Molly Noble Bull (16 page)

“I would never take someone to the woodshed for underlining verses in the Bible,” Reverend Kline said. “In fact, I encourage those in my congregation to draw lines under Scripture verses they want to remember and read again.”

“Still, it’s a shame to mark up a nice book like that, ain’t it? Books cost money. Mama always kept the family Bible out where folks could see it when they come for a visit. And when we were little, us kids weren’t allowed to touch it.”

“That’s a shame. Children should be able to pick up the Bible and read it whenever they want to.”

“I played in the dirt a lot when I was a kid, Preacher, and my hands was always needin’ washing. What if I’d gotten dirt or mud all over Mama’s book? What do you say to that?”

“I would have said, ‘Lucas, the Bible is God’s Holy Word. Read it as often as you can. The Bible teaches us how to live the abundant life. How to be happy no matter what troubles come our way.’ But I would also have told you to wash your face and hands first.”

“You sound like my mama.” Lucas chuckled softly. “She was always trying to get me to wash myself. Used to take hold of my ear and half drag me to the bowl and pitcher.”

The minister laughed. “My mother did the same thing to me when I was a boy, but she never pulled hard. Did your mother hurt your ear when she dragged you?”

“Naw. I just pretended it hurt so Mama would stop. Back then, I shore did hate soap and water. And I loved to get a rise out of Mama.”

The preacher smiled. “I guess all young boys are pretty much alike. I never did like bathing until the Lord washed me clean once and for all.”

“God gave you a bath? Why, I never heard of such a thing. What do you mean by that, Preacher?”

“Remind me to tell you about it sometime when you’re feeling better. It’s quite a story. That makes two stories I owe you.”

Lucas smiled, wishing the preacher would tell the stories now.

He liked the Klines. They had been kind to him, and he thought they liked him, too. Why else would they bring a near stranger into their home and care for him? But they would hate him if they knew Lucas was the one who broke into their house and stole the silver tray and coffeepot.

After Reverend Kline left the room, Lucas put on the spectacles. They did make things less fuzzy around the edges. With a quick look to make sure Reverend Kline wasn’t watching, he picked up the Bible and began reading. He told himself it was something he could do to pass the time…until he could leave this place for good.

Saturday was baking day. Honor and Belinda Grant were busy baking cakes, pies and cookies. Snow had fallen on the previous night. Honor had promised Jeth and Belinda that she’d help build a snowman as soon as the noon meal was over and the dishes were washed and put away.

Honor pressed down on the cookie cutter. Dough in the shape of an evergreen tree appeared on the flour-covered table where she worked. She was about place the bit of
dough on the greased pan when she heard a knock at the front door.

“Just a minute!” Honor wiped her hands on her apron and started for the entry hall. “I’ll get the door, Mrs. Grant.”

“Thank you, Miss McCall,” Belinda called back from the mess room.

Honor noticed that flour was dusted on the front of her apron, and some of it had turned the long sleeves of her dress a whitish-blue. She rubbed her itchy nose with her forefinger, then wished she hadn’t. She probably had a white nose now and maybe a ghostlike face, as well.

Jeth had already opened the door by the time Honor got there. Miss Sally Bennett stood beside him in the entry, holding a tray.

“I baked a cake for you, Reverend,” she said to Jeth.

“How thoughtful. Thank you, Miss Bennett.” Jeth glanced at Honor. “Take the tray, will you, Miss McCall?”

“I’ll be glad to.”

“I want to help our guest with her cape.”

Honor took the tray in both hands. Miss Bennett had just carried it in from the cold, yet the metal platter felt warm to the touch and seemed heavier than she had expected.

Snowflakes drifted to the pine floor when Jeth helped the middle-aged woman off with her furry, black cape. Honor fought a frown.

I just mopped and waxed that floor, she thought.

Jeth looked back at Honor. She forced a smile.

“That tray looks heavy.” He took it from her. “Would you mind taking Miss Bennett into the parlor while I put the cake in the kitchen?”

“Of course. And please excuse the way I look, Miss Bennett. We’re baking today.”

“No apologies are necessary. I baked this morning myself.” Miss Bennett pulled a lacy handkerchief from her purse. Reaching over, she wiped something from Honor’s nose. “There, that should do it.”

Honor felt her face heat.

The older woman dropped the handkerchief back into her purse. “Was it flour?” she asked.

“Yes, ma’am, it probably was,” Honor responded. She gestured toward the parlor. “Please sit down. The settee is very comfortable, but anywhere you would like to sit would be fine.”

“Thank you, but I’ve been here many times and know my way around.” She glanced toward the most comfortable-looking chair in the room. “Mrs. Peters is a good friend of mine.” She started to sit down, then stopped and glanced at Honor. “But of course, you wouldn’t know because you’re new in town, aren’t you.”

The sarcasm in her tone hurt. But it wouldn’t be Christian to hit back. “Would you like something to eat or drink, ma’am? We have fresh cookies, and I could warm up the coffeepot.”

“No, I wouldn’t care for a thing.”

The older woman’s gaze found Honor’s again. From the look on her face, perhaps Miss Bennett hoped to climb inside Honor’s brain. The spinster finally sat down.

A photograph of Jeth’s parents on their wedding day sat on the small table beside Miss Bennett’s chair. She reached
for the frame. After studying the picture for a moment, she offered it to Honor.

“Regina was so young when she married the pastor’s father,” Miss Bennett said. “I didn’t know her then. But as you can see, she made a very beautiful bride.”

“Yes.” Honor nodded. “She certainly did.” Honor crossed the room, photograph in both hands and returned it to its proper place on the table.

“Speaking of brides, have you heard the news, Miss McCall?”

“What news?” Honor found a chair and settled onto it.

“Pastor Peters has ordered an engagement ring for a young lady. And I heard Miss Lucy Jordan will be getting a very nice Christmas gift this year—if you know what I mean.”

So, it’s Lucy after all. Honor bit her lower lip. I knew it. She squirmed in her chair, trying not to look at Jeth’s guest. Honor needed to leave the room before she did or said something she would regret.

Miss Bennett tapped her long fingernails on the table at her side. Then Jeth returned from the kitchen, all smiles. Honor rose, straightening the skirt of her dress.

“How have you ladies been getting along?”

“Just fine,” Miss Bennett said, “haven’t we, Miss McCall?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Honor stepped to the door, looking down at the toes of her black shoes. “But if you will both excuse me, I have things to do in the kitchen.”

“Don’t forget,” Jeth reminded her. “You promised to help me and Mrs. Grant build that snowman later.”

Honor stopped and looked back at him. “Sorry. I won’t have time to build a snowman. I have too much to do.” Then she headed for the kitchen—determined not to cry.

L
ater that same day, Elmer brought in a stack of letters and laid them on the kitchen table. “Give them letters to the pastor for me, will ya, miss?”

Honor nodded. “Of course.” She reached for Jeth’s mail. “I’ll just put them on the pastor’s desk.”

“Did I hear someone say letters?” Mrs. Clark said from the dining room.

“Yes, ma’am,” Honor called back to the boarder.

Mrs. Clark burst through the connecting door leading into the kitchen, followed by her sister, Mrs. Davis.

Elmer shook his head at them. “Sorry, ladies. All the mail that came in today was for the preacher.” He turned and started down the hall toward his room.

Honor hoped the two women hadn’t noticed her red eyes. She’d tried not to cry, but hearing that Jeth was engaged, or soon would be, to Lucy Jordan had affected her.

Mrs. Clark sat down at the table. Mrs. Davis did the same. Honor could see that both women were disap
pointed not to receive any mail. Although they had lived at the boardinghouse since Honor had arrived, she hardly knew anything about the two sisters and had been too busy to inquire.

“Can I fix you ladies something?” she asked now. “Coffee, cake, cookies?”

“Nothing for me, thank you,” Mrs. Clark said.

“Me, neither,” Mrs. Davis added.

The two widows were former schoolteachers and Honor had often wondered if they were twins. Their squinty eyes were different shades of brown, but they looked alike, although Mrs. Clark had more wrinkles and frown lines. The spectacles perched on their pointed noses were the same, and their dark wool dresses could have come from the same out-of-date fashion pattern. They both wore their hair in tight buns, and the texture and color was identical—salt-and-pepper, mostly salt.

Honor gazed at the younger, Mrs. Davis. “So how was your daily walk?”

Mrs. Davis glanced at Mrs. Clark as if she expected her older sister to answer for both of them. Honor couldn’t know for sure, but she had a feeling that the younger woman had been doing that for most of her life.

“We enjoyed our stroll very much,” Mrs. Clark put in. “We always do. And we saw so many trees that would make wonderful Christmas trees, too. Are you planning to put up a Christmas tree this year—here at the boardinghouse?”

Honor stopped, wondering how to reply. “I really can’t say. As you know, I’m new here. I suppose I’ll have to check with Reverend Peters to see what his mother did in
the past. Besides, it’s too soon to worry about a Christmas tree. It’s not even Thanksgiving yet.”

“No, but it will be in just a few days.”

Honor nodded. “I know.”

After the sisters left the room, Honor started toward Jeth’s office to deliver his mail. Glancing down, she saw a letter from his mother on the top of the stack. As she placed the pile of mail on the table next to his lamp, one of the letters fell to the floor. Honor bent to pick it up, and glanced at the return address.

John Crammer. She looked again, hoping her eyes had deceived her, but the letter was from John all right. Honor had an overwhelming urge to open the letter and read what was written there. But she couldn’t. She was a Christian now.

Honor went back to the kitchen, wondering what the letter might say. Had John told Lucas where she was living? The mere thought gave her a new case of the jitters. If he hadn’t told yet, he would. John wanted that reward; he’d said as much when he visited the boardinghouse.

Her imagination had taken her prisoner again. The idea that Lucas might actually find her practically brought on a case of the vapors.

He could come here when she least expected it. Perhaps at night. And he could…

Just last night, she’d had another horrible dream. If she didn’t stop dwelling on all this, she would go mad. Yet disturbing thoughts and dreams rose in her mind, again and again.

In the dream last night, she was gathering wood, as she
had on the day that John Crammer and his wife came to the boardinghouse. Honor held two small logs. As she reached for the third, Lucas appeared. Fear engulfed her. Her heart pumped. Honor dropped the logs that she held. Evil gleamed in her uncle’s blue eyes, and he held a log as if it were a club. She turned to flee, but he grabbed her. She screamed. And then she’d wakened, trembling and perspiring.

If only she could put the frightening dreams and disturbing thoughts out of her mind.

In the kitchen now, Honor picked up a knife and moved to the slicing board. She tried not to think about her dream or her secret desire to marry Jeth Peters, and attempted to concentrate on slicing bread. But she had no idea how to stop the anger and discouragement she felt.

Belinda Grant rushed into the kitchen from the backyard, bringing a blast of cold wind inside with her, until she shut the door.

“It’s freezing out there.” Wiping her wet shoes on a mat by the door, she shook snowflakes from her hair and from her dark blue overcoat. “I wouldn’t be surprised if we got a lot more snow before it’s over tonight.”

Belinda stomped her feet. Snowflakes drifted onto the pine floor. She unbuttoned her shoes, one black button at a time, and put them beside the door. Then her gaze fastened on Honor. “You’re awfully quiet this afternoon.”

Honor shrugged. “I’ve been busy. How’s the snowman?”

“Perfect, just perfect. And he’s so handsome.”

“Handsome? How can a man made of snow be handsome?”

“Well, he is.” Belinda’s grin showed her excitement. “Just go out back and look.” She pointed toward the back door. “I don’t mind saying that I’ve never seen a better looking snowman.” She paused and examined Honor slowly. “I wish you’d been there to help us when we made him.”

Honor looked away. “I’m sure you and the reverend did a fine job without me.”

“Have you been crying?” Belinda asked.

“Onions. I chopped onions a while ago.”

“Yes. But have you been crying?”

Yes, she thought, tears looming close to the surface again. For years, Honor had tried to hold in her emotions no matter what happened, and she’d been successful. But she couldn’t manage any longer. She needed someone to hold her, someone to tell her things would get better.

Honor felt the warmth of Belinda’s kindness and wanted to tell her everything. Her true feelings for Jeth were too obvious to hide anymore, but she could never let anyone know about Lucas or what he might do if he found her. Her private monsters were between Honor and—

Who? God?

“What’s the matter?” Belinda asked. “Is it the pastor?”

“He’s going to—” Honor sniffed. “He’s going to marry Lucy Jordan.”

“How do you know that?”

“Miss Bennett told me.”

Belinda patted Honor gently on her back. “What does
she
know? I think the pastor’s in love with you.”

“What makes you think so?”

“I have eyes in my head, and ears, too. It’s obvious to me that Reverend Peters is
not
interested in Miss Jordan. If he was, he’d be courting her. He’s known her for years.”

“Then who is he courting? Certainly not me.”

“But he
is
courting you. Can’t you see that? Why do you think he drives you into town every time you need to go?”

“His mother tells him to. Or rather, she told him to before she left. And Miss Jordan lives in town. Maybe he goes there to see her all the time. We just don’t know anything about it.”

“He never drives Miss Jordan anywhere.” Belinda took Honor’s hand and led her to the table. “Sit down and let me fix you a cup of coffee. I think you need it.”

Honor sat, trying not to cry again. A few minutes later, Belinda handed her a cup of coffee. Honor lifted the cup to her lips but had a hard time swallowing the warm liquid. Holding the cup in both hands, she studied her saucer, then took another sip.

She wanted to believe Belinda was right—that Jeth loved her…and would rescue her from her uncle. But if Lucy wasn’t his intended, who was? Could Jeth be in love with another young woman, someone nobody knew about?

Belinda leaned toward Honor. “You’re in love with Reverend Peters, aren’t you.”

Yes, I am. Slowly, she nodded.

Belinda smiled, displaying straight, white teeth. “I knew it all along.”

If only Honor could tell Belinda—or somebody—all the things that troubled her. A thought came to her: Tell the Lord.

But surely He already knew.

That evening after supper, Honor looked at Jeth through the open doorway of his office. In the dim light coming from his oil lamp, he sat behind his desk reading one of the letters, with a serious look on his face.

Was he reading the letter from John Crammer or the one from his mother? She wanted to go in and find out, but knew she shouldn’t. Instead, she lifted her chin and straightened her back, preparing to move on.

“Miss McCall, will you come in here for a minute, please?” Jeth motioned toward the empty chair in front of his desk.

Here it comes, she thought. She stepped into his office stiffly and sat down.

“I just got a letter from my mother and I thought you might enjoy hearing what she had to say. She has news that’s very exciting.”

Relieved, Honor leaned forward in her chair. “Has the baby been born?” she asked.

“No, but it should happen any day now.” He picked up his unopened letter from John Crammer and fingered it.

A disquieting feeling shot through her. She hoped it didn’t show. Jeth had never looked more like Lucas than at that instant. She was glad the resemblance no longer troubled her, but what he might say about John’s letter did.

“I wanted to tell you about something amazing that happened to Mama in Pine Falls.” He smiled. “I have an uncle I’ve never met by the name of Lawrence Smith. Uncle Lawrence ran away from home before my parents married and never came back—even for visits. Nobody
knew what happened to him or if he was still alive. Then he just appeared briefly at the Starling Café one day. He ran away before Mama could talk to him.”

“Has your mother talked to him since then?” Honor asked.

“Not yet. But she’s looking for him. If he’s still in town, she’ll find him sooner or later. My mama doesn’t give up easily.”

No, she doesn’t, Honor thought, and neither do you.

Jeth still held the letter from John Crammer. He studied the envelope. Honor wanted to leave before he opened it. She didn’t care to hear what John had to say about Lucas or her.

“Thank you for telling me about your uncle. It’s wonderful news. I hope your mother finds her brother again very soon.” She stood. “But I guess I’ll leave you now so you can finish reading the rest of your mail.”

Lucas smelled dinner cooking. Pot roast and potatoes, he hoped. He felt better now that his fever had left him and he’d begun eating his meals at the table with Reverend and Mrs. Kline. Over the last few days, his strength was rapidly returning. He still thirsted for whiskey, but the craving had weakened.

Lucas continued to read the Bible. Though he didn’t understand much of it, he studied it—mostly to please the minister. He had to do something to pay for his keep.

“Dinner’s ready,” the minister’s wife called.

When Lucas entered the kitchen, Mrs. Kline was standing in front of the woodstove, stirring a pot. White steam twirled up from it. The minister, at the head of the table, motioned for Lucas to sit down.

“How’s the Bible reading going, Mr. Scythe?” he asked. “Are you understanding it better now?”

“I understand it when you explain it.”

“Then maybe we should have a short Bible study after we finish eating.”

“I think I best go looking for a job after we finish eating, sir,” Lucas said. “I’m not gonna live off you folks forever. It ain’t fittin’.”

“You can move back to that room of yours over the store anytime you want to,” the minister said. “We’ve paid for your rent three months in advance.”

“Paid for my room?” Lucas stared at the preacher. “Why would you do that?”

“As I told you, Christians treat others as they would like to be treated. It’s called the Golden Rule.”

Lucas shook his head. “Don’t make no sense to me.”

“It will sooner or later. Just keep reading your Bible. Understanding will come.”

Mrs. Kline placed the platter of roast beef in front of the minister and a bowl of roasted potatoes in the middle of the table. Then she sat down.

The pastor nodded to Lucas. “Let us give thanks.”

The Klines folded their hands and bowed their heads. After a moment, Lucas did, too. He was staying in their home and should do as they did. Common courtesy taught him that much.

“Heavenly Father,”
the minister prayed.
“Thank You for all our blessings and for this food. Use this meal to the nourishment of our bodies as You use the Bible to nourish our souls. In the name of Jesus, Amen.”

A stack of white plates, a large fork and a sharp knife had been placed in front of the minister. Reverend Kline picked up the knife and sliced enough for three servings, then put a portion of meat on each plate. He handed a plate to Lucas. “Please pass this on down to my wife.”

When all three had a plate in front of them, Mrs. Kline passed around bowls of potatoes, gravy and beans. Lucas hadn’t seen such a feast since before Harriet took to her bed. At last, they started eating.

“You need a job, Mr. Scythe,” the minister said. “Isn’t that what you said?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Well, it’s my pleasure to be able to offer you one.”

“You want to hire
me?
What kind of job?”

“We have an opening at our church. We’re looking for a caretaker. Someone to clean the church, make minor repairs, and pull the weeds in the flower beds. Are you interested?”

Lucas smiled. “Yes, I shore am.”

“When can you start?”

“Today, if you need me.”

“Saturday will be soon enough. That’s when we clean the church for the Sunday services. Can you be there by eight on Saturday morning?”

“You can count on me.”

You can count on me.
How many times had Lucas spoken those words without really meaning them? But things were different now. He wanted to do a good job for the minister. And he needed employment.