The Preacher's Bride

Nolan Walker nodded. “He’s breathing, but as to whether he will live...” He shrugged. “I’m sorry, but I honestly don’t know, Gil. It does seem to be an apoplectic attack, as I thought in church. It’s in God’s hands now, and the next few hours will be critical. If he lives, he may suffer paralysis and be unable to speak. I’ll keep him here for now and watch him closely. His heartbeat is strong, and his breathing is regular at least. Perhaps by morning we’ll know more.”

“Is he...is he awake? May I see him?”

“He’s still unconscious, but of course you may see him,” Walker said. “Stay as long as you like.”

Because it may be the last time you spend with him, Gil knew Walker was thinking.

Gil followed the doctor into his examination room on legs that felt wobbly as a newborn calf’s.

* * *

Faith couldn’t have said why she’d accompanied the pillars of the town, Mayor Gilmore; Mrs. Detwiler, the town matriarch; Mr. Avery, the bank president; and Mr. Wallace, the postmaster as they followed Gil and Sheriff Bishop carrying the old preacher to the doctor’s office—she only knew she had to be there for Gil’s sake, even though she could not bow her head and join the others in praying for the stricken preacher. She could not have gone home and merely hoped for the best.

And now she didn’t know why she remained. It wasn’t likely Gil would be leaving his father’s side soon. The others had departed, asking Faith to convey their best wishes to Gil.

A few moments later, Dr. Walker returned to the waiting room. “I’m glad you are still here, Miss Faith,” he said in his down-east Maine accent. “I need to ask you a favor.”

She blinked. “Whatever I can do, Doctor.”

“I remember you were one of the nurses who helped us during the influenza epidemic, and I was hoping I could call on your nursing ability once again. Someone will need to watch over the reverend through the night. Ordinarily, my Sarah handles this, you know, but she’s been so tired, since she’s expecting...”

Sarah Matthews Walker, and her sister, Milly Matthews Brookfield, had been Faith’s friends long before they’d met their husbands, but they experienced pregnancy very differently. Milly had never felt better in her life, and carried on her routine as a ranch wife just as energetically as before, but Sarah tired very easily these days and was looking a tad peaked, although her face remained as serene as ever.

“Of course, Doctor Walker, I’ll be happy to help in any way I can,” Faith said, pleased that there was actually something she could do for the preacher and his son, because she couldn’t pray. “I’ll return this evening after supper, all right?”

“God bless you, Miss Faith. You’re a good woman. But as I told his son, Reverend Chadwick’s condition is tenuous, to say the least. It’s a distinct possibility he will pass away during the night or even before you return. That might be for the best, if he is not to regain consciousness. As a fellow Christian, I know he looks forward to Heaven, as we all do.”

Nolan Walker assumed she shared his belief in the hereafter. This was not a time to disagree.

“Yes, Doctor. I hope he recovers, of course, especially for Gil’s sake,” Faith said. “I’ll do everything I can to assist in that.”

The doctor nodded. “I have every confidence in you, Miss Faith.”

Would the physician still feel that way, and continue to look at her with such respect and gratitude, if he suspected her lack of faith?

* * *

“I wish we could talk you into eating something, Gil,” Nolan Walker said as he walked Gil to the door of his office. “Sarah saved a plate for you.”

Gil sighed. “I’m not hungry, Nolan, thanks. I’m not even sure if I’m doing right to let you talk me into going home for the night. What if...” He couldn’t put his dread into words, but he knew the doctor understood.

Walker put a hand on his shoulder. “The parsonage is right across the street,” he reminded Gil. “We could summon you in a minute if there’s any change. You need to go home and get some rest. If your father survives the night—and so far he’s holding on—you’ll need your strength. Ah, there’s Miss Faith now, come to sit up with him.”

Just as the doctor had said, Faith Bennett had just opened the gate and was making her way up the walk. She wore a dark skirt and waist and her gleaming auburn hair lay neatly coiled at her nape. She looked all business, but her eyes softened as she caught sight of him standing in the doorway.

“Hello, Reverend Gil,” she said, addressing him informally as he’d requested of all the townspeople when he’d come to town, to avoid the confusion caused by two Reverend Chadwicks. “How is your father doing?”

He shaded his eyes against the setting sun. “Just the same, I’m afraid,” he said. His throat felt tight with emotion as he thought of his father lying crumpled and motionless at the base of the pulpit. He should be grateful that the old man still lived, he reminded himself. While there was life, there was hope, wasn’t there? “He’s no worse at least, thank God.”

Her green eyes held endless depths of sympathy. “And how are you holding up, Gil? This must be so hard for you, seeing your father like this. It’s good that you’re going home to get some rest.”

“I’m all right, Miss Faith,” he said quickly, although nothing could be further from the truth. He felt so weary that he hardly knew how he would reach the other side of the street, and so shaky after watching the shallow rise and fall of his father’s chest all afternoon that her sympathy caused his eyes to sting with unshed tears. “Look, I don’t feel right about you having to sit up with my father all night,” he said, making a vague gesture toward the doctor’s office behind him. “Just let me go home for a couple of hours, and I’ll be back. It’s my place to do this—”

“Nonsense,” Faith responded crisply. “You look done in, Gil. You need sleep. I’ve nursed before under Dr. Walker’s direction, and he’ll be right here if I need help.”

“Yes, Miss Faith was one of our excellent volunteer nurses during the influenza epidemic,” Nolan Walker said. “She’s very competent. Your father couldn’t be in better hands. Go on now—”

Sarah Walker appeared just then at the door, bearing a plate covered with a cloth. “Hello, Faith. Thanks for coming. Gil Chadwick, you’re to take this home and eat it. I won’t take no for an answer. Then go to bed.”

Their gruff kindness warmed his heart. He would find a way to thank them one day. For now, though, he just silently accepted the plate and nodded to each of them in turn.

But Faith’s heart-shaped face, her green eyes luminous with understanding, was the one that stuck in his mind later that night as he prayed and then struggled to sleep. Was she even now praying for his father and for him? What a comforting thought that was—Faith on her knees in prayer for my father.

Lord, show me if she is “the one” for me.

Chapter Two

“Summon me if there’s any change, Miss Faith,” Dr. Walker instructed her, his hand on the doorknob. “If the quality of his breathing changes, or he seems feverish, or becomes restless...”

“Or if he wakes?” Faith asked, determined to be hopeful.

“I admire your positive attitude, Miss Faith,” Walker said. “Yes, call me if he wakes.” It was clear he didn’t expect that to happen, however. “Our bedroom is just beyond that wall,” he said, pointing. “Just knock on it and I’ll hear you. I’m a light sleeper, and I’m often wakeful anyway if I have a seriously ill patient here, so I’ll probably come and check on him once or twice.”

Faith nodded, and he closed the door behind him. For a while she busied herself with straightening the crisp sheets and light blanket over the preacher’s slight form, checking the slow, steady pulse at his wrist and watching his chest rise, but at last she settled herself in the cane-bottom rocker. The wind sighed around the building, and the old house creaked back in reply.

She’d brought a book of Shakespeare’s sonnets to keep her company through the long hours of the night, for she’d known there would be little else to do to help her stay awake. Caroline Wallace had praised it and lent it to her, but she found the antique language of the poetry slow going and the flickering lamp light soporific. Her schoolteacher friend must certainly have an elevated intellect to penetrate the irregular spellings and obsolete words, Faith thought. If she persisted in trying to read it, though, she’d fall asleep, despite the still-warm cup of black coffee she sipped.

After a while she laid the slender leather-bound volume aside and walked quietly to the window that faced Fannin Street. A full moon hung low behind the church, bathing it and the parsonage in its ethereal glow.

The windows were dark at the parsonage. Was Gil sleeping or was he keeping a prayer vigil on his knees, beseeching his God to spare his father? She hoped the former—he would need his strength, regardless of the outcome of his father’s illness. It would do little good to wear himself out pleading with a deity who either wasn’t there, or if he was, had never given Faith much evidence that he cared.

She looked back at the unconscious man on the bed. What kind of reward was this for a lifetime of faithful service, being stricken at his pulpit, in front of his son and the entire congregation? Now, if nothing changed and his heart continued to beat, he would die a lingering death from dehydration and pneumonia, his body withering slowly. What had happened to the brilliant mind that had memorized practically the entire New Testament and psalms and could recite them, chapter and verse? Why hadn’t he been granted the mercy of a peaceful passing in his sleep? If that was how God rewarded His faithful servants, she was wise to want no part of it!

She turned back to check on the preacher, and was astonished to see that his eyes were open and he was gazing at her.

She gasped, hardly able to believe what she saw. “Reverend Chadwick?”

He made no attempt to speak, but the faded old eyes were full of intelligence. He knew her.

“Can you...can you squeeze my hands?” she said, reaching under the covers and grasping his cool, gnarled hands. The right one lay limp and unresponsive in her grasp. She could not be sure she felt an answering pressure from the left, so slight was his effort. He continued to regard her, blinking occasionally, and she could feel appreciation radiating from his eyes.

“I’ll get Dr. Walker,” she said, feeling a rising excitement. “He’ll be so encouraged!” She turned, about to rap on the wall behind her, but looked back one more time.

The old man’s eyelids were once again closed.

“Reverend Chadwick?” she called softly, but there was no response. Gently, she shook the old man’s shoulder. “Reverend Chadwick? Please open your eyes again. Squeeze my hand, sir, please?”

He lay immobile, as if he had never opened his eyes. She sagged back down on the chair, unsure now that she had really seen what she thought she had. Had she forgotten that she had sat down again and perhaps fallen asleep? Had the sight of his opening eyes been but a fleeting dream born of wishful thinking?