
He shouldn’t complain. Sitting in this good-smelling kitchen with his belly full, freshly bathed and clean shaven, wearing a dust-free pair of trousers and a striped shirt, he had no reason to grumble. Except for wanting to saddle Rosie and get himself to Iowa.
Footsteps clumped up the hallway. Mrs. Wollard turned toward the doorway, as alert as a prairie dog watching for hawks. The moment Doc Wollard stepped into the room, she bustled over and set a fresh cup of coffee on the table. With a smile the doctor slid into a seat and took a long draw of the brew. His wife rubbed his shoulders and leaned down to brush a kiss on his temple. He tipped his head, offering her a tired smile and a nod that Theo recognized as a silent thank-you. The woman returned it with a smile of her own and then scurried to the wash pan.
A funny feeling settled in Theo’s chest. Had Pappaw Burl and Granny Iva acted that way together—affectionate and comfortable, communicating without words? Theo was so young, not yet five, when Pappaw died, so he couldn’t remember much. The way Granny Iva talked about Pappaw, though, there was no doubt she loved him. So he must have been a good man. A loving man. Different from Uncle Smithers. Theo wasn’t even sure Aunt Lula liked Uncle Smithers. If Theo was lucky enough to get himself a wife someday, he hoped they’d be at ease together the way the doc and his wife were.
The doctor sipped the coffee, looking at Theo over the rim of the mug. “It appears to me those clothes fit you just right.”
“Yes, sir.” The shirt was a bit snug, but he’d been able to fasten the buttons. If he’d been given these clothes a month ago, they wouldn’t have fit. He’d lost some weight on the trail, part from worry and part from rationing his food to make it last longer. Theo rubbed his hands up and down the shirt front. “Nicest clothes I’ve ever had. Just wish…”
The doctor nodded, as if reading Theo’s unspoken thought. He put the mug on the table. “Did Nettie share what Mr. Dille told us?”
“No, sir.”
Mrs. Wollard glanced over her shoulder. “I didn’t tell him anything, Virgil. Waited on you.”
Dr. Wollard shifted in his chair, seeming to settle in for a long talk. “Well, Mr. Dille told Nettie and me that he was on his way to a little town in Kansas—name of Fairland.”
“Fairland.” Theo sampled the name. It had a nice ring to it. “Never heard of it.”
“Me neither until last night. Mr. Dille told us he was going there to preach, taking over for an older minister who wants to put the pulpit in younger hands. According to Mr. Dille, the whole town was preparing for his arrival, had even arranged a place for him to live. He’d written lots of letters to the current preacher’s niece, and even though he didn’t come right out and say so, I think he had some fond feelings for the woman.”
Theo listened out of respect, although he couldn’t figure out why the doctor thought he needed to hear Mr. Dille’s final words.
“Mr. Dille told us quite a bit about his life before he went to the seminary to learn how to preach. Seems he was the only child in his family, was doted on by his parents, and had a happy life.”
A twinge of jealousy pinched Theo’s chest. Granny Iva had doted on him, but he’d only had her for seven years. After that, he couldn’t recall much of anything happy.
“His grandfather was a preacher, and his mother encouraged him to become a preacher, too. He told us he didn’t have much interest in that until his mother died four years ago. Then it became important to him to honor her. He planned to stay close to Bowling Green, since that’s where his father lived, but a year ago his father died, too, so he said there wasn’t anything holding him to his hometown anymore.”
Grace and the Preacher Page 7