Grace and the Preacher

by Kim Vogel Sawyer

  Grace flicked a look at her uncle. “What did Mr. Abel mean when he said Mrs. Kirby wouldn’t be preparing breakfasts for the boarders much longer?”

  His forehead pinched as if a pain gripped him. “Hasn’t she spoken to you about her future plans?”

  Grace shook her head.

  “Well…” Uncle Philemon patted her shoulder. “I think it best you hear it from her. I won’t carry tales.” His head bowed, he strode ahead of the group.

  She shifted her attention to Rufus. “Do you know what Mrs. Kirby intends?”

  He nodded.

  “Will you tell me, please?”

  He sent a quick look over his shoulder, then slipped his hand around her elbow and drew her aside. Mr. Ballard and Mr. Abel passed by, still arguing about bait, and he waited until they moved beyond a stand of  brush before answering.

  “She told all of us boarders yesterday morning. I don’t think she’d mind you knowin’ since you and she are such good friends. She wrote—” He groaned and slapped his forehead. “She gave me a letter to send to the mission board about her goin’ to Oklahoma again, and we got to talkin’ about where we were gonna live, and I forgot to mail it.”

  Grace gaped at him.

  His mouth screwed into a grimace. “I know. That was plenty careless of me.”

  “Don’t worry about the letter. Bring it in on Monday and I will post it. It won’t go out until Friday anyway, when Mr. Lunger comes through with the stage. But…she wrote to the mission board?”

  “That’s right.”

  “So she’s returning to the Indian reservation? At her age?”

  He chuckled. “Don’t reckon you better say something like that in front of her. Aunt Bess might be getting up in years, but she’s still plenty spry, and she isn’t shy about telling you so.”

  No, Bess Kirby was a dignified lady, but she wasn’t averse to speaking her mind when the situation warranted it. Grace would keep her concerns to herself. “What about the boardinghouse? Will everyone have to move?”

  “No. She’s gonna leave it open, let the folks who already have rooms stay put. She said she wouldn’t charge any of us rent if we all pitch in to take care of the house and grounds. I didn’t tell you that part when we talked about living there.”

  “Oh…” Grace grabbed his arm, awareness dawning. Uncle Philemon’s melancholy and even Mrs. Kirby’s dampened spirits now made sense. “She’s leaving him behind…”

  Rufus must have understood where her thoughts had drifted, because he nodded. “Reckon it’ll be hard on both of  ’em. They’re…fond…of each other.”

  Their feelings went deeper than fondness. They’d committed to a courtship. But before it even started, it had fallen apart. Grace’s heart ached for her uncle. Sorrow rose, and a wave of  fear accompanied it. Could the same thing happen to her and Rufus? He’d come to Fairland at her uncle’s invitation, but maybe the small town would prove too dull for him. Maybe Leland Judd’s derision would drive him away. Maybe—

  She searched his face as she dared ask the questions running through her mind. “Are you sure you want to stay in Fairland? You’re used to a bigger city. Would you rather be somewhere else?”

  “I wanna stay.” He took her hands and swung them gently between them. “I like the town. Like the folks who live in it.”

  “Even Deacon Judd?”

  He chuckled. “Well, most of the folks. But I don’t care about Fairland not bein’ a big town. It’s got everything I need.” A slow smile tipped up the corners of  his lips, and his eyes sparkled as brightly as the sunlight on water. “ ’Cause it’s got you.”

  Her heart melted. “Oh, Rufus…”

  Immediately his expression dimmed. He released her hands and gestured toward the picnic site. “We better join the others. Everybody’s hungry, an’ they’ll be waitin’ on us.”

  She accompanied him the remaining distance, but the joy of the picnic lunch meant to celebrate her betrothal had faded. Mrs. Kirby planned to move away. Uncle Philemon would lose the woman he’d hoped to wed. And something troubled Rufus. She’d witnessed glimpses of  it all week, moments when he seemed to drift away from her. Worse, he showed reluctance to share his concern with her, and, worst of all, she was afraid to ask him to share with her.

  Shouldn’t a man and woman who planned to join their lives be able to discuss anything, no matter how painful?

  Bess

  Was it wrong to try to steal time with Philemon, knowing she would leave him soon? Bess wasn’t breaking any laws—man-made or God made—by sitting beside him on the creek bank with the sun warming their heads and their bare toes dipping in and out of the cold water, but the choice was selfish. She wanted to store up as many minutes as possible so when she was far from Fairland, far from Philemon, far from the promise of the kind of  life they might have shared, she would have happy memories to ease the loneliness that would surely plague her.

  On the other side of the creek, Grace and Rufus sat on a large flat rock with an appropriate number of  inches separating them. Not even Wilhelmina Cristler would find fault. Their heads were close together, their lips moving. Occasionally they paused and smiled at each other, and the silent moments of communication touched Bess the most deeply. She remembered exchanging precious, silent, yet full-of-meaning looks with Sam. She’d had a few with Philemon, too. She sighed.

  He touched her hand. A mere brush of  his fingertips across the veined skin. “Are you all right?”

  “Lands, yes.” She spoke with confidence, deliberately setting aside the hint of sadness that weighted her heart. “I was watching those young folks over there and remembering being young and in love myself. What a joyous time when you realize you’ve found the one with whom you want to spend your life. I’m so happy for Grace and the preacher.”

  Philemon pulled up his knees and draped his elbows on them, the pose very young and relaxed. “As am I. Rufus will be good to her.”

  She smiled at his profile. “So you’ve set aside your concerns about him?”

  His eyebrows descended briefly. “To be frank, Bess, I’m still perplexed by some things. He doesn’t seem completely open about his past, and while it concerns me, I can also surmise reasons he might want to guard it. Wilhelmina rarely talked about the years before her parents traveled from Russia to America. She said those years were painful and she didn’t wish to think on them. Maybe Rufus has similar unpleasant memories he prefers to avoid.”

  Bess frowned. “When he’s spoken to me about his childhood, he seemed to cherish the memories of  his grandmother.”

  “Then the memories of  his, as he called them, ‘new parents’ must be the painful ones. Yet he spoke so highly of the Dilles in his letters to Grace.” He blew out a little breath, then shifted to gaze into her eyes. “Regardless, Grace loves him. He’s committed to serving God. I can’t fault his sincerity even if  his delivery is still, er, lacking in polish.”

  “Yes, Leland made several critical remarks again today as he left the church.”

  “That’s become his habit. I’m sure he intends, in part, to goad me since I’m the one who chose Rufus from the applications. He will never forgive me for not selecting his nephew.” He shrugged and sighed. “Of course, he was already holding a grudge against me for coming too late to pray over his sick son five years ago. I tried to tell him then, and I’ve mentioned it several times since, that God is the giver and taker of  life. My being at his son’s bedside wouldn’t have made any difference. Surely the fact that, despite my fervent prayers, Wilhelmina passed away the same day as Leonard Judd should lend evidence to my statement. But Leland is a man who holds grudges.”

  Bess patted his hand. “You’re only one man, Philemon. Half the town had at least one stricken person under their roof during that time of sickness. You couldn’t be two places at the same time, and Wilhelmina also needed you the day the Judds’ boy left this earth. I’m sure Leland’s grudge-holding is his way of masking the deep pain of  
losing Leonard.”

  “You’re probably right. As for choosing Rufus, I did what I thought was right for the congregation and, admittedly, for Grace. I can’t change it now, and I wish Leland would set aside his anger at me and give Rufus the support he needs.”

  Bess gave his shoulder a brief rub before laying her hands back in her lap. “Leland might very well succeed in turning others in the congregation against Rufus. He’s a very forceful man, and since he’s the banker, others are afraid to speak against him.”

  “Well, my house is paid for, and it wouldn’t bother me to address his disrespectfulness toward a man appointed by God to serve his community.”

  Bess smiled. Philemon had always stood for right even when the cost was great. “You’re a good man to want to defend Rufus, especially when you still hold some apprehensions about his abilities. But don’t you think it’s best if  he proves Leland’s accusations—and your concerns—wrong by his behavior? Actions always stand stronger than words. It’s the example Jesus set.”

  He smiled and squeezed her hand. “You’re right, Bess. Grace and I talked a bit last week about Rufus, and she wonders if  his nervousness stems from my presence. It must be intimidating for him to preach to the previous minister.”

  Bess chuckled. “I suppose he’ll have to get over that, won’t he? Because I can’t imagine you attending any other church.”

  He looked at her, his brows pulled in, his expression sad. “Can’t you? Can’t you really?”

  She drew back, uncertain.

  He angled himself to fully face her. His knee touched her hip, but she didn’t shift away. “I’ve spent a great deal of time in thought and prayer since you told me you were returning to the reservation. What would you say if  I asked to go with you?”

  Her mouth fell open. “Go…go with me? But you resigned from the ministry. You said God instructed you to step down from preaching.”

  He placed his hand over hers and went on softly. “Yes, God prompted me to step down from the pulpit of the Fairland Gospel Church. I confess, I fought Him on it. I wasn’t ready to stop preaching and teaching. But those of us who truly love Him can’t fight Him for long. I asked forgiveness for my hardheadedness and obeyed Him by resigning my position. But I’ve been praying for another way to be used. I’ve prayed especially hard this past week, asking for His guidance. And I believe He used my illness, and your knowledge of  Indian herbal remedies, to make me aware of the need for the native people to truly know their Father.”

  Bess momentarily lost her ability to speak. She gaped at him, jaw flapping like a fish gulping air.

  He smiled tenderly. “Of course, it would be unseemly for the two of us to travel to Oklahoma together if we weren’t legally wed. So I will ask you again…” He slipped onto one knee, holding her hands. “Bess Kirby, will you be my wife and my partner in ministry? To serve Him together for as long as He allows?”

  If  he could ask such a question when she sat on a creek bank with her feet bare and her skirt damp, then he must truly love her. She found her voice. “Yes, Philemon. Yes, I will.”

  Independence, Kansas

  Earl

  Earl slung the rope holding his rifle across his shoulder and then stepped out of the sheriff ’s office onto the boardwalk. Hat in his hand, he soaked up the sun and wind. After a full week of sitting in a damp, dim jail cell, the sunshine hurt his eyes, but it was a good kind of  hurt. He wanted to stand there forever.

  People skirted around him, their faces wary. They probably smelled the jail on him. The little basin of water he’d been given every day for washing hadn’t even been clean when he got it. He finger combed his hair away from his forehead and stepped off the boardwalk into the street. He hadn’t gone three yards before somebody pounded up behind him and grabbed his arm.

  He jerked loose and scowled at Deputy Sprague, the lawman who’d locked him up alongside that no-good scoundrel who took Theophil’s belongings and who knew how many other men’s things. “Your sheriff said I was free to go. So you’d best let me be.”

  Sprague puffed up importantly. “You’d best not get cantankerous with an officer o’ the law.”

  As much as Earl hated to grovel, he’d been offered good advice. He shoved his hands into his pockets and drew in a calming breath. “Whaddaya want?”

  “Sheriff  Gray feels right bad about you gettin’ stuck here.”

  He hadn’t been stuck. He’d been wrongfully jailed. But Earl clamped his teeth together and didn’t answer.

  “He wants me to give you a ride to wherever you need to go as our way of apologizin’.”

  Earl shifted his jaw back and forth. That three miles to the bridge would go a lot faster in a wagon than on foot. The sooner he got there, the sooner he could saddle his horse and be on his way. That is, if someone hadn’t made off with his horse by now. “ ’Preciate the ride, but what happens if we get to where I left my horse an’ I find out somebody stole it?”

  The deputy made a sour face. “Uh…I reckon we’ll set out to find whoever took it.”

  “An’ what’m I s’posed to do while you’re lookin’? Sit around an’ twiddle my thumbs? You might never find it, an’ like I said when you put me in that blasted cell, I got places to be.” His anger swelled up again. Why had a town the size of  Independence slapped a star on a man with less sense than a box turtle? Wilton would make a better deputy, and Wilton wasn’t exactly known for his brains.

  Sprague gestured toward the sheriff ’s office. “Come back in here a minute, Boyd, and lemme ask Sheriff  Gray somethin’. Then you an’ me’ll set out. All right?”

  Earl stomped up on the boardwalk, but he wouldn’t set foot in that office again. He wanted the sun on his face. “I’ll wait here. Be quick, wouldja?” He’d already lost a full week of  his life because of that deputy’s fool notions.

  Fairland, Kansas

  Grace

  Grace fingered the fat envelope that Rufus had dropped off earlier. Not the same one he’d forgotten last Saturday, but a new one. Aunt Bess, as she now insisted Grace call her, and Uncle Philemon had let her read the letter before they sealed the envelope, and even though it was folded and tucked out of sight, in her mind’s eye she could still see some of the woman’s neatly written lines.

  Mr. Philemon Cristler, former minister of the Fairland Gospel Church in Fairland, Kansas, and I offer ourselves as servants to the natives residing on any of the reservations within the mission board’s jurisdiction.

  Uncle Philemon and Mrs. Kirby—who would be Mrs. Cristler by this Saturday—could end up serving in Oklahoma, but they warned Grace they might be sent to Colorado or even the Dakotas. While she admired their willingness to serve wherever they were needed, she couldn’t deny suffering a deep pang of sadness. If they traveled so far away, she might not see them again for years. How she would miss both of them.

  But she would have her Rufus. Her heart gave a flutter, her cares melting.

  With the happier thought sustaining her, she dropped the envelope in the outgoing mail basket and turned her attention to sweeping. While she performed the task, her thoughts ran ahead to the evening when she and Aunt Bess would finish their wedding dresses. Neither of them had chosen to decorate their frocks with frills or lace. Aunt Bess agreed that practical was best. But Grace intended to fasten Aunt Wilhelmina’s cameo to the simple neckline, and Mrs. Perry had gifted both of the soon-to-be brides with scarves made from Brussels lace. “Use the scarf as a veil,” the woman had said, shaking her finger at Grace.

  Grace thought the nearly sheer, delicate lace too ostentatious to pair with her muslin dress, but the milliner insisted no respectable bride would stand before her groom with her hair uncovered. In that moment Grace had heard Aunt Wilhelmina’s strident instructions, so she’d accepted the gift and would pin it over her hair when she met Rufus at the front of the church on Saturday morning.

  A photographer from Lawrence, hired by Uncle Philemon, planned to arrive on Friday’s
stage. Grace had never had a portrait made, and it thrilled her that her very first photograph ever would be as Mrs. Rufus Dille.

  She paused, hugging the broom to her thudding chest. Even though they would have an unpretentious double ceremony—Uncle Philemon would first officiate hers and Rufus’s exchange of vows, then Rufus would join Uncle Philemon and Bess Kirby as man and wife—she knew it would be a memorable day, one she would cherish forever.

  Only six more days and her years of yearning to become a wife would find their happy ending. She closed her teary eyes and whispered, “Thank You, my dear Lord, for granting me the deepest desire of my heart.”

  Near the Kansas-Missouri border

  Earl

  He could hardly believe it. His saddle and bag of  belongings, including Theophil’s Bible, were still in the shadowy corner of the barn. Except for a few fresh mouse droppings and chew holes, they appeared undisturbed. And outside of the lean-to, his horse grazed on sprigs of green growing near the river. Earl didn’t think he’d ever been so happy to see an animal.

  He trotted to the river’s edge and caught a handful of mane. “C’mon up here. Let’s get you saddled an’—” His excitement died as quick as it had flared. No wonder nobody’d stolen the old nag. It was still limping, and its knee looked like a burl on an oak tree.

  Deputy Sprague ambled over and squatted next to the horse. He fingered the knot and then whistled through his teeth. “This horse ain’t gonna be able to carry you or anything else. Did he step in a hole?”

  Earl had no idea. They’d covered some rough terrain, so the horse might’ve found a hole or stepped wrong on a rock. Or maybe he’d just pushed the animal too fast. He’d paid next to nothing for it. The farmer who sold it to him probably knew it was going lame, and that’s why he sold it so cheap. He shrugged. “I dunno. Maybe.”

  Sprague stretched upright and shook his head, still looking at the horse. “I feel right bad about this, Boyd, more or less leavin’ you stranded.”