Grace and the Preacher

by Kim Vogel Sawyer

  The deputy smirked. “Well, now, ain’t that convenient?”

  Earl bristled. “Listen, I’m tellin’ you—”

  “You’ve already told me enough.” The man jammed his hands in the air. “The man you hauled in says you an’ him were in cahoots an’ you’re just tryin’ to get him tucked out o’ the way so you can keep all the stolen goods for yourself.”

  Earl swung a glower at the man in the next cell. If there wasn’t a wall of bars between them, he’d pummel that dirty liar into the dirt floor. He turned to the deputy again. “You can’t believe anything he says. He’s nothin’ but a rotten thief.”

  “ ’Cording to the records in our file, that’s what you are, too.”

  Earl had no response for that statement. He slunk to the cot and sat. “How long you gonna keep me here?”

  “ ’Til the sheriff gets back from that trial in Harrisonville.”

  “When’ll that be?”

  “Hard to say. Might not be ’til the end of the week.”

  “End o’ the week?” Earl jumped up and stormed to the bars again. “I got places to be. I left my horse an’ my tack back at the bridge. Anybody could walk off with my things. I can’t stay here until the end o’ the week.” He charged to the line of  bars between his cell and the bridge owner’s and stuck his fist through to the other side. The man shrank back even though a good six feet separated them. “Tell him the truth. Tell him how you been doin’ all this thievin’ on your own. Tell him or I’ll—”

  The deputy whacked the bars with a club. The clanging ring bounced against the limestone walls and ceiling. “You ain’t gonna do nothin’. Now settle yourself down. Once Sheriff  Gray gets back, he’ll sort it all out. ’Til then, make yourself comfortable an’ don’t give me any trouble.” He strode up the hall and slammed the metal door behind him.

  Earl curled up on the cot, the slam of that solid door echoing through his soul.

  Fairland, Kansas

  Theo

  Theo drew the horses to a stop in front of the Cristler house and set the brake. There were lots of things he wanted to tell Grace—how pretty she looked in her dress that was the same color as a robin’s egg, how the creamy lace collar made her neck look as graceful as a swan’s, how the straw bonnet with the little blue and white flowers framed her face just right, how he’d enjoyed the drive, how much he looked forward to spending every day with her without anybody acting as a chaperone. But the pair of old busybodies in the back of the wagon stilled his tongue.

  She must’ve felt the same way, because she gazed at him with longing, her lips set in a pout that tempted him to kiss it away.

  “Lemme help you down, an’ I’ll walk with you to the door.”

  From the back Mrs. Flynn said, “Mind you keep your hands to yourself, Rufus Dille. I’m watching.”

  Mr. Swain chortled.

  Grace’s cheeks went all rosy, and she looked aside.

  Theo stifled a sigh and leaped down. The solid ground meeting his soles stung some, but he didn’t care. The jolt knocked loose his aggravation with the boarders. He held out his hands, and Grace took hold. As soon as her feet were on the grass, he let go, aware of  Mrs. Flynn’s watchful glare.

  They ambled toward the porch, both of them with their hands linked behind their backs. He whispered, “I had a good day.”

  A grin curved her mouth. “So did I.” She whispered, too. “I’m glad our wedding is all planned. Now Mrs. Kirby and I can start sewing my dress.”

  Instead of a white dress, she planned to make a dress out of springtime-green muslin. Then she could wear it to church on Sundays. “It will be more practical,” she’d said. Of course, he’d wear one of  Rufus Dille’s preaching suits. She planned to carry a bouquet of wildflowers, hopefully ones in shades of purple since purple was the rarest color in wildflowers and she considered their love a rare and wonderful thing. He’d never forget the shy way she dipped her head and peeked at him when she made the claim about their love. Or the way it made him feel inside—unworthy yet blessed.

  “You gonna be happy with a simple weddin’? I’m”—he gulped, wondering again if  he was robbing her of  better opportunities—“not much for fancy.”

  “If my aunt were alive, she’d probably want something grander.” They reached the porch, and she stepped onto the first riser, then turned to face him. They were eye to eye, with him still on the ground. She gave a little shrug, her smile sweet. “But I’m not much for fancy, either. I like that it will just be you, me, Uncle Philemon, and Mrs. Kirby. And the church members, of course. They’d feel left out if they didn’t get to witness us exchanging our vows.”

  She blushed again. Good thing his hands were busy holding on to each other or he’d grab her close. She looked so pretty when roses bloomed in her cheeks. “With the whole church there, it’ll likely be bigger than anything I ever expected, but you’re right. We can’t leave ’em out.” He hoped the Judds wouldn’t come. He didn’t want the deacon scowling at him during his wedding the way he did during Sunday morning services.

  “Well…” He shifted from foot to foot. Shouldn’t a man at least be able to give his intended a little peck on the cheek when he said good-bye after an afternoon together? He glanced over his shoulder. Mrs. Flynn was peering from the side of the wagon, her alert gaze pinned on him. He whirled to face Grace. “I better go. Let you get inside to check on your uncle.”

  She nodded, but regret tinged her features. If  he didn’t miss his guess, she wanted a better good-bye than words, too.

  With a sigh he stuck out his hand.

  She took it and gave a somber shake. Then her lips twitched into a grin. Mischief danced in her hazel eyes. He couldn’t help grinning, too. This formality was plain silly. They’d be husband and wife in less than two weeks. He ought to be able to kiss her. Quick, before he could change his mind, he leaned in close and delivered a peck on the rosiest part of  her cheek, and he didn’t even care when Mrs. Flynn sucked in a gasp so big it probably pulled a few leaves from the trees.

  He took a step back, still smiling. “Bye now, Grace. I’ll come by the post office tomorrow an’ see you, all right?”

  She nodded, pressing her fingers to the spot he’d kissed. Then she darted inside.

  He pretended not to notice Mrs. Flynn’s pursed lips or Mr. Swain’s smirk as he climbed back onto the wagon seat. At the boardinghouse he helped the pair of  boarders out of the back, then took the wagon to the barn. As he unhitched the team, his thoughts drifted over his afternoon with Grace.

  He liked talking to her. She listened so close, as if everything he said really mattered to her. The same way Granny Iva had always listened to him. He stomped his foot, startling the horses. “Stop thinkin’ about Granny Iva.” He had to be Rufus Dille. Rufus Dille didn’t have a Granny Iva. But he had Grace. “Think about Grace. Just think about Grace.”

  Over the rest of the week, he reminded himself  frequently to think about Grace. It was easy to think about her, but not so easy to think about the way he was deceiving her. Deep down, he knew she deserved better than a man who pretended to be something he wasn’t. But couldn’t a man change? If  Saul of Tarsus could, then Theophil Garrison could, too. With determination and lots of work, a man could become anything he wanted to. So Theo determined to become Rufus Dille in every way.

  Rufus Dille was a preacher, a man familiar with the Bible and prayer. So every day, even more intensely than before, he studied the Bible from Philemon Cristler. Read the notes in the margins. Memorized passages. The fourteenth verse of  Romans chapter six—“For sin shall not have dominion over you: for ye are not under the law, but under grace”—comforted him and gave him hope that he would really become that better person he wanted to be.

  Sometimes, though, the scriptures stung. A simple verse from the eighth chapter of  John—“And ye shall know the truth, and the truth shall make you free”—kept him awake at night, taunting him with the reminder that he was living a li
e. A big lie. Maybe even an unforgivable lie.

  But even though he visited Grace every morning at the post office, then returned every afternoon to walk her home, he never shared the truth with her. Instead, he studied harder and harder, driving the scriptures deep into his spirit so they could become a part of  him the way they’d likely been a part of  Rufus Dille. And he prayed and prayed for God to change him.

  On Saturday after breakfast he pushed back his chair, wiped his mouth, and turned to Aunt Bess. “I’m headin’ to the post office for my visit with Grace. Do you need anything from the mercantile while I’m in town?”

  “No, I went there yesterday.” She rose and crossed to the secretary in the corner. She folded down the desk and reached into one of the cubbies. When she turned, she gripped a sealed envelope. “But I have something that needs to be mailed.”

  Theo held out his hand, but she didn’t give it to him.

  She returned to her chair and sent a slow look around the table. “There’s something I need to tell all of you. Something important.” She swallowed, looked at the envelope, then lifted her face again. Tears swam in her eyes. “I’ve prayed for a full week about this, and I know it’s the right thing to do. But it’s still very difficult.”

  Theo’s pulse thundered and his knees began to quiver. Leland Judd had promised to prove Theo a fraud. Had the deacon discovered his secret, and had he told Aunt Bess…about the real Rufus?

  Mrs. Ewing clutched her throat. “Gracious, Bess, you’re scaring us all to pieces. What is it?”

  “You ain’t sick or somethin’, are you?” Mr. Swain sat on the edge of  his chair, wiggling worse than a schoolboy with a pocket full of  frogs.

  Aunt Bess patted the old man’s hand and offered a weak smile. “I’m perfectly well, and I’m sorry for frightening you. It’s simply more difficult to tell you than I expected, so—”

  “Tell us, Aunt Bess.” Theo forced the words past his tight throat. He might collapse if she didn’t hurry up.

  She held the envelope up so everyone could see it. “I’m writing to the church mission board and volunteering to return to the Choctaw reservation in Oklahoma as a missionary.”

  The women gasped and the men gawked. Theo slumped in his chair, too relieved for any other reaction.

  “Using my herbs to cure Philemon’s scarlatina brought back so many wonderful memories of working with the native people. I miss them. And there’s really nothing holding me here in Fairland, so—”

  “What about all o’ us?” Mr. Swain gave the table a thump with his fist. “What’s gonna happen to us?”

  Mrs. Flynn glowered at the man. “Belker, shame on you for being so selfish. If  Bess wants to become a missionary again, as foolish as it might seem at her age, then we shouldn’t stand in her way.” She stuck her chin in the air and looked down her nose at Aunt Bess. “We can all find somewhere else to go. It might take us a while, but we can do it.”

  “That won’t be necessary.” Aunt Bess laid the envelope on the table and folded her hands on top of  it. “I want all of you to stay here in my house, the same as you’ve been doing.”

  Another flutter of confusion filled the room. This time Theo thumped the table. “Wouldja all listen? Aunt Bess says she’s been prayin’ on this. We all know how God an’ her talk an’ work things out.” He wished he had the same line of communication with the Creator. Maybe by now he’d feel more like a preacher and less like a swindler. “Let her talk.”

  “Thank you, Rufus.” She sent him a smile and then wiped her eyes. “When I spent the week at the Cristlers’ house, you all took fine care of my place. And you saw to your needs, too. So I know you don’t need me here to cook your meals or wash your clothes. You can do it. While I’m away, you can consider your caretaking as rent.”

  Mr. Swain burst out, “You ain’t gonna charge us for stayin’ in your house?”

  Aunt Bess shook her head. “No. You’ll need the money you would have paid me to buy food stores, wood for the fireplaces and stove, and feed for the animals. Of course, if you don’t want to stay and work for your keep, I’ll have to make other arrangements, so I need to know your plans as quickly as possible.”

  “Won’t be near the same without you, Bess, but I’m stayin’.” Mr. Swain leaned back in his chair and folded his arms over his skinny chest. “This’s home now. I ain’t goin’ nowhere even if  I have to work twice as hard as I did when I was half the age I am now.”

  “I’ll stay, too, although I’ll certainly miss you,” Mrs. Ewing said. “I confess, it will be nice to work in a kitchen again. I always did love cooking.”

  “And eatin’,” Mr. Swain muttered.

  Mrs. Ewing shook her finger at him, but she smiled as she did it.

  One by one, the boarders claimed they’d stay and help take care of the house. A lump filled Theo’s throat as he listened to their staunch promises to take good care of things for her. They all loved Aunt Bess as much as he did. Sadness made his nose sting. Knowing Aunt Bess would go away was like losing Granny Iva all over again.

  “Rufus?”

  At Aunt Bess’s voice, he gave a jolt. Everyone was looking at him. “What?”

  Mrs. Flynn said, “What about you, Reverend Dille? Will you stay and help take care of  Bess’s house?”

  Aunt Bess answered before Theo could. “Reverend Dille and Grace Cristler are getting married next Saturday. I imagine Rufus will move in with her until they can find a little place of their own. Am I right, Rufus?”

  He and Grace hadn’t talked about where they’d live. Maybe they should. He jumped up and reached for the envelope. “Lemme take that to the post office for you. After I talk to Grace, I can let you know whether the two of us’ll stay here”—he couldn’t imagine starting married life with five old people underfoot all the time—“or at her place.”

  Envelope tucked in his pocket, he headed out the door.

  Fairland, Kansas

  Grace

  Grace helped Mrs. Kirby spread a patchwork quilt on the bank next to Lazer’s Creek. A short distance away, Mrs. Ewing and Mrs. Flynn flapped a second quilt into place, both of them fussing at Mr. Swain to stay out of the way. Grace swallowed a giggle and turned to Mrs. Kirby. “A picnic lunch was a wonderful idea.”

  The older woman knelt on the quilt and flicked away the towel covering one of the wicker baskets she’d brought. “It’s such a pleasant day. We should enjoy it.” But she didn’t smile.

  Would a picnic on a sunny Sunday noon improve everyone’s disposition? Uncle Philemon had spent most of the week closed in his room, and she suspected his search for solitude was not related to his bout of scarlatina. Mrs. Kirby wasn’t her usual cheerful self, either. Something had transpired between the two, and Grace longed to see their happiness restored.

  She reached to help empty the basket, but Mrs. Kirby shook her head. “No, dear. I don’t want you to lift so much as a finger in work today. This picnic is meant to serve as your betrothal party.”

  Grace’s heart fluttered. What a beautiful word, betrothal. How she’d enjoyed her week. Rufus’s sweet attention and his oft-stated intention to be a loving husband made her ache with desire for the moment they would promise to love, honor, and cherish each other for the rest of their lives. She wished she knew where they would live after they became man and wife. Rufus didn’t want to stay at the boardinghouse, and she didn’t want to share Uncle Philemon’s house. She wanted their own place, where they would enjoy privacy and the freedom to grow together. But so far no other option had presented itself. She would keep praying for God to show them where they were meant to live. She trusted Him to answer quickly.

  Mrs. Kirby glanced up, seeming to search the area. “Hmm, most of the men are missing. Why not locate them and remind them we need to eat before they go traipsing?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Grace rose and followed the creek toward a break in the brush where they’d parked Mrs. Kirby’s wagon. A light breeze eased through the trees and tease
d her with the promise of warmer days to come. The water skipped over rocks and gurgled a cheerful melody. Sunlight danced on its rippling surface, sparkling like diamonds. Would her wedding ring have a diamond in it? Or perhaps a ruby or a sapphire? Of course, preachers didn’t make a great deal of money, so Rufus probably wouldn’t be able to afford a jeweled ring.

  But what did she care if  he gave her a plain band? She was betrothed to marry a man who preached God’s Word. Granted, his sermons were what Aunt Wilhelmina could have called “unorthodox,” a milder term than the one Leland Judd muttered as he left the church that morning. She continued to puzzle over Rufus’s clumsy manner of preaching. The letter the deacon received from the college in Bowling Green proved Rufus had received a degree in theology. So why hadn’t the college better prepared him? Even so, her fondest dreams were coming to fruition.

  Uncle Philemon, Rufus, Mr. Abel, and Mr. Ballard were gathered at the back hatch of the wagon, visiting and fiddling with the fishing poles Mr. Ballard insisted they bring. She approached and touched her uncle’s elbow.

  “Mrs. Kirby says come and eat. Then you can traipse.”

  Mr. Ballard shot her a sharp look. “There’ll be no traipsing by me, young lady. I intend to snag a string of catfish for Ruby an’ Gertrude to fry up for tomorrow’s breakfast.”

  Grace frowned. “Doesn’t Mrs. Kirby prepare breakfast?”

  Mr. Abel tied a hook at the end of the thin fishing line. “Not for much longer. She’s gonna—”

  “Come along, everyone.” Uncle Philemon slung his arm across Grace’s shoulders and steered her toward the picnic site. “We shouldn’t keep Bess waiting.”

  Rufus fell in step on Grace’s other side, close enough that their hands sometimes brushed. She wished he would hold her hand, but he probably felt bashful with three sets of eyes witnessing their every move. Uncle Philemon kept his arm around her shoulders, and the two boarders trailed behind, discussing the best bait to entice catfish.