Grace and the Preacher

by Kim Vogel Sawyer

  Fairland, Kansas

  Theo

  Theo wiped his mouth and then draped the white cloth napkin over his knee again. His plate was empty. He’d eaten every bite of the roasted chicken, buttery mashed turnips, carrot coins, and biscuits served by the blushing Miss Grace Cristler. But when he and the boardinghouse folks had arrived at the Cristler house, Mrs. Kirby gave Grace a basket covered by a towel. The basket now waited, still covered, on a sideboard near the table. Dessert? Just in case, he kept the napkin handy.

  Wonder bloomed through him. Was he really sitting at the dinner table with the former preacher? He’d expected the townsfolk to run him out of town on a rail after the mess he made of that sermon. When Reverend Cristler claimed the folks of  Fairland were kindhearted, he spoke the truth. Only one man—Deacon Judd—stayed sour enough to march past Theo without shaking his hand after the service. Everyone else thanked him and told him they looked forward to next Sunday’s message.

  Next week he’d do better because he had a full week to get ready this time. He planned to borrow Mrs. Kirby’s Bible and find something powerful to read to the congregation. He was a good reader, thanks to Granny Iva. He wished he could read from his granny’s Bible. He clenched his fists and stifled a growl. He’d never forgive those thieves for taking his most precious possession.

  The boardinghouse folks and the reverend had kept up a steady stream of talk during the meal, but the chatter suddenly faded. Everyone was looking at him. A funny feeling wiggled through his stomach. He cleared his throat. “Um…what?”

  Mrs. Kirby laughed lightly. “Grace just asked if you’d like another piece of chicken. You were so lost in thought you didn’t hear her.”

  Theo jerked his attention to Grace, who stood next to his chair with the platter of chicken in her hands. She’d sat at the foot of the table, two seats away from him, during the meal. Having her so close made gooseflesh pop up on his arms under his coat sleeves. He forced a chuckle. “No, thank you, ma’am. If  I keep eating this good, I’ll outgrow these britches.” He patted his stomach. “You’re a fine cook.”

  She blushed. “Thank you.”

  Mr. Swain stuck his hand in the air. “I’ll take another piece o’ that chicken, Miss Cristler.” His s sounds hissed like a snake. “An’ more turnips, too.”

  “Of course, Mr. Swain.” She scurried around the table with the platter.

  Mrs. Ewing shook her head. “Gracious, Belker, I don’t know how you manage to eat so much.” Her double chin tripled with her frown. “Maybe Reverend Dille should give a sermon on the sin of gluttony.”

  Mr. Swain’s eyes twinkled with mischief. “Reckon that’d be a good’un for more’n just me.” He winked.

  Mrs. Ewing’s cheeks blazed red. She fussed with her napkin, which draped over her generous bosom instead of  her stomach.

  Mrs. Kirby shook her head at the brazen old man. “Belker, behave yourself. We are in the company of clergy, you know.”

  Mr. Swain leaned sideways, making space for Grace to lean in with the bowl of turnips. “Aw, preacher or not, that young feller knows teasin’ when he hears it. An’ Rever’nd Cristler knows me good enough not to take offense over nothin’ I say. You womenfolk need to not be so tetchy.”

  Reverend Cristler chuckled. “Considering Mrs. Kirby is the one who prepares your meals and sees to your needs, Belker, you’d be wise not to accuse her of touchiness.”

  Mr. Swain shrugged, still grinning, and jabbed his fork into the heaping mound of turnips.

  “Besides that, the only reverend at the table today is Reverend Dille.” Reverend Cristler folded his hands and rested his elbows on the edge of the table. “It’s time for everyone to start calling me Mister Cristler or Philemon instead.”

  As Grace slid back into her seat, she sent a sad look down the length of the table to her uncle. “Won’t it seem odd to you? After so many years of  being Reverend Cristler, won’t you miss being called Reverend? I wonder if you might even have difficulty answering to another name.”

  Theo turned a startled glance on the young woman. So far he hadn’t missed hearing his real name. What was so special about Theophil Garrison? Not a thing. Every time somebody called out for Reverend Dille, he answered like he’d never been anybody else. But it was probably different for Reverend Cristler. He wasn’t trying to change who he was. He didn’t need to.

  Theo cleared his throat. “It’s all right with me if you go on bein’ called Reverend Cristler. Havin’ two reverends in town won’t hurt anything, will it?”

  The preacher put his hand on Theo’s wrist. “I won’t intrude on your leadership, Reverend Dille. You’re the shepherd now. It’s better for me to become Philemon, just another member of the flock.”

  Theo’s chest went tight. Standing up on Sundays and reading some verses and talking a little bit about them didn’t scare him. Much. He could do it if  he could borrow a Bible. But lead the church? A borrowed Bible wouldn’t help him do that.

  Reverend—or Mister—Cristler smiled at Grace. “Since your aunt passed away, you’re the only one who calls me Philemon. It will be nice to hear my name used again.” He chuckled. “But I hope to never hear someone call me Philemon Nehemiah Cristler. Generally that indicated the caller was perturbed with me.”

  Everyone around the table laughed, including Theo. The shared laughter erased his misgivings. What was a shepherd anyway? Someone who looked after the sheep. He’d looked after the horses at Turcel Dorsey’s livery. Keeping watch over a group of people wouldn’t be hard at all. After all, people were a lot smarter and more self-sufficient than horses.

  To his relief, the laughter revived Grace’s smile. He liked her smile. Soft, a little timid maybe, but genuine. When she smiled, speckles of green in her eyes lit up. He’d always liked green, and now that he’d seen the green flecks in Grace’s hazel eyes, he liked it even more. No wonder Rufus Dille had been taken with her.

  He gave a little jolt. Was Grace taken with Rufus Dille? Why hadn’t he considered the possibility before now? It was one thing to assume another man’s name and occupation. But assume the man’s beloved? His mouth went dry. He reached for his water glass, but it was empty.

  Grace stood. “Mrs. Kirby brought oatmeal cookies. Would any of you like coffee?”

  Theo choked out, “Me.”

  Mr. Abel and Mr. Ballard snickered, Mrs. Ewing pursed her lips, Mrs. Flynn raised her eyebrows, and Mr. Swain outright guffawed. Mrs. Kirby covered her mouth with her hand and lowered her head. Her shoulders shook in silent laughter.

  Theo gave his mouth another quick swipe with his napkin and cleared his throat. “I mean, yes, please. I’d like a cup of coffee. With a cookie. Thank you.”

  Grace hurried toward the kitchen doorway. When she slipped around the corner, Mr. Cristler touched Theo’s arm.

  “While Grace is pouring the coffee, would you come with me for a moment?”

  Part of  Theo welcomed the chance to escape for a minute or two. He’d behaved like a ninny and he wanted to hide. But the other part of  him hesitated. Would the former minister take him to task for his lack of manners? Maybe tell him he wasn’t preacher-like enough to take over shepherding the Fairland flock?

  The man stood and looked expectantly at Theo. He couldn’t refuse without looking even more foolish. He rose and followed the man up a short hallway and into a small, windowless room. A desk and a tall bookshelf took up almost all the space.

  As he eased sideways between the desk and bookshelf, Mr. Cristler chuckled. “Now that I’m no longer preaching, this room can once again serve as a broom closet. But it’s been a serviceable study for me over the years.” He removed a thick, leather-bound book from the shelf and turned toward Theo. “I want you to have this.”

  Theo took it. The words Holy Bible stared up at him from the cover. The book was well used, the cover soft and supple, the edges of the pages wavy. “You mean to keep?”

  He nodded.

  Theo placed it gently on the d
esk. “I can’t do that.”

  “Why not?”

  He gaped at the man. The Bible reminded him of  Granny Iva’s. If  he looked inside, he’d probably find little notes written in the narrow margins, verses underlined, meaningful passages splotched from tears. “Because it’s…it’s yours.”

  “A preacher can’t do his job without a guidebook.” Mr. Cristler rested his palm on the Bible’s cover. His fingers seemed to caress the black leather. “This is your guidebook. You need it.”

  Theo’s palms itched with the desire to cradle that book. He sensed how much wisdom had been gleaned from its pages. Still, he shouldn’t take it. “I’ll borrow one from somebody, maybe Mrs. Kirby, ’til I can buy one of my own. That book’s important to you—I can tell. I can’t be like those thieves who stole somethin’ important from me.”

  “You aren’t stealing if  I offer it.” He held it out to Theo. “Yes, it’s an important book. This has been my preaching Bible. But I have others.” He glanced toward the bookshelf.

  Theo looked, too. At least three more books with “Bible” on their spines remained on the top shelf.

  “This Bible is familiar with the pulpit at church. It belongs there. Take it. Use it.”

  Theo shifted his gaze to the black book again. He licked his lips.

  The reverend moved forward a few inches, putting the book within Theo’s grasp. “Please accept it and consider it a…bestowing of the shepherd’s crook, so to speak.”

  Granny Iva’s voice whispered through his memory, reciting a familiar psalm. “ ‘Thy rod and thy staff they comfort me…’ ”

  Theo slowly extended his arms and took hold of the Bible. He gripped it tightly and gazed down at the faded gold letters. They wavered, and he blinked to clear his vision. He looked Reverend Cristler full in the face. “Thank you, sir. I’ll take good care of  it.”

  The man smiled. “I know you will, son. And I know you’ll make good use of  it, too.” He gestured toward the door. “Shall we return to the dining room? Grace surely has the coffee and cookies ready by now.”

  Grace

  Grace leaped up and reached for the coffeepot when Uncle Philemon and Rufus emerged from the hallway. When she’d returned to the dining room with the tray of cups and dessert plates and found them both missing from the table, she feared the boardinghouse residents’ amusement had shamed Rufus into leaving altogether, and perhaps Uncle Philemon had gone after him to play peacemaker as he’d done for people so many times over his years of service. Seeing them return, both smiling and seemingly relaxed, eased her tension.

  She smiled and gestured to the cups in front of their chairs. “The coffee is still hot, and Mr. Swain left a few cookies for you.”

  Laughter trickled again, Mr. Swain’s the most boisterous. Uncle Philemon and Rufus crossed to their chairs. As Rufus sat, he placed Uncle Philemon’s Bible next to his dessert plate.

  Grace put her hand on her uncle’s shoulder as she leaned in to pour his coffee. “Are you lending Reverend Dille a Bible?”

  Pride burst over Rufus’s face. “No, ma’am. He gave it to me.”

  Grace stifled a gasp. How many times had she found her uncle bent over the pages of that particular Bible, absorbed in the scriptures? He owned other Bibles. Many of them. For reasons she never quite understood, people tended to gift him with Bibles for birthdays and Christmas. He, in turn, shared them with newcomers who didn’t have their own copy. The last time she dusted in his office she’d counted no fewer than five Bibles on the shelf. Why hadn’t he given Rufus one of  his extras rather than passing on his most used, most familiar, most loved Bible?

  She held the question inside while she, Uncle Philemon, and their guests enjoyed the cookies and coffee. Around two o’clock she and her uncle escorted Mrs. Kirby’s boarders, including Rufus, to the door and bid them farewell. Rufus walked behind the others, cradling the Bible as tenderly as a mother cradles her newborn. Clearly he was touched by Uncle Philemon’s generosity, which warmed her, but she still didn’t understand why her uncle would part with such a special piece of  his years of ministry.

  Mrs. Kirby insisted on staying and helping wash dishes. Grace enjoyed her time with the older woman, but as soon as Mrs. Kirby left, Grace sought her uncle. She found him in the closet he’d claimed as a study, clearing the shelf of books and stacking them in a crate.

  She crossed the threshold and put her hands on her hips. “Why?”

  He paused in placing three more books in the crate and raised his eyebrows. “Why not?”

  How did he know what she meant? She took another step into the tiny room. “Because it was your special Bible. The one you’ve used for years and years. I’ve never seen you crack the spine of any of the other Bibles on your shelf.”

  He chuckled as he plopped the books in the crate and reached for more. “Grace, dear, the words inside will be the same.”

  “Exactly. So why didn’t you give Rufus one of the new ones instead?”

  Uncle Philemon rounded the desk and perched on its edge. He folded his arms over his chest. “Did you hear his sermon this morning?”

  Grace nodded.

  “Did you see him—really see him—as he spoke?”

  She recalled his quaking knees, the fierce grip on the podium, and the beads of sweat dotting his face. “Yes.”

  “So did I.” He sighed. “Rufus Dille is a young man in desperate need of confidence and assurance. So I gave him my Bible as a way of telling him I have faith in his ability to be a good preacher.”

  Grace considered his reasoning. The more she thought, the more her heart expanded. She moved forward and cupped her hands over her uncle’s forearm. “You like him.”

  The corners of  his mustache lifted with the upturning of  his lips. “Yes, I do.”

  His affirmation meant more to her than she could express. She squeezed his arms and offered a beaming smile.

  “Now, I’ll grant you, he’s a little insecure and even a bit lacking in manners. But I believe with time and encouragement he’ll grow into a fine leader for the Fairland Gospel Church.”

  “He did look proud, carrying your Bible.”

  Her uncle chuckled again. “He did, didn’t he?” His expression turned reflective. “I pray he finds as much comfort in it as I always did.”

  Grace believed he would. She dared another question. “Wasn’t it hard, though, letting your Bible…go?”

  For long seconds Uncle Philemon remained with his lips pressed together, his eyebrows pinched. Then he released a heavy sigh. “I confess, it pained me. But I believe it was the right thing to do. And when we do right, all ends well.”

  Grace gave him a hug and left him to finish his task. Not until she’d settled in the parlor with a book did she realize her uncle was laboring on a Sunday afternoon instead of napping. Either he didn’t need to rest since his morning hadn’t been spent pouring himself  into the people of the church, or he wanted to stay busy to keep from thinking about how he would no longer be pouring himself  into the people of the church. Maybe a little of  both.

  She closed her eyes. She would do whatever she could to be certain Uncle Philemon knew how important he still was to the community and to her even if  he wasn’t the preacher anymore. She smiled, remembering his face as he’d admitted he liked Rufus. She was so glad. She wanted her uncle and the man she still hoped would become her beau—once he’d settled in and lost some of his reticence—to like each other.

  Unbidden, worry swept in. If she and Rufus began a courtship, she would spend more time away from Uncle Philemon. If  he didn’t have his congregation, and he didn’t have her, would he wither up and die?

  Bess

  When the boarders finished their breakfast, Bess asked Reverend Dille to stay put until she cleared the dishes. Ordinarily she gave her list of rules to new boarders upon their arrival, but his unexpected appearance at the picnic followed by a day of worship and rest upset her usual routine. So here it was, his second
full day under her roof, and he didn’t know to leave his laundry in the washroom on Monday morning. If she was going to get busy on the wash, she needed his things, too. She plopped the last of the dishes on the dry sink, then hurried back to the dining room and gave him a pen, ink pot, and paper from the secretary in the corner of the room.

  He frowned. “What’s this?”

  “The church is paying for your room, but there are things you’ll need to know about staying here.” She tapped the paper. “Write them down so you won’t forget.”

  He picked up the pen, dipped it, and looked at her expectantly.

  “First of all, Monday is wash day. Whatever you need laundered should be left in the basket in the summer kitchen out back first thing in the morning. I do my washing out there so the smell of the lye soap doesn’t penetrate the entire house.”

  She watched him scratch “Leave wash in summer kitchen Monday” on the paper. She prompted, “In the morning.”

  He added the word “morning.”

  “Now, that means the sheets from your bed, too.”

  His eyes widened. “You wash ’em every week?”

  “Of course I do.” She shuddered. “Otherwise bedbugs take over. We can wait until next Monday for your sheets, though, since you’ve only slept on them for a couple of nights.”

  Shaking his head, he added “Sheets to” behind the wash-day reminder.

  She pointed. “Too has another o.”

  His cheeks blotched red, but he obediently fixed the spelling.

  Maybe she shouldn’t have corrected him. He was, after all, a grown man. But he was so much younger than her other boarders, so much younger than her, he seemed a youth in comparison. Mothering him came naturally. Of course, she also mothered Mr. Swain, who was at least ten years her senior. But he needed it.

  She drew a short breath and continued. “I iron everything on Tuesday and then put the clothes in your room, folded, on your bed. I don’t put the clothes away. Getting into your bureau drawers would feel like snooping.”

  He smiled. “I don’t mind puttin’ things away. It’s a real pleasure to use the furniture in my room. Never had such nice things before.”