The lone man clasped his hands behind his back and cleared his throat. “Ladies and gentlemen, it was good to have such a fine turnout here tonight to thank Reverend Cristler for his many years of service to the folks of Fairland.”
So this was their farewell party for Reverend Cristler. Thank goodness he hadn’t blurted out his message when he arrived. The man deserved to enjoy the evening. But now the party was ending. As soon as everyone cleared out, he’d take the preacher aside and let him know about Reverend Dille. With that decision made, a weight seemed to roll from his shoulders.
“None of it would’ve happened without our social committee ladies plannin’ it.” The man swept his arm toward the group of women. “Let’s give them a thank-you.”
Light applause broke out. Since he held a plate, Theo couldn’t clap, but he wished he could. His stomach was full and he’d been welcomed. All the good feelings rolling inside him made his chest feel tight.
“An’ now Mrs. Kirby has a presentation to make.”
Folks clapped some more when the petite, white-haired lady stepped forward. “Thank you, Deacon Judd.” She sent her smile across the group. “As you know, this picnic was meant to be our way of recognizing Reverend Cristler for being such a good leader in the Fairland Gospel Church over these past thirty years.” She cupped her hand above her eyes and squinted outward. “Reverend, where are you? Come up here, please.”
Theo rose on tiptoe and spotted the man in the center of the group. He made his way to the front, people patting his shoulder or touching his arm as he passed. The preacher acknowledged each gesture with a soft smile and gentle bob of his head. The affection between the man and the townsfolk was so real Theo sensed it from a distance of twenty feet. A lump settled in his throat.
When the preacher finally stood next to the wagon, Mrs. Kirby faced the crowd again. “Raise your hand if Reverend Cristler has been your minister.”
Everyone except Theo poked a hand in the air.
“Raise your hand if Reverend Cristler spoke your wedding vows.”
Laughter rolled, and several couples raised their hands.
“Raise your hand if Reverend Cristler visited you when you were sick.”
Another flurry of movement.
“Raise your hand if Reverend Cristler welcomed your newborn into the world. If Reverend Cristler spoke words of comfort over you when a loved one departed this earth. If he counseled you. If his words from the pulpit reached your heart and stirred you to better serve your Savior.”
Theo gawked in amazement at hands waving from all over the square. How much this man was loved. Respected. Even revered. What would it be like to leave such a positive imprint on folks’ souls? He couldn’t begin to imagine, but he wanted to experience it for himself.
Mrs. Kirby aimed her teary smile at the preacher. “Reverend, I pray that seeing those hands raised high has blessed you as much as you’ve blessed us over the years, and I pray the memory of how many lives you’ve touched stays with you every day of the rest of your life. But because memories can dim, we want you to have something that will remind you of how much you mean to all of us.”
She gestured to the other ladies, and they moved forward together, carrying a thick, square album. They offered it to the preacher, and he took it, puzzlement creasing his face.
Mrs. Kirby wiped her tears. “Nearly every person here wrote their remembrance of you. The notes are in this book. When you’re feeling blue or insignificant, open the book. Read the messages. Remember how our heavenly Father used you to minister to us. Always remember, Reverend, how much you are loved.”
Reverend Cristler tipped the book until it rested flat against his chest. He hugged it close and sent a slow look over the gathered people, his mustache quivering and his eyes bright with moisture. He offered a slight nod. “Thank you.” Just two simple, ragged words, but no grand speech could have been more profound.
Sniffles, cleared throats, a few soft sobs followed. Theo swallowed against tears, too. Tears he didn’t understand. All he knew was the woman’s words, the man’s humble response, the folks’ admiration all combined to stir a desire to be better than he’d ever been before.
Someone in the back of the crowd began to clap. Others quickly joined. Then everyone was applauding, smiling, while tears rained. Theo set his plate aside and clapped, too, honoring the man of God who stood holding the thick album, moist eyes gazing out with love at the folks.
The clapping might have continued for hours if Mrs. Kirby hadn’t nudged Deacon Judd, who waved both hands in the air and brought the applause to an end. The deacon invited the fiddle player to take up his instrument, and sweet notes rose from the strings. Folks began to sing.
“ ‘Blest be the tie that binds our hearts in Christian love…’ ”
The melody, the words, wove around Theo like a cord, binding him to these people. In that moment he wasn’t a stranger in their midst sent to deliver a sad message. He was one of them.
They reached the final line—“ ‘…perfect love and friendship reign through all eternity.’ ” Theo realized he was holding hands with Grace Cristler and a teenage boy. He glanced around in surprise. They’d all formed one large, united circle. He wasn’t sure when they’d taken hold, but it didn’t matter. It seemed natural to be part of their circle, and he didn’t want the feeling of kinship to ever end.
Silence fell with the end of the song, but nobody let loose. Until Reverend Cristler stepped forward and held his hand to Theo. “Would you join me, please?”
Grace and the boy on Theo’s left released him. The loss of contact was like being splashed with a bucket of cold water. Dragging his heels, he stepped into the middle of the circle beside the preacher. Theo pulled in a breath, gathering his thoughts and ordering his words. He’d come to deliver a message, and now was the time.
The man placed his arm around Theo’s shoulders and turned him to face the crowd. “Folks, when this young man arrived, we took him directly to the food table instead of making an introduction and giving you a chance to really greet him, so let’s do that now. This is Reverend Rufus Dille, the preacher who will be leading the Fairland Gospel Church in my stead.”
Theo
Theo gulped. He whispered, “Sir, I—”
Reverend Cristler continued without pause. “He’s fortunate to come to Fairland, where folks are good hearted and God honoring. I know you’ll make him feel as loved and appreciated as you always made me feel.”
The protest died on the tip of his tongue. “Loved and appreciated.” Wasn’t that what he’d lost when Granny Iva died? Wasn’t that what he’d pined for every day of his long years with Uncle Smithers and Aunt Lula? And now the very thing he wanted was being offered. All he had to do was accept.
“Come on up here now and give him a welcome.” The preacher squeezed Theo’s shoulder, patted it twice, and stepped aside.
The crowd swarmed him. Kind words filled his ears. The feeling of oneness he’d experienced while singing the hymn returned, stronger than before. The message he’d come to deliver slipped further and further into the back recesses of his mind. Would it really hurt anyone if he didn’t tell them the real Rufus Dille was dead? It would likely hurt them more to realize their expected preacher wasn’t coming after all. And hadn’t Doc Wollard said that God worked in unusual ways? What could be more unusual than Theophil Garrison becoming a new man? Maybe this was his chance to start over, to be the man Granny Iva wanted him to be.
He shook their hands, returned their smiles. And decided to be Rufus Dille.
Bess
Bess slipped her arm around Grace’s slender waist and watched the townsfolk welcome the young, new preacher. She gave Grace a little hug. “Beautiful, isn’t it? All our sorrowing at having to say good-bye to your uncle is now changed to rejoicing as we say hello to our new preacher.”
She waited for a reply, but the girl remained silent. Bess glanced at her
face and drew back in perplexity. “Why, Grace, what’s the matter? I thought you’d be the happiest of all to see Reverend Dille arrive this evening. Why do you look so glum?”
Grace stepped away from Bess’s arm and moved to the opposite side of the serving tables. She began stacking empty platters and brushing crumbs into the grass. Her chin quivered. Sympathy washed through Bess. Seeing her uncle hand the reins of leadership to someone else must have been harder than Grace had expected.
Bess hurried around the table and caught the girl’s arm. “This is what your uncle wanted. Even if it’s difficult for you, we need to support him in his decision.”
Grace grimaced. “I’m not mourning for Uncle Philemon. He did what he believed is right, and I support him. But…” Her gaze drifted to the milling group of people, to its center. To Reverend Dille. “Something doesn’t feel right.”
“What do you mean?”
Grace chewed her lip, continuing to stare at the young man who smiled and laughed and accepted people’s hands as easily as a longtime politician. “After communicating for so long through letters, I expected him to be more at ease with me. More…familiar.” The girl’s cheeks turned rosy. “And when we held hands…”
Bess’s lips twitched with the desire to smile.
The rose deepened to red. “…while we were singing, and we made the circle…”
Bess swallowed her humor and fixed a serious look on her face.
“…his hand was hard. Rough. His fingernails are all broken, and he has a lot of calluses.” Grace’s forehead pinched into a series of lines. “I’d expect him to have a callus on the side of his finger where he steadies a pen. After all, a man who’s been studying would spend a lot of time writing. But on his palm? And on the pad of every finger?”
Bess chuckled. “Dear one, how much writing do you suppose he’s done since he set out on his journey to reach Fairland? Instead of holding a pen, he’s been holding reins and building fires and—”
“And that’s another thing.” Grace leaned close, her eyes gleaming. “When he first arrived, he said he was hungry because his food had been stolen and he hadn’t stopped to fish or hunt. In the very first letter he sent, he indicated he would stay in hotels or way stations. I can’t imagine my Rufus sleeping outside on the ground or…or snaring a rabbit and then eating it.” She shuddered. “If he didn’t smell like cloves, I’d—”
Cloves? Bess couldn’t contain her humor. “Dear girl, your imagination is running rampant.”
The worry lines remained etched in the girl’s forehead.
Bess sighed and caught Grace’s hands. She drew her away from the tables, where women were beginning to gather their items. Safely beneath the sheltering limbs of a willow tree, she spoke earnestly. “Listen to me. He might have intended to stay in hotels along the way, but maybe they weren’t always available to him. Then he’d need to sleep on the ground. He prepared for the possibility, because there’s a bedroll on his horse’s saddle, yes?”
Hesitantly, Grace nodded.
Bess offered an encouraging smile. “As for him not responding to you with overt familiarity, would you have wanted him to greet you differently in front of so many witnesses? It could very well be he’s trying to protect your reputation.”
Finally the furrows in Grace’s forehead relaxed. She sighed. “I suppose you’re right.” She gazed across the ground in Reverend Dille’s direction. “Perhaps if his speech matched his written words, I’d be less uncertain.”
Bess sent a sharp look toward the young preacher. Some of his word choices—“tuckered” and “it got stole”—didn’t seem like the utterances of a well-educated man. But Bess could surmise a reason for it. “Writing is a slower process than speaking. He had time to gather his thoughts before placing them on the page. When a person speaks, especially when tiredness or anxiety has plagued him, his words might lack formality. I’m sure that’s what happened this evening. Wait until tomorrow when he delivers his sermon. He’ll undoubtedly speak more eloquently then. And even if he doesn’t, improper English doesn’t necessarily reflect an unintelligent mind.”
“Do you think he’ll preach tomorrow? He arrived so much later than he intended.”
Bess shook her head. “I haven’t met a minister yet who tried to shirk his duty. Didn’t he agree to begin preaching the Sunday after Easter?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Well, then, I expect he’ll honor his agreement.”
Grace looked as though she planned to say something, but then her gaze whisked to something behind Bess. She tipped her head. “I think Uncle Philemon is looking for me.”
Both women stepped from behind the fringe of branches. Philemon carried his remembrance album under his arm and guided Reverend Dille to the shadow cast by the tree. Philemon bounced a smile toward Grace and then rested it on Bess. Without effort she answered it with one of her own. She would miss seeing his kind smile offered from the pulpit on Sunday mornings.
“There you are. Mrs. Kirby, I believe Reverend Dille is ready to accompany you to the boardinghouse and get settled in for the night. Fortunately the picnic ended early enough for him to have an hour or two of refreshing his sermon before turning in for the night.” He clapped his arm on Reverend Dille’s shoulder. “I look forward to hearing you preach tomorrow, son. It’s been a long time since I enjoyed sitting in the pew and listening.”
The young minister’s face lost its color. “I…I…” His Adam’s apple bobbed with his swallow. “I hope I won’t disappoint you.”
Bess sent a knowing look at Grace before facing the man again. “Don’t you worry for one minute about disappointing anyone. The whole congregation was here tonight, and they all know you’ve only just arrived.”
“Mrs. Kirby is right.” Philemon began ushering the group toward the hitching post where Reverend Dille’s horse waited. “Folks in these parts are understanding. You speak from your heart and all will go well. Now…” He loosened the reins from the iron ring and pressed them into Reverend Dille’s hand. “You have a good night’s rest, Reverend. And Mrs. Kirby, Grace, and I look forward to seeing you tomorrow for Sunday dinner, yes?”
In the busyness of the picnic activities and the unexpected arrival of Reverend Dille, Bess had forgotten about Grace’s invitation. She clapped her hand to her cheek. “Thank you for reminding me. I’d have felt terrible if none of us showed for your dinner party, Grace.” She added to Reverend Dille, “The Cristlers invited all the boardinghouse residents and me for lunch tomorrow. So you’ll have an opportunity to visit with Reverend Cristler and his niece at length tomorrow afternoon.”
Not surprisingly, the young man’s face streaked pink. He glanced at Grace, and a bashful grin curved one side of his mouth. “That sounds…nice.”
Bess chuckled. “I have no doubt it will be.” She and Grace exchanged a quick embrace, then the girl and her uncle said their good-nights and headed for the center of the square. Bess turned to Reverend Dille and pointed south. “See the big yellow house with green trim over there on the corner?” She waited until he nodded. “That’s the boardinghouse. I need to retrieve my plates and things. You go on, and I’ll meet you there in a few minutes.”
“Do you want my help totin’ your things?”
Totin’? Grace was right. His speech seemed much less formal than she’d expect from someone who had attended Bible college. “No, thank you, I’ll be fine. You go on now.” She hustled across the lawn to the serving tables, where the other social committee ladies were busily folding tablecloths and gathering the strings of crepe paper.
Regina shooed Bess away from the tables. “You did all that extra work on Reverend Cristler’s album, so we’ll take care of this mess. You go home and show the young preacher to his room.”
“He is young, isn’t he?” Viola’s face puckered into a thoughtful scowl. “I didn’t voice a word of resistance when Reverend Cristler recommended him as our new minister. I saw no reason to
criticize the choice. But now that he’s here and I’ve seen him, I realize how very, very young he is.”
Ione smacked plates together. “It’s your age talking, Viola. Once I passed fifty years, anyone under thirty seemed like a child to me.”
Viola’s shoulders lifted in a slight shrug. “I suppose I’ve grown accustomed to a minister with age and maturity.”
Regina wagged her finger at Viola. “Reverend Cristler didn’t start out sixty years old and mature. When he stepped behind the pulpit for the first time here in Fairland, he wasn’t much older than Reverend Dille is now.”
“Young and immature or not, Reverend Dille’s gone to preacher school. So he’s ready for us even if”—Ione released a light laugh—“we might not be ready for him.”
Regina frowned at Bess. “Are you still here? Go home, Bess, and take care of the new preacher.”
Bess thanked each of the ladies by turn and then, dirty plates and empty cookie platter in hand, she set off across the square. Dusk had fallen, cloaking the town in gray. Gray thoughts cluttered her mind, too, brought on by Grace’s concerns and some of the ladies’ comments. Was this young man truly ready to shepherd a flock? After thirty years of teaching from a wise, gentle man like Philemon Cristler, would they easily adjust to another’s preaching?
Mr. Dille’s horse, its saddle and pack still intact, drowsed at the edge of her yard. She needed to direct Reverend Dille to the barn behind her house. Sam’s old horses, David and Goliath, would enjoy having a new friend. That is, if Reverend Dille stayed. She gave herself a little shake. Why would she think such a thing?
One of the boarders had lit the lanterns hanging from hooks along the porch eaves. A warm glow flowed across the front of the house and on Reverend Dille, who sat sideways at the top of the porch risers, one leg stretched straight and the other one bent. He leaned against a post and draped his elbow over his upraised knee. The lazy pose painted a stark contrast to his formal black suit. An uneasy feeling tiptoed through Bess’s frame.
Grace and the Preacher Page 13