Grace and the Preacher

by Kim Vogel Sawyer

  “Just Earl’ll do.”

  “Earl then.” Uncle Philemon smiled as warmly as he’d smile at a harmless grandmother who’d arrived on his doorstep. “Have you come for Rufus’s wedding?”

  Earl shot a startled look at Rufus. “Um, I…”

  Rufus cleared his throat. “Reverend Cristler, Aunt Bess, Grace…” He stepped to the dais, his head low, then turned and lifted his chin. “My name isn’t Rufus Dille. It’s Theophil Garrison. Rufus Dille is buried in a cemetery in Lexington, Missouri, where he died of a ruptured appendix at the doctor’s house where I took him after I found him, sick an’ hurtin’, on the road.”

  Grace clapped her hands over her mouth and stared at him. Aunt Bess gripped her uncle’s arm, her face registering shock. Uncle Philemon slipped his free arm around Grace’s waist and pulled her close. They clung to each other, forming a little band of disbelief.

  Rufus—no, Theophil—glanced at his cousin, who leaned against the wall in the corner, listening. Something flickered in Theophil’s deep-brown eyes. Regret? Worry? Grace wasn’t sure. But as quickly as it flared, it disappeared, and a steely resolve—a resolve unlike anything she’d ever witnessed in his bearing—replaced it.

  “I was on my way to Iowa to get away from my cousins. I was scared they’d hurt me because I betrayed them, an’ they got locked up in the state penitentiary for ten years because of  it.”

  Grace sent a quick, startled look at her uncle. What kind of man was this Theophil Garrison?

  “But then I found Reverend Dille. Before he died, he asked me to take a message to Fairland—to you, Grace—”

  She gasped, pain stabbing her center. Her Rufus, her real Rufus, had sent a message for her?

  “—that he wouldn’t be comin’ after all.” Theophil shook his head, lifting his gaze toward the beamed ceiling. “I promise you before God, I didn’t come here with a plan to trick you.” He looked at them again, his eyes pleading. “But when I got here, an’ Aunt Bess called me Reverend Dille, an’ everybody made me feel welcome—more welcome than I’d felt anywhere since I was a little boy—I…I wanted to be home. An’ I figured I’d be safe, too, ’cause my cousins wouldn’t know to come lookin’ for me here.”

  Grace couldn’t speak. Apparently neither could Uncle Philemon or Aunt Bess, because they remained silent and as still as statues.

  He held his hands outward. “I decided to bury Theo Garrison an’ be Rufus Dille instead. Figured it’d be a new start for me. But the longer I was here, the harder it got, because I was fallin’ in love. In love with Grace…”

  She buried her face against her uncle’s suit front, unable to look at the man she’d thought would be her husband.

  “With the people in town. Especially you, Aunt Bess.”

  A sniffle sounded near Grace’s ear.

  “And you, too, sir.”

  Uncle Philemon rested his cheek on the top of  Grace’s head.

  “You called me ‘son.’ I’m so sorry I let you down.”

  Shame laced his voice, and Grace wanted to believe his sincerity, but how could she? For weeks he’d lied to her. Had lulled her into trusting him. She’d thought he was her dream come true, and now he’d become her nightmare.

  For long seconds the only sound in the room was the soft tick-tock of the regulator clock. Then someone’s feet scuffed on the floor. The scuff turned into a steady pace. She recognized his firm step.

  She lifted her face from Uncle Philemon’s front and discovered the preacher who wasn’t a preacher at all standing so close she glimpsed her reflection in his brown eyes.

  He whispered, “I’m sorry, Grace. Please forgive me.”

  She ran up the aisle and out the front doors.

  Grace

  Grace sent a message with a neighbor boy on Friday morning to Mrs. Robison, asking the woman to fill in at the post office until further notice. She wasn’t sick. She had no real excuse for not seeing to her duties as postmistress. She risked losing her job, but she couldn’t make herself go, knowing Theophil Garrison could come in at any time. She didn’t want to see him.

  The Lawrence photographer arrived on the Friday stage as planned, and Uncle Philemon and Aunt Bess posed for a portrait together in front of a painted screen. They both tried to talk her into having her picture made. After all, how often would she have the opportunity? But standing in front of the camera alone when she’d looked forward to a wedding portrait would be too humiliating. So she refused.

  On Saturday, Uncle Philemon and Aunt Bess drove into Bonner Springs and asked a justice of the peace to legally join them as husband and wife. When they returned, the social committee ladies hosted a dinner in the town square, but Grace didn’t attend the celebration. How could she show her face when everyone knew she’d been taken in by a fake preacher? People would either pity her or ridicule her. She wouldn’t subject herself to either treatment.

  After the party, which ended close to nine o’clock, the newly married couple came by the house to gather some of  Uncle Philemon’s things for transport to the boardinghouse, where they would stay until they heard back from the mission board. She wanted them to stay and visit, but eagerness to be alone drew them out the door after only a few minutes.

  Alone in the house where she’d grown up, she paced the floors for hours, unable to sleep. She’d never been by herself  before. Every floorboard creak, every whistle of wind through a window crack, every snap of a tree limb and hoot of an owl seemed threatening. How could Rufus—Theophil—do this to her? This was supposed to be her wedding night, the beginning of a beautiful future. Instead, she was alone, lonely, heartbroken, and frightened. She tried to pray, but no words would form. Instead, she buried her face in her pillow and cried until sleep finally overtook her well after the mantel clock chimed twelve.

  Sunday she awakened late, groggy and heartsore, and stayed in bed until midmorning. She wasn’t sick—not physically. And no weather calamity kept her from attending service. Guilt pricked her, persistent as a toothache, but she ignored it. Over the course of the night, her hurt and embarrassment had grown into a ball of  fury. Fury with Theophil Garrison but also with God. Why had He allowed her to fall in love with someone who wasn’t trustworthy?

  Shortly after noon she stood in her dressing gown beside the cold stove, staring into the empty coffeepot. Uncle Philemon entered the house through the kitchen door and gave her one of  his eyebrows-high, lips-crunched, peering-over-the-top-of-his-spectacles looks.

  She held up her hand. “Don’t scold. I couldn’t go. You know why.” She clapped the lid on the pot, crossed to the table, and sank down in a chair.

  Uncle Philemon moved behind her and put his hands on her shoulders. “I wasn’t going to scold. You’re not a little girl anymore, and you can make your own decisions about whether or not to attend worship services. But I sincerely hope you won’t make a habit of  hiding away on Sundays. You know the importance of gathering with fellow believers.”

  She covered her face with her hands. “It’s too raw. I can’t face anyone yet.”

  He rubbed her shoulders briefly and then settled in the chair next to her. “I wish you had come. Theophil stood before the congregation this morning and confessed his duplicity. I know it was difficult for him. Especially when Leland Judd openly condemned him. But Theophil stood quietly before the accusations and made no excuses for himself. Then after Leland stormed out, he begged the congregation’s pardon and asked for forgiveness.”

  She lowered her hands and gawked at her uncle. “Of course he made no excuses. There are no excuses for what he’s done. Assuming a dead man’s identity? Pretending to be a minister? Fooling me—us!—into thinking he was someone he isn’t? It’s unforgivable!”

  “Grace…” Uncle Philemon shook his head, his eyes sad. “Yes, he lied. He deceived everyone, including himself. But he did not commit an unpardonable sin.” He sandwiched one of  her hands between his. “What does the Bible tell us about judging others?”

&
nbsp; She sighed. “ ‘Judge not, that ye be not judged.’ I know Matthew seven, verse one well. Aunt Wilhelmina made me memorize it when I came home from school upset and seeking revenge because Mary Vail stole the sugar cookies from my lunch pail. Auntie told me Mary’s family was very poor and couldn’t afford sweets so I must forgive her and be understanding. But Theophil isn’t a small child who stole a cookie. He stole my heart and my trust. What he did was hurtful and spiteful and wrong.”

  His hands tightened on hers. “Grace, Romans three verse ten tells us—”

  “ ‘There is none righteous, no, not one.’ I know we’re all sinners. But he—”

  “He made a mistake, Grace. Was it a grave mistake with far-reaching consequences? Yes. He will have to live with those consequences.”

  So would she. She gritted her teeth.

  “But he’s trying to make amends. And no matter how we feel about what he did, he hasn’t broken any laws. A man has the right to change his name. A man has the right to pursue a new occupation. He didn’t set out to defraud us but to serve us.”

  “But he preached to us, and he isn’t a trained minister. Isn’t that defrauding?”

  “As I reminded Leland this morning, I had no formal training, no certificate from a Bible school, before I began preaching.”

  Her uncle’s calm counters only served to raise her indignation. “But you didn’t pretend to have a certificate. You never tried to make people believe you were someone you weren’t.”

  “No, I didn’t, but in my lifetime I’ve made other mistakes. Mistakes that sometimes hurt people and created unpleasant consequences for myself.”

  She turned aside, unwilling to accept the compassion he wanted to offer the man who’d trampled her dream of  happiness. “Please stop defending him. What he did was reprehensible. You might be able to forgive him, but I can’t.”

  Uncle Philemon fell silent.

  After several minutes of tense quiet, Grace stood and returned to the stove. “Is he going to stay and continue to preach?”

  “No. He resigned the position this morning—”

  She sniffed.

  “—but promised to stay in town and address any questions people might have.”

  She sent a frown over her shoulder. “He’s staying? How long?” She wouldn’t be able to leave her house until she knew she wouldn’t accidentally encounter him.

  “I don’t know how long, but Lucas Bibb plans to put Theophil to work helping him build a livery stable behind his blacksmith shop. And Bess is particularly pleased with his decision. She believes his determination not to slink away in shame shows he sincerely wants to make things right with the people he misled.”

  She began rearranging the little ceramic seasoning jars on the shelf above the stove. If  he was staying in town, she would have to leave. She had no reason to stay now that Uncle Philemon was moving away. She’d most likely die of loneliness here by herself without her uncle or a family of  her own.

  She thumped the pepper jar onto the shelf and spun to face her uncle. “May I go to the Indian reservation with you and Aunt Bess? I could help, maybe teach the children, or—”

  He stood and took hold of  her upper arms. “Grace, I love you, but no. I won’t allow you to slink away in shame, either. It would be wrong for you to use the mission as a hiding place.”

  Tears flooded her eyes, distorting her vision. She hung her head and whispered raggedly, “But I’m afraid to be here by myself. How will I manage all on my own?”

  He pulled her into his embrace. His strong arms offered a refuge she needed badly. He stroked her hair and laid his chin against her head. “Dear girl, haven’t you learned yet that you are never on your own? Your heavenly Father is always with you. He will never leave you nor forsake you. He can bring healing to your hurting heart if you’ll let go of your anger and bitterness toward Theophil.”

  She pulled loose and wiped her eyes on her sleeve. Fear rolled through her again. She might never find healing, because she didn’t know how to release the bitter anger Theophil’s deception had planted deep in her soul.

  Four weeks later, on a hot, windy June Friday, Grace stood outside the post office and hugged her uncle and Aunt Bess good-bye. As they rode away in Mr. Lunger’s stagecoach, she managed a smile for their sake, but inside she was crying. She’d slowly adjusted to staying at the house by herself, although she still slept fitfully. But now she wouldn’t even have them visiting her in the evening or stopping by the post office for a chat.

  Releasing a heavy sigh, she turned to go into the building, and a shadow slipped along the boardwalk and flowed into her path. She looked up and found herself, for the first time since she ran from the church the night of their wedding rehearsal, face-to-face with Theophil Garrison.

  She darted into the post office and behind the counter, her heart pounding like a bass drum.

  He entered the building, too, but he remained just over the threshold on the little rag rug and held the screen door slightly ajar with his shoulder. He wore a plaid shirt and tan trousers, so different from the suits he’d worn as Rufus Dille. He kept one hand behind his back and gazed at her with deep-brown eyes full of contrition. “Grace.”

  The simple greeting, the single word holding so much hope and longing, raised an ache in the center of  her chest. Oh, how she wanted to respond to it, which made her disgusted with herself. Why hadn’t her weeks of separation and harbored anger squashed the feelings she’d held for the man she thought he was?

  “We’re no longer in courtship. You may call me Miss Cristler.” She busied herself  flicking through the letters that had arrived on the stage. “What do you want, Mr. Garrison?”

  “I want to apologize to you.”

  Flick, flick, flick. “According to my uncle, you already offered your apology to the congregation.” From where had this tart tone of voice come? She’d never been so snippy with anyone. Her deliberate inconsideration stung her conscience, but she didn’t soften her voice. “There’s nothing more you need to say.”

  “But there is.” He took a single step forward. The screen door slapped into its frame, and she jumped. Regret pinched his face. “I was selfish, an’ I hurt you.”

  She frowned. Of all the wrongs he’d committed, she hadn’t added selfishness to the list. “Selfish?”

  He nodded. “By bein’ a preacher, I could be important. When I started courtin’ you, I did it because I thought you’d help me be a better preacher. Then I could be even more important.”

  Heat exploded in her face. She still couldn’t enter the mercantile without people whispering behind their hands. The sight of  husbands and wives made her want to weep. Now he’d confessed he’d only courted her to further his own position in town. Was there no end to this humiliation? She turned her back on him. “In another hour people will begin arriving and asking for their mail. I need to get it sorted.”

  “I’ll go after I’ve had my say.”

  If  he wanted to talk, then he could talk. But she had work to do. She began flipping envelopes into the cubbies while he continued in a quiet yet steady voice.

  “I was lookin’ to you to fill me up an’ make me be something better, an’ I was wrong to do it. ’Cause God’s the only real filler. Lookin’ to you was the same as puttin’ some other god before the most high and holy God. When I was a little boy, my Granny Iva showed me in the Bible where He says not to do that. He said, ‘Thou shalt have no other gods before me.’ He has to be first. Because if  He’s not first, then we can’t be whole.”

  Grace’s hand trembled as she lifted another envelope. Her chest ached, and the urge to cry nearly overwhelmed her. She sucked in a steadying breath. “Is that all?”

  “Almost.”

  She dropped an envelope and squatted to retrieve it. As she pinched it up, he hurried around the counter and crouched before her. He cupped her chin and lifted her face. She had no choice but to gaze directly into his fervent eyes.

  “I lied about
a lot of things but not everything. I never lied about how I feel about you.”

  She might have turned to stone in that moment. Her muscles refused to move. Her pulse pounded in her ears, a thrumming beat that nearly drowned out his quiet admissions.

  Slowly he brought his hand from behind his back and laid something on her bent knee. She glanced down, and her heart constricted painfully in her chest. Uncle Philemon’s Bible. His promise from weeks ago to return the Bible to her if  his grandmother’s Bible found its way back to him whispered through her mind. His words—“I figure it means as much to you as Granny Iva’s Bible meant to me. It’ll mean even more when he’s not with you”—were so true. Even more so now than then.

  She lifted her face and met his somber gaze.

  “I love you, Grace. An’ I reckon I always will.”

  He rose and rounded the counter. The smack of the screen door told her he’d left. But his words hung in the room like the essence of cloves. “God’s the only real filler….He has to be first. Because if  He’s not first, then we can’t be whole.” She sank onto the floor on her bottom, slumped over the Bible in her lap, and let the tears flow.

  Theophil’s words played through her heart the rest of the week, pricking her with their simple yet profound truth. Her dedicated, hardworking aunt had done a beautiful job of teaching her to be a supportive wife. But somehow Grace had never learned to put God first. Instead, she’d yearned for the day when she could belong to a husband and serve beside him.

  “If  He’s not first, then we can’t be whole.” Could God truly fulfill her in every way, including her need for companionship? The question refused to leave her mind.

  Sunday she hurried through her morning routine, intending to dress and go to church. Deacon Judd had assumed preaching duties until their new minister, another graduate from the Clineburgh Seminary in Bowling Green, arrived at the end of  July. She hadn’t been to services for weeks, and as Uncle Philemon had cautioned, she missed being with fellow believers. Yet even as she tucked her Bible in her arms, uncertainty plagued her. She wasn’t ready to join the congregation. Not quite yet.