* * *
As he rode back to town, Micah prayed for understanding about what went wrong with Grace. Her eyes betrayed a heart filled with love for him. In spite of his doubts an hour ago, he just knew it. He’d seen the look in every couple he’d ever joined in marriage. Maybe he’d underestimated the depth of her pain. Or maybe she thought she needed to change for him. That was the last thing he would ask of her. Perhaps his love could help her overcome those hurtful ways of thinking.
When he first felt the Lord’s call to marry, he’d made a list of qualities his wife should have. First, she must trust the Lord. Then she must care about other people and enjoy ministering to them. On the practical side, she must be hospitable and be able to keep house and cook. And he wouldn’t complain if she was pretty. Grace was all of that and more.
And yet, he recalled another asset he’d listed. His wife must be ladylike and modestly dressed to set an example for the girls in his congregation. He laughed at himself. Grace might not possess the elegant manners Miss Sutton displayed. She might not like to wear frilly dresses. But he would gladly surrender his desire for those qualities. Grace more than made up for them by setting a different kind of example. She could tame the Wild West as well as any man, something no fragile flower of a lady could ever do.
But what about him? Was he what Grace needed? How many times had he counseled young couples that a happy marriage wasn’t built on finding the right person, but on being the right person? What did he need to change to be the right person for Grace? Perhaps she didn’t want to be a minister’s wife. Since the Lord had clearly called Micah to the ministry, that was the only thing he couldn’t change.
His ruminations came to an end when he arrived at the livery stable and found Adam brushing one of Ben Russell’s horses, his forehead furrowed as he concentrated on his work. Had something happened to his father?
“Adam.” Micah tried to keep the worry out of his voice. “How are you?”
“Well, sir.” He glanced over his shoulder. “Pa’s still with us.”
Thankful that he’d offered the news, Micah asked, “Don’t you want to be with him?”
“Yessir.” Adam cleaned horsehair from his brush and let it fall to the dirt floor before resuming the task. “But I need to work, too.”
Micah would volunteer to take his place, but the boy had his manly pride and didn’t take charity well. “All right. I told your mother I’d stay with him tonight so she could get some rest.”
“We’re much obliged.” At least Adam didn’t reject help for his mother. “Tell Ma I’ll be home soon.”
Micah walked the three blocks to the Starling house and found the mayor’s wife, Addie Jones, had brought supper for the family.
“There’s enough for you, Reverend.” The brown-haired, middle-aged woman bustled about the kitchen making sure Molly and Jack were fed. “I brought biscuits and eggs for breakfast, too.”
With food taken care of, Micah had only to entertain the children until their bedtime. He gathered them on the shabby settee in the parlor and took the large family Bible from a nearby table. In the front of the hand-tooled leather holy book, a family history was recorded, going back four generations. Micah was carried back to his childhood when his grandfather used to read to him from a similar Bible, the one that now sat on a stand in his office at the church.
“Look, Molly, Jack. This is your family.” He read several names.
The children’s eyes sparkled with interest. They asked about the various relatives, but he had no answers for them.
“Now read about David,” four-year-old Jack said. Six-year-old Molly voiced her agreement.
And so Micah read, theatrically embellishing the story with bits of history he’d learned in seminary, sometimes causing the children to giggle with his antics. All the while, he imagined reading the beloved story to his own little ones. Would Grace want to have children? He hoped she did. Micah could imagine sweet little girls and boys with her bright blue eyes and glorious red hair who loved adventure as much as he and Grace did. Tomorrow morning, he would begin his campaign to overcome her resistance to his courtship.
He couldn’t wait to get started.
Chapter Fifteen
Grace gave Mack his head and let him gallop most of the way to town. As exhilarating as such runs were, they always winded her as much as her horse, so she slowed him as they neared the church. It wouldn’t do to arrive all breathless.
She’d started to wear her blue dress but decided on her usual trousers. At Georgia’s insistence, she wore a frilly white shirtwaist Rosamond Northam had made for Maisie’s eighteenth birthday. Funny how the starched white cotton, lace trimmings and pearly buttons made her feel more ladylike. Maybe she could get used to this. Sort of used to it. Maybe.
No one answered the door at the parsonage, so she walked over to the church. Empty, too. Disappointed and a bit frustrated, she made her way to Micah’s office. Micah? Yes, since yesterday’s talk with Ma and Georgia, she had begun to think of him by his Christian name. If he truly did love her, he wouldn’t mind. Or so she hoped.
He wasn’t in his office. Rather than track him down all over town, she’d leave him a note. She sat at his desk and gazed around. Books lined his shelves, mostly Bible commentaries. A large leather Bible rested on a library stand, and a globe stood beside it. Did Micah want to travel? As long as she’d known him, she’d never asked him about things like that.
A fancy fountain pen was stuck in a holder on the desk, but she saw no paper. She opened the wide center drawer and rummaged through the clutter. How funny that such a neat and tidy man would have such a jumbled drawer.
Her hand touched a lined tablet, the perfect paper for her note, if it had an empty page. She pulled it out and flipped over the top page. All the pages below seemed to be covered with Micah’s neat handwriting. Before Grace knew what she was doing, she was reading his words. The more she read, the more her hair stood on end. This was about her. He was writing a story about her job as a deputy. The ridiculous name of his heroine, Willa Ketchum, wasn’t in the least bit funny. She also recognized several other townspeople. Grace bit her lip. How could Micah betray his congregation this way?
No longer caring that she was snooping, she looked in all of the desk drawers. In the bottom right drawer, she found three copies of that horrid, foolish Rio Grande Sheriff. An open letter on top of the books was addressed to Micah. It was from his publisher. Stunned to the core of her being, she couldn’t even pick up one of the books. So he was the Cowboy Storyteller!
“Grace, what are you doing?” Micah stood in the doorway, his handsome face wrinkled into a frown. “Are you going through my desk?”
She stared back at him for several seconds, trying to contain her anger. “I was looking for some paper to leave you a note.”
His jaw clenched and unclenched several times. “Upper left drawer.”
She stood. “Never mind. I don’t have anything to say to you.”
“Fine. The feeling is mutual.”
My, my. Didn’t he sound highbrow? What had she been thinking to believe he loved her? She strode past him and out the door.
“Grace, wait.”
But she wouldn’t wait. Wouldn’t listen. No reason or excuse for his betrayal would ever change her mind. Or soothe her heart.
* * *
Micah couldn’t believe what he’d just seen. Grace’s intrusion was far worse than Miss Sutton’s taking over his kitchen and parlor. Now he could see it was best that Grace had refused his courtship. She was definitely not the wife for him.
Weary beyond words from his night of sitting with Bob Starling, he dropped into his desk chair and began straightening the papers she’d rummaged through. The bottom drawer was open and the copies of his novel exposed, along with the letter from his editor. The tablet upon which he was
writing the sequel lay on the desk with several pages flipped over. So she’d read it. And obviously been offended. No surprise there. She’d hated his first book and no doubt hated this one. Well, she didn’t have anything to complain about. He was the offended party. The idea that she would invade his privacy this way hurt and angered him more than he thought possible.
Beneath the tablet, he found a separate page titled, “Qualities of a Proper Wife for a Minister.” Had Grace read it, too? In fact, had he actually written down his preferences? Good. Now he had another quality to add. A proper wife must not be a meddlesome snoop.
Too exhausted to think more about it, he shoved the tablet and list into the top drawer and shut the bottom one. He made his way across the back of the church property and into the kitchen. To his vast relief, the house was empty. He fell into bed and let the world melt away.
* * *
This time, Grace locked her bedroom door so Ma and Georgia couldn’t come in. She took off the frilly blouse and put on her favorite flannel shirt, then lay on her bed and cried her eyes out. In all her born days, she never expected Reverend Thomas to be two-faced or sneaky. He was making money from selling out his congregation. He was betraying their trust. He was making fun of and profit from her. A thousand knife cuts couldn’t hurt as badly as his betrayal did.
Her tears spent, she poured icy water from her pitcher into her bowl and washed her face. She sat at her vanity and stared at herself in the mirror for a while, counting every line and scar as she brushed her waist-length hair. Ladies like Miss Sutton had lily-white complexions, but Grace’s was tanned from a lifetime of working the ranch in the sun. In the winter, her red hair turned darker, but in the summer, that same sun bleached blond streaks through it. Like her four sisters, she had an oval face. In pictures taken with them, she could see she most closely resembled Beryl. When they were children, people thought they were twins, until Grace grew taller even than Maisie. Always when Grace had looked at Beryl, she’d seen a beauty, one worthy of a rich Englishman’s love. Yet when she looked into the mirror, she saw nothing of the sort. Who could account for such a difference?
School was out until January, so Georgia was in town to help Miss Sutton and Anna Means finish plans for the Christmas pageant, to take place on Wednesday, Christmas Eve. That gave Grace some peace for now, but sooner or later she’d have to face Ma. Sooner came far too soon.
“Grace.” Ma pounded on her door. “I need your help with supper.”
Grace set down her brush. “Yes, ma’am.” Her throat still choked with tears, she sounded like she was gargling salt water. Helping Ma would be good for her. Getting back to normal life—normal before she became a deputy—she could work off her sorrows by digging into ranch work. Pa had three men working for him through the winter, but he could always use another hand.
In the kitchen, she sat at the table and peeled potatoes and carrots for tonight’s stew while Ma made Christmas cookies for Wednesday’s celebration. After countless quiet minutes, Ma plopped herself down beside Grace and set a hand on her wrist.
“Are you going to tell me what happened this morning?”
Might as well get it over with. Grace explained her reason for being in Reverend Thomas’s office, including digging through his desk and, worse, finding the horrible novel hidden in a lower drawer. Her voice broke as she told of the minister’s shock and anger at finding her there and her own anger back at him.
“How could he betray his church that way?” Grace looked at Ma, hoping she could make some sense of it. To her surprise, Ma’s blue eyes twinkled merrily.
“From where I sit, it’s not a betrayal. It’s a compliment. An honor, even.” She laughed in her warmhearted way. “You keep avoiding the book, but it’s downright fun to read. Only the outlaws do bad or foolish things, and even they...well, I don’t want to ruin it for you.” Ma laughed again. “So our very own preacher is the Cowboy Storyteller, and his small western town is our own Esperanza.
“My, oh my. Now I can try to figure out who’s who. Won’t that be fun? I wonder how many Western towns have a mayor who’s also the barber. Or three sisters and a female storekeeper who helped wrangle some wicked bank robbers.” Ma sat back and shook her head.
“Though I’m sorta sorry I know who wrote it, because it spoils the fun. But it tickles my innards that it’s my very own parson.” She slapped her hand against her knee and laughed yet again. “Now, I don’t think we should tell anybody about this, do you? I mean, what harm does it do if a preacher wants to make a little honest money outside his church wages? The Apostle Paul was a tentmaker so he didn’t have to burden the churches with his support.”
“But—”
“No buts.” Ma got up and set a hand on Grace’s shoulder. “We’ve always had a lot of fun in our family. Remember how we used to laugh all the time when your sisters were home?” She gripped Grace’s chin and bent down to stare into her eyes. “You stopped laughing when Beryl got shot.” Sorrow flickered briefly in her eyes. “But by the grace of God, she recovered, and now she’s doing fine. More than fine.” She hugged Grace. “You need to revive your sense of humor, daughter. You need to laugh like you mean it.”
Grace felt a pout form on her lips. She had a sense of humor. She did. It was just that...
Willa Ketchum? Without meaning to, she burst out laughing. How had the Rev—Micah—ever come up with such a silly name?
Ma stared at her, one eyebrow lifted.
“Just laughing at something in the Rev’s next book.”
“Well, good.” Ma hurried to the stove and removed a tray of cookies from the oven just in time before they burned. “Now I think you should ride into town first thing tomorrow and apologize to the reverend. He’s been your friend for a long time, and I believe he’s a forgiving man, just like he preaches.”
Ma was right. As innocent as her search of his desk had been, she did owe him an apology. She should have gone looking for him instead of trying to leave a note. If it weren’t so late, she’d ride into town tonight to ask his forgiveness.
* * *
The last week finally caught up with Micah, and he slept through till the next morning. Rested at last, he woke up knowing he owed Grace a huge apology. Not for his book, although he knew he could give it up for her without regret. But for his anger. He’d had long nights before, but sometimes it was harder to recover than others. No one wanted Bob Starling to die. Yet the way he barely held on to life brought continuing pain to his whole family. It affected their faith and wore poor Adam down to the bone. If all things truly did work together for good, how could Micah explain all of this to the family? The death of a husband, father and provider was nothing less than a horrible tragedy. How could it ever be considered “good”?
This morning he still needed to finish his Christmas message for tomorrow night, but this afternoon, he’d ride out to the Eberly ranch and ask Grace’s forgiveness for his cross words. Then, if she would listen to him, he would explain why she needed to respect other people’s privacy. She’d grown up in a family of close sisters. He’d lived a solitary life for most of the last fifteen years. A man needed to set boundaries. She could set some, too, if she liked.
Somehow the words he wanted to say to Grace sounded all wrong, but he couldn’t think of another way to say them. By dinnertime, he still hadn’t completed his sermon.
Miss Sutton prepared sandwiches for Micah and Joel and then walked over to the reception hall to hold a final practice with the children. Micah longed to unburden himself to his friend, but Joel had already made plans to spend the afternoon with Nolan Means. Perhaps he hoped for a job in the bank. In their few conversations about Joel’s future, he seemed a bit aimless, so Micah wouldn’t do anything to hold him back. Besides, since Miss Sutton’s engagement, Joel had become more his old self, as if a burden had been lifted from his shoulders.
Micah once a
gain sat at his desk pondering his Christmas message. All he could see was Grace’s face on the page.
A knock sounded on his door. What now? He really needed this time to work. Still, he managed a cheerful, “Come in.”
Nate Northam opened it and stuck in his head. “Howdy, Reverend. Mind if I sit a spell? I just brought Lizzie to pageant practice, so I’m looking to fill my time until it’s over.”
“Come on in,” Micah repeated as he stood to shake his friend’s hand. His message would have to wait until tomorrow, although he didn’t like presenting last-minute sermons. Maybe he’d have to pull out last year’s message and repeat it. “Have a seat.”
“Have you recovered from last week?” Nate sat and placed his Stetson on the chair beside him.
“Pretty much.” He chuckled. “Finally.”
Nate laughed, too. “Yeah, I knew you needed some more rest during your sermon day before yesterday.”
“Ouch.” Micah grimaced. “Thanks, pal.”
A twinkle in Nate’s green eyes reminded Micah of all they’d been through together, both good and bad. “What are friends for?”
What, indeed? “Nate, I’m glad you stopped by. I need a friend’s perspective on something.” Before he knew what he was doing, Micah had told Nate about everything: writing the book, God’s call for him to marry, the proper wife list he’d written, realizing he loved Grace, her refusal to let him court her, how he’d found her snooping through his desk. If his heart weren’t so bruised, he would laugh at the changing expressions on Nate’s face, everything from comical to horrified. When Micah finished, he leaned back in his chair. “Any idea of what I should do?”
“I’ll have to think on that for a minute.” Nate stared off toward the window then returned his gaze to Micah. “One of the first things I learned when Susanna and I married...man, has it been seven years already? Anyway, I learned that nothing is really mine anymore.” He chuckled. “So if you really feel God’s call to marry, you need to give up thinking this is your desk.” He slapped his hand against the finely grained oak. “As you said when you took us through our wedding vows, husband and wife are one flesh.”
Cowgirl Under the Mistletoe Page 21