Karen Witemeyer

by Stealing the Preacher

  But if he could, he just might succeed at taking the first major step toward bringing the community together, and—even better—the first major step in bringing Silas Robbins into the fold.

  16

  Sunday arrived, and with it came an abundance of nervous energy that Joanna could not dispel. Unable to sleep, she’d risen before dawn and dispatched all her chores in record time. She’d even fussed over her appearance longer than usual, wrestling her unruly hair into a soft chignon and trying on both of her Sunday-worthy dresses so many times it was a wonder the shine hadn’t worn off the brass buttons. Despite her lengthy attire deliberations, though, when she checked the mantel clock in the parlor, the hands hadn’t progressed nearly as far as she had hoped. Services weren’t scheduled to start for another hour.

  A tiny moan escaped her lips. She couldn’t stay here and wait. She’d go crazy.

  Joanna entered the kitchen, thinking to check on the roast she’d put in the oven. But what was there to check? She’d already done everything that could be done ahead of time. The roast, onions, carrots, and potatoes were baking. The spinach greens were washed and ready for boiling. Bread baked yesterday waited in the pie safe, and the hard-boiled eggs to top the spinach were already peeled and sitting in a covered bowl on the counter. So what was she to do?

  Her gloves and Bible beckoned to her from where they lay on the table. It had been about this time last Sunday when she’d decided to walk down to the church. Of course, that was before services were officially being held. Yet even then, Crockett had been there. He was probably there now, strolling up and down the center aisle, making sure everything was ready for his inaugural service, perhaps going over his sermon a final time. Was he nervous?

  He always seemed so calm and in control, but he had no way of knowing if his presence would be readily accepted. She had no way of knowing. Starting the church back up had been her dream. What if the community failed to embrace the idea of a new minister? What if no one came?

  Joanna’s eyes rolled at her melodramatic thoughts. Of course they’d come—out of curiosity, if nothing else. After all, the ladies had shown up to help with the cleaning. They wouldn’t expend such an effort if they didn’t plan to attend. Still, it wouldn’t hurt to offer Crockett some moral support, a friendly face to soothe away any anxiety he might be feeling.

  She wouldn’t mind the chance to be alone with him again, either.

  And wasn’t that an improper thought to be having on a Sunday morning.

  Blowing out a breath, Joanna shoved her hands into her best pair of gloves, grabbed up her Bible, and resolved to purify her motives before she reached the church.

  Never one to enjoy stringent lectures, even mental ones instigated by herself, Joanna delighted in discovering a familiar figure a few paces ahead of her when she joined the main road. She quickened her step to catch him.

  “Jackson Spivey. Don’t you look dapper, all cleaned up,” she said by way of greeting as she pulled abreast of the young man. He slowed his step and kicked at a tuft of grass at the side of the road.

  “Yeah, well, I ain’t been to church since my ma left,” he said, a dull red rising up his neck, “but I remember she always made me wash behind my ears afore we came. So I figured I ought to scrub real good today.”

  A soft smile tugged at Joanna’s mouth. It seemed Crockett’s presence was already working miracles. The boy’s damp hair had been combed into submission and he sported a clean shirt, though the sleeves hung past his wrists. He’d probably borrowed it from his father. Tenderness welled inside her for the young man so eager to please his new mentor.

  “I think you look quite fine.”

  Jackson’s face jerked toward hers. “You do?”

  The vulnerability he usually tried to hide flashed to the surface for a moment, and Joanna couldn’t help but offer the reassurance he so obviously craved. “Yes, I do.”

  “Fine enough for me to escort you to services?” Just that fast, all hint of self-doubt fled from his expression, leaving only adolescent male swagger in its wake.

  Even so, Joanna couldn’t ignore the plea for acceptance that lurked behind the cocksure words. “I’d be happy to accept your escort,” she said, “as a friend.” She gave special emphasis to the word friend and breathed easier when Jackson nodded in understanding.

  He offered her his arm, and Joanna slipped her fingers into the crook of his elbow.

  “If you’re gonna walk with me, Jo, you gotta pick up the pace.” Once he had hold of her, Jackson lengthened his stride, nearly dragging her in his hurry. “Crock promised I could ring the bell if I got there early enough. We can’t be late.”

  Joanna stifled a chuckle and quickened her steps. It seemed escorting her to services wasn’t quite as big a coup as ringing the church bell.

  “God loves us all individually,” Crockett pronounced as he strode across the dais, making eye contact with imaginary church members seated in the pews, “and he has blessed each of us with talents and spiritual gifts as unique as the shape of a face or the sound of a voice. Yet it is not God’s will that we exist solely as individuals. He desires us to be in community with him and with each other. For it is only when individual members unite as a single body under Christ that the fullness of his love can be demonstrated to the world. It was for this unity that Jesus himself prayed in John’s gospel, chapter seventeen.”

  Crockett paced back to the pulpit and his notes, uncertainty stealing his voice as he moved into the next section of the sermon, the part that had kept him up until midnight last night writing and rewriting. Praying over and worrying over. He wanted to call the community together, to bind them, to challenge them. But what if he alienated them or offended them? Would his ministry be over before it began?

  He shifted his papers and cleared his throat. He couldn’t remember ever being this unsure over a lesson. Ever. Since the time he was a boy, confidence in his calling had always been the foundation that gave him the courage to speak with boldness, more concerned with the message God wanted him to impart than pleasing itching ears. So why was that foundation shaking?

  Grant me wisdom to speak what you want spoken, Lord, and nothing more.

  Glancing over his notes a final time, Crockett inhaled a cleansing breath, released it, and continued where he had left off.

  “For too long, this community has consisted of individuals. Individuals drawn together by geography, or perhaps friendship, or even family. But it has not been united as fully as God desires. It has not been one body under Christ. Today we can change that. Today God has brought us together in a way that pleases him, as the text we read a moment ago from 1 Corinthians 12 attests.

  “We don’t simply meet together in this building because it is a convenient place to worship. We meet in order to rejoice together and mourn together. To uplift and encourage one another. To gain strength from the strong and humility from the weak. To experience the artistry of the Master Weaver who brings all of our individual gifts together to create a tapestry more beautiful than any one person can achieve alone. A tapestry that proclaims God’s glory to every eye that beholds it. A tapestry that is incomplete without you . . .”

  His gaze crossed from a pew halfway back on the left to the second one from the front on the right. “Or you . . . or . . .” His gaze slid toward the back of the sanctuary and collided with Joanna, standing silently in the doorway. “You. . . .” Crockett’s voice tapered off.

  For a moment, all he could do was stare. Her rapt attention, the tiny smile that brought into relief the freckles dusting her cheekbones, the way the light passed through the doorway behind her to set her hair ablaze beneath the prim straw bonnet she wore. Yet it was her inner light that captured him most. The serenity of her features. The glow in her blue eyes. This was a woman of authentic spirituality. No wonder the Master Weaver had chosen her to be the central thread to anchor his new tapestry.

  Crockett had no idea how long he stood there gawking. It would have been longer, h
e was sure, had Jackson not bounded past her and down the aisle, severing the connection that had held him enthralled.

  “I’m ready to ring the bell, Crock. Is it time?”

  Joanna dipped her head, further releasing him.

  “Not yet. Ah . . .” He coughed a bit and dug in his vest pocket for his timepiece as he stepped off the dais and strode down the aisle. “Here,” he said, handing the watch to Jackson. “At a quarter ’til the hour, you can ring the call to worship.”

  The boy cupped the watch in his hand as if it were a piece of fine china. “I’ll be careful with it. I swear.”

  “I know you will.” Crockett thumped him on the shoulder. “Go on, now. Take up your position and prepare the rope like I showed you.”

  The boy traipsed to the back of the sanctuary, leaving Crockett all too conscious of the woman who had moved down the aisle to join him.

  “If you win over the rest of the folks the way you have Jackson,” she said in a quiet voice that suggested she had no doubt he would, “you’ll soon be in need of a larger building.”

  Crockett darted a glance at her, then directed his attention to the floorboards, an unseen band tightening across his chest. “He’s a good kid.” A lonely kid who needed a friend. Easy enough to handle. Crockett understood loneliness. Seclusion. He’d lived it. It was no hardship having Jackson around. He kind of reminded Crockett of his kid brother, Neill.

  But meeting the spiritual needs of grown men and women was different. More complicated.

  Crockett stared at the notes still in his hand. How inadequate they seemed. What did he know about shepherding a flock? I’m not ready. I—

  “Everyone is looking forward to the services today.” Joanna’s innocent comment only fueled his doubts. “I told the women when we were cleaning about the sermon you preached last Sunday—how powerful it was, how it moved me.”

  “You shouldn’t have done that,” he muttered, his clothes starting to itch against his skin. He paced behind a pair of pews to the window that overlooked the road and scratched a spot on the back of his neck near his collar. “They’ll expect too much of me.” You’ll expect too much of me. “I’d practiced that sermon for weeks. This one . . .” He held up the notes and waved them dismissively in the air. “This one I didn’t even finish until late last night.”

  “But I heard you when I came in,” she argued, her footsteps echoing on the floor behind him. “Your words touched me the same way as before. Such wisdom and confidence. I know the others will hear it, too.”

  Confidence? Ha! What confidence? It had deserted him along with his clarity and focus.

  She had no business building up people’s expectations. He was just an ordinary preacher, self-taught for the most part. Who was he to bring a community together? Who was he to break through to her father when neither she nor her mother had been able to? It was too much to ask. I should have never agreed to—

  A gentle hand suddenly covered his fisted one where it ground into the windowsill. Crockett closed his eyes as her calm soaked into his spirit.

  “Moses doubted he could lead God’s people,” she said, her voice as gentle as her touch. “Jeremiah thought himself too young and inexperienced to speak for the Lord. It was only when they realized that success was not up to them but up to God that they were able to accomplish what the Lord asked of them.”

  Slowly, her fingers worked their way into his until his fist loosened and his hand lay relaxed, cradled within hers. “I, more than anyone, know how heavy the burden can become when we feel incapable of coping with the calling set before us. But as my mother used to remind me, I now remind you. Our only job is to be obedient to the call, to scatter the seed. It is God’s job to give the increase. Don’t try to carry that load. No human can.”

  Finally he turned. His eyes met hers, and the confidence that had abandoned him in such haste began trickling back.

  “Speak the words God has given you, Crockett. Let him worry about the rest.”

  At that moment, he wanted nothing more than to pull Joanna into his arms and hold her against his chest, to absorb her strength and refuel his depleted stores. But such an act would be neither proper nor prudent, so he settled for squeezing her hand and smiling into her sweet face—a face that hid the heart of a warrior.

  “Thank you.” Crockett prayed she could read the depth of his gratitude through those paltry words. “God must have known I’d need you to bolster my confidence this morning.”

  “So it’s your fault that ornery rooster sounded off an hour early.” She startled a laugh out of him with that sassy retort, and all at once, it seemed as if the earth shifted back onto its normal axis.

  Crockett straightened away from the window and reluctantly released Joanna’s hand. “Seems only fitting that a rooster would help me get my swagger back.” He winked, and she cuffed him lightly on the arm, her own eyes dancing.

  “Seems to me, you have swagger to spare.” Her voice was playfully prim, but the quick glance she shot at him over her shoulder as she moved away left him fighting the urge to engage in some very rooster-like strutting.

  The chiming of the church bell saved him from any barnyard theatrics—that and the fact that his little chick had flown the coop to check on Jackson. Crockett tipped his head back and grinned up at the rafters.

  “Impeccable timing—as usual, Lord.”

  His optimism and good humor restored, Crockett sauntered down the aisle and vaulted back up onto the dais to return his notes to the pulpit before taking up his place at the door to greet his congregation.

  Let them come, he thought as the first wagon appeared around the curve in the road. I’m ready.

  17

  Joanna’s heart swelled with satisfaction as the service neared its close. Crockett’s sermon had been delivered flawlessly, as she’d known it would be, full of the same passion and sincerity that stirred her soul the first time she’d heard him speak. And if the few amens that had echoed in the rafters earlier were any indication, she wasn’t the only one who’d been moved.

  In truth, the only thing that would have made her happier was if her father were sitting in the pew beside her and Jackson. But she wouldn’t get ahead of herself. One step at a time.

  “One day is with the Lord as a thousand years, and a thousand years as one day.” The familiar verse ran through her mind as Crockett invited the congregation to stand for the final hymn, “Trust and Obey”—a fitting selection, as well as a fitting reminder. Joanna joined her voice with the others as her heart prayed for greater patience and trust in the Lord’s timing.

  Once the song concluded, Crockett asked the members to retake their seats. “I have a few announcements to make before we dismiss,” he said, his smile apologetic. “I promise not to take long.”

  He waited for the shuffle of bodies settling to quiet before he continued. “I wanted to give special thanks to the ladies who worked so diligently on Friday afternoon scrubbing, sweeping, and shining things up in here.” His focus rested briefly on each of the women who’d helped with the cleaning, including Holly Brewster, who was leaning so far forward in her pew to preen that for a moment Joanna thought the girl would rise and take a bow.

  When Crockett’s eyes finally met Joanna’s, the twinkle she loved was in full force, as if he could read her thoughts and was sharing a private laugh with her. Wishful thinking, most likely, but pleasant warmth spread through her nonetheless.

  “Now that we have the inside refurbished, I’d like to enlist your aid in fixing up the outside.”

  One man grumbled something under his breath from a row or so behind Joanna, then another from across the aisle. She had to fight the urge to glare some courtesy into them. This building belonged to all of them. It was only right for everyone to contribute to its upkeep. Especially since Crockett had yet to draw a salary.

  “I know everyone is busy,” Crockett conceded, moving out from behind the pulpit, “so I thought we would turn our workday into a celebration with ga
mes and activities for the whole family. Horse races and shooting contests for the men, pie-baking contests for the women, and maybe a greased pig for the kids.”

  An excited buzz now hummed through the chapel.

  “Instead of a barn-raising shindig, we’ll have a church-painting one. I’ll need some help in organizing the activities, so if there is anyone who would like to volunteer to chair a planning committee, please speak with me after we dismiss. We’ll take the funds collected from the offering today and next Sunday to purchase paint and supplies. Then, two weeks from Saturday we’ll gather for the event. Everyone in the community will be welcome to participate, whether they attend services here or not.” Crockett looked directly at her as he imparted this last bit, and her pulse leapt at the implications.

  Her father. He couldn’t resist a chance to show off his marksmanship. And she doubted he could keep from entering Gamble in the races, either. He’d been itching for a chance to pit his new horse’s speed against mounts offering more competition than the Lazy R cow ponies. This event would be the perfect enticement.

  “Did you know about this?” she whispered to Jackson when Crockett turned his attention to the rest of the crowd.

  The boy bent his head close to hers. “Nah. I knew he wanted to paint, but I never guessed he’d throw a party. You think it’ll work?”

  “We’ll just have to make sure it does. Deal?” She extended her gloved hand to shake on it.

  Jackson fit his hand to hers, his jaw set. “Deal.”

  Her mind suddenly swirling with ideas, Joanna reached for the small tablet she carried with her for taking notes during the sermon and flipped to a clean page. She’d never planned any kind of community event before, but she’d attended them. Surely she could figure out what needed to be done. Crockett would help.

  Joanna bit her lip as her pencil hovered above the paper. The thought of having an excuse to spend more time with the parson set her stomach to dancing. So distracted was she by the image of the two of them huddled together on the settee in the parlor, that she failed to hear Crockett’s dismissal. When Mrs. Grimley stopped by her pew, it startled Joanna to realize that everyone was up and milling around and probably had been for several minutes.