The Preacher's Bride

“Perhaps after the wedding’s over and the preacher’s condition stabilizes, y’all could plan some new sort of event, or write a new advertisement in the newspaper for eligible bachelors,” Caroline suggested. “Good evening, ladies. Faith, I hope all goes well tomorrow,” she said as she left.

One by one, all of the Spinsters’ Club members departed, until only Faith, Louisa and Polly were left.

“I...I think I’ll go read for a while,” Louisa said, excusing herself with an uneasy glance toward Polly.

Polly waited until Faith’s cousin went upstairs, then grabbed her reticule and motioned for Faith to follow her out onto the front step. “I...I’m sorry,” Polly murmured. “I don’t know what makes me snippy like that,” she said. “I admire you, Faith, I really do. You’re such a confident, admirable woman and I’m just...me. I want to be looked up to and useful, too! I thought Bob Henshaw admired me—” she shrugged and heaved a great sigh “—but then he went back to Austin...”

Faith was touched by the sadness on the woman’s face. She just wanted to be loved—and who didn’t? The defection of her beau had been a blow to her confidence, especially when the other two men who had come to Simpson Creek at the same time had made commitments to their matches. Bess Lassiter had married her rancher from Mason and moved there a month ago, while Hannah and Mr. Von Hesse had just announced their engagement.

“You’ll find the right man someday, Polly,” Faith assured her, and put a bracing arm around the woman’s trembling shoulders. “There’ll be unattached fellows at the wedding reception, you know. Prissy mentioned her handsome cousin Anson is coming for a visit, and she’ll probably bring him along. Matches have been made before at weddings.”

“Pshaw, I’ve met that Anson Tyler before. He’s far too impressed with himself to notice little old me. But there’s another gent whose eye I’d love to catch...” Polly murmured.

Faith had a sinking feeling she knew who that was—Gil Chadwick. Well, Gil’s choice of ladies was no business of hers. He was a grown man with sound judgment.

“And meanwhile, I know you will be a big help to Reverend Chadwick. He’s going to need some nursing care for a long time, you know—far longer than the two weeks I’ve scheduled so far. Meanwhile, I’d be happy to let you take a couple of those slots I had put myself down for, Polly,” she said.

“That’s all right,” Polly said quickly. “We’ll see how it goes. As you said, he’ll be needing help for a long time. Thanks for listening to me, Faith.” She gave Faith an impulsive hug, then scampered down the steps into the night.

Faith watched until Polly disappeared around the corner. She needed to go in soon, for tomorrow would be busy and start early. But for now she just stood there, enjoying the peace and the sweet scent of the honeysuckle that wafted from the tall bushes surrounding both sides of the step. The night was clear, and she thought she heard the hoot of an owl from down by the creek...

“Is she gone?” asked a voice from behind the honeysuckle.

Faith was so startled that she nearly fell off the step. Her arms flailed as she strove for balance, but finally she righted herself. “Who’s there?” she demanded, but the voice was familiar and she thought she recognized it.

Gil Chadwick came out from behind the bush, looking more than a little sheepish. “I’m sorry if I frightened you, Miss Faith,” he said, chuckling. “I’ve been waiting for your meeting to be finished to speak with you about tomorrow, and I thought everyone had left, so I was just on the verge of knocking at the door when I heard you coming out with Miss Shackleford. If I’d tried to make it back to the parsonage, she’d have seen me...”

Perhaps she shouldn’t have, but Faith couldn’t help but giggle at the look of dread on his face.

“You laugh,” Gil said ruefully, “but Mrs. Detwiler warned me Miss Shackleford has ‘set her cap for me,’ whatever that means. And just in case she’s right, I need to avoid that young lady for a while, especially while I’m so worried about Papa.”

She wanted to ask what it was he didn’t like about Polly, but that would be amusing herself at Polly’s expense. “Yes, how is your father? I thought you’d be at the Walkers’ with him.”

“I was, until the good doctor sent me home. He said Pa was doing as well as could be expected and he’d watch over him tonight. Mrs. Walker told me to make sure the house was ready for Papa to come home tomorrow, but I’ve already cleaned the place and made his bed with fresh sheets...” He shrugged.

“Sounds like you’re all ready for your father’s homecoming,” she said. “You must be so happy after all he’s been through,” she said, aware she was babbling. But she was just so pleased to be in his presence, to know that he had waited because he wanted to speak to her. Alone. “We spinsters are all set to pitch in, too, Gil. One of us is signed up to be with your father every day for the next two weeks. What time do you want me at the parsonage tomorrow? I want to be there when you bring him home, of course.”

“Right after breakfast, about eight? Oh, and I wanted to show you what Mrs. Patterson loaned me from the mercantile.”

Curious, Faith stepped down off the step into the sparse grass that was all that would grow so near the giant live oak that shaded their house.

“I was so concerned Polly’d spot it, if not me,” he confessed over his shoulder, then pushed the object away from the side of the house toward her.

It was a chair, with a back and seat of leather and wheels on the sides. “It’s for Papa,” he said with a smile. “Mrs. Patterson said I could use it as long as Papa needs it. Wasn’t that kind? And Dr. Walker says if Papa continues to improve, he can soon get up in it and spend more time out of bed. He can sit outside, when the weather’s good, and even go to church.”

She smiled back at him, buoyed by Gil’s hope.

Gil left the chair and came closer to her. “I can’t thank you enough for what you’re doing, Miss Faith,” he said. “God bless you.”

The intensity of his gaze spurred her heart into a gallop. “I... Thank you, Gil, but there will be several of us helping. We love your father, you know.”

He nodded, then took her hand in his and gave it a squeeze. “I know,” he said, “but you’re the one who’s put our Lord’s teachings into action and mobilized the ladies. I’m very grateful.” He let go of her hand and backed away. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then. Good night.”

“Good night...” Oh, dear, she thought as she went back inside the house, her pulse pounding, her hand tingling from his touch. Rationally, she knew she was not for Gil, but convincing her heart was another thing. And unless she had greatly misread the look in those hazel eyes, Gil Chadwick was attracted to her, too. But taking care of Gil’s father was going to put her in Gil’s company frequently, even with the other ladies helping her. How could she keep herself from encouraging him?

Sooner or later, she would have to have an honest talk with him, the one she had planned to have after the church service, but she dreaded it. Not only would it mean forgoing the courtship he seemed to want to begin, but Gil would never see her as admirable ever again. And what if her secret got out? She might well become an outcast in Simpson Creek.

Chapter Four

Word had spread that the preacher was going home this morning, and when Gil and Dr. Walker pushed the old preacher across the street on a wheeled litter, the townspeople formed a cheering gauntlet through which the litter passed.

Reverend Chadwick beamed crookedly at this evidence of the love his congregation bore for him, and raised a hand in a weak attempt at a wave—or maybe it was a blessing. Faith, watching from the front step of the parsonage, wasn’t sure.

Once inside the parsonage, Gil and the doctor lifted him gently into his bed. Reverend Chadwick looked around him, obviously recognizing the familiar surroundings, and gave a happy sigh before closing his eyes. Even the brief excitement of being moved back to the parsonage had exhausted him.

Faith’s and Gil’s gazes met across the preacher’s bed. Gil’s hazel eyes gleamed with the same triumph that warmed her. No matter what else happened, they had accomplished this much. They had brought his father home.

“Dr. Walker said he would tire easily,” Faith whispered. “I’ll just go into the kitchen and start making dinner.”

Gil took the worn Bible off the bedside table and lowered himself into a chair at the side of the bed. “I think I’ll just sit with Papa and pray awhile,” he said.

Faith hadn’t been inside the parsonage for many years, but she found her way down the hallway into the kitchen at the back of the house. She had no idea what she was going to prepare for the noon meal, but Sarah had told her she was going to bring over a kettle of stewed chicken, so perhaps Gil could eat the chicken and the preacher could sip the nourishing broth.

When she reached the kitchen, Faith found she had not been the only one thinking of the Chadwicks’ need for nourishment, for while they had been preparing the preacher for the move back to his house, the married ladies of the town had let themselves in and brought enough food for a regiment. In addition to the promised pot of chicken, the side table was filled with hams, fresh-baked loaves of bread, baskets of rolls, jars of jelly, preserves, green beans, applesauce, baskets of eggs and crocks of lemonade, cold tea and apple juice. On the floor sat bushel baskets of potatoes, apples, peaches, a sack of flour and one of cornmeal. Goodness, they’d thought of everything! She would have to move some of these things to the root cellar beneath the house or they would spoil before they could be eaten.

About noon, when Reverend Chadwick had awakened from his nap, she was ready with warmed broth which she spooned little by little into his mouth. Dr. Walker had warned her of the danger of the old preacher aspirating liquid into his lungs if she was not careful, but he did very well, as long as she went slowly and kept a napkin at the ready. She could tell from the way he blinked in exasperation when some leaked out of the right side of his mouth that the process frustrated him a little, for the old man was not used to being helpless. But after he’d taken his fill of broth and washed it down with apple juice, he gave her a crooked smile.

She helped ease him back onto his pillows. “Why don’t you rest a little, Reverend Chadwick? I’m going to go make sure Gil has some dinner. When I come back, we’ll exercise your limbs a little, all right? We’ve got to get you back into fighting trim—the town needs you.” She could tell by the gleam in his eyes he appreciated her thinking such a goal was possible.

Faith found Gil in the parlor, sitting at a roll-top desk and writing something, his Bible open next to the paper.

“Gil, dinner’s ready,” she said. “Can you stop for a while?”

He turned in his chair and smiled at her. “Only if you’ll eat with me,” he said.

She nodded. She’d intended to do that, but his invitation pleased her more than it should.

“I’ve been struggling with my wedding sermon,” he told her, once he’d said a blessing over the meal. “It’ll be short, of course,” he added with a chuckle. “No one wants to hear a preacher drone on for very long. They want to see the groom kiss his bride and begin the celebration.”

She cut a piece of chicken and took a bite. “Didn’t your father write down his sermons? Can’t you use one of those?”

He swallowed some lemonade and shook his head. “Papa never writes anything down. It’s all in his head, along with whole chapters of the Bible he’s memorized.”

“Your papa wa—is—” she corrected herself hastily “—an amazing man.”

Gil nodded. “If I’m ever half the preacher my father has been, I’ll be thankful. Besides, I’m trying to come up with something that hasn’t been said thousands of times before.”

She thought about that for a moment. “I think folks like the tried and true in a wedding. Tradition is comforting,” she said.