The Parson's Christmas Gift

“Zane! What a nice surprise!”

She slid lower under the covers. Maybe if she closed her eyes…

But Miss Rose’s voice called her. “Journey, are you awake? Pastor Thompson is here to see you.”

Not Zane this time—Pastor Thompson. This must be a business call. She pushed herself up again but kept the blanket close. The room swam slightly and the pressure in her head felt as if it would push her eyes right out of their sockets. She nodded to Miss Rose, who continued to block the doorway.

“Come on in, Zane,” she said as she opened the door wider. “Have a seat and I’ll put some coffee on. Journey, I’ll get that medicine for you. Your head’s probably feeling rocky again by now. I’ll be right back.”

Miss Rose slid off to the kitchen, leaving Zane to stand in the doorway. He grabbed the Stetson hat from his head and shut the door but seemed to linger longer than necessary before he faced Journey. She watched him rock heel-to-toe once, his eyes scanning the room for a place to lay his hat before sitting in the ladder-back chair at her feet. He finally capped it over his knee and ran his hand over his thick hair.

“Miss Smith,” he began, leaning forward. “Journey, I wanted to see you, wanted to tell you how sorry I am about your horse.”

She stared at him a moment and he paused. His gray eyes held shadows but didn’t flinch. He was looking for something. She rubbed her throbbing head.

“I’m sure you are.” She smoothed unseen wrinkles from the quilt.

His broad shoulders sagged a little. “I know horses, been around them all my life. I hate to see that kind of thing happen, but I want to assure you, there was no other option. That foreleg was busted up good.”

She bit the inside of her cheek. She would have liked to have made that call herself.

“Believe me, I’d have liked nothing better than for you to have given the order. If you’d been in any shape, I’d have let you. But the horse was suffering. I know you would have done the same.”

She nodded. She knew it wasn’t his fault, but that didn’t change the fact that he’d taken the thing she needed most.

Zane sat up in the chair, crossing a booted foot over his knee. He slid his hat across the bridge of his leg and hung it from the heel. “Could’ve been worse for you. What were you doing out that far from town anyway?”

“Exploring,” she said but refused to meet his gaze.

He tapped the brim of his hat. “If there’s anything you need, anything at all, you let me know. Part of my job around here is to help wayfaring strangers…and explorers.” He had the audacity to smile.

“I’ll work it out.” Her voice sounded gritty and harsh to her own ears. The day had been too long. She cleared her throat delicately and tried again. He’d only done what he had to. “It’s good you were there to find me.”

“Glad I was there. I wish there’d been more I could’ve done. How are you feeling?”

Miss Rose returned with a tray of steaming mugs. “I expect she has a headache the size of the Beartooths. Here, Journey.” She filled the spoon from the tray with laudanum.

Journey swallowed the bitter liquid. “I appreciate you taking me in, but there’s no need to fuss over me, too. I’m feeling fine.”

But Miss Rose just waved the empty spoon. “Nonsense. You take advantage, missy. Once you’re back on your feet, you’ll wish it back. Now, what would you like, coffee or tea?”

“Tea, please.”

She took the cup and saucer. The pastor was handed a steaming mug of coffee without being given a choice.

“You have to let Miss Rose fuss at you. Otherwise, she’s fussing at me.” He smiled and took a swallow. “And you do look much better than you did last night. But with the knock you took, I dare say you’re not feeling all that fine just yet.”

Journey said no more and looked into her cup. It made no sense to argue. Besides, he was right.

“So where were you headed?” Zane asked.

She stared at him over the edge of the mug she held to her lips. She moved it stiffly to her lap, breaking eye contact to glance at the door. “It doesn’t matter now, does it?”

He set his cup down on the little table beside him, keeping his fingers wrapped around the handle. She slid back against the armrest but tried to pull herself upright.

His eyebrows shifted and quirked. “I thought if someone was expecting you somewhere, I’d send a telegram for you.”

“No!” She jolted forward and pain shot down her leg. Tea sloshed over the blanket that covered her lap. Zane moved to pull it away before the heat could soak through. “I’m so sorry! I’m forever making a mess of things.”

“It’s all right.” He shook out the quilt and brushed at it with his handkerchief. “There,” he said, laying it back over her. “Good as new.”

“Thank you.” He looked down at her, waiting for an explanation. “It’s just that, well…there’s no one expecting me.”

His look told her he was skeptical. “You’re sure?”

She looked away from him and Miss Rose. “I’m sure.”

Placing his mug on the tray, he stood to go, and for a moment she thought he was angry. But his lips pulled into a smile, though his teeth didn’t show.

“If you think of anything—anything at all I can do to lend a hand, you let me know. Like I said, I’m sorry for the way things worked out for you.” He squeezed the old woman’s thin shoulder. “But you couldn’t be in better hands. Miss Rose is a fine woman and very good at taking care of folks.”

“I appreciate all your help, Pastor.” She shook her head. “Zane. Please don’t think I’m ungrateful. It’s just…”

“I know,” he said, in a tone that told her he somehow did. “Life has a funny way of throwing us once in a while.” He turned to Miss Rose. “Thank you for the coffee. Hot and black, just how I like it.”

It surprised Journey to see him bow and place a soft kiss on the old woman’s cheek. “Let’s pray before I go.”

Pray? Mama said she had prayed with that skinny little parson at the end of town before she died. It hadn’t changed her situation any, and Journey couldn’t imagine it would change her own. But apparently the job of pastor required it. If it meant he was leaving, she’d sit through it. He asked questions requiring answers that would only make things more complicated for everyone. It wore her out. The less they knew about her, the better they’d all be. And she never could lie well. No, she’d have to keep her distance from Pastor Zane.

“…Lord, we thank you, too, for our visitor. She’s hurting, and we ask that You heal her and help her to find a home here. Be with Miss Rose as she cares for her, and may they find comfort in each other’s company. Guide us, Lord, to live lives pleasing to You. In Jesus’ name, amen.”

Miss Rose startled Journey by echoing his amen. So now he’d leave.

Zane put his hat on and ambled toward the door. The sky was a muted evening gray. He turned as he stepped onto the porch.

“Thank you, ladies, for the visit. And, Journey, I meant what I said. You let me know if you need my help. To tell the truth, I feel responsible for the horse.”

Miss Rose nodded to her as if she expected a response.

“It’s not your fault. And I’m not your problem,” Journey said slowly. “I know it’s not something you wanted to do, and I’m glad you were there to do what I couldn’t. Gypsy was a good horse and we’ve seen a lot of trail together. I’ll miss her.” She paused to steady her voice. “But accidents happen.” She tried to spout all the expected responses, hoping she’d get to the proper one quickly so he’d go. The only help he could give would be to provide her a horse.

He tipped his hat. “Glad you see it that way, ma’am. Take care of that leg, and let Miss Rose fuss at you some, like I said. Just so she stays in practice.” He grinned and grabbed Rose’s hand with a squeeze. “I’ll check in on you,” he told her.

And then he was gone. But as much as she wished it otherwise, Journey knew it wasn’t the last she’d seen of Reverend Zane Thompson.

“Well?”

Zane turned at the bottom step to face Miss Rose, who had followed him out to the porch. “‘Well,’ what?”