The Preacher's Wife
Cheryl St.John
Indulge your fantasies of delicious Regency Rakes, fierce Viking warriors and rugged Highlanders. Be swept away into a world of intense passion, lavish settings and romance that burns brightly through the centuriesThere was nothing remotely romantic about widowed father Samuel Hart's marriage proposal.Yet Josie Rolph said yes. The Lord had finally blessed the lonely widow with the family she'd always dreamed of. she was deeply in love with the hsome preacher, whose high ideals inspired everyone. Surely during their long journey across the western plains to his new post her husb would grow to love her.Each mile brought them closer to home, yet drove them further apart. Samuel didn't seem ready to open his heart again. But Josie was determined to be not just the preacher's wife, but Samuel's wife.
“Josie, I’m thinking that you and I could make a new start together.
“I want to do the very best I can for my family. I want to make up to them for what I’ve put them through. You’re so good with my daughters.”
A new start somewhere else? Her mind shot back to those words. “What are you saying?”
“I would be honored if you would marry me and come to Colorado with us,” he said.
The night sounds faded into the silent cocoon of her whirling mind and his words took over her thinking. Astonishment stole her breath. Marry him? He’d asked her to marry him?
He was handsome and smart. She’d witnessed his tenderness toward his children, listened to his strong words of love as he preached straight from the Word of God. This imposing and fascinating man sitting on her porch had proposed to her!
CHERYL ST.JOHN
A peacemaker, a romantic, an idealist and a discouraged perfectionist are the terms that Cheryl uses to describe herself. The award-winning author of both historical and contemporary novels says she’s been told that she is painfully honest.
Cheryl admits to being an avid collector, displaying everything from dolls to depression glass, as well as white ironstone, teapots, cups and saucers, old photographs and—most especially—books. When not doing a home-improvement project, she and her husband love to browse antique shops. In her spare time, she’s an amateur photographer and a pretty good baker.
She says that knowing her stories bring hope and pleasure to readers is one of the best parts of being a writer. The other wonderful part is being able to set her own schedule and have time to work around her growing family.
Cheryl loves to hear from readers! E-mail her at: SaintJohn@aol.com.
The Preacher’s Wife
Cheryl St.John
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
So shall my word be that goeth forth out of my mouth; it shall not return unto me void, but it shall accomplish that which I please, and it shall prosper in the thing whereto I sent it. For ye shall go out with joy, and be led forth with peace: the mountains and the hills shall break forth before you into singing, and all the trees of the field will clap their hands.
—Isaiah 55:11–12
With love and appreciation I dedicate this book to my
mentor, teacher, pastor, prayer partner, painting buddy
and friend, Betty Jo Marples. Special lady, you give
one hundred percent of yourself to all you do and to
everyone who knows you. Whether I need a listening
ear, an advocate or someone to tell me the straight
truth, I can depend on you. Your example encourages
me to look at others through the eyes of Jesus. You
always see the best in me, believe the best for me, and
expect the best from me. Thank you, friend.
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Questions for Discussion
Chapter One
Durham, Nebraska, June 1869
Only her husband’s physical body lay beneath the lush grass in the fenced-in cemetery behind the tiny white church. His spirit had gone on to be with the Lord, but her mother-in-law insisted that Sunday afternoons were for paying respects to the dead. Josephine Randolph knelt and pulled a fledgling weed from beside the flat piece of granite engraved with her husband’s name.
Margaretta slipped a lace-edged hankie from the hidden pocket of her emerald-green dress and dabbed her eyes. “He was too young,” she said for the thousandth time. “Too young to lose his life.”
Josie nodded. It had been three years, and while she had mourned her husband’s death and missed his company, there were no tears left. She had loved him. She had been a good wife. But in his affections she had always taken second place to her mother-in-law. She hastened to remind herself that losing a son or daughter was devastating. Margaretta had lost her only child. Of course the woman was still suffering.
“It would be easier if I could take comfort in the fact that he’d left behind a living legacy.”
Knowing and dreading what was coming next, Josie got up and brushed her palms together.
Margaretta sniffed into her hankie. “Your inability to give me a grandchild is almost more than I can bear.”
Josie turned her gaze to the countryside, spotted an orange and black butterfly and watched it flutter on the breeze as she steeled herself.
“A child would have been a part of him I could hold on to. If only right now I could be caring for a little boy or girl with Bram’s features. I would have so loved to watch him grow. His child would have been such a comfort to me.”
Josie wanted to cry, too. She wanted to rail at the woman who made her feel every inch as insignificant as her son had. Didn’t Margaretta think a child would have been a comfort to her, as well? Didn’t she know that Josie’s loneliness was eating her up on the inside? Didn’t she think Josie wanted more out of life than…than…this?
Momentarily, she closed her eyes against the painfully blue summer sky. She’d never wanted anything more than a family of her own. She’d spent her entire childhood waiting for her circuit-judge father to return home. The times he had, he’d spared her only meager attention before leaving again.
Because Bram Randolph had been a local newspaperman, she’d known he wouldn’t be a traveler. She’d married him with the hope of a secure future. Time had proven Bram more concerned with the whims of Margaretta than the needs of his young wife, however. And that was the simple fact.
“You are coming to the house for dinner, aren’t you?”
And be exposed to yet another opportunity for Margaretta to pursue her weekly harangue about Josie’s barrenness? Josie opened her eyes. “I’m fixing a stew for Reverend Martin,” she replied matter-of-factly. “I’ll stay and keep him company.”
“He seems to be recovering well.” Margaretta smoothed the fingers of her beaded gloves. “Whatever you’re doing must be working.”
Josie managed a smile. “God’s doing His part, too.”
Margaretta gathered the hem of her voluminous skirt and walked across the thick spring grass toward the street.
Josie glanced down and read the headstone again. “Beloved son and husband.” Not father. Sometimes she felt so incomplete, so alone. She hadn’t given her husband children, and for that glaring inadequacy, Margaretta would never forgive her.
“Have a good afternoon!” she called after the woman.
Margaretta delivered a tepid wave and continued marching toward her home a few blocks away. Josie experienced the same relief she always did when her obligatory mourning session and weekly dressing-down was over. At least she’d had a good reason to forgo lengthening the torment by joining the woman for a meal. Margaretta’s house had a cold, depressing atmosphere that matched the woman’s attitude.
Josie glanced at the bright blue sky with a longing that was rising up so swift and strong that the ache took her breath away. She’d prayed for contentment, but she needed more than this. When she didn’t keep busy enough, she daydreamed of impossible things….
Taking a deep breath, Josie made her way with renewed purpose to the shaded two-story house beside the church. She climbed the back porch steps and let herself in. She’d started a stew earlier, and now checked the savory broth, adding water and salt.
“It’s Josie!” she called, removing her bonnet and sweeping along the hallway toward the front of the house.
“Who else would be banging pans in my kitchen?” came the good-natured reply.
She found Reverend Martin in his study, seated where she’d left him, on an overstuffed chair with a plaid wool blanket tucked around his legs. He closed his Bible and removed his spectacles, setting both aside. Last March he’d fallen from the roof of the church while replacing shingles, and had broken several bones, including his collarbone and ribs. A particularly severe break in his leg had become infected, and he’d been bedridden with a fever for weeks. Eventually he’d recovered, and was only now able to move from his bed to the study. The town doctor said it would likely be several more weeks before he’d be strong enough to resume his duties.
She’d always considered him a mentor, but these past weeks had made them friends, as well. “The fire’s died down,” she said. “I’ll get a few logs.”
“I can’t seem to get warm.” He was paler and thinner than before the accident, and the change in such a vital, life-loving man was heartbreaking. The man was probably only in his late thirties, but these past weeks had taken a toll. Josie had dedicated herself to seeing him recover to his former self.
“The stew will warm you from the inside out,” she assured him. She took two split logs from the box beside the fireplace and knelt to add them to the fire, then used the poker to adjust the wood until the flames caught and licked up around the sides. The bark snapped in the blaze. Warmth spread from the hearth to where the reverend was sitting.
“That’s nice,” he said with a grateful smile. “I barely have time to realize a need before you’ve seen to it.”
“It’s a privilege to help.”
“And a help you are. I don’t know what I would do without you.”
“God would send someone. But I was available.”
He chuckled. “You’re a woman of great faith, Josie, but you count yourself a little short.”
She seated herself on a nearby ottoman.
“A lot of people are available,” he told her. “Few are willing.”
She never doubted that God was taking care of the reverend. It was when she thought of her own needs that her confidence got a little shaky. “How about a game of checkers before dinner?” she asked.
He gave her a mock frown and flicked his hand as though shooing away a fly. “Do you think I enjoy your kings chasing my last disk around the board, delaying the inevitable?”
She laughed. “Oh, come now. You win sometimes.”
“Only if you feel particularly sorry for me and deliberately pass up chances to jump. We need a new game, one I have a hope of winning.”
“Based on chance, rather than skill, Reverend?”
“Didn’t I see you and James setting up the board the other evening?”
James, a fatherless lad of about fourteen, came by a few times a week to split wood and perform a few other chores. Josie had quickly sensed that, because his mother worked evenings at the café, James was lonely. She’d offered to teach him the game. “You did. He’s fast becoming an apt opponent.”
The reverend’s enormous calico leaped from its spot on the divan to run through the doorway into the nearest bedroom.
“Must be a caller,” the reverend said.
Most everyone knocked at the back door and then walked in, but a rap sounded at the front. Josie and the reverend exchanged a puzzled glance before she got up.
A broad-shouldered man in a brown hat and buckskin jacket stood in the dappled sunlight that filtered through the leaves of the twin maple trees. She had a sudden, swift impression of troubled intensity as his gaze bored into hers.
“Good afternoon, sir,” Josie greeted him.
He removed his hat, revealing thick chestnut hair in need of a cut. “Ma’am,” he said in greeting. “I’m Samuel Hart. The preacher sent by the First Christian Alliance.”
Behind him, three girls of varying ages waited in the street near a dusty team attached to a canvas-covered wagon.
His name registered immediately. “Of course! Come in.”
He turned and summoned the girls, the fringe of his jacket swaying as he gestured. The girls she assumed were his daughters were wearing clean but wrinkled clothing, and their hair was neatly tucked beneath stiff-brimmed bonnets.
He handed her his hat, still warm from his head, and she laid it on the hall table before ushering the little troupe into the study. “The interim preacher is here,” she said.
Samuel strode forward and shook the elder man’s hand. His size and his sun-darkened face and hands made the reverend seem even sicklier in comparison. “Pleased to meet you, sir. These are my daughters. Elisabeth.”
Elisabeth was the tallest and oldest, with blue eyes and a full face. Her weary smile was hesitant.
“Abigail.” The middle daughter had hair a paler blond than the other two, blue eyes, a narrow face and a prominent chin.
“And Anna.” The youngest of the trio possessed wide hazel eyes and a charming smattering of freckles.
A look of confusion wrinkled Reverend Martin’s brow. “Josie, didn’t the letters say that Samuel was traveling with his wife and family?”
Josie had recalled the same thing. Before she could answer, Samuel Hart said, “My wife died on the way.”
The snapping fire was the only sound for a moment.
Anna slipped her hand into Abigail’s and the three girls huddled closer, their expressions somber, the pain of their loss evident.
“I’m deeply sorry,” Reverend Martin said.
Samuel nodded curtly, the subject apparently closed.
“This is Josephine Randolph.” The reverend indicated Josie with a nod. “God sent her to me. She cooks, takes care of the house, does my laundry—she even handled my bills and mail while I was laid up.”
“Pleased to make your acquaintance, ma’am.”
It was inappropriate that she should notice his well-defined cheekbones or his recently shaved, firm, square chin, but she had. Even his deep, rich voice arrested her attention. But his eyes…she’d never seen so much suffering in a person’s eyes, and the sight carved a confusing ache inside her chest.
Samuel turned his gaze to look pointedly at his daughters.
One at a time, they said, “Pleased to meet you.”
Glad for the distraction, she said, “You’ve arrived just in time for dinner. I trust you’re hungry. Would you like to help me make biscuits?”
“I would,” Abigail said with a bright smile.
Watching his daughters’ hesitation and discomfort pained Sam. He hoped the pretty young woman’s friendly welcome made this day a trifle easier than the rest. The past weeks had been grueling, both physically and emotionally. “All of you will help Mrs. Randolph,” he called after them.
Over her shoulder, Anna cast him a wide-eyed glance, her expression so much like his late wife’s that it made his breath hitch in his chest.
Reverend Martin indicated the settee. “Have a seat.”
Sam brought his attention to their meeting and to the minister for whom he would temporarily be substituting. He was probably about ten years older than Sam.
Taking the offered seat, Sam was glad they’d stopped outside town to wash up and put on clean clothing. The man’s home was plain, but tastefully furnished and spotlessly clean.
“I understand you had a setback in your recovery,” Sam began.
“I was busted up pretty bad,” Henry answered with a nod. “Collarbone was the most painful. Couldn’t do anything for myself. My leg was on the mend, but then I got an infection. The doc told me he considered taking it off, but he and Josie came up with a plan for medicine and poultices. The other women took turns staying with her, but she was here day and night through the worst of it. She’s a praying woman, that Josie. Has God’s ear, too, she does. I can walk on my leg now, but it’s almighty weak.” He grimaced in exasperation. “Like the rest of me. Kind of lost my gumption.”
“That’s why the Alliance sent me,” Sam assured him. “I’ll be here to help you with your duties for the next several weeks.”
The First Christian Alliance had offered Sam a church in Colorado. It had always been his dream to travel westward, so he’d leaped at the prospect. At the time, it had seemed like a glorious opportunity. This assignment was a chance he hadn’t been willing to miss, so they’d sold their home and packed their belongings.
Meanwhile, they learned of this small congregation in Nebraska that needed someone to fill in while their regular minister recuperated. Sam had set out filled with so much hope and expectancy. He’d embraced the physical challenges of the trip with the enthusiasm of a man running toward his dream. Crossing wide-open country and testing his skills with a wagon and team and rifle was an unparalleled prospect for adventure.
How naive he’d been. He’d walked his unprepared family right into danger, and he’d been unable to protect them.
“I’m sorry about your wife.” Henry’s tone held sympathy, his kind expression an opening to talk.
Sam hadn’t voiced the burden on his heart. He had to be strong and push on. He’d started this, and he couldn’t let his children down. He would see this through.
He looked into the other man’s eyes and swallowed hard. The weight that had been pressing on Sam’s chest sent out a new arrow of pain, and he was weary of holding himself together. “My wife and daughters were thrown from our wagon as we were crossing a river last April. My wife drowned.”
My wife drowned. Simple words that didn’t begin to explain the ghastly choice he’d been forced to make. It didn’t reflect the horror of watching Carrie being washed downstream in a muddy torrent, or of his frantic haste to rescue his daughters and search for his wife.
He couldn’t close his eyes at night without remembering the echoing gunfire that had drawn him to where one of the men stood in the shallows. He never woke up without seeing his wife limp and pale, her hair snagged in tree roots. More than anything, he wanted to remember her the way she’d been, but it was her pale, lifeless image that tortured him.
“The wagon righted itself and the team pulled it on across,” he said. “Didn’t even lose a bag of flour or a wooden bucket.” The irony was eating a hole in his gut.
Mrs. Kennedy and another woman had laid out his wife in her finest Sunday dress, a blue one with tiny sprigs of white flowers and lace cuffs. With his heart an aching cavity in his chest, Sam had removed her wedding ring and given it to Elisabeth.
He’d second-guessed himself hundreds of times over the past days and nights, questioned his wisdom in bringing his family west, doubted his choices the day Carrie had died. Elisabeth had been six feet away; Carrie had been twenty or more. He’d shouted for the other men to find Carrie while he rescued his daughters.
What if he’d let the others get the girls and he’d ridden along the bank while he’d still been able to locate her? What if he’d let Abigail cling to that branch until one of the others got to her and had instead taken those precious minutes to find his wife?
The constant examination was pointless. His head told him that regret wouldn’t change anything, but the thoughts plagued him all the same. His lofty plans mocked him.
His children were motherless and he was a widower. If he hadn’t wanted to come west they would still be living in their comfortable house in Philadelphia. The girls would be in school now and Carrie would be singing as she prepared for their evening meal. He would come home from an ordinary day of planning sermons and kiss her on the cheek. She would smell like fresh-baked bread and lilac water….
The pain was paralyzing. He’d left part of himself behind that day, and he had taken away enough guilt and remorse to sink him the next time he tried to cross a river.
“The next time it rained,” he told Henry, “Anna was terrified. Each river we crossed, I had to hold her on the horse with me and wait out her cries, begging me to turn back.” His hand trembled visibly as he opened his palm and raked it down his face. “Abigail has nightmares, and she’s only ten. Elisabeth is withdrawn. I don’t how I’m going to raise them without my wife, and I have no one to blame but myself.”
“You didn’t kill your wife, Samuel.”
He composed himself to say firmly, “It was my choices that took her away from her safe home.” His voice shook with anger, and he steadied it by clearing his throat so he could go on. “I’ve had a lot of time to think back, and I never asked her if she wanted this. She just went along with the move because it was what I wanted. My dream led her to that river and my selfishness pushed her in. Because of my hasty judgment, she died.”
Henry adjusted his weight with a grimace, then asked, “Did you love your wife, Samuel?”
A hoarse declaration burned his throat. “Yes.”
“You didn’t intentionally put her at risk. Sometimes circumstances are out of our control. You did the best you could. You’re answering the call of God on your life, are you not?”
“I thought so. I truly did. But if I am, why did this happen?” Unable to sit, Sam got up, paced to a window and gazed, unseeing. “They dug a hole for her, out there on the prairie. I wrapped her in our wedding quilt. She loved that quilt. And we buried her there, where wagon wheels would roll over and hide the spot.”
Henry listened silently.
“We stood there after the others had gone back to their wagons, ready to move on. I was thinking that I hadn’t seen it coming. The day had been like any other on the trail. Then Elisabeth looked at me and asked me why God didn’t save her mother.” He turned to face the reverend. “I didn’t have an answer.”
“We don’t have answers to everything,” the other man said.
Sam raised a palm to ask, “But how can I be of use to anyone if I can’t help my own daughter? She’s thirteen and mature for her age. She needed an answer.”
“God doesn’t want you to be this hard on yourself,” Henry assured him. “You’re exhausted and you’re grieving. I’m sure First Alliance would understand if you needed some time. You’re perfectly welcome to stay here nonetheless.”
“No,” Sam told him. “I want to work. I need to. I want to plan Sunday sermons and make calls and teach. I need to do it.”
If he didn’t follow through with his plans, Carrie’s death would be for nothing.
Chapter Two
The girls had removed their bonnets, giving Josie an opportunity to admire their neat braids. Elisabeth’s hair appeared thick and full; Abigail’s was so pale and fine that it shone, while Anna’s had darker undertones that complimented her eyes.
“I can’t imagine the angels are as pretty as the three of you,” she said.
“Father says angels are men,” Elisabeth informed her.
“Really? All of them?”
“With names like Michael and Gabriel? Yes, most likely.”
“Well, that shoots a hole in all the Christmas pageants, now doesn’t it?” Josie replied thoughtfully.
The girls studied her. “What do you mean?” Abigail asked.
“The parts of the angels are always played by little girls,” she explained. “‘Behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy’ and all.”
Elisabeth said nothing. Abigail and Anna exchanged a look.
“Why don’t you wash your hands at the pump there,” Josie suggested, to move past the uncomfortable moment. “You can help me roll and cut the biscuits.”
Anna looked up at her through thick lashes.
“And you may be the cutter. I have a tin can that makes perfect circles.”
Anna glanced at Elisabeth, who gave her a barely perceptible nod, before taking the can from Josie and watching while she gathered the ingredients.
The simple task was completed quickly, and the biscuits came from the oven uniform and golden-brown. “Let’s call your father, shall we? I’ll make a tray for Reverend Martin.”
After she’d taken the reverend his food, the Harts gathered informally in the roomy kitchen.
“Will you pray over the meal, sir?” she asked Samuel.
He said a brief blessing for their food, thanking God for His provision.
“Help Mrs. Randolph with the dishes,” Samuel said after everyone had eaten.
“Please,” she said. “Call me Josie. And I can see to the dishes. Let me show you your rooms so you can get settled.”
Anna drew a breath in excitement, and she and Abigail looked at each other.
“There’s a room for you, Reverend, and one for the girls to share. When we heard you were coming, I set up another narrow bed. Two can sleep on the larger bed and one on the small one.”
He glanced at her, and she noticed creases at the corners of his eyes that he’d earned squinting against the sun. “They’ve been sleeping cramped together on a feather mattress in the wagon. A real bed will be a pleasure we’ve all nearly forgotten.”
She led them upstairs and showed them the two small rooms with sloping ceilings. Anna immediately spread the top half of her body over the larger bed, spreading her arms wide, her cheek pressed against the quilt. She closed her eyes and sighed.
The exhausting effect of their grueling trip couldn’t have been plainer. Samuel exuded strength and purpose, but his stance betrayed weariness. The girls’ fatigue was evident, as well, and there was an uncertainty in their expressions that saddened her.
She pushed open the wide windows so a breeze could filter through. “The reverend gets chilled easily, so I keep the parlor warm for him. With the shade trees, it cools off quickly up here, if you open the windows on both sides of the house.”
“The rooms are nice,” Sam assured her. “Thank you.”
“This is the parsonage—and the reverend is unmarried, so he doesn’t use these rooms. I simply cleaned and aired them out before your arrival. We weren’t sure when you’d be here.”
“We’ll bring in a few of our belongings. Is there a laundry in town?”
“There is, but I’d be glad to take care of it for you.”
“You have no idea what you’d be getting yourself into,” he replied. “Our clothing hasn’t been properly washed since we left Philadelphia. I’d be more comfortable paying someone.”
“The laundry is a small building behind the milliner’s shop. You can’t miss it.”
She excused herself and took care of the dishes and the kitchen, then set out kettles, soap and towels. She made sure Reverend Martin had everything he needed for the evening.
“Thank you, Josie,” he said as she prepared to leave.
“I’ll come make breakfast for our guests in the morning.”
“You spend more time here than you do at your own place,” he said with an appreciative smile.
“There’s not that much for me to do there,” she told him. “I’d rather be useful than sit around and do needlepoint.”
He shook his head. “You deserve a family, Josie.”
“I guess if I was to have one, God would have given one to me by now,” she answered matter-of-factly.
She walked the few blocks toward her home, enjoying the setting sun and the pleasant summer scent of freshly cut grass from the lot beside Mrs. Wilbur’s property.
The Iverson children, along with a couple other neighborhood youngsters, were playing in the yard beside hers as she passed.
“Gretchen! James! Time to come in!” Alice Iverson called from her front steps. She noticed Josie and waved. “How’s the reverend?”
“Doing well,” she called back. “And the interim preacher arrived today.”
“I’ll be looking forward to Sunday.” Alice ushered her two up the painted porch stairs, and the neighbor children scampered home.
Josie observed the Iversons’ movements through the lace curtains of their well-lit dining room windows for a moment before catching herself staring. She turned away to hurry along her own walk and to climb the wooden stairs to the dark and silent two-story house she had once shared with her husband.
After turning her key in the lock, she paused momentarily before pushing open the door.
You deserve a family, Josie. Reverend Martin’s words echoed in her mind like footsteps in a barren house. She’d certainly wanted a family her whole life. She’d thought marrying Bram would fulfill her dream, but it wasn’t meant to be.
She entered the waiting silence.
After locking the door behind her, she made her way past the open stairway to the kitchen, where she lit a lamp and put a kettle of water on the stove.
The clock in the parlor chimed the hour and the melodious sound reverberated throughout the rooms. Josie steeped tea and carried a cup with her as she wandered the main floor, ending up in the dining room.
She could probably polish the silver tomorrow. She had invited the ladies to hold their quilting session here later in the week, so she had tablecloths to iron and a luncheon to plan. She stood in the darkened room, sipping from her cup, idly thinking about the menu. Her gaze wandered to the triple windows and the lights on in the house next door.
Her dining room faced the Iversons’, and by inching aside the curtain, she could observe the family sitting around the table. Karl Iverson was reading aloud while Alice and the two children sat nearby. Alice held something that looked like an embroidery hoop. Before long, she set down her handiwork, and the four of them bowed their heads.
Josie wished she could hear their prayer. She wondered what their needs were. Perhaps they were all prayers of thanksgiving for their health and family. She let the curtain drop back into place. She had as much to be thankful for as the Iversons. She was healthy. Between inheritances from her father and her late husband, she owned a house, half of a newspaper, and had a generous monthly income. God provided her daily needs plus a whole lot more.
“Thank You, Lord, that You meet all my needs,” she said with heartfelt gratitude.
Her thoughts traveled to the Hart family, to those lovely young ladies and the loss and hardships they’d suffered. That day their eyes had spoken of their grief more clearly than any words could have. Reverend Hart possessed a quiet strength. She sensed purpose and dignity in his movements and his words. Something about him kindled suppressed emotions deep inside her. His wife must have been a special person. What a shame those girls wouldn’t have their mother as they grew up.
As she rinsed her cup and dried the kettle, she prayed for the Hart family, asking God to comfort them and give them strength and peace.
The house had grown dark, so she lit an oil lamp and carried it to the washroom behind the kitchen, where she bathed and changed into her nightclothes before climbing the stairs to her room.
Since Bram’s death, she’d chosen to sleep in a different bedroom than the one she’d shared with him. She’d felt thoroughly alone, and had been compelled to make changes. Margaretta had thrown a conniption when Josie had given all of his belongings to the Lydia Closet at church.
“Bram’s barely cold in his grave, and you’re erasing him from your life,” she’d accused in a hurt tone.
It had been six months after Bram’s death, and Josie had been at a place where she needed to do something to move on. She didn’t want to grow old and lonely without making an effort to have a fulfilling life. At the time, Josie had known it would be a waste of breath to share her feelings with Margaretta. “I miss him, too, but someone might as well have use of perfectly good clothing,” she’d told her.
“You might afford my son the dignity of preserving his memory.”
“I’ve kept his watch and wedding ring and his Bible,” she replied. “I have the entire house by which to remember him.”
“No doubt you’ll change that now, too.” The woman had taken several items of clothing from the stacks and turned her back on Josie.
It was her house, Josie had thought all along. She could do with it as she pleased. But she liked it fine just the way it was. She’d selected the furnishings and the decor, so of course it suited her.
No, there was only one thing wrong with the house…. Only one thing that she would change if she had the power. It was painfully, glaringly empty.
After Sam sorted through the contents of the wagon to find the things his daughters needed for the night, he brought in the copper tub, heated water and sat with Henry in the parlor while the girls helped each other bathe.
“I’m thinking I need to spend another night with the wagon,” he told the other man. “I’m too tired to haul more water for a bath, so I’ll get one in town tomorrow.”
“You need a solid rest before you push on to Colorado,” Henry told him.
Sam agreed with a nod. “I want to hear about your church. About the people. You probably have a list of things you need done. I suppose there are visits to make.”
“As one of your first duties, I’d appreciate it if you could call on the Widow Harper. Each spring a few of the men till and plant a garden for her. She’s not a sociable woman, doesn’t join the other ladies in their activities or come to any gatherings except Sunday-morning service. I think I’m the only one who ever goes to visit her, and it’s been a while.”
“After my chores in town are accomplished tomorrow, and I’ve had a bath and haircut, I’ll be glad to call on her. Shall I take my daughters with me?”
“You do as you’re led,” Henry replied. “But if you’re concerned they might be underfoot here, don’t give it another thought. I won’t mind their company. In fact, they might give Josie a break as my companion. She’s probably seen enough of this house and my face.”
“I’ll give them the option,” Sam decided. “They have their studies, and I don’t want them to have fallen behind in their schooling by the time we reach Colorado.”
“They seem like bright young ladies,” Henry observed. “I’m sure that won’t be a problem.”
“Carrie always helped them with their schoolwork.” Sam glanced at the dying embers in the fireplace. “I’m seeing now just how much she did.” He looked up. “Have you ever lost someone, Reverend?”
“My Rosemary died in childbirth fifteen years ago,” Henry replied. “The baby lived only a few hours. A boy, it was. David.”
Fifteen years ago, yet sorrow still tinged his voice when he spoke their names. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
“Death doesn’t take away the impact they made on our lives or their importance to God.” Henry waited until Sam met his eyes. “To be gone from here is to be present in glory. It doesn’t feel like it now, but I assure you each day will get a little easier. Each week will add more distance from the pain.”
Sam trusted the man’s wisdom, but he wished there was a more immediate answer. It was up to him to raise three daughters and make up for the loss of their mother.
“I’ll see to emptying the tub now and make sure the girls are settled for the night.”
Henry got to his feet.
Sam reached out to steady him. “I’ll bank the fire. Go on to your bed now.”
“You’re going to do fine, Sam. Just fine.”
Nothing felt as though that would be the case, but Sam had to believe it anyway. Would he always feel as though he was enduring one difficult day after another? He didn’t know what to do about it—except pray the reverend was right.
Chapter Three
Josie loved Mondays. On Mondays she had a fresh slate ahead of her, a palette of days that held endless possibilities. A whole new week in which to accomplish as many things as would fit. And this week was even more exciting because there would be tasks aplenty in looking after the interim preacher and his daughters.
She lit the oven, heated water and set full pitchers and towels outside each bedroom door. While coffee boiled, she fried bacon and mixed batter for flapjacks.
When she checked back, Reverend Martin hadn’t picked up his water, so she tapped on the door.
“I’m awake, Josie. C’mon in.”
He was lying propped on his pillows. “How are you feeling this morning?” she asked.
“Weak as a baby, and tired of it to be sure.”
She placed a towel across his lap, prepared his razor and stirred shaving powder into froth with the brush. She handed him the mirror. “I don’t mind shaving you.”
She’d performed the task many times when he couldn’t bear to move.
“I feel like I’ve taken a step backward.”
“Not at all. Your color is good. That wound is healed, and you’re eating well. You’re just a little tired.”
“Hand me the razor, Josie. Your optimism inspires me to push forward.”
She handed him the straightedge. “How would you like your eggs?”
“Any way you turn them out will set just fine with me.”
“I’ll be back for your water. I could send Reverend Hart in to help you dress this morning.”
“You’re hereby relieved of that task.”
As she reached the kitchen, the back door opened, and the man she’d just spoken of entered the house. His clothing was rumpled and dark whiskers shadowed his jaw. He seemed larger than he had the day before, but his direct gaze had the same disturbing effect on her. She stopped in her tracks and pointed to the ceiling. “You—I left water for you upstairs.”
“I slept in the wagon. Today I’ll store our belongings and bathe in town. I’ll sleep upstairs tonight.”
“Forgive my rudeness. I was surprised to see you coming in when I hadn’t heard you go out.”
“You weren’t rude, Mrs. Randolph.”
She was embarrassed by her reaction at seeing him and spoke too quickly. “Your whereabouts are none of my business, and you certainly don’t have to explain yourself.”
“May I take water out to the back porch to wash and shave?”
“Certainly. Of course. I wasn’t thinking.” She lifted a basin from a nail in the pantry and poured warm water into it. “Let me get soap and a towel for you. After you’ve had your breakfast, would you mind helping Reverend Martin with his clothing?”
“Won’t mind a bit.” He nodded, took the things she handed him and headed out.
“You certainly made a fool of yourself, Josie,” she said in irritation, then turned back to the stove.
A few minutes later, Abigail and Anna arrived wearing clean dresses. Their freshly washed hair was arranged in loose waves down their backs.
“Well, look at the two of you,” Josie said, hands on hips and a smile spread across her face. “Aren’t you lovely. I’ve never seen hair so pretty and shiny in all my days.” Her own dark hair was wavy and never tended to stay where she pinned it.
Anna beamed.
“Our mama had pretty hair,” Abigail told her.
“If you girls take after her, she must have been beautiful.”
“She was,” Abigail agreed.
“Are you flattering my sisters?” Elisabeth asked.
Josie turned to the oldest Hart sibling now standing in the doorway. “I complimented them. I see you’ve worn your hair loose today, too. I like the way it shines.”
Elisabeth gave Josie an unreadable glance and took a seat at the table.
Josie prepared a tray and carried it in to where Reverend Martin sat propped in bed, clean-shaven.
“Breakfast smells wonderful,” he told her.
She rinsed out his shaving supplies in the clean water left in the pitcher, then carried the supplies from the room.
By then, Samuel had returned with the empty enamel basin.
“Looks like there are quite a few towels to launder today,” he said, glancing at the basket in the corner. “I can take them when I go into town.”
“That’s not necessary. I’ll do them,” she said. “Monday is my usual laundry day. The girls can help.”
Elisabeth’s eyes widened. “But we’re in a town now. You can send them out, can’t you?”
“I don’t pay for services I can do myself,” Josie answered in surprise. Most preachers earned only a modest income. Reverend Martin kept a strict budget. She glanced at Samuel, now regretting she’d spoken so quickly. Perhaps the Harts had family money. She had no business questioning his expenditures.
“My wife took care of the domestic chores,” he explained. “But I see no reason why my daughters can’t learn a bit of self-sufficiency. They’ll need the skills sooner than later.” He looked at Elisabeth. “This morning while I’m in town, I want the three of you to take directions from Mrs. Randolph. I’m sure she’ll be fair about dividing the duties according to your ages and abilities.”
Elisabeth’s cheeks darkened and she refused to look up at Josie or her father. “Yes, sir.”
“Yes, sir,” the other two echoed.
“What can I do, Mrs. Randolph?” Anna asked with bright enthusiasm. “I’m a good helper.”
“We’ll find you a suitable chore,” Josie replied, and then gestured for Samuel to take a seat. “Please.”
She served the meal she had prepared, and the reverend said grace before they ate.
Elisabeth didn’t speak or raise her gaze the entire time.
“Do any girls or boys live by here?” Anna asked.
“There’s a family down two houses,” Josie replied. “Susanna Maxwell is probably about your age. How old are you?”
“I’m nine,” Anna replied proudly. “Can I see your room?”
Josie glanced up. “I don’t live here,” she explained. “This is the parsonage. I have my own home a few blocks away.”
“Oh.” Anna set down her fork. “How come you don’t eat with your family?”
Elisabeth finally raised her gaze in interest.
Josie touched her napkin to her lips. “I’m a widow.”
Anna glanced from her father to Josie with a puzzled expression. “What does widow mean?”
“It means my husband died,” Josie replied.
Anna seemed to consider that for a minute. “Are you a widow, Papa?”
He held his mouth in a grim line, but he answered, “‘Widower’ is the term for a man.”
“Why?”
“You’ve asked enough questions for one meal,” he said. “Let Mrs. Randolph finish her breakfast.”
“Yes, sir.” Anna picked up her fork.
Sam explained that he’d be back that afternoon and what their choices were. “When I return, I’ll expect you to have decided whether or not you’re coming with me when I go calling.”
Anna sat on the edge of her chair and beseeched her father with eyes open wide. Her eagerness to say something forced Josie to hold back a laugh.
Samuel set down his cup. “What do you want to ask, Anna?”
Her expression showed her relief. “Who’s gonna help me with my letters and numbers?”
Elisabeth and Abigail glanced at each other. Apparently their mother had guided their lessons.
“Until we move on to Colorado and get you settled in a school, Elisabeth will help you.”
Anna frowned at her older sister. “She doesn’t do it the way Mama did.”
“Regardless, she will be your helper over the summer. You will answer to me if she reports you’ve given her any difficulty. Understood?”
His youngest daughter sat back meekly. “Yes, sir.”
He strode from the room.
Elisabeth was an efficient yet silent helper. After the meal was cleaned up, Josie got out the washtubs and heated water. She showed the girls how to make proper suds, scrub the towels and sheets on the washboard, then rinse and run them through the wringer. Anna thought the wringer was great fun, though she needed help to turn it as thick material was fed through.
Elisabeth was the tallest as well as the most precise when it came to hanging the laundry to dry, so she helped Josie while Abigail moved the baskets and handed them clothespins. Elisabeth performed the task capably, spacing the garments just so, using the same number of pins for each neatly stretched sheet.
“You do such a perfect job,” Josie told her. “I’d never know you hadn’t done this a hundred times before.”
Without a word, Elisabeth clamped the last wooden pin to the final pillowcase and wiped her hands on the apron Josie had loaned her. Josie knew the girl would have much preferred her father pay to have the task performed, but that wasn’t because she was lazy. Her work had proven that.
At noon Josie sliced ham and cheese for sandwiches. Samuel hadn’t returned yet, and she invited the girls to eat in the study with the reverend. From the pleased look on his face, their young guests were just the medicine he needed. Several church members had been faithful visitors and he’d even held a Wednesday-evening study at the house the past few weeks, but months of pain and inactivity had grated on the man who was accustomed to being active and independent.
“Maybe there’s a skillful checker player in our midst today,” Josie suggested.
Reverend Martin’s amused gaze shot to hers. “Your implication has been recorded.”
Glad to see him in a cheerful mood, she laughed and a discussion of who would play checkers ensued. “Do you like bread pudding?” she finally asked to deter the subject.
“I love it,” Abigail replied. “Mama always made lemon sauce.”
“I think I’ll make a pan. Would you like to help? I’ll go home for my cookbook and find a recipe for lemon sauce.”
Abigail’s face lit up, but her glance edged to her older sister.
“What about going calling with Father?” Elisabeth asked.
“Papa said we could decide,” Abigail replied. “I want to stay here and bake.”
“Suit yourself. I’m going with Father.”
“Can I come to your house with you?” Anna asked.
“I’d love your company,” Josie replied. “It’s just a short walk.”
“Do you have a dog or a cat?”
Josie shook her head.
“I have Daisy,” Reverend Martin said. “Silly cat’s been hiding since yesterday.”
“You have a cat?” Anna asked.
“I’m guessing she’s in that bedroom there. She likes to lie on the window seat in the sun. I wouldn’t try to catch her. She might scratch you.”
A little while later, Anna enjoyed the yards they passed and asked about the neighbors. Once they reached Josie’s, she was fascinated by everything in the house, not touching, but commenting and asking questions.
“Did you live here when you were a little girl?” she asked.
“No,” Josie answered. “My father traveled a lot, and my mother and I often stayed at my grandmother’s.”
“How come you don’t have any little girls or boys?”
If Josie couldn’t answer that for herself, she certainly didn’t know how to explain it to a nine-year-old. “I don’t know,” she replied. “I just don’t.”
“Do you want a baby?”
Josie appreciated her innocent candor. She stopped in front of the cupboard where she’d gone to find a cookbook and looked down at Anna. “I wanted a baby very much,” she said honestly. “But I have friends and tasks to keep me busy, and I think about the good things I do have, rather than what I don’t have.”
“That’s prob’ly good,” Anna said convincingly. She watched Josie select a cookbook. “Was it hard to not think about your mama at first? ’Cause I think about my mama a lot, and it makes me sad.”
“I still think about her, but now I remember the time we spent together and the things she taught me. I’m still sad that I don’t have her, but missing her doesn’t hurt like it used to. It’s okay to be sad,” she assured the child. “We miss the people we love when they’re gone.”
Anna nodded solemnly.
Josie had the urge to lean down and hug the child, but Anna barely knew her, and Josie didn’t want to overstep. “Now let’s find a recipe that sounds like your mama’s lemon sauce.”
Anna smiled, revealing four new front teeth and a side one missing. She was naively honest, charmingly inquisitive and altogether adorable.
After searching and finding what they wanted, they returned to the reverend’s with the cookbook. Elisabeth immediately took Anna aside and spoke to her in soft tones Josie couldn’t hear.
Elisabeth hadn’t warmed to Josie, and it seemed she wasn’t comfortable with the fact that Anna had taken to her. Elisabeth got out a slate and chalk and helped Anna with numbers.
Some time later, Josie and Abigail were planning the evening meal when Samuel rode past the house on horseback. He had obviously bathed and shaved, and his neatly trimmed chestnut hair shone in the sunlight. He wore a new pair of denim trousers, a pale blue shirt and a string tie.
He led the animal into the enclosure and headed toward the house. Josie turned her attention to their list until the pleasing scents of sun-dried clothing and bay rum reached her. Abigail shot across the room to hug him. The holster and revolver still hung at his hip.
He met her gaze, so she asked, “Have you eaten?”
“Haven’t had time to think about food, truthfully.”
“I’ll make you something you can take along.”
“That’s kind of you. Who’s coming with me?”
“Elisabeth,” Abigail answered. “I’m going to help Mrs. Randolph make bread pudding. We have a recipe for lemon sauce.”
“That’s fine.” Samuel nodded. “And you’ll work on your studies. Run and fetch Elisabeth for me, please. Where’s Anna?”
“She found Reverend Martin’s cat,” Abigail answered on her way toward the hall. “Right now she’s watching it sun itself.”
One corner of his mouth inched up, and Josie found herself intrigued by the possibility of a smile on his clean-shaven face.
He looked back and found her gaze on him. “Would you prefer I take Anna along, since Elisabeth won’t be here to look after her?”
“Anna’s no trouble,” she replied. “If she wants to stay, I’ll keep an eye on her.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Randolph.”
“Would you mind calling me Josie? When I hear you say Mrs. Randolph I look for my mother-in-law—a fine woman of God,” she clarified quickly.
He raised his chin in half a nod.
She sliced bread and made a sandwich that she wrapped and handed to him. “There’s a basket of apples just inside the pantry if you’d like to take a couple. You and Elisabeth might get hungry before you return.”
He accepted the sandwich and met her gaze. His eyes were the color of glistening sap on a maple tree. The degree of sadness and disillusionment she read in their depths never failed to touch her. She wished she could do something that would remove that look.
“Your kindness is what my daughters need right now, Josie.” They were alone in the kitchen, yet he spoke softly as though he didn’t want to be overheard. “They’ve been through a lot.” He paused and his throat worked.
His loss was so recent, his pain so fresh. He’d obviously loved his wife very much. Josie didn’t presume to know how the man felt, and she knew words wouldn’t help right now. She understood and respected his grief.
She found her voice. “They’re lovely children, Reverend.”
“Every time I look at them, I see how fragile they are. How young and…” Samuel glanced away. “And vulnerable. They’re hurting.” He drew his gaze back to hers. “Elisabeth is handling it her own way, and I know she’s difficult. But…well, thank you for understanding.”
“I don’t believe in coincidence.”
Samuel’s eyes showed a spark of interest. “What do you mean?”
Chapter Four
“You’re here for a reason,” Josie answered. “I’m open to whatever God has planned.”
He didn’t say anything, but he swallowed hard and nodded.
Elisabeth entered the room, followed by Abigail. Elisabeth paused and glanced from her father to Josie. “I’m going with you.” She raised her hem, revealing a pair of trousers under her skirt.
“I figured as much, so I saddled the other horse. Let’s grab a couple of apples and head out.”
Josie and Abigail followed them onto the back steps and watched as father and daughter mounted their horses.
Abigail waved until they were out of sight. Josie was beginning to wonder if the girl was sorry she hadn’t gone along, until Abigail turned wide, eager eyes to her. “Can we start now?”
Josie agreed with a smile and they went back in. Buttering a baking dish, she asked, “Do you like to ride?”
She shook her head. “Not so much. Do you?” Abigail studied all the ingredients on the table. “What should I do?”
“Tear this bread into little pieces and drop them in the pan,” Josie said before answering her other question. “I think I’d like to. I haven’t been on a horse since I was small, and my uncle took me.”
Abigail picked up the bread. “We only took carriages in Philadelphia. I never rode, till Papa told us we were moving to Colorado. He said we needed to learn, and he taught us.”
Josie cracked eggs into a bowl and whipped them with a fork. “I’ve never been to a city as big as Philadelphia. I’ve lived here most of my life. What were your favorite things to do back home?”
“I liked school.” Abigail layered the bottom of the pan with bits of torn bread. “And parades. And when school was out we took tea in the afternoon, so we still got to see our friends when their mothers brought them or we went to their houses. May I put in the cinnamon?”
“Two teaspoonfuls. That sounds like fun.” Josie enjoyed how she and Abigail often held two conversations at once.
“Oh, it was. My Mama has a china tea set with violets painted on the pot and the cups.” She paused on the last chunk of bread. “I wonder where it is.”
“Your father put your things in storage. I’m sure he was careful to store the tea set where it would be safe.”
Abigail dropped in the last piece of bread, measured the cinnamon and then brushed her hands together with a flourish. “Now what?”
“Now we whip the egg mixture, pour it over the top and bake it.”
“Was this in the recipe book, too?”
“Actually, no. I just remember how, from seeing my mother do it.”
“Maybe we better write it down so I can remember when we get to Colorado. I might wanna make it for my papa.”
Josie studied Abigail’s serious blue eyes. The afternoon sun streaming through the window caught her pale hair and made it glisten. The girl’s foresight touched her. She’d lost her mother, and she needed to cling to familiar things. She needed to feel safe. “That’s a very good idea. In fact, I’ll make you a little book of all the recipes we use together.”
Her expressive face brightened. “You will?”
Josie nodded. Just then, Anna called them to come observe the cat batting at a fly on the windowsill. The child was fascinated by the feline’s swift movements, and then grimaced when it caught the insect and ate it. Josie hid her amusement. “I have an idea.”
“What is it?” Anna asked.
“I have a tea set. Why don’t you and Abigail come home with me for an hour or so, and we’ll have tea.”
Anna scrambled to her feet. “Do you got any lemon cakes or raisin scones?”
“I don’t, but I have some sugar cookies. Those will do, won’t they?”
Anna’s delighted smile was all the answer required.
The afternoon passed more quickly than any Josie could remember. After they’d had tea and cleaned up, then taken the sheets from the line and folded them, the girls got comfortable on their bed and read while Josie made up the reverend’s bed with fresh sheets and put away the towels.
She waited supper until Samuel and Elisabeth arrived. Josie ate in the kitchen with the girls, while Samuel kept Henry company, so they could talk about the calls he’d made. The bread pudding was well received, and Reverend Martin even asked for seconds. She refused offers of help to wash the dishes, and the girls went up to their room to study.
Later, she made coffee and carried a tray to the men and served them.
“Sit with us,” Reverend Martin invited. “Unless you have to be going.”
She hesitated only momentarily. Evenings were dreadfully long at her house. She jumped at the chance to avoid another one. “I’ll get a cup.”
Samuel stood until she had poured her coffee and taken a seat. “Your daughters are delightful company,” she told him. “I think even Daisy is warming to Anna.”
Henry explained how Anna and the feline had held a staring match most of the afternoon. He raised one eyebrow. “Sam said the Widow Harper seemed a trifle standoffish.”
Josie knew the woman. Mrs. Harper had been a widow for as long as Josie could remember, though others in town recalled a husband.
“And it seems she’s added a chicken to her pets since I was there last,” he told her.
“There was a sheep in a pen right beside the front door,” Sam said.
“I knew about the lamb,” Josie said. “I guess it grew up and was too big for the parlor.”
“She’s not too keen on people,” Henry understated. “Prefers her critters.”
“She didn’t care much for our visit,” Samuel told them. “Feeling was mutual, actually. Elisabeth sat on a footstool with her gaze riveted on that chicken, like it was going to fly up and peck her eyes out at any minute.”
Josie fought back a laugh by pursing her lips. Finally, she managed to say, “I would probably have done the same.”
Reverend Martin laughed then, a chuckle that started slow and built, until he held his sore ribs and grimaced.
Samuel’s cheek creased becomingly in a grin that gradually spread across his face.
Why his crooked smile was of special interest, she couldn’t have said, but the sight warmed and lifted Josie’s heart.
His laugh, once it erupted, was a deep, resonating sound that Josie felt through the floorboards. She knew instinctively that laughing was something he hadn’t done for a long time. She joined their merriment with a burst of laughter.
A shriek came from upstairs, effectively silencing their good humor. The sound came again, followed by a thump on the floor above.
Samuel shot from his chair and Josie followed close behind. He took the stairs two at a time while she gathered her hem and kept a slower pace.
The lamp on the hallway wall led them to the girls’ bedroom, and Samuel darted in. Josie found the oil lamp on the bureau and lit it.
She couldn’t identify the sobbing, but Abigail’s father went unerringly to the larger bed, where the covers were strewn onto the floor and Abigail sat with her arms over her head, white-clad elbows pointed toward the ceiling.
Elisabeth sat up from the narrow bed where she slept alone and blinked sleepily at them.
Anna was on her knees on the mattress beside Abigail, reaching out to stroke her sister’s mussed hair.
“It was Mama,” Abigail choked out, tears glistening on her cheeks. “Mama was in the water.”
Behind her, Anna burst into tears.
Samuel lifted Abigail and she wrapped her arms and legs around his waist and clung to him. He splayed one hand across her back and smoothed her hair with the other, making comforting shushing sounds.
Anna’s sobs broke Josie’s heart, and the sight of Sam holding Abigail so tenderly stirred feelings from her childhood, reminded her she’d never been held and comforted by her father. She couldn’t just stand by and do nothing, so she went to the side of the bed and knelt to touch Anna’s arm.
Anna immediately lunged toward her, her weight taking Josie by surprise and nearly toppling her. She regained her balance and sat on the edge of the bed, where Anna nestled right into her lap and tucked her head under her chin. The sweet scent of her hair and her trembling limbs incited all of Josie’s nurturing instincts. The girls’ heartbreaking sobs brought a lump to her throat and moisture to her eyes. She held Anna securely, rubbing her back and rocking without conscious thought. After a few minutes, Anna’s sobs dwindled.
Josie recalled her poignant words about her mother. Her gaze touched on a rag doll lying on the floor, then moved to the narrow bed where Elisabeth had lain back down and was staring at her. Josie stroked Anna’s back and gave Elisabeth an encouraging smile. The girl pulled the sheet up around her shoulders and rolled to face the other way.
“It was just a dream, Ab,” Samuel said to his daughter. “Just a dream.”
“But it was real.” Her voice trembled as she explained. “It was just like the day Mama died. I could hear the water….”
At those words, Anna trembled again in Josie’s arms. Oh, Lord, please comfort these children.
“And I could see her.”
“I know,” Samuel said. “I know.” He lowered her to the bed and perched beside her on the edge opposite where Josie sat holding Anna. In the lantern light, his face was etched with shared suffering. He gathered the bedding and covered Abigail with the sheet. “Dreams do seem very real.”
Abigail snuggled into the bedding.
“Remember the psalm we found?” Samuel asked her.
She nodded. “Will you say it, Papa?”
“‘When thou liest down, thou shalt not be afraid; yea thou shalt lie down, and thy sleep shall be sweet.’” His voice and those inspired words sent a shiver up Josie’s spine.
Sam closed his eyes. “Merciful Lord, give Abigail and Anna and Elisabeth sweet sleep this night.”
“Yes, Lord,” Abigail said and closed her eyes.
“Yes, Lord,” Josie said under her breath.
The remaining tension drained from Anna’s frame and she relaxed.
Josie’s chest ached with compassion for this man and his daughters. She admired his love for them, his dedication to their well-being, and was moved by his trust in God to comfort them. They had no idea how blessed they were to have a father who was present in their lives.
Samuel opened his eyes and nodded at Josie. She urged Anna from her lap, and the child slid under the covers to snuggle beside her sister.
“Good night, Mrs. Randolph,” Anna whispered. “Thanks for the hugs.”
She wanted to cry herself, but instead she gave the child a reassuring smile. “Good night, Anna.”
Josie turned out the lamp and followed Samuel into the hallway, where he pulled the door closed and stood in the golden light of the wall lantern. When he met her eyes, she read his anguish.
“I never know what to say,” he told her.
“You said exactly the right things,” she assured him. “And you’re there for them, that’s what’s important. When they need you, you’re there.”
“It doesn’t seem like enough.”
“We’re never enough in our own ability,” she assured him. “When we acknowledge that is when God works through us. And He worked through you in there.”
He turned his face aside, and his voice was thick when he said, “Thank you.”
She gathered her hem and moved toward the stairs.
Sam watched her leave, his thoughts a little less confusing than they’d been for some time. He recalled what she’d said about not believing in coincidence. It was no accident that his family was staying in this house. He’d been desperate, thinking he was unable to help his daughters. He’d prayed for guidance, for wisdom, for the weight of the burden to be lifted.
And now, for the first time in months, Sam didn’t feel quite so alone.
Josie took the hot iron from the stove and pressed the wrinkles from a pair of plain white pillowcases. The previous evening had been on her mind all morning. A girl as young and sweet as Abigail shouldn’t have nightmares. Her terror had stricken fear into Anna, as well. But their anguish was understandable, considering all they’d gone through.
While it was difficult to observe the younger girls’ misery, Elisabeth’s detachment from the episode was what bothered Josie the most. Elisabeth had watched her sisters until meeting Josie’s gaze, and then she’d turned away—as though unwilling to admit any part in it or to show her feelings. Josie folded the pillowcases and glanced over at Abigail, who was sitting at the table reading a book. Anna was probably cat-watching, and unless her father was present, Elisabeth spent most of her time upstairs.
“What are you reading?” Josie asked.
The girl marked her place with an index finger and looked up. “It’s a story about a boy growing up on a farm. Farms sound like great fun. Have you ever lived on one?”
“No, but I’ve visited quite a few. We’re in the middle of farm country.”
“Maybe we could go see.”
“A lot of the members of our congregation are farmers. If you went along with your father when he makes his calls, you’d get to see where they live.”
“Really?” Abigail looked excited for a moment, but then her expression changed. “Elisabeth joins Papa when he goes calling. Unless there’s school, of course. Do you suppose she saw a farm yesterday?”
Was Abigail feeling unwelcome? “She may have.”
Abigail slid a delicate, tatted marker in the shape of a cross between the pages and closed her book. “I’m gonna go ask her.” She scampered up the stairs.
A knock sounded on the back door, and Josie set the iron on the stove to see who was calling. Grace Hulbert stood holding what appeared to be a pie covered with a dish towel.
“Come in,” Josie greeted her. “The reverend’s in the parlor.”
“I brought an apple pie for the traveling preacher and his family,” Grace told her, peeling back the fabric to reveal a golden-brown crust with a perfectly crimped edge. “Is he here? The preacher man?”
“No, he’s out.”
“Is it true he’s a widower?”
“Sadly so. His wife drowned.” Josie took the pie and set it inside the tin-fronted safe.
“They say he wears a holster and a gun about town. Is it so?”
Josie wondered where that question had come from. “I’m certain everyone on their wagon train needed a gun to protect themselves—and to hunt. Is that so unusual?”
“It’s unusual for a man of the cloth. Has he shot anyone?”
“I have no idea, Grace. What kind of question is that?”
Grace pinched off her white gloves one finger at a time. “He’s the latest bachelor in town, so of course there’s speculation.”
“Bachelor?” Josie’s temperature rose a degree. Grace was a married woman, but she had a daughter who’d been on the shelf since her fiancé ran off six months ago. Josie leveled her gaze on the woman. “Would you like to visit with Reverend Martin? He’s in the parlor.”
“Oh, no.” She had one glove off and stopped removing the other. “I have to run. I just wanted to leave the pie.”
“I’ll let Reverend Martin know you were here.”
Grace headed for the door, but Anna appeared just then. “May I help with the ironing?”
“Is this one of the traveling preacher’s daughters?” Grace asked, turning back.
“This is Anna. Anna, Mrs. Hulbert.”
“How do you do, Mrs. Hulbert,” she said shyly.
“I do quite well, thank you, Anna. It’s a pleasure to meet you. You’re sure a pretty little thing. Do you take after your father?”
Anna moved to stand beside Josie and seemed disinclined to respond.
“You can sprinkle the sheets to dampen them while I see Mrs. Hulbert out,” Josie told her. “Then we’ll figure out what to fix for lunch.”
Grace didn’t give her a chance to move to the door. “I’ll be going.”
She let herself out and the door clicked shut. Josie stared at it for a moment, absorbing that odd exchange. The women of Durham were looking upon Samuel Hart as a bachelor? She tried to shake off the disgust that knowledge made her feel.
Anna was gazing up at her with a curious wrinkle in her brow. “Do I take after my Papa?”
Josie took a sheet from the basket. “Of the three of you, your eyes are most like his. Yours lend themselves to green sometimes, though. Like today, in that pretty green calico dress.”
Anna looked down and wrinkled her freckled nose. “This old thing was Abby’s.”
“You’re fortunate to have sisters who wore such nice clothing and took good care of it.”
The child cocked her head. “Papa says some little girls don’t have nice dresses at all, and they would love to have hand-me-downs.”
“Your papa’s right.”
“He says it’s foolish to buy new dresses, when we already have perfectly good ones that fit me soon enough.”
Josie understood the practicality of reusing their clothing, but she also knew the pleasure of having a new dress. “Surely you’ve had a new dress.”
“I get one for my birthday every year. And one when school starts. But people saw Abigail wear all these other ones.”
“You won’t have that problem now, will you?” she asked. “You’re meeting all new people, and they won’t know someone wore that dress before you.”
Anna smiled her charming missing-tooth smile and all was well for the rest of the afternoon.
That evening, Josie prepared their meals and served the reverend and his houseguest in the study. Samuel thanked her, and she met his eyes. Grace Hulbert’s brash curiosity came to mind immediately. If Grace could see the pain that Josie read in his eyes, she wouldn’t be thinking of him as though he were a prize horse up for sale to the highest bidder.
Josie ate in the kitchen with the girls. They were just finishing when Sam carried in his and the reverend’s dishes. “You’re an excellent cook, Mrs. Randolph.”
She looked over at him with a raised brow.
“I mean Josie. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. Mrs. Hulbert brought pie for your family.”
He set down the plates. “That was kind. Why don’t we have it later this evening? Girls, I’d like you to help Mrs. Randolph with the dishes.”
“Shouldn’t we work on our studies?” Elisabeth asked.
“Tomorrow’s Sunday. Make sure your clothing is ready, and then, after our family time, you may enjoy the evening any way you like.”
Elisabeth looked at Josie. “Our Sunday dresses need to be pressed.”
“I’ll get out the irons for you,” Josie answered.
“I don’t know how to iron,” Elisabeth replied.
“It’s not difficult. I’ll show you how.”
“I know how to sprinkle,” Abigail added cheerfully.
Elisabeth cast her father a beseeching look.
“Thank you,” he said to Josie. “Elisabeth is a quick learner. And she will help with her sisters’ dresses, as well.”
Elisabeth’s shoulders drooped. “Yes, sir.”
“Papa?” Abigail asked. “When you go calling at a farm, can I come with you? Mrs. Randolph said the parishioners are mostly farmers, an’ I want to see their animals.”
“Of course you may come, Abby.”
“Will Elisabeth come that day, too?”
He blinked, but didn’t pause in replying, “We’ll talk about it. After your dresses are pressed, I’d like the three of you to get your wraps and come for a walk with me.”
“At night?” Anna asked.
“Night is when you can see God’s heavens most clearly,” he replied.
“Yes, sir,” they replied one at a time.
Josie kept the stove hot and set two irons on top. Abigail sprinkled their dresses and, using Elisabeth’s dress, Josie showed them how to press the collars and sleeves first, then the bodice and lastly the skirts. Elisabeth did an adequate job on her sisters’ clothing, and they carried their dresses upstairs and hung them.
The girls came down with capes and bonnets, and the Hart family swept out of doors, leaving the house silent.
Sam held Anna’s delicate hand in his, feeling the weighty responsibility of protecting these daughters he loved so well. He’d never felt so inadequate or so incomplete, and he didn’t like it. He’d been very careful laying plans for safety and finances, and so far he’d seen most of his puny plans thrown back in his face.
So far, Josie had been the best thing that had happened to them since they’d left home. He didn’t want to take advantage of her kindness or overload her with their additional care. Her kindness and selfless generosity was like a healing balm to his conscience, and he hoped her attention would be healing for his daughters, as well.
“While we are guests in the parsonage, I want the three of you to help as much as you can. Mrs. Randolph already cares for Reverend Martin’s needs, and we are an added burden. Your mother and I didn’t prepare you for this life. I know that. She took care of you, and things were easy in Philadelphia. I told you it would be an adventure coming west, but I didn’t tell you about all the difficulties. On top of everything else, your mother’s absence is an exceptional hardship.”
“We’ll help, Father,” Elisabeth assured him.
“We’ll do everything we’re asked, and make our beds and wash dishes,” Abigail agreed.
“I like Mrs. Randolph,” Anna said. “She’s real nice, and she smells good.”
“Mrs. Randolph is a very kind lady,” Sam agreed. He appreciated the woman’s warm concern and easy affection for his children. Surely the Lord had brought her and his daughters together to ease their way through this life transition.
He considered the possibility that Anna—and perhaps even Abigail—would come to lean on her and then have another heartbreak when they moved on. It could likely happen in the weeks that they would be here.
But an unexplainable assurance convinced him that her attention and warmth were exactly what the girls—all three of them—needed right now. He didn’t doubt that God could use Josie to help their family, if she was willing. And she certainly seemed willing.
“I’m going to take care of you,” he said with heartfelt conviction. And he would. He was all they had now, and he was going to do everything he could to protect them and see that they had a good life.
Chapter Five
After turning down the reverend’s bed, Josie brought him a slice of pie and a cup of coffee. “I guess I’ll be going.”
“Take your leave if you have something to do, Josie. I’ll be fine. Otherwise, sit and have coffee with me.”
She didn’t need to be asked twice. Josie got herself a cup and settled on a comfortable chair.
“They fill this place with life,” Reverend Martin commented, referring to his guests.
Her smile came readily. “That they do.”
“That’s how I’ve felt about your being here these last couple of months,” he said. “I’d forgotten how nice it is to hear someone in the other room and have conversation at meal time. I’ve enjoyed having a companion.”
“It’s been no hardship. I was glad to do it.”
“I know you were.” He sipped coffee, then set down his cup. “I’ve been thinking about something, and I just can’t get the idea out of my head.”
She studied him and waited. He’d lost weight, and the pain had etched a few lines beside his mouth that hadn’t been there before. His hair was still dark and his eyes were as kind as ever.
“Maybe this is a poor time to bring this up, but I have to say it. I’ve enjoyed our time together, Josie. I know taking on another house and caring for me has been a chore for you, but you’ve never complained. In fact, in most ways, it seems we’ve gotten along well, even though I’m not at my finest. You’ve seen the worst of me, and you haven’t lit out.”
She laughed easily. “You don’t have to thank me. Your worst is easily some people’s best.”
“Well. You’ve seen who I am. And I’ve gotten to know you pretty well, too, I think. What I’m trying to say is that…maybe we had this time for a reason.”
She studied him curiously.
“I’m not at my best, obviously. But I’m getting there, slowly but surely. I won’t be tied down forever. In a few more weeks I’ll be back to normal. The Harts will move on, and life will resume as it once was.”
Though she didn’t want to think of that day, she nodded her agreement. “Yes.”
“But we don’t have to go back to the way it was. You’re a good friend, Josie. I can be a good companion as soon as I can get around. We’ve both been married before and lost someone, and we can respect that former part of our lives. I wouldn’t expect to replace Bram, because I’m not him. But we don’t have to be lonely.”
Henry Martin’s words slowly permeated her thinking, and Josie tried to put them in order in her head. Enjoyable time together. Companionship. Not being lonely. She studied the dancing flames for a moment before casting an incredulous gaze on him. “Are you suggesting what I think you’re suggesting?”
“I’m not doing a proper job of it, am I?” He frowned. “When I’m able, I’ll get down on one knee—”
“That’s not necessary.”
“But yes, I’m asking you to marry me. I’m extremely fond of you, Josie. Marry me and come live here with me. Or I’d live in your home if you preferred. As long as we kept each other company…”
Marry him and move him into her house? An image of Margaretta in a disapproving tirade loomed in Josie’s mind, and she had to blink away the picture. She gathered her tumbling thoughts. “Reverend—”
“Henry. I’m a few years older than you are, of course, but not that many. Years don’t really mean anything.”
“I hadn’t even thought of that.”
“What did you think of?”
“Well…nothing yet. I haven’t had time to think.”
“Of course you haven’t. I just dropped it on you. There’s no hurry.”
She nodded and rose to stand. She needed to go home.
“Josie.”
She looked at him.
He extended a hand.
She took it and held it.
“Think it over,” he said softly. “You’ve been alone for several years. I’ve been alone for fifteen. We could keep each other company for the rest of our lives and, God willing, that will be a good, long time.”
She nodded. “I will. I’ll think it over.” She released his hand. “Good night. I’ll come fix breakfast before church in the morning.”
He nodded. “Thank you.”
She turned back once to look at him, her thoughts a jumble in her mind. Josie stepped out into the night and walked toward home. It was dark now, and as she passed the Iversons’, she could see the family gathered in the parlor. Alice had never bothered closing shades or drapes. Josie’s neighbor had nothing to hide.
Marry the reverend? Her thoughts tumbled one over the other.
Alice and Reggie had been married shortly after Josie had married Bram and come to live here. From her next-door vantage point and during occasional visits over the hedge, Josie had witnessed the arrival of Alice’s children, seen guests coming and going for family holidays and birthdays and admired the natural flow of their lives. From her viewpoint, it was all quite imposing and foreign.
She’d pretty much resigned herself to being alone, and had found activities to keep her busy. She’d taken on volunteer work to make herself feel useful.
Josie unlocked her door and stepped into the echoing silence of her house. Closing her eyes, she leaned back against the door. No voices here. Nothing of importance for which to set aside chores. No scuffed floors or tangle of sweaters and shoes. No reason not to stay up reading half the night.
Josie didn’t feel like stoking and lighting the stove just for a single cup of tea, so the coffee she’d shared with the reverend would suffice.
The reverend. She struggled to think of him as Henry. Using his first name seemed disrespectful. Definitely awkward.
If she married him, her motivation wouldn’t be for a grand love. She would be striving for companionship. He’d said it as plainly as that, although he had mentioned he’d grown fond of her. Ignoring for a moment the reaction of her mother-in-law, she let herself imagine him living here with her. She would have someone to share her meals and someone to share the fire of an evening. Guests would drop by. Josie pictured ushering them in and pouring them tea and serving cookies and slices of pie.
An uncertain smile curved her lips upward.
Perhaps the reverend would continue to hold his Wednesday-evening Bible studies. She could make an adequate place for the participants in the drawing room.
After lighting the lamp in her room, she undressed and used tepid water to wash before slipping on her nightclothes. It was a warm evening, so Josie opened her bedroom window, welcoming the breeze. She was wide-awake.
Running her fingers over the spines of the books on her bureau, she selected one and made herself comfortable in her padded rocking chair.
She had read the first page at least half a dozen times, without remembering the words, before she closed the book and turned down the wick so the room was thrust into darkness.
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