Rumors and Promises (5 page)

She stole a glance at ancient Mr. Graemer, who snored through his morning nap in the rocking chair. At least she and the minister would not be alone. The thought soothed the less savory reactions that reared to counter the uncharacteristic flutter in Sophie’s stomach.

Caira came toddling after her mama, dusted with white specks.

“Oh, how did you get into the flour? I took my eyes off you for just a moment!” Sophie tried to brush her off while the child had the pleasure of placing a white handprint on her skirt.

When a brisk knock sounded on the front door, Mr. Graemer jumped. “Look out for Stonewall Jackson!” After he yelled out, he slumped back into the rocking chair, which creaked with the movement. The cry startled Sophie though Esther had warned her.
Mr. Graemer’s sharing of his dreams about the War Between the States was legendary.

Sophie opened the door, her gaze meeting the summer-warm one of her visitor. A gust of wind blew the door from her grasp, yet she barely felt it. “Reverend McCormick, what brings you here?”

He stared at her, his eyebrows furrowed with seeming bewilderment. “You look busy. I don’t mean to interrupt.”

“’Cowmick!” Caira dropped the ladle she had filled with flour and ran toward them.

“So that’s how you got so messy!” Sophie picked her up, and the baby flirted with the minister from the safety of her mother’s shoulder. “I’m so sorry about this mess. Would you like a cup of coffee, Reverend?” She forced a tight-lipped smile despite her irritation. Could he have stopped by at a more inconvenient time?

“Though I’d like to take you up on the offer, I’m not sure that this is the opportune time. But I did want to bring you your package.”

Sophie received the parcel in brown paper wrapping from him with her free hand.

“You shouldn’t have gone to all this trouble. I figured that I would pick my sewing things up next time I went to that end of town.” With arms full, Sophie twitched her nose, hoping to prevent a sneeze. “I’m afraid I’m twice obliged to you, now. Thank you.”

Reverend McCormick didn’t smile, yet his eyes brightened with merriment. “Think nothing of it.”

“How can we repay you?”

“Well, actually.” He rubbed the side of his face. “I have some mending to be done.” He held out a waistcoat that hung over his arm. “I’m afraid I have some buttons missing and a rip here.” He showed her where the seam had come apart. “If I ask Maggie to fix it again, there’ll be no end to her tongue-lashing for being so hard on my clothes. She mended this very waistcoat not that long ago.”

Maggie? Why had she assumed that the minister was a bachelor? Of course, that should mean nothing to her, so why did her stomach feel heavy at the thought? “But if your wife found out someone else was doing your mending, Reverend, she might not approve.” Sophie didn’t need rumors of her and Reverend McCormick carrying on. No, nothing should draw that kind of attention to her and Caira.

“What? Nothing like that.” He put his hand up. Was he trying not to laugh? “Maggie’s my sister. She came to keep house for me after her husband passed away a year ago.”

“I think I can help you then.” Sophie reached for the garment. That strange, merciless flutter returned. “Are you quite positive you wouldn’t like to warm up with a cup of coffee?” She knew Esther would expect her to show hospitality.

“Thank you, but I should take my leave. Your hands seem quite full right now.”

Mr. Graemer let out a loud snore, and Reverend McCormick whispered, “I guess I don’t need to invite you to hear that during the church service.”

“He falls asleep during church?”

The minister fished out his pocket watch. “Perhaps it’s his usual naptime.” He grinned. “Of course, someone usually wakes him up when he starts fighting the whole lot of the Confederate army.”

Sophie failed to contain her chuckle.

“He keeps the rest of the congregation awake during some of my longer sermons.”

“Oh, I can’t imagine you’d be that boring.” Her candid thought slipped out before she could keep from saying it. Sophie bit her lip. She couldn’t afford to get involved with a group of people who might pry into her past. The last thing Sophie intended was to sound interested in attending his church. However, she didn’t want to offend him, either. Perhaps there was a better way she could have said it, but the Reverend’s presence unnerved her. He
was well groomed, refined, and highly educated, the kind of young man who used to be in her social circle. Her lower status no longer warranted being courted by such company.

“Perhaps you should visit one Sunday and see for yourself.”

“We’ll see.” Sophie averted her gaze for a moment, not wanting to hurt the kind minister’s feelings, but she had no intention of opening herself to the scrutiny a congregation always seemed to invite. “I’ll get this back to you as soon as I can.” She held out his waistcoat, draped over one arm.

“All right. Good day, Miss Biddle.” His eyes twinkled as he tipped his hat and left.

She would have to see him again when she returned his mending. How long could she avoid a visit to the church?

Two weeks later on a Sunday morning, Sophie had hoped to send the mended waistcoat to Reverend McCormick with Esther, but she had yet to find some matching buttons for the garment. Becoming familiarized with the routine of how the boardinghouse ran consumed most of her time.

She claimed not to feel well, which was partially true. Her headache pounded harder each moment she thought of the inevitable. Attending church would lend to a picture of good character, but only if she could keep everyone at a distance. Yet, to avoid attendance at the services indefinitely would impede her from developing a sterling reputation.

Sophie’s list of excuses grew more pathetic each week. The previous Sunday, Caira had seemed a bit feverish. Esther Fairgrave protested with concern and offered help. How long would it be before she suspected that Sophie might be less than a good Christian?

“Come, Caira, it’s time for our Bible story.” Sophie read Psalm 23 aloud. The six verses were short enough for her daughter’s attention span. “You’re like one of his little lambs, you know.”

“Baa.”

“That’s right, that’s what the little lambs say.”

Being raised in a Christian home had left an indelible mark on Sophie’s soul. She intended that Caira would be instructed in the ways of the Bible. She also realized that her resources were limited. Eventually, her daughter would need more in-depth instruction, from people who could provide a better example. If she could just raise her right, perhaps someday God would bless Caira with what Sophie had missed out on. Then maybe He would forgive Sophie for this ruse that hurt her down to the heart.

“Let’s sing now.” She attempted to teach Caira, “Jesus Loves Me, This I Know.” Then the tune of “Jesu, Joy of Man’s Desiring” came to mind. She hummed a few bars and sang the words she remembered.

“You know what? We’re going to bring that old pianoforte to life with some music. Come over here.”

“Pano!” The little one shared her love for hearing the piano played.

Sophie sat Caira next to her on the creaking, scratched bench. She picked out the tune from memory, but each time she hit a chipped ivory key, a tinny sound emanated from the damaged keyboard or, worse yet, silence. The musical instrument was as worn out and forsaken as the rest of the parlor. With one look around she took in the faded Persian rug and flowered wallpaper. Quilts had been arranged over the horsehair chair and couch to cover their threadbare spots. Twenty years ago the room had probably been at the height of elegance.

“We’ll make our own music then.” Sophie took the toddler into her arms and spun around the room, humming the grand hymn. She closed her eyes for a moment to imagine she stood in
the midst of a lovely, large church, where the congregants smiled, welcomed them, and asked no questions.

Sitting down as dizziness overtook her, Sophie clasped Caira in a hug and placed her cheek on her baby’s soft hair. She shut her eyes again. Tears squeezed out, rolling down her cheeks. Once Sophie had been part of a church family where she’d been loved and accepted, but that was before the incident. Since then, church had been a place of shunning of her soul, which they assumed was leprous. Sophie longed to be able to go to church again but did God want her and her falsehoods, no matter how necessary they seemed?

Ian’s hopes had thudded when the small group from the boardinghouse had entered the sanctuary, just before the service started. They sat near the back, but he didn’t see Sophie and her young charge among them.

At the end of the service, he hoped to get Mrs. Fairgrave’s attention. He caught a glimpse of her waddling toward him as he stood by the door, with Mr. Graemer holding fast to her arm. Ian would have to be patient as he shook hands with everyone coming through.

Ian had a different view from the entrance than from the pulpit, upon the raised platform. He could survey the congregation from the front, where some looked at him with expectant eyes as though he spoke the very words of God to them, though he were a fallible vehicle. Others looked distant, checking their pocket watches, enduring until they could move to the next task that day. And others, like dear Mr. Graemer, simply had trouble keeping their eyes open that long. There was such responsibility in getting to know his current flock! Leaving his last situation behind, he
planned to make the best of his fresh start. Even after a year, much still seemed new to him.

As he waited to receive those who stopped to shake his hand and comment, Ian liked blending in on their level and seeing them face-to-face, individually. He wondered if, up close, they found him ordinary. After all, he really was a servant sent there by the Lord, to help, to teach, and to guide. If anything, he was beholden to God and to them.

“Fine sermon this morning.” Mrs. Myles put out a dainty, gloved hand.

“Why, thank you. And how is your husband feeling?”

“Oh, gout has him down. I’m hoping he’s well enough to come with me next week.”

“Tell Asa I continue praying for him and that he’s missed.” Ian held onto her hand tightly for a moment. “I hope he’ll be well enough for the next elder meeting.”

“Thank you, I pray so, too.” She gave him a slight smile. “Come visit us soon.” She left looking burdened.

Ian thought of the best time to visit them over the next week. He suspected that more than gout kept Asa Myles away, since the couple greatly mourned the accidental deaths of their daughter and son-in-law, when their carriage had overturned alongside a road coming back from the city. What a blessing that their granddaughter had been staying with her grandparents at the time! The little girl would receive no greater love and would be cared for with the best resources, which the Myles family could afford. Though the wounds of their grief remained deep, Elise’s presence was very healing for them.

Several other families, couples, a few widows and widowers stopped to greet him. When expressions of joy replaced the usual exhaustion and grief in their faces, he was glad to have been a comfort. In the year since Ian had become their pastor, his love
had grown for his small-town flock. He felt for each one in their hardships and trials.

Only the Good Shepherd possessed limitless power to heal the brokenhearted, ready to care for their needs. As their earthly shepherd, Ian offered what he could. He pondered on the probable needs of his congregation and the earthly resources he could find to help and comfort.

“Yoo-hoo! Pastor! I brought you one of my pies—made with dried apples and plenty of cinnamon. Thought you would enjoy it with Sunday dinner. I know how your nephew loves my pie, too.” Esther Fairgrave held a covered basket toward him.