Grace and the Preacher

by Kim Vogel Sawyer

  He turned his face and caught her looking at him. His grin grew into a full-fledged smile. “Have I thanked you for letting me accompany you to Bonner Springs?”

  She shook her head, chuckling. “You’ve thanked me three times already, and every time I said you have it backward. I should thank you. I didn’t relish driving so far by myself.”

  “Well, I haven’t been away from Fairland for so long I almost forgot a world existed outside of our little town’s boundaries. This was a real treat. So thank you for giving me an excuse to take to the open road.” He transferred the reins to one hand and swung the freed one in a grand gesture.

  She laughed. “Careful now, or you’ll frighten the horses into running away with us. That would be more excitement than my old heart could take.”

  His eyes twinkled. “Your heart isn’t old. And neither is the rest of you.”

  “Oh, pshaw.” Even while uttering the self-effacing retort, she couldn’t help smiling. She liked being made to feel young again.

  He turned his gaze forward and sighed. “It looks as if we will reach Fairland in time for you to put supper on the table after all.”

  A hint of sadness colored his tone, and she thought she understood. She wasn’t ready to bid farewell to him or this wonderful day, either. How she’d enjoyed their conversation, their laughter, their moments of contented quiet. She was so at ease with Philemon. Comfortable.

  She touched his sleeve with her gloved fingers. “Why don’t you and Grace come to the boardinghouse for supper tonight? I didn’t plan anything fancy—green-bean-and-ham soup with bread and canned peaches for dessert.”

  “Now, Bess, you already served me lunch with our picnic. You don’t need to feed me supper, too.”

  The wagon hit a rut, bouncing them and dislodging her hand from his arm. She folded her hands in her lap. “I don’t mind at all.”

  “And I would enjoy dining at your table.” He placed his hand over hers and gave a gentle squeeze. “But I’m sure Grace has planned a meal for us. I should eat at home.”

  Grace would probably prepare something more elaborate than green-bean soup. The girl did a fine job of  looking after her uncle. “Well, then, why don’t the two of you join me tomorrow?” She turned one of  her hands upside down so their palms were pressed together.

  “You do realize that if  I keep showing up at your place, the boarders are bound to talk.”

  She gazed intently into his face. The sun hovered above the treetops, its brightness beginning to dim as evening approached. His hat brim cast a shadow across the upper half of  his face, but she still glimpsed a bit of uncertainty in his eyes. “Would that bother you?”

  “Not a bit.” His fingers twitched against hers. “Would it bother you?”

  Another bounce of the wagon jolted them so abruptly she automatically closed her fingers around his hand. He did the same, and without warning they were holding hands. The wagon rattled onward in its regular rocking motion, and Bess waited, but he didn’t release his grip. So she didn’t, either.

  “No, Philemon. It wouldn’t bother me.”

  He jerked his head so quickly his hat shifted. His gaze collided with hers and remained. “Not even a bit?”

  “Not a bit.”

  Tenderness bloomed in his brown eyes, and the tips of  his mustache lifted with his smile. “Good. I’m glad.”

  She watched the horses clop steadily along the winding road, her hand linked with Philemon’s, her heart happy.

  Theo

  Shouldn’t he be happier? Theo stared at his somber reflection in the mirror. He had a nice place to live and a respectable job. A beautiful woman—a woman who knew everything about what it took to be a preacher—had agreed to his courtship. Life here in Fairland was better than anything he could ever have imagined for himself. So why did it feel as though a brick wall had dropped on his chest?

  Someone tapped on his door. “Reverend? Are you in there?”

  Theo thumped across the rug and flung the door open. “Whatcha need, Mr. Ballard?”

  The man’s cheerful face and wide grin seemed to taunt Theo. “It’s supper time. Mrs. Kirby says to hurry because the soup’s getting cold.”

  He’d skipped lunch. The sandwiches set out by Mrs. Flynn and Mrs. Ewing hadn’t looked appetizing. He ought to eat supper. The good smell coming up the stairway invited him to join the others at the table. But he shook his head. “You go ahead and eat without me.”

  The man’s eyebrows pinched. “Are you ailing? Mrs. Kirby can brew you a cup of peppermint tea. She does that for Belker when his stomach gets to paining him, and it seems to do him a heap of good.”

  “Thank you, but there’s nothin’ wrong with my stomach, Mr. Ballard.” It was his heart that hurt, and a whole pot of peppermint tea wouldn’t change it. “I’m just not hungry. Go on now and enjoy your supper.” He closed the door.

  Hands behind his back, head low, he trudged across the room to the chairs. He settled in one, sighing heavily as his weight eased onto the cushion. Grace’s letters lay scattered on the little table. Mindlessly he gathered them up and returned them to their envelopes. He put the envelopes in order by the date stamp, the way Rufus Dille had arranged them, and picked up the ribbon to tie them into a bundle.

  Thump, thump, thump!

  Theo jumped. No knuckles on the door this time. This was a fist. And he knew without asking who dealt the blows.

  “Come on in, Aunt Bess.”

  The door flung open, and the white-haired woman stepped over the threshold, her face pursed in concern. “John said you weren’t hungry for supper, and Ruby and Gertrude said you didn’t have any lunch, either. Are you ill? I can send one of the men to ask Dr. Robison to pay a visit.”

  Now he’d worried his landlady. He rose and approached her, shaking his head. “I don’t need doctorin’. I’m fine. I’m just…not hungry.”

  She put her hands on her hips. “If you aren’t hungry, you’re either ill, or you’re too full of worry to eat. You already told me you aren’t ill, so it must be worry. What’s troubling you?”

  If anyone else had asked him, he would’ve sent them scuttling out the door with the reminder he was a grown man and they should mind their own business. But he’d never be so abrupt with this dear woman who reminded him of Granny Iva. He puffed his cheeks and let out a slow breath. “Grace.”

  She dropped her gaze briefly to the stack of  letters and the pink ribbon dribbling across his hand, then looked into his face again. Sympathy replaced her sharp look of concern. “Did you two have a disagreement while her uncle and I were away today?”

  “No, ma’am. We decided to court.”

  Her eyes flew wide and her mouth dropped open.

  He clumsily wrapped the ribbon around the letters. “We figured since you an’ her uncle were courtin’—”

  “You figured what?” She nearly squawked the question.

  He raised his voice some, too. “That you an’ her uncle were courtin’.”

  She lowered her head and covered her face with her hand. Her shoulders shook. For a minute Theo worried he’d pushed her to tears, but then he realized she was battling laughter.

  “What’s funny?”

  Aunt Bess dropped her hand, still chuckling. “Philemon and I didn’t decide until late this afternoon that we would begin a courtship. I haven’t spoken with you or Grace since early morning, and to my knowledge neither has Philemon. So how could you surmise such a thing?”

  They called each other Bess and Philemon. She let the man kiss her. Evidences had piled up. He shrugged. “Just seemed…likely, I reckon.”

  “ ‘Seemed likely,’ he says.” She laughed again, shaking her head. “Well, I told Philemon I wouldn’t mind if people began speculating about our budding relationship, so I’m not going to fuss at you for leaping to conclusions. But I’m curious what Philemon’s and my courting has to do with you choosing to woo Grace.”

  Aunt Lula used to holler at Uncle Smithers that wha
t was good for the goose was good for the gander when he squandered money or stayed out until all hours of the night. The saying could fit this situation if  he considered Philemon Cristler the goose and Grace the gander. But Aunt Bess might not take to the comment any better than Uncle Smithers had.

  “If you an’ Reverend Cristler hitch up, Grace’ll be alone. Somebody ought to look after her.” And he needed somebody to help him do all the right, preacherly things. “So it makes sense for us to court. Doesn’t it?”

  She took the stack of  letters and ribbon from him and tied the ribbon around the envelopes nice and neat. She plopped the secured bundle in his hands. “There wouldn’t be a person in this town who would argue against the sense of what you just said. You’re a preacher. Grace is a preacher’s niece and understands well the responsibilities and challenges of ministry.”

  Theo nodded, smug. “That’s what I thought.”

  She frowned and shook her finger. “Just because it’s sensible doesn’t make it right.”

  He drew back. “Why not?”

  She settled into the second chair and turned a fervent gaze on him. “Marriage is a sacred union. You should know this from your studies. It’s an institution designed by God to be revered and respected by those who enter it. If you asked to court Grace only because it makes sense, you’re missing a vital part of the relationship.”

  He didn’t need to be a preacher to know what she meant. “You’re saying I ought to love her.”

  “And she should love you. Remember what Jesus told the Pharisees in the tenth chapter of  Mark when speaking of marriage?”

  He had no idea what Jesus had said. A real preacher would know. Shame seared Theo’s face. He ducked his head.

  She clicked her tongue on her teeth. “Oh, come now, Rufus, you’re a grown man, a minister who will likely draw on these scriptures when advising young couples who ask you to perform their wedding ceremony. Can we discuss this without embarrassment?”

  She’d misinterpreted his reaction. Relieved that she hadn’t guessed the truth about his ignorance, he forced himself to look at her. “Y-yes.”

  “Good.” Her brisk, no-nonsense tone chased away a bit of  his discomfort. “As you recall, Jesus told the Pharisees who were pressing Him about Moses’s law, which allowed men to divorce their wives for whatever reason they deemed valid, that when a man and a woman join in matrimony, they become one flesh.”

  Another rush of  heat filled his face but not brought on by shame. He hadn’t even kissed Grace yet, but he’d touched her. Held her arms one time. Real lightly. And it had been enough to make him go all goose pimply. He went goose pimply again thinking about it. He pinched down tight on Grace’s letters and forced himself to nod at Aunt Bess.

  “God, the mighty Creator, put man and wife together, and nothing should pull them asunder. This references an emotional, spiritual, and physical bond resulting in a committed, abiding relationship. This bond requires more than sensibility.”

  He chewed the inside of  his lip for a moment. “What if…what if  I told you I love her?”

  She sat back and folded her arms over the square bib of  her apron. “Do you love her?”

  He closed his eyes and pictured Grace. He liked the way she looked, always neat and ladylike. He admired the way she treated folks. He liked the way he felt when he was around her. Best of all, she’d be a dandy wife for a preacher. He opened his eyes and nodded.

  “You’ve not yet been in Fairland a full two weeks. How can you be so sure?” Her gaze dropped to the bundle of  letters he gripped in his hands, and her expression softened. “Ah. You fell in love with her even before you arrived, didn’t you?”

  Clearly Rufus Dille had, considering the way he’d repeatedly called out for her. “Yes, ma’am.”

  Her stiff pose relaxed. “Well, I’m not one to say love can’t blossom quickly. It happened to me with Sam, and we enjoyed many wonderful years before the Lord called him home. But I’ve seen other marriages—marriages that made perfect sense to everyone looking on—fall apart because the husband and wife didn’t possess the kind of oneship God intended. That makes for a miserable existence.”

  She stood and moved close to Theo’s chair. She touched her fingertips to the letters. “I’ve known Grace since she was a little girl. I watched her grow up and develop into a fine young woman, and I’ve watched her patiently wait for her beloved. She trusts God unreservedly and would be a perfect wife for a preacher. But before you begin courting her, ask God if you are the perfect mate for her. Wait for His guidance rather than running ahead with what seems to make sense. God’s plan doesn’t always appear sensible from a human standpoint, but it’s always the best plan.” She gave his hands a gentle pat and then left the room.

  Theo sat gazing after her, thinking over all she’d said. He didn’t doubt her wisdom. He didn’t resent her advice. But he’d already asked to court Grace and she’d agreed. It was too late to change it now even if  he wanted to. And, selfishly, he didn’t want to.

  He pressed the letters to his empty stomach. Grace loved Rufus Dille, and Rufus Dille loved Grace. Now he was Rufus Dille. He slapped the letters on the table and returned to the mirror. He gave himself a firm look. “Things’ll work out all right. Sure they will.” He spoke with conviction. So why did his stomach still hurt?

  Bird’s Nest, Iowa

  Earl

  Earl pushed his hands into his pants pockets and stared at the three simple headstones forming a lonely row at the far edge of the property. The names—Burl Garrison, Iva Haney Garrison, and Claudia Beaker Garrison—matched the ones Theophil had called his grandparents and ma. So this was the right farm. Now to locate Theophil.

  The farmer who led him out to the graves had stayed a few feet back, giving Earl a chance to examine the headstones in peace, but his patience must’ve run out. He moved so close to Earl their shadows formed one big shape on the patchy grass in front of the stones. “Them your kin?”

  “Yep.” He angled a glance at the ruddy man. “Anybody else been here lately to visit the graves?”

  “Nope. You’re the first since the wife an’ me bought the farmstead back in seventy-four.”

  Earl gritted his teeth. Theophil had to be here. Where else would he go? “Been any strangers in town lately?”

  The farmer chuckled. “You mean besides you? None I can think of. ’Course, I don’t get into town much. Not this time o’ year. Too busy workin’. But if there’s been any newcomers in town, my wife’ll know. You can ask her if you want.”

  Earl nodded. “I’d like to. Thanks.”

  They ambled across the uneven ground toward the unpainted farmhouse set close to the road. Halfway there, the smell of something good—roasted meat and fresh bread—filled Earl’s nostrils. His stomach rolled over, saliva pooled in his mouth, and his knees went weak. He stumbled.

  The farmer grabbed Earl’s arm. “Whoa there. You all right?”

  Earl shook loose. “Don’t.” He’d never cared for folks grabbing at him, and after being shoved and yanked and prodded by prison guards, he liked it even less.

  The man held up his hands. “No need to get testy on me. Just tryin’ to help.”

  Earl tamped down his irritation. “Sorry. Meant to say I’m fine. But thanks anyway.”

  The farmer shifted to the side several inches and eyed Earl the remaining distance to the house. Once there, he pointed to a rickety chair on the corner of the porch. “Sit yourself down. I’ll fetch my wife.” He hurried inside, letting the door slam shut behind him.

  Earl sat on the chair with his hands on his knees, pulling in big drafts of whatever they were having for supper, listening to their hushed voices on the other side of the door, and watching the sun creep toward the horizon through bands of dark pink and orange. Finally the door opened, and Earl stood.

  The farmer came out, followed by a tiny, sparrow-like woman wearing a full calico apron over her dress. The man stopped near the door, arms folded over his ch
est, but the woman bustled across the warped floorboards and held her hand to Earl.

  “Evenin’, mister. I’m Myrna Hooker.”

  He gave her small, chapped hand a little shake and then imitated the farmer’s pose. “Evenin’, ma’am. Earl Boyd.”

  “Mr. Boyd, Russ says you come to visit your kinfolk’s graves out by the field. Hope you noticed I been keepin’ ’em nice. Me an’ Russ didn’t grow up in Bird’s Nest, but soon as we bought the place, folks in town let us know how highly they all thought of the Garrisons. Might say Burl an’ Iva’re somethin’ of legends in these parts, carin’ for their daughter-in-law the way they did after their son died fightin’ the Johnny Rebs an’ then raisin’ their grandboy like he was their born child when the mama passed on while bringin’ him into the world. Yes, sir, I—”

  Russ grunted. “He’s bound to know about his own kin. Stop ramblin’, woman, so we can get to our supper.”

  She shot him a scowl. “We don’t get many visitors. Lemme enjoy this one.” When she turned to Earl, her smile was back. “Long as Russ an’ me own this property, I’ll sure see to those graves, an’ I hope you an’ your folks’ll take comfort in knowin’ that.”

  Theophil would probably appreciate it. Earl gave a nod. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.” She toyed with the torn pocket edge on her apron. “Russ said you was askin’ about strangers around town?”

  “Yes, ma’am. I’m lookin’ for my cousin. He’s that boy you were talkin’ about—the one the Garrisons raised like their own. But he’s no boy anymore. He’s grown up, year or so behind me. Wondered if you’d seen him. He’s got real dark hair an’ brown eyes.”

  “Reckon you an’ him don’t look much alike then, seein’ as how your hair’s near as yellow as ripe corn an’ your eyes are blue.”

  Theophil had never fit in Earl’s family, not in looks or in any other way. “Have you seen him?”

  She shook her head. “Ain’t seen nobody like that in town. The only stranger who’s come through for weeks, besides you, was a slick-talkin’ man peddlin’ medicine from the back of a wagon. Lots o’ folks bought a bottle, but Russ said we didn’t have fifty cents to spend on nonsense.”