“Keep her healthy, God, please.”
She tipped her head, her face pinching with curiosity. “Were you talking to me?”
She stayed on the stoop, and he stayed in the wagon. If they were going to talk, they’d have to holler at each other. He didn’t want the whole neighborhood listening. But he didn’t want to leave until he’d had the chance to talk to her—really talk to her—the way Mrs. Kirby and Reverend Cristler talked.
He stood. “Grace, go back inside.”
Disappointment sagged her features.
Now he’d hurt her feelings. He shot a glance left and right, but it appeared no one was outside today. The morning’s rain and the fear of scarlatina probably had everyone inside. “Go in and close the door. I’ll come to the stoop and we can talk.”
Her face lit. She nodded eagerly and stepped inside. The door clicked closed.
Theo leaped down from the wagon. His boots sank into the soft ground and mud spattered his pant legs, but he didn’t care. He crossed the yard and moved as close to the door as he could without pressing his mouth to the painted wood. “Grace?”
“Yes, I’m here.”
The breathy way her words emerged made him smile. Her heart must be thumping the same way his was. “You doin’ all right?”
“Yes. Mrs. Kirby gave me some tea made from dried echinacea. It tastes bad, but she said it will prevent me from getting the fever.”
His nose twitched from the stout essence of lye creeping through the crack in the doorjamb. Was the smell from the tea? If so, he admired her for being able to drink it. “If Aunt Bess says it’ll help, then you drink it up. She’s a smart lady.”
“She is.”
Silence fell on the other side of the door, and he imagined Grace drinking more of the tea.
“Rufus?”
He leaned his shoulder against the door and touched his forehead to the wood. “Yes?”
“Mrs. Kirby won’t let Dr. Robison back in the house. She said his treatment will weaken Uncle Philemon instead of strengthening him. I…I don’t know what I’ll do when the doctor returns this evening and asks to come in.”
Even with a sturdy door between them, he felt her concern. He wished he could step inside and comfort her. He pressed his palm flat against the wood. “Do you trust Mrs. Kirby?”
“Yes.”
She hadn’t hesitated, which made him smile. “Do you trust Dr. Robison?”
Several seconds ticked by before she answered. “I always have. But now…after he said he wanted to l-let Uncle Philemon’s blood…I’m not sure.”
Theo cringed. He was familiar with bloodletting. The memory of the doctor repeatedly slicing his grandfather’s arms with a knife to rid him of an infection brought on from a rusty nail in his heel would always be with him. They’d bled him every day for four days, and he still died. “Maybe she’s right. It doesn’t always help.”
Another silence fell, longer than the first one—longer than it would take to drink a cup of tea. Oddly, Theo wasn’t bothered by it. A moist breeze washed over him, clearing away the unpleasant smell coming from inside the house. Even though he was outside and she was inside, it was peaceful just being near her. She’d opened up to him, shared her concerns, and it’d felt good to give her some words of encouragement. The way it had felt good that morning to pray.
He jerked to face the door, flattening his hands on opposite sides of the square glass window. “Grace? Can I tell you something?”
“You can tell me anything.”
He couldn’t see her, but he heard the smile in her voice, and it filled him with warmth. “Since you weren’t at church this morning an’ neither was Reverend Cristler, I had to do some things I haven’t done before.”
“Did you lead singing?”
Was she teasing him? The idea made his chest go light. He swallowed a laugh. “I let Mrs. Perry do that, and she did a fine job. No, I…” He licked his lips, suddenly shy. “I prayed. Out loud.” He listened, but she didn’t say anything. “It was hard with Deacon Judd lookin’ at me like he wished I’d shrivel up an’ disappear, but I did it. I prayed for you an’ your uncle to be well, an’ I prayed that the town wouldn’t get all riddled with fear about catchin’ the fever. It felt really good, Grace, to pray.”
He angled his head, eager to hear her response.
“Thank you for praying for us, Rufus.”
He smiled.
“Asking God to hold fear at bay was a wise request.”
He nodded. Way back when he was a boy, Granny Iva had told him God never left His children wanting. Theo had needed the right words for the prayer, and God had given them. He’d always remember the first prayer he offered as a preacher. “Thank you.”
“It’s good you won’t need Uncle Philemon’s help with services anymore. Especially if…” Her voice broke.
Theo slapped both hands hard on the door frame. “Grace Cristler, don’t you think like that. Aunt Bess knows what to do, an’ lots of folks are prayin’ for him to get better. He’s gonna get well, an’ you aren’t gonna catch it.”
“How do you know, Rufus? How can you know for sure?”
He couldn’t know for sure. Like Aunt Bess had said, only the Creator knew. But he could hope. Verses from his morning studies—some Reverend Cristler had underlined—spilled out of his mouth almost before he realized he remembered them. “Trust in the Lord instead of trustin’ yourself. In all your ways…”
Her quavering voice carried from the other side of the door. “ ‘In all thy ways acknowledge him, and he shall direct thy paths.’ ”
She knew so much about the Bible. He couldn’t wait until she was his wife and they were working together in the church. Not even Deacon Judd would be able to make him feel useless then.
“I know the verses from Proverbs, but what do they have to do with believing Uncle Philemon will live? That I won’t get sick, too?”
He searched himself for an answer that would make sense. “We don’t know how long our lives’ll last. I can’t make you a promise that your uncle will pull through. But I know Aunt Bess follows God’s path. If she says keep the doctor out an’ let her work her medicine on him, then I gotta think things’re gonna be all right. For both of you.”
A little sob broke and then a sniffle. “Thank you, Rufus.”
A few raindrops landed on his head. To his surprise, another bank of gray clouds had gathered. He should put Aunt Bess’s horses in the barn before they got soaked. “It’s startin’ to rain again. I better go.”
“All right.”
He could tell she didn’t want him to leave. He didn’t want to, either, but a distant clap of thunder told him he’d be wise to get inside before the next rainstorm swept in. “I’ll come back tomorrow, an’ the day after that, an’ the next day, too, if you’re all still closed up in there. I’ll come to the back door an’ knock, an’ we’ll talk for as long as you want.”
“As long as it isn’t raining?”
He grinned. This time he knew she was teasing. That was good. “I’ll wear a slicker.”
Her laugh heartened him.
“Bye, Grace. I—I’ll be prayin’ for you.”
Bess
Early Friday morning Bess padded into the Cristlers’ kitchen on bare feet and dipped water from the reservoir into Grace’s teakettle. She stoked the stove and set the kettle on to boil. After nearly a week of constantly steeping herbal teas, the room held the aroma of dusty sage. As soon as she was certain the threat of fever was gone, she’d boil some cinnamon and give the house a more pleasant scent.
She crossed to the kitchen window and looked outside. Temptation tugged hard to step out beneath the first rays of sunshine and wet her feet with dew. May had always been her favorite month. May boasted crisp air and blooming flowers and budding trees and birds that sang all the songs they’d stored during the winter. May was when she put vegetable seeds in the ground, potted flowers in her Sam-built flower boxes, and served lunch on the fro
nt porch. Here she was, more than a week into the month, and she hadn’t filled her lungs once with May’s unique fragrance. But she didn’t regret the decision. As of last night, Philemon was still alive—groggy, pink patched, feverish—but alive. And Grace hadn’t shown one sign of contracting scarlatina. Nor had Bess. So even if she hadn’t had a chance to go outside and revel in God’s wonderful creation called May, she would be joyful.
A dancing thread of steam rose from the kettle, and she lifted it from the stove and turned toward the breakfront cupboard, where cups waited. A large, hulking shadow lurked in the dining room doorway. She let out a shriek of surprise and nearly threw the teakettle over her head.
“Bess, it’s only me.” Philemon stepped fully into the kitchen.
She looked him up and down and released a snort. “Small wonder I didn’t recognize you. You’re wrapped up in that blanket like an old Indian chief preparing for peace talks. Even your hair is standing on end like a feathered headdress.” The remembrance of the reservation’s proud, stately chief brought a surprising rush of loneliness. She clacked the kettle onto the table to chase the feeling away. “And why are you out of bed?”
He grinned. “You’re cranky in the morning.”
“You’d be cranky, too, if someone tried to frighten you out of ten years of your life. I’m sixty-two already. I don’t have that many remaining years to spare.”
He chuckled, and despite herself she battled a smile. He shuffled forward, his blanket dragging the floor. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to frighten you.”
“I’ve recovered.” She took his elbow and guided him to the table. She pulled out a chair, and he sank into it without complaint. “But you shouldn’t be up. I can see you’re still unsteady.”
“That’s because I’m hungry.”
“You are?” She placed her wrist against his forehead. Joy exploded through her breast. “Cool as Lazer’s Creek in April!”
“Speaking of Lazer’s Creek…” He adjusted the blanket a bit, freed his arm, and reached for her hand. “I’d very much like to take you there for a picnic lunch.”
A single picnic at the creek with Philemon would make up for all the May days she lost. She gently swung his hand. “We can arrange that.”
“Today?”
She let loose of his hand and retrieved two cups from the breakfront. “Absolutely not. You aren’t going anywhere today or tomorrow or even next week. You ran a fever for five days, Philemon. If you rush things, you could begin to suffer again. A second attack could be damaging to your heart.”
“All right then. I’ll stay put for one more week. But then we are going to take a picnic at the creek. I’m weary of being closed in this house.” He rested his chin in his hand and watched her stir dried echinacea into the water. “What has transpired in town while I’ve slept the week away?”
Bess chuckled. She slid into the second chair and gave him one of the cups. “I have no idea what’s happened in town, but I can tell you there’s been a great deal of activity at your back door.”
He raised his eyebrows in silent query.
“My, yes. Rufus Dille has seated himself on the back stoop while Grace made use of a chair inside the door, and the two of them participated in hours-long chats every day. They haven’t let the quarantine sign stop them from having time together.”
“That was very clever of them. And very proper.” He sipped the tea, making faces between sips.
If he was hungry, she should feed him. She rose and searched through the cupboard for all she’d need to make pancakes, one of Philemon’s favorite breakfasts. “You’re nearly out of everything. While you take a nap, I will visit the mercantile today.”
“Bess?”
She paused and gazed at him over her shoulder.
He sagged in the chair. “I believe I’m ready for that nap now. May I lie down while you prepare breakfast?”
She hurried to his side and helped him out of the chair. Holding his arm, she walked him slowly around the corner and up the hallway. He eased his frame onto the edge of the mattress and released a heavy sigh. “I’m as weak as a newborn kitten. Thank you for the help.”
“You’re welcome.”
Holding the blanket closed with one hand, he reached for her with the other. “Are you going to stay here next week, too?”
She held his dry, warm hand between hers. “If I don’t, will you rest each day rather than trying to return to your activities too quickly?”
He chuckled softly. “You might want to stay for your sake instead of mine. After spending an entire week, both days and nights, under my roof, people are sure to accuse you of impropriety.”
She humphed. “If people in Fairland don’t know me any better than that by now, they’ll never know me.”
“They’ll talk though. You know they will.”
She looked at him in surprise. “When did you become concerned about people’s idle gossip?”
“I’m not concerned. I’m…” He yawned.
She released his hand and took hold of his shoulders. “Lie down now before you fall over.” He lay against the pillows, and she helped shift his feet onto the bed. She pulled the covers up and stepped back. “Rest now. I’ll wake you when breakfast is ready.”
His arm sneaked out from beneath the covers and grabbed her hand. “Bess?”
“What?”
“I think I know the best way to keep the gossips from talking.”
“Paste their mouths closed?” She smiled, ready for a teasing retort.
“We could get married. Now. Today.”
Her legs gave way. She plopped onto the edge of the mattress. “Today? Are you serious?”
His fingers tightened on hers. “This illness has made me aware of how quickly life can change. Were it not for your careful attention, I might not have survived the scarlet fever. I don’t want to waste whatever time I have left. I love you, Bess.”
What beautiful words. What painful words.
“And I would like nothing more than to marry you.”
Tears flooded her eyes. “Oh, Philemon…”
His forehead crunched. “That didn’t sound like ‘yes.’ ”
She hung her head. “Because it isn’t ‘yes.’ ”
“But why? I thought you—”
She leaped up. “Care about you. Yes, I do. More than I can express.” Why else would she have done verbal battle with Dr. Robison to keep the man at bay and tended to Philemon and his niece during his illness? But the week had stirred something inside of her, something she hadn’t realized lay dormant in her heart. She had to explore the ember and seek God in prayer before making any other decisions, including matrimony. “But I…I’m not sure I can marry again. I’m so sorry, Philemon.” He gazed at her with such a stricken face she had to turn away. “You rest. I’ll prepare breakfast and…and…” She fled the room.
Lexington, Missouri
Earl
Earl held his palm flat and counted silently while the barge owner placed round silver dollars in his hand. One, two, three. Three days’ work, three dollars in pay.
Toting crates and sacks from the docks to the barges taxed a man’s back, but it’d been good to find out he hadn’t gone soft in prison. His body ached from carrying and stacking the fifty-pound sacks of grain, but it was a good kind of ache. If he didn’t need to track Theo, he’d be tempted to stick around and continue working in the river town.
He dropped the coins in his pocket, smiling as the weight tugged the waistband of his britches, then swished his palms together. “Thanks a lot. Appreciate you lettin’ me help out.”
The owner of the barge shrugged. “Workers tend to come an’ go around here. Always needin’ extra help, so if you happen this way again, lemme know. I’ll make use of ya again.”
He’d think about it. Earl slid his hand into his pocket and fingered the coins. “Now that I got some travelin’ money, I’ll be headin’ out. I need some supplies
for the road, though. Which store in town’ll gimme the best deal?” He needed those three dollars to last.
The man pinched his chin and puckered his lips for a moment. “If you’re wantin’ a real bargain, then I’d say don’t go to the stores at all. There’s a fella who peddles all kinds of goods out of the back of his wagon. He parks just west of town, close to the river. Goes by the name of Weasel.”
Earl choked out a disbelieving laugh. “No self-respectin’ man would take on a name like Weasel.”
The barge owner grinned. “I know what you’re thinkin’, but wait ’til you see him. You’ll understand the name. Thanks again for your help, Boyd. Hope to see you again someday.”
The men shook hands, and Earl ambled toward his horse. He’d kept the animal tethered near a thick stand of brush near the river where it could drink from the moving water and feast on the tender grass growing on the bank whenever it pleased. By now the horse was probably lazy and spoiled, but it was time to get going again.
He dragged his saddle out from under the brush, swept it clean with his shirt sleeve, then flung it on the horse’s back. The animal snorted, and Earl chided, “ ’Nough o’ that. Your job’s to tote me, an’ you’re gonna do it.” He strapped his belongings on the back of the saddle and heaved himself onto the smooth seat. Giving the reins a tug, he tapped his heels, and the animal snorted in complaint, but it trotted forward.
Earl’s stomach grumbled as his horse carried him along the river’s edge. He hoped Weasel—what a ridiculous name for a man—had some dried beef or canned beans. Canned peaches would be good, too. Staying with the Hookers and partaking of Mrs. Hooker’s pies and cakes had given him a sweet tooth.
He left Lexington, and only a half mile outside of town he spotted a wagon, just as the barge owner had said. This had to be Weasel’s store. The ramshackle wagon’s back hatch sagged open. The bed was cluttered with piles of clothes, blankets, wooden crates. All kinds of items hung from wire hooks along the box sides. This thing would make a clatter coming down the street. No wonder Weasel parked outside of town.
Grace and the Preacher Page 25