Grace and the Preacher

by Kim Vogel Sawyer

  As she reached into the basket, a long shadow fell across the garden plot, and she looked up, using her bonnet brim to shield her eyes against the early afternoon sun. Her heart gave a joyful skip. “Philemon…I didn’t expect to see you until this evening. Have you finished tilling Grace’s garden already?” The garden plot behind the Cristler house was less than a quarter of the size of Bess’s, but Grace and Philemon didn’t need enough vegetables to feed a half-dozen people.

  “Not quite.” He squatted next to the basket, picked up one of the seed potato halves, and bounced it in his palm. “I was working, and I began worrying, so I decided to take a little break and come ask your opinion.”

  Did he have any idea how much it pleased her when he asked for her opinion? A man with his vast knowledge could have been arrogant enough to never seek another’s advice. His humility endeared him to her. Although responsibilities beckoned, she couldn’t resist asking, “Would you like to go sit in the shade for a few minutes?”

  He nodded. “After our mild winter, the spring sun feels hotter than usual.”

  They both straightened, and she hid a smile when their knees cracked in unison. In his typical gentlemanly fashion, he offered his elbow, and she caught hold even though she transferred dirt from her hand to his checked shirt.

  Years earlier Sam had built a simple bench and tucked it against the trunk of the largest pecan tree between the house and the small barn. Sammy-Cat slept beneath the bench, curled in a ball with his paw over his eyes. He didn’t even stir as they approached. But when they settled side by side on the plank seat, a red squirrel began to scold from the branches, and the cat stretched, yawned, and emerged from his sleeping spot to rub against Philemon’s pant leg.

  He chuckled and gave the tomcat a scratch beneath his chin, which earned a loud, rumbling purr. “I’m sorry we disturbed your slumber, old boy.”

  “I’m sure it was the squirrel that wakened him. He loves chasing those pesky rodents, and they seem to take great pleasure in encouraging him to do so.”

  Sammy-Cat gave a lithe leap and landed in the little open slice between them on the bench. He sat on his haunches and washed one front paw, his round, gold eyes searching the branches overhead.

  Bess sensed trouble coming. “Oh, no, you don’t. You’re not going after that squirrel. I had to send Rufus up a ladder to rescue you yesterday afternoon.” She scooped the cat into her lap. She smiled at Philemon, anticipating his chuckle at the cat’s antics, but his smile had faded. “What’s wrong?”

  “Did Reverend Dille make visits yesterday afternoon? I went with him to a few homes last week, and he assured me he would continue making two or three visits each afternoon until he had spent time with every family in our congregation. He couldn’t have finished already.”

  Bess stroked Sammy’s soft fur while he kneaded her rumpled apron skirt. “I wasn’t here on Wednesday to know whether he called on anyone, but he was gone for at least three hours after lunch yesterday. He seemed tired when he returned, which made me reluctant to send him after this silly cat.” She smacked a kiss on the cat’s forehead. He flopped sideways and batted at her bonnet strings. “He spent this morning closed up in his room, poring over your Bible—he didn’t even look up when I went in to dust and sweep. But he left right after lunch again. I presume he’s making visits.”

  She bumped him lightly with her elbow. “I felt guilty sending Rufus up a ladder yesterday, and today I feel guilty for tattling on him. You aren’t going to expect me to be your spy, are you?”

  “No, no, of course not.” He leaned against the trunk and tipped his head back, seeming to search as diligently for the squirrel as Sammy-Cat had. “I’m merely a little…concerned.” He angled his head slightly and peeked at her from the corner of  his eye. “I gave him permission to court Grace.”

  “I’m glad he asked permission. When he told me they were courting—”

  He jolted. “He told you? When?”

  “Wednesday after supper. Well, I suppose it was during supper, which he didn’t eat. He seemed a little frightened at the whole prospect of courtship.” Despite their shady spot, her cheeks warmed as she recalled their conversation. “He said since you and I were courting”—to her gratification, Philemon’s face turned pink, too—“and might wed, someone should take care of  Grace. Actually, he said marrying her was the sensible thing to do. He and I had a long talk about how marriage shouldn’t happen only because it makes sense but because—”

  His mouth was set in such a firm line his lips disappeared beneath his mustache.

  “Philemon, you look more worried than Rufus did. What is it now?”

  “Do you think fear of  being alone prompted Grace to accept Rufus’s offer of courtship?”

  Bess shook her head as adamantly as she ever had. “Absolutely not. Why, even before Rufus Dille arrived in town, Grace was asking me questions about courtship—how long it should last, how one could know when she’d found the right person to marry.”

  He scratched Sammy-Cat under the chin. “I’m glad she feels comfortable talking to you.”

  Bess smiled. “I’m glad you feel comfortable talking to me. It’s nice to be needed.”

  He gave the cat’s head a pat and then shifted his hand to his lap, but he kept his gaze fixed on her. “I like Rufus. He isn’t what I expected in the way of a preacher, but that will improve with time. I sense he has a good heart. I don’t believe he would ever mistreat Grace.”

  “Oh, mercy, I should say not.” Bess ran her hand through Sammy-Cat’s fur. “He’s very gentle with this old cat and very patient with my boarders, even when the women try to smother him and the men play pranks on him. He’s become everyone’s favorite nephew, I think.”

  “Including yours?”

  She laughed. “It felt so stuffy having him call me Mrs. Kirby. And the poor boy doesn’t have a mother anymore. I realize I’m old enough to be his grandmother, but I didn’t want to be Grandmother Bess.” She wrinkled her nose and Philemon laughed. “So I became Aunt Bess. It suits us both.”

  “Well, Aunt Bess, tell me…Did I do the right thing, giving Rufus permission to court my niece?”

  The breeze picked up, and two leaves hop-skipped across the grass. Sammy-Cat jumped down and pounced on one. Bess placed her hand on Philemon’s arm and gave a gentle squeeze. “If you want my honest opinion, I think you’re having the same apprehensions a father would have when his daughter is preparing to set off on her own. You want her to be safe. You want her to be happy. You want her to find a love who will be there for her for the rest of  her life.”

  He nodded, his dear brown eyes shimmering.

  “But you know as well as I do we can’t see what the future holds. Only God knows every day of our lives from beginning to end. All we can do is trust Him to guide us and to give us strength to face the days, whatever they may bring. What scripture did you have the whole congregation memorize in seventy-nine when the floodwaters swelled and threatened the town?”

  “Isaiah, chapter forty-three, verse two.”

  They quoted together, “ ‘When thou passest through the waters, I will be with thee…’ ”

  He nodded, as if agreeing with some small, silent voice.

  She tapped him on the arm, then pointed at him. “You told us not to fear even the flood, because God would be with us. Have you changed your mind about Him?”

  He released an undignified snort. “Of course I haven’t.”

  She wouldn’t have expected anything less from him. “Then you need to remember that Grace loves the Lord. She’ll listen to His leading and make the right decision about marrying Rufus or not. You needn’t worry about her. You raised her right.”

  He sagged against the tree again, but a smile curved his lips. “You’re very wise, Bess Kirby. It’s too bad Sam wasn’t a preacher. I think you would have made a very good preacher’s wife.”

  “Hmm…” She swept cat hair off  her apron and peeked at him from beneath her bonnet�
�s brim. “Maybe I’ll still get to find out…someday.”

  Theo

  Theo stepped up on the long, spindled porch of the Judds’ clapboard house. Windows on either side of the door were open, and curtains fluttered in the breeze, but he didn’t hear any voices or other sounds to indicate someone was home. Maybe he’d receive a reprieve. The thought gave him hope even as he wished to get this particular visit done.

  He brushed dust from his trouser legs and adjusted the lapels of  his jacket. Then he smoothed his hand over his hair. He grimaced and wished for a comb. Gusts of wind had tormented him during the afternoon, and his hair was standing on end. Using his fingers, he combed the thick strands back into place, then grimaced again at the Macassar oil coating his fingers. How could he shake hands, which was the polite thing to do, with oily fingers? He dug out his handkerchief and wiped them clean.

  Most of the visits over the past week had gone well, folks seemingly pleased to have the new preacher come to greet them and visit awhile. When the family members were as shy and tongue-tied as he was, the time seemed to stretch forever, though. This one should go fast in comparison. Leland Judd wouldn’t be shy or tongue-tied.

  Satisfied his hands were as clean as they could be, he wadded the handkerchief  in his pocket and finally tapped his knuckles on the Judds’ front door.

  Within moments it opened, and Mrs. Judd stood on the opposite side. Unlike some of the other women who had come to the door with flour-dusted aprons over their dresses or strands of  hair straggling in their faces, she looked ready for Sunday service. Had she known he was coming?

  He smiled. “Good afternoon, Mrs. Judd. How are you today?”

  From the shadows behind the woman, Leland Judd emerged. He wore a suit, just as he did each Sunday. His Sunday scowl was intact as well. “Don’t act like a peddler, Dille.”

  Theo’s face flamed at the derisive tone. Should he admonish the man to be respectful? Reverend Cristler probably would, but Reverend Cristler was at least ten years older than Deacon Judd. Theo suddenly felt much younger than his twenty-six years.

  “Ada, step aside and let him in.”

  Apparently the deacon was cross with his wife, too. Theo wished he had the courage and a few memorized scriptures ready to use to make the man be nice. He smiled kindly at Mrs. Judd as he entered the house. He followed the couple into a parlor much smaller than Aunt Bess’s but twice as full of  furniture. Why did two people need three sofas and four chairs? He chose a pink chair covered in tasseled pillows because it was the one closest to the door.

  They didn’t offer him tea or coffee, the way other families had, but he didn’t mind. Where would he set a cup and saucer anyway? Little tables stood between each chair and sofa, and an oval-shaped one sat in the middle of the room, but every tabletop was crowded with vases and painted paper fans and porcelain sculptures of  ladies or dogs or lions. Even with the windows open and a breeze coursing through the room, he felt hemmed in by the clutter.

  Mr. and Mrs. Judd chose opposite ends of the camelback sofa that stretched between two windows. Mrs. Judd sat with her spine straight, her hands folded in her lap, and her ankles crossed. As proper as Grace always sat. But her husband leaned into a pile of pillows in the corner and slung his arm over the camel’s hump.

  Deacon Judd frowned across the room at Theo. “Can we expect a longer sermon this Sunday…, Preacher?”

  Theo bristled. If  Mrs. Judd wasn’t in the room, he might let loose a few choice words to the insolent man. He knew how to put a man in his place. He’d heard Uncle Smithers reduce grown men to tears, but Theo had never been angry enough to want to do it himself. Until now. Mrs. Judd saved her husband, but she also saved Theo. No one would believe he was really a minister if  he railed at Deacon Judd with Uncle Smithers’s words.

  He forced a tight smile. “I plan to speak on the Ten Commandments.” Surely he’d last close to an hour with so many rules to cover. “I reckon most church folks are familiar with ’em, but it doesn’t hurt to review now and then.” He glanced around the parlor at all the little painted eyes. He swallowed a comment about graven images.

  “Humph.”

  Theo cleared his throat again. Cotton filled his mouth. Even if  he had to balance a plate on his knee, he could use some coffee. “I wanted to come by and let you know how glad I am to be here in Fairland. If there’s anything I can do for you as your preacher, I—”

  “There’s nothing.” Deacon Judd stood.

  Theo didn’t have to be familiar with what Reverend Cristler called etiquette to know what the gesture meant. He stood, too, and inched toward the door. “If you ever do need something…somebody to talk to, somebody to p-pray with you…you can always…”

  The man’s glare stole the rest of  his planned speech.

  Mrs. Judd rose and escorted Theo to the door. There, she offered a look so full of sorry it hurt his heart.

  He touched her arm and smiled. “Thank you, ma’am, for your hospitality. I’ll see you in church on Sunday.” He hurried out before Deacon Judd came around the corner and caught him whispering to his wife.

  He strode up the street, letting the wind chase away the angry and embarrassed feelings Deacon Judd had stirred in him. Why was that man so hateful? Theo hadn’t done anything to deserve his contempt. All he’d done was come to town, the same way he’d gone to Cooperville, and Deacon Judd took a dislike to him the same way Uncle Smithers had.

  Theo’s chest went tight. He suffered too many years under Uncle Smithers’s constant criticism and scorn. He wouldn’t let himself  be treated that way anymore. Not when he was the leader of the church.

  He spun on his heel and marched straight back to the Judds’ house. He gave the door two thumps with his fist, then stood back. This time the deacon answered, and he gave Theo an up-and-down look so fiery it could have melted stone.

  Theo didn’t flinch. “Deacon Judd, you don’t like me, and it’s all right. I don’t need to be liked. But I’m the preacher at your church now, and you’re gonna have to at least respect me.”

  The man’s gaze narrowed. “I’m gonna have to?” No one could mistake the challenge in his tone.

  Theo lifted his chin. “Yes, sir, you are.”

  He snorted. “You might call yourself a preacher, but I know better.”

  Theo’s entire frame broke out in chills that had nothing to do with the wind gusting against his back.

  The man sneered, shaking his head. “It won’t be long until every member of the Fairland Gospel Church knows the truth, too. I’ll see to it.” He slammed the door in Theo’s face.

  Bird’s Nest, Iowa

  Earl

  Earl stuffed the last chunk of cornbread in his mouth. Honey dripped on his lip, and he caught it with his finger before it dribbled down his chin. No sense in wasting something so sweet. He licked his finger clean and then leaned back in his chair and released a satisfied sigh.

  Mrs. Hooker offered him the battered pan where three mealy squares of cornbread remained. “You need some more, Mr. Boyd?”

  He’d never been Mr. Boyd before, and he liked it. Liked the way it made him feel—respected and respectable. He patted his stomach and smiled. “Thank you, ma’am. I’ve had plenty. That was a good breakfast.” He couldn’t complain about any of the meals the farmer’s wife had cooked during his three days at the old Garrison farm.

  Mr. Hooker pushed away from the table. “If you’re done, let’s head out. All goes well, we’ll have the whole corn crop planted by sundown.”

  Mrs. Hooker beamed. “Why, Russ, that’ll free you up to go to Sunday service with me in the mornin’. Been more’n a month since you went.” She raised one eyebrow and aimed a saucy look at Earl. “I keep tellin’ him the Bible calls on us to take a day o’ rest, but Russ always says God understands there is no rest durin’ plowin’ an’ plantin’ time.”

  “Or harvestin’, neither.” The farmer curled his hand over his wife’s shoulder. “You can thank Mr. Boyd for me
finishin’ in time for Sunday.” His chest heaved and collapsed with a mighty sigh. “Wish I could pay you more than meals, Boyd. You’ve been a godsend, an’ that’s a fact.”

  Earl’s face filled with heat. Those were words he’d never expected to hear. From anybody. He ducked his head. “It’s no trouble. It was good to stay busy while I watched for Theophil.” Being out in the sun, turning the soil, and breathing in the rich, moist scent of earth had made something spring to life inside him. Something he didn’t even know he’d been missing.

  Mrs. Hooker began clearing the table. “Sure am sorry your cousin ain’t turned up. Bird’s Nest is such a long way from southern Missouri. I hope nothin’ bad happened that kept him from makin’ it.”

  Earl didn’t want to think about what might have happened. “Reckon he just changed his mind about comin’ here. Went a different direction.” But what direction? Blast Theophil’s hide. Earl couldn’t traipse across the country forever, but he needed to lay hold of  his cousin. He’d promised he’d give Theophil his due, and what kind of man would he be if  he didn’t keep a promise to himself ?

  Mr. Hooker clomped to the back door. “You ready to work?”

  Earl trailed the man. “Yep. I’ll stay an’ work today—give Theophil one more day to get here—but if  he ain’t showed by tonight, I’ll likely get back on the road when the sun comes up tomorrow.”

  Mrs. Hooker rushed at him. “Least stay ’til noontime tomorrow. Go into Bird’s Nest for service with us in the mornin’, meet some o’ the folks in town. They’d be right pleased to make acquaintance with one o’ Burl an’ Iva Garrison’s kin.”

  Earl fingered the frayed collar of  his shirt. He’d worn the new from it fast by wearing it every day. “I don’t got go-to-meetin’ clothes, ma’am.”