For the Love of God (7 page)

It seemed that Seth had barely begun when he finished. Abbie would have liked him to go on, and it was the first time she could ever remember wishing a sermon had been longer. She stole a glance at her parents sitting in the pew beside
her. Her father was looking at his watch with a stunned expression, while her mother continued to give her rapt attention to the man at the pulpit.

A few minutes later, they were following the people filing out of church. The line moved slowly as those ahead of them paused to shake hands with the minister on their way out the door.

Her father leaned sideways to murmur, “Your reverend isn’t bad, Abbie.”

“He’s not
my
reverend, Dad,” she corrected in an equally low voice, not liking the insinuation that she was somehow linked to Seth simply because she’d had lunch with him once.

“If you say so.” He shrugged, letting her move ahead of him as it became a single-file line to greet Seth.

Abbie waited patiently for her turn, a ripple of anticipation warming her blood while she watched Seth chatting with the couple ahead of her. The black robe seemed to make his hair look darker, more brown than gold, but the trappings of the clergy didn’t alter his male appeal.

His glance strayed to her and lingered briefly in recognition. The vivid blue of his eyes darkened with a glow that made her feel special. The look tripped her heartbeat but Abbie refused to flatter herself into believing it held any significance. She was just a familiar face, someone he knew after meeting so many strangers.

The exchange of glances lasted only a few seconds before his attention reverted to the
couple. Then they were moving down the steps and it was Abbie’s turn. Close up, Seth seemed taller, more commanding in his black robe. His hand reached to take hers in greeting and continued to hold it when Abbie would have withdrawn it.

“What’s the verdict?” There was warm, mocking amusement in the downward glance that took in his preaching robes. “Will I pass?” He was teasing her about the way she had criticized him about his dress at lunch that day.

“Yes.” The corners of her mouth dimpled with a responding smile. “And you
sounded
like a minister, too, Reverend.”

His head was tipped back to release a throaty laugh. Its volume was subdued, but no less genuine. Seth inclined his head to her in mocking acknowledgment. “That’s the highest compliment I’ve received today. I thank you, Miss Scott.”

“You’re welcome, Reverend.” She would have moved on, but his firm grip wouldn’t relinquish her hand. There was uncertain confusion in the look she gave him, but his attention had swerved to her parents.

“Is this your father?” Seth inquired in a tone that prompted her to make the introduction.

“Yes. I’d like you to meet him.” Only when she spoke to indicate her compliance with his unspoken request did Seth release her hand. “Dad, this is Reverend Talbot. Reverend, my father, Drew Scott. You’ve met my mother already.”

“Yes, I have.” He nodded, shaking her hand.
“It’s good to see you again, Mrs. Scott. And it’s a pleasure to meet your husband. How do you do, Mr. Scott.”

“I’ve been looking forward to meeting you, Reverend,” her father admitted. “Enjoyed your sermon.”

“I understand you’re a fisherman.” Seth didn’t mention that Abbie had been the source of that information, but her father guessed it. “Maybe you can point me to some good fishing holes around here later on.”

“Be happy to,” her father agreed, then added a qualification, “as long as you make sure the next time you take my secretary out to lunch, she’s not late getting back.”

“Daddy.” It was a low, impatient protest Abbie made. He made it sound like she was likely to have lunch with Seth again.

But Seth wasn’t bothered by the implication. “You have a deal, Mr. Scott.”

There were still more people behind them waiting to leave the church. Abbie was relieved when her parents moved past Seth to descend the steps with her. Not all the congregation had dispersed once they left the church. Some were scattered along the wide sidewalk, socializing in small groups. Her parents were too well known to go directly to their car without being stopped by someone. Since Abbie had ridden with them, she was obliged to linger on the fringes each time her father or mother paused to speak to someone.

Her glance invariably wandered back to the
church doors. She recognized Fran Bigsby when she came out with her two small children. There was no sign of her husband as the bleached blonde stopped to talk to Seth. Flirt with him seemed a better description, Abbie thought cattily. There was no sign of Fran’s husband but she noticed her younger sister, Marjorie, was with her.

Suddenly, Abbie realized there were a lot of women that had attended the morning service without their husbands, especially those families who weren’t regular worshipers. She didn’t like the conclusion she was reaching because she had the unkind suspicion they hadn’t been drawn there today to welcome their new minister, but rather to meet the handsome bachelor-pastor the whole town was buzzing about.

It made her silent, and more than just a little thoughtful, while she studied her own motives. No matter how she tried, Abbie couldn’t ignore the fact that she was strongly attracted to him on a physical level. She was living in a glass house and couldn’t very well afford to throw stones at anyone else.

Abbie glanced at the clock as she rolled the finished letter out of the typewriter. It was close to noon, time enough to type an envelope and have the letter ready to mail before she left for lunch. It was Thursday, exactly a week to the day since she’d lunched with Seth.

The knowledge must have been hovering at the back of her mind, because when she heard
the street door open, her heart did a little somersault. She turned, expecting to see Seth walking into the office. But Judge Sessions didn’t look like him at all. It was difficult to keep her smile from dying.

“Hello, Judge.” Abbie forced the cheerfulness into her voice. “Dad’s in his office. You can go in, if you want. He doesn’t have a client with him.”

“Maybe I didn’t come to see him,” he challenged lightly. “Maybe I’m here to see you.”

“It’s possible, but I doubt it.” Now that she had gotten over her initial disappointment, Abbie could respond more naturally to the judge’s teasing remarks.

Her father stepped out of his private office. “I thought I heard you out here, Walter,” he accused, and crossed to exchange a back slapping handshake. “What are you doing, you old crook?”

“I came to take my favorite father-daughter pair to lunch,” the judge replied, then slid Abbie a glittering look. “That is, if your daughter doesn’t have a previous luncheon date?”

“I believe I have a vacancy in my social calendar today,” she replied, laughing.

“You could have been saving all your free time for that handsome new reverend,” the judge suggested. “When are you going to see him again?”

Abbie was beginning to lose her humor at his probing remarks. “Probably Sunday at church just like everyone else,” she retorted with a trace of coolness. “Just because I had lunch
with him once, purely by accident, it doesn’t mean it’s going to become a regular event.”

“Drew, I think the girl’s sick,” the judge declared. “She’s trying to claim she’s not interested in this fellow.”

“I’m not,” Abbie protested, and wanted to bite her tongue for telling such an outright lie.

“What makes you different from all the rest of the women in town?” He challenged her with a disbelieving look. “Prom what I’ve heard, they’re falling all over themselves trying to get his attention.”

“Is that a fact?” her father inserted, siding with the judge to gang up on Abbie. “All the gossip manages to get funneled to you, Walter. Why don’t you let us in on it?”

“I understand that his cup runneth over. The older ladies are bringing him casseroles, cakes, salads, cookies, homemade bread, and just about anything else you care to mention. There isn’t a bare shelf in his refrigerator or cupboard.”

“I think that’s nice,” Abbie insisted in defense of the gifts. “It’s the neighborly thing to do when a newcomer moves in.”

“But those old ladies are wise.” The judge winked slyly. “The way to a man’s heart is through his stomach. Haven’t you heard?”

“Come to think of it, Alice baked him a green-apple pie just this last Tuesday,” Drew recalled. “Maybe I’d better keep a closer eye on my wife. She was at the parsonage for almost an hour.”

“Dad, you can’t be jealous of the reverend.”
Abbie wasn’t sure if he was serious or just razzing her.

“I don’t mind if she looks … as long as that’s all she does,” he said, then laughed to show he wasn’t worried.

“It seems there are a lot of young wives who have suddenly discovered they have marital problems, which came as quite a surprise to their contented husbands …” the judge inserted. “… and now they’re going to the good reverend for his advice and understanding.”

Abbie had the uneasy feeling that Fran Bigsby was probably one of them. She saw the point the judge was making. It was all a ruse to get Seth’s undivided attention, to try to attract his interest.

“But it’s more than his sympathy they’re after,” her father added, confirming Abbie’s private thoughts.

“Women are volunteering right and left to help with anything from typing the church bulletins to doing his housekeeping.” The judge gave an exaggerated sigh and looked at her father. “And they say a bachelor’s life is a lonely one. One crook of his little finger and half the women in the county would come running. I’ll bet the church will be filled to the rafters next Sunday.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised,” her father agreed with this summation.

That’s when Abbie made the decision that she wouldn’t be one of them. She didn’t want Seth to get the impression she was chasing him just like all the other women in town seemed to be. She didn’t necessarily attend church every single
Sunday, so it wouldn’t be out of the ordinary for her to skip a couple of weeks.

She was very casual about it when she talked to her mother on Saturday and mentioned that she was going to visit Grandmother Klein on Sunday and skip church. Her mother took Abbie’s decision at face value. Her father gave her a strange look but said nothing.

On Monday morning, Abbie didn’t have a chance to make the first pot of coffee before the street door opened and the two Coltrain sisters came bustling in. They always seemed to wear outfits that clashed with what the other one was wearing. Esther had on a brightly flowered dress, predominantly grape-colored, while Isabel wore a gaudy, fushia-pink dress.

“There you are, Abbie!” Esther declared happily. The fluorescent lights in the office seemed to reflect the grape from her dress and cast a lavender tint on her curling white hair. “We thought we might find you here at your papa’s office.”

“Yes, I work here during the week,” Abbie explained, certain she had told them that before.

But neither of them had ever worked. They had been raised to believe women should stay in the home, married or not. Luckily the inheritance from their parents had left them with substantial annuities so they could.

Isabel opened her enormous black tapestry bag with its bold pink-rose design, and pulled out a stack of loose papers in assorted sizes and
colors. A slim rubber band strained to hold them together.

“We were going to give you this yesterday at church but you didn’t come,” Isabel explained.

“What is it?” Abbie reached for it with a puzzled frown.

“Don’t you remember?” Esther looked stricken. “You said you’d type our manuscript for us.”

“Do you mean you’ve written it already?” Abbie looked up from the first piece of paper, filled with scrawly handwriting, to stare incredulously at the two sisters.

“Oh, goodness no!” Isabel laughed merrily at the thought. “We decided it would be easier if we gave you what we had finished as we went along.”

“Haven’t we gotten a lot done?” Esther asked excitedly. “We worked on it every single day, didn’t we, Isabel?”

“It was so much fun, Abbie,” Isabel declared, puffing up with proud satisfaction. “I’m so glad the reverend suggested it.”

“I can imagine.” Abbie couldn’t recall when she had seen either sister so animated or so enthused. It was contagious. She felt herself catching their excitement too, and smiling right along with them.

“I do hope you won’t have any trouble reading it.” Isabel cupped a hand to her mouth to whisper secretively to Abbie. “Esther used to have such beautiful penmanship, but with her arthritis it’s sometimes not very legible.”

“I don’t think I’ll have any difficulty. But if I have any questions on a particular part, I’ll call and ask,” she promised.

“We aren’t telling anyone what we’re doing.” Esther put a protective hand over the uncompleted manuscript Abbie was holding. “You’re the only one who knows.”

“I won’t breathe a word.” Abbie crossed her heart in a child’s solemn promise. “In fact, I’ll put it in the bottom drawer of my desk right now.”

“You won’t lose it.” Isabel looked worried as Abbie walked to her desk to put the handwritten papers away.

“Call us as soon as you have it typed,” Esther advised. “We’ll have some more ready for you.” She took her sister’s arm. “Come, Isabel. Let’s go home so we can start on the next part.”

“Bye!” Abbie called as the two white-haired sisters bustled toward the door. “I’ll phone you when I’m through with this.”

That evening was the start of what became a nightly routine, with her portable typewriter sitting on the small dining-room table in her apartment and the pages of the manuscript setting out. The Coltrain sisters had used everything from yellow tablet paper to fancy stationery to write on. Abbie quickly discovered that the page numbers on the sheets were not necessarily correct. More often than not, they were out of sequence.

Before she could start typing, she had to decipher the handwriting and read and arrange the pages in their proper order. She had expected the manuscript to be a collection of loosely connected anecdotes of their early years and stories of some of the area’s first citizens. Abbie was shocked to realize the sisters had fictionalized it into a story—a rather torrid, period romance set in Eureka Springs around the turn of the century.