The Preacher's Daughter

by Lyn Cote

  She held up a hand, stopping him. “I don’t think you’re the mayor or that you can make people think or act the way you want them to.” She paused and worried her lower lip.

  He waited to see what outrageous thing she’d say next.

  “But don’t you see?” She pointed to the church. “You were sitting inside the church when these kids from the mobile home court were playing baseball right outside.” Her look scorched him. “Why didn’t you come out and try to, at least, talk to them, get to know them?”

  That evening, Sophie’s back door slammed, hard enough and loud enough to make Lucie jump in her chair on the front porch and wake up the little dog at her side that she’d decided to call Fella. She patted him reassuringly.

  “Zoë! You come back here!” Sophie’s harassed voice shrilled through the house. “You didn’t finish cleaning the kitchen!”

  “Got a date!” Zoë yelled. The old truck that the family used for hauling started with a roar, and within seconds, it barreled past Lucie, heading for the road to town.

  Why was Zoë behaving so badly? Lucie folded the local paper she’d been reading and went inside to the kitchen. Lord, it’s just one thing after the other. I feel like I’ve slipped into quicksand. This house needs Your peace and healing—big-time!

  The little dog limped after her, no longer concerned about his awkward, one-stiff-legged gait. The baby mewling in her arms, Sophie stood in the middle of the kitchen. She had tears in her eyes.

  Lord, Lucie prayed, I see I’m needed here. Calm my heart. Give me peace so I can help Sophie.

  The kitchen still smelled of the ham they’d eaten and the scent of lemon dishwashing detergent. Lucie said nothing, just started cleaning the kitchen counters. Zoë had washed the supper dishes, leaving them in the drainer and dry side of the sink. But she had departed, leaving the rest of the job of cleaning the kitchen undone. Fella watched Lucie and then flopped down on the rug by the door. Lucie turned to her cousin. “Sit down and feed Carly. She sounds hungry.”

  Sophie didn’t move.

  Lucie pulled out a chair at the table and gently pushed her cousin into it. The baby began to wail in earnest and tugged at her mother’s blouse. This got through to Sophie and she settled down to nurse the baby. For several minutes, the only sounds in the old house were the baby nursing hungrily—a kind of greedy smacking—and Lucie putting away dishes and silverware and running water to wipe the stove, table and counters.

  “I love this kitchen.” Sophie’s voice was thick with unshed tears. “When I married Nate, he helped me strip the old wallpaper in here.” She had a faraway look, and though her voice trembled, her expression looked wistful and happy. “We stripped and stripped—nine layers of wallpaper and a rainbow of different coats of paints in between.”

  “Wow.” Lucie’s voice sounded almost reverent in the evening stillness.

  Sophie played with her daughter’s dark curls. “This house is one hundred and twelve years old. Did you know that?” Sophie smiled, tears glistening in her eyes.

  Finished, Lucie sat down in a chair, catercorner to Sophie and took her cousin’s work-roughened hand. “Sophie, what’s upsetting Zoë? She’s at a constant boil. Did something happen? Or is this just because of Nate’s accident?”

  Sophie looked past Lucie’s shoulder. “Nate stripped all the cabinets and woodwork in the house for me, too. Because I loved the look of the natural wood.”

  “Why is Zoë so angry and upset all the time?” Lucie pressed Sophie.

  Her cousin ruffled Carly’s waves. Tears dripped from her eyes. “What am I going to do, Lucie? They say Nate can’t come home yet. He has to have intensive physical and occupational therapy. He might never be the same—” A sob cut off Sophie’s words.

  Lucie felt her heart constrict. That bad? It’s that bad, Lord? In that instant, all her own plans for a summer of job-hunting disappeared. How could she leave Sophie to face this alone? Oh, Lord, help me, help us.

  Mikey and Danny pounded up the back steps, shouting for their mommy. Fella moved awkwardly out of their way. Wiping away tears, Sophie stood up to meet her sons at the back door. But she asked in a voice just for Lucie, “Who will tend the crops Nate planted and bring in the harvest?”

  In the late-morning sunshine of the next day, Lucie gazed at the garden plot, freshly plowed by a neighbor. Fella sat at her feet. When she’d reassured Sophie that she’d be happy to plant the kitchen garden, she hadn’t realized that her concept of how large a garden should be clashed with her cousin’s. Lucie’s mother had always planted a vegetable or “kitchen” garden, a small plot of tomatoes, cucumbers, spinach, zucchini and leaf lettuce at the rear of the backyard. That was the size garden Lucie had been expecting.

  But Sophie had become a farm wife. And her garden plot struck Lucie as the same size a Japanese farmer might call a farm!

  Sophie sighed, sounding exhausted even after a full night’s rest. “I bought tomato plants. About twenty.”

  Twenty tomato plants! We can’t eat that many tomatoes!

  “I can,” Sophie said, answering Lucie’s thoughts. “All our own tomato juice, sauce, salsa and spaghetti sauce.”

  “Really?” Lucie’s already-low mood sank so deep, her toes tingled with it. Yesterday, she’d shelved her own summer plans. Sophie and Nate needed her.

  But now this. Didn’t Sophie dread the hours of labor she was so casually alluding to? In the past, Lucie had helped her mother—under duress—do some fall canning. Lucie knew the work was time-consuming, hot and uncomfortable. Feeling trapped, she realized that she would be the one helping Sophie do this canning.

  Sweating in front of a hot stove while scalding skin off tomatoes was not Lucie’s idea of time well spent. Canned vegetables were cheap enough at the grocery store. Didn’t Sophie recall that Lucie wasn’t known for her housewifely abilities? She could cook a meal if necessary. But only if necessary.

  Sophie must have finally picked up on Lucie’s unenthusiastic mien. “Are you sure you don’t mind?”

  Lucie forced a bright smile so she wouldn’t make Sophie feel guilty. “I’ve been looking forward to planting the garden.” Well, I had, Lord. Until I saw how big it is. You’ll just have to multiply my original enthusiasm so it’ll match the size of this humongous garden.

  “Where are the tomato plants?” Lucie asked with a show of bravado.

  “The plants are in the shed behind the garage. You’ll find garden gloves and all the tools there.” Sophie walked away to the car. Mikey and Danny already waited in the nearby car. The boys would spend the day with friends on another farm while Lucie tackled the garden.

  “Oh!” Sophie called over her shoulder. “Don’t forget my kneeling pad. It’s shaped like a watermelon slice. It’ll save your knees!”

  “Thanks. I’ll use it.” You can bet your sweet life I will!

  Soon, Sophie was gone and Lucie was holding the pink rubber watermelon slice in one garden-gloved hand. Fella stiff-legged it over to the shade of a poplar tree and plumped down to watch her. Crows squawked overhead—probably making fun of her.

  The hum of a vehicle coming up the road caused her to turn around. Who was it?

  Chapter Three

  In the gleaming sunlight, Tanner parked his car and got out. Shoving his hands into the back pockets of his jeans, he paused to take in the scene. Sophie’s cousin, in cutoff shorts and with her golden curls ruffling in the wind, made an enticing picture. He longed to pause and enjoy the view and take another few moments to consider how to approach her. But Sophie’s cousin was standing there, looking at him. And after yesterday’s experience, he knew she wasn’t the shy, quiet type. Plus she had zero patience.

  He took a deep breath and approached her. Lord, You know how this woman irritated me yesterday. Or I should say, her accusing me about not doing enough for the Hispanic newcomers got to me. But she’s one of the few who has seen this community’s need. This is need You laid on my heart soon after I came last year.

 
His conscience added, She also took action. Exactly what you’ve wanted to do, but haven’t.

  This thought agitated inside him. But he had to discuss matters with her. Even if it was an unpleasant task, he needed her input. Yesterday, for the first time, he’d taken a small step toward connecting with the newcomers. And this morning, he’d had to admit that it had felt really good.

  But now he faced one of the biggest challenges in his job as pastor—learning how to approach people and motivate them to volunteer in a way they would welcome, not resent. Case in point—this young woman, with her shapely legs and sassy mouth—had motivated him yesterday.

  But he hadn’t enjoyed it.

  Lucie immediately recognized Tanner. Oh, no! Not Mr. I’d-rather-be-reading-a-stuffy-book-than-playing baseball. Reluctant to get into a prolonged conversation with him, she dropped the rubber watermelon slice and knelt on it. Quick! Look busy. From one of the pockets of the gardening apron she’d found in the shed and donned, she took a Popsicle stick, tied a string around it and jammed it into the tilled earth to begin to line up the garden rows.

  With Fella barking his arrival, Tanner ambled up behind her. “Good morning.”

  His rich voice quivered through her. Glancing over her shoulder, she hushed the little dog. “Hi, Pastor.” That was a good idea. Keep it clear in your mind, Lucie. No matter how good-looking Tanner Bond is—this man is off-limits to you. He needs to find a nice little wife who wants to live in a small town in the middle of nowhere and wash his socks.

  “Is Sophie already gone?”

  Lucie pictured how he must look, long and lean in the morning sunshine. It was a dangerous exercise for her. “She’s dropping the boys off at friends,” she explained, fighting her awareness of him. “And then she’s going to the hospital as usual.”

  “I see.”

  That’s right. Sophie’s not here so you can leave now. Beginning the planting, Lucie tore open the top of the green-bean seed envelope and poured the seeds into another pocket of the gardening apron. She slid the empty seed envelope onto the stick like a hat to mark the first row. When Tanner didn’t make a move to leave, Lucie said, “She won’t be back till late this afternoon. I’ll tell her you called. Or you could find her at the hospital.” Well done, Lucie. Just the right touch of politeness combined with total unconcern.

  Tanner moved closer, right beside her.

  Lucie’s antenna quivered as he drew nearer. You can stop right there, Pastor.

  “I visited Nate yesterday evening and saw Sophie then. I didn’t come to see Sophie. Today I came to talk to you.”

  Keeping her eyes trained away from him, she was glad to hear that he was visiting Nate. It showed he was doing his duty, and that could only help her brother-in-law and Sophie.

  But Tanner made her uncomfortable. And why is that, Lucie? her conscience prompted.

  Yesterday, I was a bit brusque with him.

  A bit brusque? her conscience chided her.

  All right. I was rude. She sighed. One of her shortcomings was impatience. But if he’d come to see her, why didn’t he just say why he did? She quelled the impatience she was feeling and asked in a measured tone, “What can I do for you?”

  “About that baseball game yesterday—”

  “I apologize.” She felt herself color warmly. “I didn’t mean to speak so…abruptly. It was an upsetting day….” Once started, her alibis just kept coming. “I mean injuring the dog, getting the bum’s rush at Shangri-La Estates—”

  “I understand.” He sounded as if he did.

  A heavy, waiting silence hung over them. She heard him shifting his feet and again, steeled herself against turning toward him. She couldn’t afford to look up at his chiseled features or the sympathetic expression she imagined he’d have. That would be a killer combination.

  He cleared his throat again. “You were right. I shouldn’t have been sitting inside the church while those kids were playing ball just a stone’s throw away. I want St. Andrew’s to be the kind of church that has an open door to its community. I’d like the kids— anyone—to feel comfortable about dropping in if they need something….” His voice trailed off.

  She listened, suddenly liking Tanner Bond a whole lot more than she had just minutes before. “So?” she prompted.

  “This is my first pastorate,” he said in a humble voice. “I’m still trying to get that atmosphere started.”

  It had cost Tanner Bond a lot to say that. It would cost any man to admit that he was still green. Impressed, Lucie stood up and turned sideways to face him.

  Facing him cost her, too. Why did she have to keep noticing things about him? Like the flecks of gold in his brown irises?

  Glancing away, down at the dark earth around her feet, she wondered what she could do to help this man. At the same time, she realized something about the chore she was doing. Before she started planting, she needed to string all the rows first. Otherwise, her seeded rows could turn out crooked like a crazy quilt. And stringing the rows all by herself would take forever.

  She propped a hand on each hip. Working together would give them something to do while talking, a good way to take her mind off the man himself. And it would make the conversation easier for both of them, a lesson she’d learned from watching her own dad, also a pastor.

  She held out the end of the string to Tanner. “Why don’t you help me with this? If you hold the end of the string for me, it will help me get the rows straight.”

  He looked down at the end of the ball of string she was offering him as if he had difficulty getting what she wanted him to do. Then he reached out and took the string. His hand brushed hers enticingly.

  Her skin tingled. Why did he have to be so good-looking? He just stood there—every woman’s dream! Why couldn’t he wear thick glasses or have a cowlick that stuck up in his hair? Why was he able to get to her? Was it because he cared?

  His openness and sincerity touched her. And he had taken action when push came to shove. He had joined in the impromptu softball game yesterday and made the kids happy.

  “You want me opposite you, right?” His voice brought her back to task.

  Without more ado, he unrolled the string from the ball she held. He tugged on it till he stood across from her, the width of the garden plot. He made a show of sighting down the string to be sure it was straight. “How’s this?”

  “Fine.” She swallowed trying to moisten her mouth. “Fine,” she croaked. He pulled a pocketknife out, cut the string and then looked at her expectantly. She hurried to him and gave him a handful of sticks and took the ball of the string from him and drew it to the other end to start the next row.

  The ironic symbolism of the string attaching her to him wasn’t lost on her. No strings attached, please.

  “What…” She cleared her throat. “What exactly did you want me to help you with?” Let’s get right to the point and get this over with.

  Her curiosity expanding like yeast dough on a warm stove, she waited. They continued to work together silently, stringing row after row.

  As they worked, he appeared to be deep in thought. Lucie waited and waited. Finally she met him at the end of another row. “You’ve stalled long enough. Come on. Tell me.”

  He frowned. “Yesterday, you sized up the sticky situation at the mobile home court pretty well.”

  “Yes.” Wanting to hurry this oh-so-deliberate man along, she let him know she was up to speed on this topic. “Sophie tells me that the packing plant outside of town brought up the Mexican-Americans from south Texas to take the jobs no one else wanted.”

  He nodded. “That’s right.”

  “She said some people around here weren’t too happy about it.” Lucie paused and gave him a significant glance.

  “I think it’s more because around here people aren’t used to strangers moving in—”

  “So?” Lucie prompted. She walked away from him, drawing the string with her, aware that his intense gaze followed her every move.

 
“I noticed you spoke some Spanish the other day,” he said.

  “I minored in Spanish, but my degree is in art education.” Please get to the point, Tanner. What do you want? Me to translate for you? “But if the people at the mobile home park are Mexican-Americans from Texas, they can speak English. You don’t need an interpreter.”

  “That woman and the children at the mobile home park didn’t speak English to you—not willingly, did they?” he countered, raising an eyebrow at her.

  Ignoring how appealing this expression was on him, she bent down and poked another stick in the warming earth. “You don’t need an interpreter,” she reiterated. You don’t need me, Pastor.

  He ignored her objection. “I’ve gone to the park and knocked on doors, inviting them to church and the children to Sunday school, but all I get is ‘No hablo inglés.’”

  “Maybe they don’t feel welcome. That Go Home Mexicans painted over the Shangri-La sign can’t have helped…community relations.”

  “I know. And at the high school, there was trouble at the end of the school year.” He frowned as he unwound more string across from her. “Fighting. Name-calling.”

  I have to give him big points for being so concerned about this. Softening, she glanced over at him and then bent to plant another stick. “What do you plan to do to change it?”

  “That’s what I came to ask your help with.” He gazed at her, dubious hope in his eyes. “What do you think we should do?”

  We? She stared back at him. He’d asked for her help, but she doubted he’d be up to it. “Was yesterday the first time those kids came to play ball?”

  He frowned. “I think so. Though I can’t say absolutely—”

  What he needed to do was so obvious. Why couldn’t he see it? She grinned at him. He wouldn’t relish her next suggestion. “Then why don’t we—I mean you—invite them back?” she proposed. “If they knew they’d have a pitcher, maybe they’d start coming daily. It would give you a chance to get to know—”