No Buttons Or Beaux
Page 15
“I take it he doesn’t know that our family sponsors the orphanage,” Mama said.
“He’s aware the family takes wooden toys to the orphanage for Christmas. We’ve all agreed nobody needs to know you gave that mansion away to be an orphanage, Mama, and the family’s support is a case of the left hand not knowing what the right hand is doing.”
Dumping the clothespins from the pail into her apron, Aunt Delilah said, “It’s okay to keep some things to yourself.”
“I know. Those are all things where I wouldn’t just be speaking for myself. I’d feel wrong divulging a confidence that I held for others.”
Delilah left, and Mama quietly slipped away to get Daddy’s Bible. When she came back, she didn’t say a word. She set it down on the workbench and walked back out.
Lifting Daddy’s Bible, Kate felt the cover on it shift ominously. It was so precarious. If I make a new cover, maybe we can take this to a bindery in San Francisco and have them repair it. He’d have to make do without it for a while, but in the end, he’ll have something that’ll last his lifetime.
Try as she might, Kate couldn’t remember the measurements she took so she could cut the leather. After the third time, she grew exasperated with herself. What’s wrong with me?
She stared at the Bible, then at the clothespin pail. I feel just as empty as that pail, Lord. What am I going to do?
Suddenly, I feel guilty. Like I did something wrong. But I didn’t. Aunt Delilah even said it was okay to keep some secrets. She leafed through the Bible. It opened to Luke—which came as no surprise. That was Daddy’s favorite book of the Bible. Christ’s words jumped out at her: “And why beholdest thou the mote that is in thy brother’s eye, but perceivest not the beam that is in thine own eye?”
Conviction poured through her. I felt justified in keeping information back; how can I fault Matt for doing the same thing?
She tore off her apron and rushed to the stable. The few minutes it took to saddle her mustang felt like an eternity.
“What’s got into you?” Tobias asked.
“The truth. I’ll be back later.”
“Where are you going?”
“Pray for me. I’m hoping to meet my future.”
❧
“Sheriff?”
Matt set aside the Wanted posters he’d been studying and rose. “Yes, Mrs. Walcott?”
“Could you please come over to the office?”
The doctor’s wife looked a tad flushed and held her baby tight to her bosom. Matt nodded and took his hat off the peg behind his desk. “Is there a problem?”
“Yes, but I think you’ll be able to solve it. I think it would be best if I take Ginny Mae and wait over at White’s Mercantile.”
“Is your husband at risk?”
“No. But please go over and straight into his exam room. You’re the only one who can handle this, so you’re expected.”
Matt figured she’d said as much as she could. He’d learned Polly was a healer, and she and Doc were laudably closed-mouthed about their patients. He headed down the boardwalk with ground-eating strides, considering all of the possible situations he might encounter.
Dr. Walcott’s place smelled of lye soap and carbolic acid. Matt veered to the left as soon as he entered and pushed his way through the curtain.
“Kate!”
She stood on the opposite side of the exam table. “I didn’t know where to find you. Your housekeeper thought you might be in town. I didn’t want to interrupt if you were in the middle of something important, so I asked Polly to see if you were available.”
She’d said all of that in one breath. Matt knew because he hadn’t taken a breath, either.
“I was upset because you said you cared, but you kept a big secret from me.”
“I know. I’m sorry—”
She held up one hand. “But I had no room to judge. I’d been keeping secrets from you, too. Aunt Delilah and my cousin Laurel are very successful artists. Each Christmas, they paint clothespin ornaments and give a dozen as a thank you to each sponsor who funds the education of one of the older kids at the orphanage. And the orphanage—the one you’ve mentioned. Mama inherited that mansion. She gave it up to become the new location because the old orphanage was falling apart. And my family—we don’t want folks to know that we fund the orphanage.”
Matt rounded the table. “Why are you telling me these things?”
“Because I don’t ever want dishonesty between us.” Tears filled her eyes.
“I don’t want that, either.” He slowly took her hand in his. “But with my kind of job, there are bound to be times when I can’t tell you what’s going on.”
“I know. I understand now.”
“If it’ll bother you, I’ll give it up in an instant. I bought the Youngblood place. I could farm or ranch.”
“Between the Chances and MacPhersons, there are plenty of those already. They’d gladly rent the land from you.”
Matt shook his head slowly. “No, Kate. That’s not really what I hoped for.”
A stricken look flashed across her face.
He slowly trailed a fingertip across the freckles on her cheek. “I told you that night we did dishes together that I reckoned the only woman I’d call simply by her given name would be my wife. That day I sought you out in the woods, you might not have noticed, but I stopped calling you Miss Kate. I did that because I realized I’d fallen in love with you and wanted you to be mine. What I’ve been hoping for, praying for, was to have you as my wife.”
At first, she gaped. Then the very tip of her tongue slipped out to moisten her lips.
“I’m not the most patient man, but I’ll wait until you figure out your feelings. I know where I stand, and if it takes seven years to court you, I’ll do it, just like Jacob waited for Rachel in the Bible.”
“It took him fourteen years.” Her voice sounded low and shaky.
That reminder didn’t please him, but Matt tamped down his feelings. Kate’s feelings were what counted. “If it takes twice that long, I’ll wait. I love you, Kate. Nothing’s going to change that.”
“I love you, too.”
Her admission nearly knocked him out of his boots.
“But Matt?”
“Yes?”
“There’s a problem.”
“Darlin’, nothing is going to stand in our way. Look how far God’s brought us.”
“I met Miss Jenny. She insisted on giving me a cookie and a glass of lemonade. She’s a nice lady, but we’ll both be seeing God a lot sooner than we imagined if we keep her as our cook.”
Epilogue
Folks packed the pews in church. Johnna squeezed April tight. “’Tis a joy to be sharin’ today, ain’t it?”
“Yes!” April then whispered, “Kate told me Miss Jenny made potato salad.”
“Thanks for warnin’ me. Last thang I want is to wind up ailin’ from our weddin’ supper. I s’pose I ought to mention that you’ll want to thank Aunt Eunice for doing sommat special. She took a mind to fancify the deviled eggs. They’re a right purdy color on account of her addin’ Tabasco to the yolks.”
“I’ll be sure to pass the word on.”
“You gals best save your talkin’ for the words what matter most down at the altar,” Uncle Obie said.
Tobias and Caleb opened the doors from the narthex to the sanctuary, and the organist began to play the “Wedding March.” Johnna held her father’s arm and a sheaf of yellow roses as she walked down the aisle.
Trevor could barely wait for her. Uncle Obie’s normally booming voice had a catch to it when he said, “I ain’t a-gonna give up my little girl ’til she give me one last kiss.”
Johnna calmly handed her roses to Trevor, lifted her veil, and bussed her pa.
“Ain’t easy. I’m marryin’ off my two eldest today. But Trevor, ain’t a better man for my Johnna, so I’m a-givin’ her to you.”
Trevor handed back Johnna’s flowers. “I’ll love her forever.”
“
I aim to go sit by my Lois so’s we cain share the sight of my son’s bride a-walking down this aisle.” Uncle Obie tugged Lois out into the aisle, stepped in, and tugged her to his side. “You cain’t see past me, sugar. Here you are.”
The organist took her cue and began playing again. Gideon Chance stood in front of April, blocking everyone’s view of her. He lit the white pillar candle she held. “You’re beautiful, sweetheart. Mama and I love you and trust God to bless you and Peter.”
“I love you, too, Daddy.” She peeked around him as Peter stepped to the front of the church. April let out a delighted laugh. “Oh, Daddy—I asked him not to wear a white shirt, and he didn’t! The only thing more golden than that shirt is his heart.”
Gideon Chance stepped to the side, and April slid her hand into the crook of his elbow. Joy lit Peter’s face as soon as he saw his bride.
Tobias continued to hold the door open and looked at Kate. “Take off those gloves, sis. Matt loves you just as you are.”
Kate hastily tugged off the gloves, and Tobias shoved them into his pocket. Her father smiled as he pressed his newly covered Bible into her hands. “You look just as pretty as your mama did in that gown, Katie.”
“Thank you, Daddy.”
“Dad,” Tobias hissed. “The music’s started up again. Get going!”
Titus Chance shot his eldest a reproving look. “Salter knows my daughter is worth waiting for.”
“He’s patient, Daddy,” Kate agreed. “But I’m not. If you don’t give me your arm, I’m going to gallop down the aisle all by myself.”
He threaded her arm through his and chuckled. “You’ll always be my little girl.”
“Yes, Daddy, I will.” Kate looked ahead at her bridegroom. “But even more, I’ll be Matt’s wife.”
All three couples stood at the altar. Pastor Abe smiled at them. “God’s home is always full of hope and love. Today, an extra measure of both has been poured out upon us because three of our young couples are here to pledge their hearts in holy matrimony.”
Sacred vows were exchanged, communion was shared, then each couple sealed their promises with a kiss.
The pastor looked at Johnna and Trevor, then April and Peter, and finally at Kate and Matt. “It’s my privilege to pronounce these three couples as man and wife. Surely we can all say our cup runneth over with love.”
About the Author
Cathy Marie Hake is a Southern California native who loves her work as a nurse and Lamaze teacher. She and her husband have a daughter, a son, and three dogs, so life is never dull or quiet. Cathy considers herself a sentimental packrat, collecting antiques and Hummel figurines. In spare moments, she reads, bargain hunts, and makes a huge mess with her new hobby of scrapbooking.
Dedication
To my dear friend, Deb Boone, who loves the Lord and others with every fiber of her being.
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I love to hear from my readers! You may correspond with me by writing:
Cathy Marie Hake
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