The Preacher's Bride

“By ‘anything,’ I know you mean Comanches, sister,” Milly said, “but they’re not likely to come raiding because there’s only a handful of cows with young calves left on the ranch, and only half a dozen horses. And I don’t think outlaws will be a problem, either—they’ve steered clear of Simpson Creek since Prissy’s husband’s shown himself to be such a no-nonsense sheriff.”

Prissy, already glowing with the radiance of a woman expecting her first child, beamed at the compliment.

“We’ll all have to make it a point to come out visiting often, both as a group and individually,” Faith said. “Perhaps we can organize a party, like we did to celebrate young Nicholas’s birth.”

“I’m afraid I won’t be up for any trips out that way until after our baby comes,” Sarah Walker said, glancing down at her own rounded form.

Prissy clapped her hands together. “I have an idea—we’ll have a party to celebrate Sarah’s baby coming, here in town!” Prissy cried. “We should probably have it at Papa’s house, rather than ours, because Sam’s in the middle of adding on a room and it’s all sawdust and confusion,” she added. “You could come into town for that, couldn’t you, Milly?”

“Sure,” Milly agreed. “And yes, Nicholas and I will stay overnight with you then, Sarah.”

“I’ll look forward to it,” Sarah said.

“Prissy, your papa and Mrs. Fairchild will be getting married soon, too, won’t they?” Faith asked the sheriff’s wife.

“Yes, though they’re just planning a quiet ceremony with the family and a few friends,” Prissy murmured. “My guess is they’re talking to Gil about that right now,” she said, nodding to where her father, the mayor, and the widow he’d been courting were now in earnest conversation with the young preacher. “Papa seems years younger since she’s come into our lives,” she added with a happy sigh.

Faith remembered it hadn’t been so long ago that Prissy was very distressed about the fact that her widowed father was romantically interested in Mrs. Fairchild, a woman whom he had known from his school days. What a difference a few months—and Prissy’s own contentment with Sam Bishop—had made.

“Goodness, we might as well rename ourselves The Brides’ Club and a Few Others,” Polly hissed in Faith’s ear just then, yanking Faith abruptly out of her peaceful musing. “I can’t believe we were ever once a band of enterprising misses looking for husbands. Land sakes, all we’ve talked about are babies and the husbands of the lucky few.”

Faith fought to control her feeling of irritation at Polly’s spiteful remark. “Well, Milly sure didn’t wait on someone else to bring about her wedded bliss,” she pointed out, keeping her voice low. “Why don’t you suggest an event we could plan?”

“As a matter of fact, I’ve been thinking of that very thing,” Polly said, her face smug as she turned to the rest of the spinsters. “Ladies, I think the Spinsters’ Club should hold a box social, with the prize going to the most beautifully decorated supper box before the bidding. Only Spinsters’ Club members’ boxes will be eligible for the prize, though there’ll be the usual bidding by husbands for their wives’ boxes, of course. I’ve taken the liberty of drafting an advertisement to be posted in the neighboring towns—perhaps Caroline’s young brother would take care of that for us?”

Faith’s irritation faded. Polly had actually made a plan and wasn’t just carping with no solution in mind. “Who’d be the judge?” she asked. “And what would be the prize?”

“Why, Reverend Gil would be the judge,” Polly said. “And the lucky winner would get to sit with him at the picnic supper that would follow.”

Too late, Faith saw where Polly’s idea had been leading. It was only another thinly veiled plot to position herself next to Gil Chadwick. Faith smothered a sigh. There was no guarantee of victory, but Polly was willing to risk it.

“That’s a good idea, Polly,” Maude Harkey said, apparently unsuspecting of Polly’s motives. “Have you asked him if he’d be willing to judge?”

“No, I wanted to pass the idea by you ladies first,” Polly said, all innocence. “But now that you’ve approved the plan, I think I’ll go speak to him this very minute. What man wouldn’t want to be the prize of a contest?” She left the circle of spinsters and sashayed in Gil Chadwick’s direction.

“I see what she’s up to now,” Prissy said, her eyes narrowed. “Cousin Anson!”

Startled, Faith stared at Prissy. What was Prissy up to, calling her cousin like that? What was it she wanted him to do?

Chapter Six

A broad-shouldered, dark-haired man with a faint resemblance to Prissy turned from where he had been conversing with young Dan Wallace. “Yes, Cousin?”

She nodded pointedly at Polly, who had been stopped by Mrs. Detwiler just before she had reached Gil. The old woman appeared to be complimenting her on her dress. Polly smiled and bent her head to listen, but her gaze kept darting over Mrs. Detwiler’s head toward Gil.

“Remember what we talked about?” Prissy called, nodding meaningfully toward Polly.

“You want me do that right now? But Dan and I were just talkin’ about my new sorrel stallion...”

Hands on her hips, Prissy stomped her foot with exasperated impatience. “I wanted you to do it several minutes ago. Hurry!”

Faith could see the conversation Gil, Mayor Gilmore and his lady was about to conclude, but she still didn’t know what Prissy expected Anson to do.

“Prissy, what are you up to?” Faith asked.

“I told Anson to distract Polly, so she wouldn’t plaster herself to Reverend Gil like I’m afraid she’s about to do,” Prissy said, not taking her worried eyes from her cousin, who was still ambling unhurriedly toward Polly.

What had Prissy told her cousin to do? Faith watched, fascinated, as Anson reached Polly and Mrs. Detwiler and favored both women equally with one of his dazzling smiles. If she hadn’t seen it with her own eyes, she wouldn’t have believed the way Mrs. Detwiler’s eyelashes began to flutter and how Polly’s whole face brightened.

Faith stared. “What can he be saying to them?”

Prissy giggled. “It’s a pleasure to watch a charming man at work, isn’t it?”

Faith saw Mayor Gilmore and Mrs. Fairchild leave Reverend Gil’s side, hand-in-hand and beaming. Then Gil looked around as if searching for someone, appeared startled as he saw Polly near him, then visibly relaxed as he saw that her attention had been snagged by Anson. Gil resumed peering over the room, then his gaze stopped as it landed on her.

Milly chuckled. “Looks like the coast is clear for you, Faith, dear. Go to Gil now.”

Faith’s jaw dropped. “What do you mean? I can’t—”

“Oh, yes, you can,” Prissy whispered, giving Faith a nudge.

Gil started toward them.

“Looks like you won’t have to move an inch, Faith,” Sarah murmured. “Ladies, I think the rest of us need to go get some punch.”

Before Faith could say something to keep them with her, the three ladies deserted her, chuckling all the way to the punch bowl. Some friends! Then she reminded herself they didn’t know how strongly—or why—she was trying to resist flirting with the very man who now approached her with a smile that threatened to melt her steely resolve.

“Miss Faith, you’re looking lovely today, if I may say so,” Gil said as he reached her side.

Don’t blush. Don’t let him see how much the compliment affects you. But she might as well have spoken to the wall as to her body, for she felt the color flooding her cheeks and her pulse kick into a gallop.

“Why, thank you, Reverend Gil,” she managed to say. And you look like the handsomest man that ever walked the streets of Simpson Creek. “Uh...th-that was a lovely wedding sermon you gave.”

His smile broadened and his eyes sparkled with pleasure. “Thank you,” he responded. “My very first, you know.”

She nodded. “But not your last, I’m thinking,” she said, nodding toward Mayor Gilmore and Mrs. Fairchild.

He glanced back at them. “Yes. It will feel a little odd, marrying a couple who are so much older than myself. I’m sure they wish my father could do it,” he admitted.

His humility touched her. As beloved as Reverend Chadwick was, his son must feel he had very large shoes to fill. “But surely he could sit by you in his wheelchair, and perhaps lay his hand on them in blessing,” she said. She had seen the old preacher do that, had even been the recipient of such a blessing. Yet she had lost her ability to believe.

He blinked. “What a good idea. What a wise woman you are to think of that.”

Faith felt her heart warm at his appreciation, even if she felt she didn’t fully deserve it. “At the rate he’s going, he may even be able to say some words of blessing by then. His other nurses have told me he’s been practicing saying the names of things all day long.” She looked over to where Gil’s father was sipping punch, his wheelchair next to the table where Louisa and the Wallaces were sitting.

Gil grinned proudly. “He’s determined,” he agreed. “I asked him if he was getting tired, but he shook his head. I think he takes strength from being around his congregation.” He paused, his attention caught by something at the bridal table. “Oh, look, they’re cutting the cake. Would you like a piece, Faith?”

Faith nodded. She would enjoy Gil’s company for now, for a wedding reception was not the time or place to explain her difficult truth to him. As they walked side by side to the table where the pieces of cake were being laid out, she saw with some amusement that Anson Tyler was still in earnest conversation with Polly, and Polly appeared to be having the time of her life. She seemed to have forgotten all about speaking to Gil Chadwick.