Her Deepest Secret

When her little brother died, Faith Bennett lost her trust in God. She’s kept this secret from the good people of Simpson Creek, yet she can’t deceive Gil Chadwick. She’ll be Gil’s friend, but without a faith to match his, she can never be the handsome new preacher’s bride.

Though Gil cherishes Faith’s friendship, he wants a wife. And in kind, upright Faith, he’s convinced he’s found her. The secret heartaches of his past fade as he watches her nurse his father. When danger finds her, he’ll risk everything to save her. For where there’s Faith, there’s love...and the promise of a new beginning together.

“Papa wrote me about the beginnings of the Spinsters’ Club while I was away at seminary,” Gil said.

“Did you think we sounded like a band of brazen hussies, advertising for marriage-minded bachelors?” Faith asked, almost afraid of the answer. But she saw a twinkle in his eye that reassured her.

“Not at all,” he said. “You sounded like a plucky lot. I was only worried all the young ladies of the hill country would get the same idea and there’d be no one left for me when I finished seminary.”

“Ah, now, where was your faith, Reverend Gil?” she teased. “Didn’t you believe that the Lord would provide?”

“I’m only surprised you haven’t made one of those matches, Miss Faith,” he said. “I’d have thought those bachelors would have snatched you up when the group first started,” he said.

He smiled at her, and she felt the jolt of it all the way through her heart.

LAURIE KINGERY

makes her home in central Ohio, where she is a “Texan-in-exile.” Formerly writing as Laurie Grant for the Harlequin Historical line and other publishers, she is the author of eighteen previous books and the 1994 winner of a Readers’ Choice Award in the Short Historical category. She has also been nominated for Best First Medieval and Career Achievement in Western Historical Romance by RT Book Reviews. When not writing her historicals, she loves to travel, read, participate on Facebook and Shoutlife and write her blog on www.lauriekingery.com.

The Preacher’s Bride

Laurie Kingery

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Jesus said unto him, If thou canst believe, all things are possible to him that believeth. And straightway the father of the child cried out, and said with tears, Lord, I believe, help thou mine unbelief.

—Mark 9:23, 24

In memory of Tango, the dog of my heart

And as always, to Tom

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

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Dear Reader

Questions for Discussion

Excerpt

Chapter One

Simpson Creek, Texas, April 1868

I must be the most misnamed person in this whole town, maybe in the whole state of Texas, Faith Bennett thought, staring into the cool green water of Simpson Creek. Her parents had confidently given her that name, never guessing that by the time their daughter grew up, she would not believe in God.

It was a secret Faith shared with no one, not her parents, her neighbors and certainly not her friends in the Simpson Creek Spinsters’ Club, of which she was a loyal member. She couldn’t imagine what any of them would say if they knew. Her parents wouldn’t know what to do about such a declaration if Faith ever made it. Her mother would worry and fret about her, and she didn’t want that. Her friends in the Spinsters’ Club wouldn’t shun her, she thought. But they might not be so comfortable around her anymore, and they might wonder why she attended church every Sunday morning, just as they did.

A logical person would question why she enjoyed being in church. Attending church on Sunday mornings was just what one did in this small hill-country town, she mused, and everywhere else in Texas. Faith found tradition comforting—singing the familiar hymns and listening to Reverend Chadwick preach. Even though she’d long since stopped believing in the God the preacher spoke about, she always found something uplifting in the sermons, which reinforced her belief in goodness and treating her fellow man with fairness and love.

So she continued to come here each Sunday morning, yet kept her secret—her name was Faith, but she didn’t have any.

She only hoped that if and when she made a match—through the Spinsters’ Club or however else it came about—the man she came to love would not mind that she was not a woman of faith. Somewhere there had to be a man who felt like she did, or if he was religious, wouldn’t mind that she wasn’t. The fact that she was a good, honest person was the most important thing, wasn’t it?

It was probably time she joined her parents inside the sanctuary a few yards away.

“Miss Faith?” someone said behind her, and she whirled around, shading her eyes against the sunlight that filtered through the trees.

It was Gil Chadwick, the son of the preacher, and a fresh-from-seminary minister himself. Gil was staying with his father and sharing in his pastoral duties in preparation for being called to a church of his own soon.

“Good morning, Reverend Gil,” she said, smiling up at him. He had a scholarly looking face, and wore spectacles when he read, but was saved from being too austere by a mischievous cowlick that often popped up at the back of his head despite his attempts to tame it. Any young lady, herself included, would be proud to be seen with the handsome unmarried preacher. But she was not a suitable match for a man of the cloth.

He pushed back a stray lock of chestnut-brown hair that had fallen low over his brow. “I’m glad I saw you coming down to the creek. I hope I’m not intruding on your prayers,” he said.

Faith squelched the urge to laugh at the irony. “N-no, you weren’t.” She’d been thinking, certainly, but not praying. Instead of greeting her fellow worshipers before the worship service started, she’d felt the need for some quiet reflection. “It’s just...so hot inside this morning, even with this,” she said, lifting the ivory-handled fan she had brought with her, “I thought I’d spend a few moments in the shade first. Just looking at the water makes me feel cooler.”

“It is very warm for late April,” he agreed, running a finger beneath his stiff shirt collar. “Why, it’s so hot a farmer told me this morning his hens are laying hard-boiled eggs.” Humor twinkled in his hazel eyes.

She chuckled politely at the old joke, realizing he must feel the heat in his black frock coat and long-sleeved shirt almost as much as ladies did in their heavy layers of petticoats.

A silence broken only by the splash of some fish in the creek below stretched between them. She waited, but he seemed content just to gaze at her.

She heard the first few notes of “Stand Up, Stand Up for Jesus” waft toward them from an open window in the church. “Was there...was there something you wanted to say to me?” she prompted.

He blinked. “Oh, yes, of course, Miss Faith. I was merely wondering if—” He took a deep breath, as if gathering himself for a great leap, and went on, “If you might like to join me after church for dinner at the hotel.”

She stared at him. She could not say his asking her out was a total surprise. She’d thought he had his eye on her for a while now. His invitation was both the fulfillment of a dream and the one thing she must not agree to, and she wanted to accept almost more than she wanted her next breath. But having dinner with him today would be the first step in a courtship, and for Gil’s sake, she must not begin something she could not rightly continue.

The congregation began to sing, and she glanced once more toward the church. There wasn’t time to think of a way to decline his offer in a way that wouldn’t hurt his feelings.

“Perhaps we could discuss it more after church, Reverend Gil?” she asked. “We really should join the others inside.” It would be harder after the service to get a private moment with him—in the short time he’d been in town, he was already very popular with the congregation. Hopefully during the sermon, she could think of an acceptable excuse to decline Gil’s wonderful invitation.

Or find a way to justify accepting it, a rebellious voice within her insisted.

He sighed, darting a glance back over his shoulder at the church. “You’re right, of course, Miss Faith,” he said in that pleasant deep voice of his that curled so appealingly around her heart. “All right, then, we’ll talk after church. I’ll meet you under that old gnarly live oak in the back of the churchyard.”

Faith nodded as she took his proffered arm, savoring his nearness. They really should go in separately, so no one got any mistaken ideas that the two of them were courting. But Gil’s invitation suggested he wouldn’t mind at all if it looked that way, and somehow she couldn’t bear to let go of his arm.

Faith felt every eye on them as she let him escort her down the aisle between the rows of pews. She could almost hear the speculative hum rising in the brains of those who liked to be in the know.

Her father and mother looked up from their hymnbook and beamed delightedly at Gil as he stopped with Faith by the pew they were occupying. He acknowledged them with a smile as Faith settled herself next to her mother, then he strode on toward the front of the church.

Her mother cast a sidelong glance at her. Faith knew she was full of questions, but fortunately, she could not ask them now. Safe from parental curiosity for the present, Faith opened her mouth to sing the next hymn along with the rest of the congregation.

After they finished singing, Gil rose and strode toward the pulpit. “Good morning, congregation,” he said, taking hold of the pulpit with both hands and grinning as they returned his greeting. “In just a moment Papa will bring us the message, but I wanted to remind you of next Saturday’s wedding—our first in our new church building. Isn’t that exciting?”

A chorus of murmured agreement arose from the congregation, and Faith knew everyone was remembering the smoldering ruin of the old church, burned to the ground by a band of evil men last summer. The town had worked diligently to rebuild it, and it had been completed just before Thanksgiving.

“Miss Caroline Wallace and her fiancé, Jack Collier, have asked me to remind everyone the whole town is invited,” Gil went on. “The ceremony begins at one o’clock, and the reception afterward will take place in the church social hall. It sounds like a wonderful, blessed time will be had by all, so let’s all plan to attend and support the new couple as they begin a life together.”

Caroline and Jack, sitting on the opposite side of the aisle from Faith with Jack’s twin daughters, waved at the folks around them, radiating happiness.

What a good, generous man Gil Chadwick is, Faith thought, as he returned to the front pew and his father took his place at the pulpit. Gil seemed genuinely happy for the engaged couple, yet a good many people in Simpson Creek knew that not too long ago, Gil would have preferred to announce his own upcoming wedding with Caroline. It was apparent he’d been taken with Caroline when he’d first arrived in Simpson Creek, but had unselfishly kept her company only as a friend until Jack realized he’d better get off the fence and propose to Caroline or risk losing her.

Faith knew some of the other members of the Spinsters’ Club were interested in capturing the interest of the bachelor preacher before he was called to another town and left Simpson Creek. Gil wouldn’t be single for any longer than he wanted to be.

“Our text comes from ‘So then faith cometh by hearing, and hearing by the Word of God,’” Reverend Chadwick said.

He looked a little pale, Faith thought, and thinner than he had been. As he’d moved to the pulpit, his steps had been halting. Perhaps, like some elderly folks, he didn’t sleep well, or suffered from some ailment.

His son had taken over the pastoral calls to outlying ranches that Reverend Chadwick had once made, but once Gil was pastoring his own church, the old preacher’s congregation would have to realize they would have to come visit him, rather than the other way around. No doubt some woman of mature years would have to be found to keep house for the old preacher, for his wife had been dead for a score of years or more.

Reverend Chadwick raked a hand absently through his thinning, snowy-white hair. “H-hearing...by the w-word of God,” the preacher repeated. “What d-does that mean, cong-congregation?”

Was she imagining it or was Reverend Chadwick having trouble speaking? His words suddenly sounded slurred, thick. He’d always been the most eloquent of men, his delivery smooth and polished.

Faith saw she was not alone in noticing something was wrong. Dr. Walker, sitting at the other end of the same pew, leaned forward, an expression of concern furrowing his features. Beside him, his wife, Sarah, bit her lip worriedly.

“Obviously...it means spending time...r-reading the Bi—Bi—” He stopped, and looked around in bewilderment, as if he could not find the familiar word. He looked to Gil as if entreating his help. His mouth seemed to droop on one side.

“Papa?” Faith heard Gil ask. Tentatively, he rose and started forward.

Reverend Chadwick put out a hand as if assuring his son that he was all right. And then he collapsed.

Behind Faith, someone shrieked in alarm.

She watched, horror-struck, as Gil reached his father first, followed close behind by Dr. Walker. With the assistance of the doctor, Gil gently turned his father onto his back and knelt so that Reverend Chadwick’s head could be elevated in his lap. Dr. Walker loosened the preacher’s shirt collar.

Faith could see that the preacher’s face was ashen, his eyes closed. She could hear him breathing, but his respirations sounded rattley and snoring.

People began to leave their pews. An anxious murmuring arose. She heard her father praying aloud, asking the Lord to save the old preacher.

“I think he’s had an apoplexy,” Faith heard Dr. Walker say to Gil. “We’ll need to carry him to my office.”

* * *

Assisted by Sheriff Bishop, Gil lifted his father from where he’d been lying by the pulpit. The old man felt so light, as if a puff of wind could blow him away. Lord, please save Papa. Please don’t take him yet...

It wasn’t far to the doctor’s office. Dr. Walker paced alongside Gil and Bishop, peppering Gil with questions—had his father complained of a headache? Dizziness? Unusual fatigue? Numbness or tingling of his limbs? Pain in his chest? To all of these, Gil shook his head. His father had been his usual cheerful self before church, and had eaten a good breakfast.

A number of people followed them, and some of these lingered in the waiting room with him. He was vaguely aware of Faith sitting in the midst of them, and he remembered with a pang the dinner he had hoped to have with her. But he couldn’t think of her now, nor of the whispered prayers and conversations around him. Instead, he besieged Heaven with silent pleas of his own. And when he could think of no other way to ask that his father be spared, he added, Lord, help me to be willing to accept Your will, if You decide to take him Home.

* * *

“Is my father...still with us?” Gil asked, an endless time later, when Nolan Walker emerged from his examination room. Walker was followed by his wife, Sarah, who often helped him with his patients. Gil looked for clues to what Walker would say. Had his father gone to be with God, leaving only the shell of his body behind?

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?

Faith was still thoroughly discouraged when Dr. Walker came in to check his patient near dawn. She told him what she thought she’d observed, then watched as he bent to listen with his stethoscope to the old preacher’s heartbeat and his breathing, and check his reflexes.

“Come to the kitchen,” he said, beckoning. “I’ll make some fresh coffee.”

“But...” She glanced back at Reverend Chadwick.

“It will be all right to leave him alone for a little while,” he assured her.

Once they’d reached the kitchen, he spoke again. “It’s best not to speak frankly in front of a patient, even when the patient seems completely comatose,” he explained. “Hearing seems to be the last sense to go. A soldier in my care once came out of a coma and reported everything that was said in his presence while he was supposedly insensible—much to my embarrassment, for I had told another army doctor right at the bedside that I didn’t think the fellow would make it.” He gave a self-deprecating chuckle.

“Then you believe the reverend’s brief waking was a good sign?” she asked, hopeful again. “You don’t believe I fell asleep and dreamed the whole thing?”

He studied her. “You seem too responsible a lady to let yourself doze,” he said. “It’s quite possible he awoke and knew you. But does it mean that he will recover?” He shrugged. “I couldn’t say as yet. It’s not a bad sign, certainly, but I’ve seen unconscious men have moments of apparent lucidity, then die anyway. We’ll have to see if he wakes again, and I’ll be more hopeful if it lasts this time. We must continue to pray,” he added.

Faith winced inside, but kept silent. If only she believed prayer would do some good.

“I’ll heat water and help you give him a bath,” Dr. Walker said. “Perhaps the stimulation of that will help bring him back to consciousness. And then you’ll go home and get some well-earned rest yourself.”

Faith glanced out the south-facing window, and saw the faint light of dawn.

“The sun’s coming up,” she murmured. “I expect Gil will arrive before long. I imagine it’s been hard for him waiting through the night for news. It would be wonderful if he found his father awake, wouldn’t it?” She wanted to give him that gift—the sight of his father conscious and in his right mind, no matter what other damage the apoplexy had left.

“It would,” he agreed, as he pumped water from the kitchen pump into a deep iron pot. “And I’d have a better idea of his prognosis.” The doctor’s blue eyes held a Yankee shrewdness as he set the pot on the stovetop. “You’re fond of Gil, aren’t you?”

The question had come out of nowhere, and she could not stifle a gasp nor summon a quick denial.

“H-how did you know?” she asked, feeling a telltale flush spreading up her neck.

The corners of the doctor’s mouth quirked upward. “We doctors are trained observers of signs and symptoms, and human behavior,” he said gently. “This is probably not the appropriate time to tease you. But there’s nothing wrong with being fond of a man of such sterling character, and I know my wife wouldn’t mind if I pointed out you’re a kind and generous young lady as well as a pretty one. You might make a very good wife for the young preacher.”

He couldn’t know how wrong he was about that. She bit her lip, not knowing what to say, wondering if Dr. Walker would hint of her feelings to Gil. She cleared her throat, trying to find the right words.

He’d seen her dismay, though, and waved a hand. “I’m sorry, Miss Faith, forgive my frankness. My wife is always telling me I’m so used to dealing in life and death matters that I think I can say anything that pops into my head. It’s none of my business, and I won’t mention it again.”

“No apology is necessary, Doctor,” she said.

Before either of them could say anything else, they heard footsteps, and Sarah appeared in the kitchen, dressed in her wrapper, yawning, her golden hair still confined in its nighttime braid.

“Good morning, dear,” Dr. Walker said, kissing her before he updated her on the events of the night. Faith looked on, wistfully envying the obvious tenderness between husband and wife.

* * *

Gil had slept the sleep of exhaustion despite his anxiety over his father. Now he hesitated on the front step of the parsonage. He stared across at the doctor’s office. What would he find when he crossed the street and entered the doctor’s office? No one had come during the night to tell him matters had worsened, and yet he dreaded seeing his father in the same helpless, insentient condition he’d been in when Gil had reluctantly left him yesterday.

Lord, please give me strength to accept Your will.

“Good morning, Gil,” Sarah said when she opened the door. “Go on in and see your father. My husband and Faith are in there with him.”

Her smile gave Gil the courage to do as she suggested. A surge of hope lightened his steps as he walked forward. The doctor’s wife wouldn’t have smiled if things were still the same, would she?

Faith was just tucking in a fresh sheet at the foot of the bed. His father was propped up on pillows, but Gil couldn’t see his face because Dr. Walker was bent over him, listening to his chest with his stethoscope.

Dr. Walker straightened and turned to greet him, as did Faith. Now Gil could see his father’s face, and saw the gleam of recognition as he saw his son at the door.

“Papa!” Gil cried, and rushed to the bedside, trembling with joy. He sank down by the bed, taking his father’s gnarled, blue-veined hand in one of his, while reaching up to touch his father’s whiskery cheek.

“Good morning, Gil,” Dr. Walker said. “Your father decided to wake up when we were giving him a bath a few minutes ago.”

Tears stung Gil’s eyes as he stared into his father’s face. The hand he held gripped his weakly, and the old man’s attempt at a smile was still droopy on one side, but his eyes radiated the same joyfulness that threatened to overwhelm Gil.

“Can he—” Gil began to ask, then turned back to the old man on the bed. “Can you...talk, Papa?”

“Mmmhh,” his father said, then he shook his head in a clear expression of frustration.

“Give him time, Gil, he only just woke up,” the doctor said with a gentle smile. “We should be very encouraged by that alone.”

“I...I am,” Gil said, smiling back at his father. “I love you, Papa,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “I’m just so glad I’m able to tell you that again.”

His father stared back at him, his eyes also full of love.

“Here, sit down,” Dr. Walker said, indicating the chair at the bedside. “Faith tells me your father woke up briefly during the night, then drifted off into sleep again.”

Gil looked across the bed. There were violet shadows under Faith’s eyes, and she looked weary, but her gaze reflected the same relief and joy he felt.

“Yes, it was so quick I thought I might have imagined it,” she said. “But then when he felt the warm water on his face, his eyes popped open and he’s been awake ever since.”

The old man’s eyes were drifting shut again. Walker beckoned Gil and Faith to the door.

“I’ll see you later, Papa,” Gil whispered, and kissed the top of the old man’s head.

Once in the hallway, Gil asked, “What...what do we do now?”

“He’s been able to drink sips of water,” Dr. Walker said. “Later, I’ll see if he can swallow a little chicken broth. Assuming he can, I’ll want to keep him here another night, then you can take him home.”

“I’ll take good care of him, Doctor,” Gil promised, still hardly believing he was going to get the chance to do so.

“I’m sure you will,” Walker said. “And Faith will help you. She’s agreed to organize the Spinsters’ Club to nurse him. I told you what an excellent job they did during the influenza epidemic.”

“Yes, but he’s my responsibility,” he said, reluctant to obligate Faith and the other young ladies to the care of a sick old man.

“You’ll certainly get plenty of time to fulfill your responsibility to your father,” Walker said. “But it’s going to be too much for just one person. You’ll need help. Until he regains full movement—and there’s no guarantee he will—someone will have to feed him, do his laundry, exercise his limbs, help him learn to speak again—if he can, and that’s by no means certain—help him get out of bed when he’s stronger... And don’t forget, the needs of the congregation will continue. I’m sure the church board will be asking you formally, of course, but unless you’re unwilling, I expect you’ve just become the acting pastor of Simpson Creek Church.”

Gil blinked, raking a hand through his hair distractedly. “I’ve been so worried Papa would die, I hadn’t given it a thought. I suppose you’re right.” He hoped he was equal to the task.

“I’ll get started arranging his nursing care right now, Doctor,” Faith said, heading for the door that led out of the office.

“You’ll do no such thing, Miss Faith,” Walker ordered. “You’ve been up all night, and you’re to go straight to bed, understood? Your organizing can wait till after you’ve slept at least.”

“Yes, sir,” Faith shot back, her grin so sassy that it made both men grin, too. “I’ll see you both later.”

“I can’t thank you enough, Miss Faith,” Gil told her.

Her smile was all the reward he needed. It warmed his soul.

“That’s a good woman,” Dr. Walker said, after the door had closed behind Faith. His gaze locked meaningfully with Gil’s.

The doctor’s message was clear enough. “I believe you’re right, Doctor,” Gil said.

* * *

Before going to bed as Dr. Walker had directed, Faith took a few minutes to update her mother on the reverend’s condition and the need to revive the Spinsters’ Club Nursing Corps. Louisa, her cousin who lived with them now, was not present because she helped Caroline teach, and it was the last day of school.

“Is there anything I can do to help, dear?” Lydia Bennett asked. “Your father and I are so proud of you, the way you’re taking the initiative to help the preacher. At least this time there’s no risk of contagion.”

Faith wished she had her mother’s belief in her father’s pride in her. Unfortunately, she knew differently. But she’d never distress her mother with that truth.

“Mama, you wouldn’t mind if the Spinsters’ Club met here after supper tonight to sign up for their nursing shifts, would you?” she asked, smothering a weary yawn. They would have to teach the new spinsters about their nursing duties, too, she supposed, by pairing those who had never nursed with the ones who’d been in Simpson Creek during the flu.

“Of course you may, Faith. It’s the least we can do to help. I’ll call on the ladies while you’re sleeping and notify them of the meeting. Let’s see, there’s Louisa, Maude, Polly, Ella, Kate, Jane and Hannah. Have I forgotten anyone? There’s fewer of them available than when the epidemic struck...”

“Yes, Sarah, Emily, Bess and Milly are all married now,” Faith mused aloud. “But we should have enough willing helpers among the others, I think. Gil will be able to help his father at night, and if all goes well, Reverend Chadwick will need us less and less...”

If all goes well. There was so much that could happen, even now. In his weakened condition, the old preacher would still be easy prey to pneumonia and other infections. Not for the first time, she wished she believed in prayer. But she might as well aim her thoughts to the dirt, she thought, as believe there was Someone beyond the sky who would hear her.

No one in the Heavens had listened when she had pled for her brother Eddy’s life when he was bitten by a snake. If there was a God, wouldn’t He have listened and spared a small boy? And when she had begged to feel her father’s love again?

She had always wished for the courage to ask the question of Reverend Chadwick. But now he, too, had been struck down, and only time would tell if he survived.

Chapter Three

“Thank you, ladies, for coming together on such short notice,” Faith said, after all the members of the Spinsters’ Club had helped themselves to lemonade and cookies and sat down in the Bennett parlor. “Especially you, Caroline—we didn’t really expect you to have time, what with your wedding and all—goodness, I hadn’t realized!” she said, as a thought struck her. “I suppose Reverend Gil will have to be the one to conduct your wedding this Saturday?”

“Yes, Jack and I spoke to him about it this afternoon. It’ll be the very first wedding he’s performed, imagine that,” she said with a smile. “Of course, it will depend on the state of his father’s health. Do you suppose we could all pray for our preacher right now?”

Everyone bowed their heads while Caroline led them in prayer. Faith lowered her head, too, out of respect, but she always felt like such an outsider when others prayed.

“All right,” Faith said when the prayer was over. “We’re here to organize shifts for nursing Reverend Chadwick. If all goes well, the plan is for him to go home from the doctor’s tomorrow morning. I’ll take the first shift, and see if the routine I have in mind works. We will be at the bedside in the daytime, ladies, while G—that is, Reverend Gil—” she corrected herself hastily as she felt the heat rise in her cheeks “—will see to his father at night.” She cleared her throat, hoping none of the others had seen her blush. It would not do to let them know how much she cared for the young preacher. “This should involve less intense nursing than during the epidemic because there shouldn’t be feverish crises, but our diligent care will still be vital to whatever recovery he makes.”

Hannah raised her hand. “Your mother told me he was awake but unable to speak.”

Faith nodded. “So far, he can’t speak,” she confirmed, “though he has tried. I’m sure it must be frustrating. He is also paralyzed on his right side. So he’ll need much effort from us. From what Dr. Walker has told me, he must be turned from side to side every few hours, bathed, fed nourishing broth and have his limbs exercised a few times a day. There’ll be laundry to do. We must work hard, ladies, or he’ll get pneumonia.”

“It sounds like a tall order,” Maude said soberly.

Faith knew Maude was more aware of what such nursing care involved than the others did, for her father had been a doctor. “Yes, and if any of you feel you’re not up to doing this, no one will blame you,” Faith said. “The married ladies will provide food for the preacher and his son, but those who can’t nurse could do this, too.”

Polly closed her eyes and put up a hand as if volunteering for martyrdom. “I would do anything to help our preacher,” she declared in a tone more suited to the stage. “I’d be willing to work every day, if you like.”

Faith guessed Polly was thinking a good deal more about how the old preacher’s illness would give her increased time around his son than she was of the reality of nursing a helpless, sick old man.

“We’re all devoted to Reverend Chadwick, Polly,” Maude sniffed, clearly annoyed at Polly’s histrionics. “That’s why we’re here.”

“I’ll remind y’all that we’re caring for our preacher so his son will be free to attend to pastoral duties as they arise, so he will not always be at the parsonage,” Faith said, hoping Polly got the hint. “Now, unless there are any other questions, here is a schedule for those willing to sign up,” she said, laying the sheet of paper she had prepared beforehand out on the table, along with a pencil. “Those of you who have never nursed before might like to pair up with someone who is more experienced the first time you go.” She had already signed up for several shifts herself.

Faith watched as the members of the Spinsters’ Club milled around, the newer ladies partnering with the experienced ones, then stepped over to inspect the list. She was proud to see that every lady had committed herself for at least one shift over the next two weeks. That was far enough ahead to plan, she thought. Even Caroline, who must have a couple of dozen things to do before her wedding, had put herself down for the day after tomorrow.

Her cousin Louisa’s face was troubled as she looked over the schedule. “But, Faith, you’ve signed up for the day of the wedding.”

“It’s all right,” Faith said quickly. “Someone will have to be at the parsonage with Reverend Chadwick during the wedding, Louisa. I don’t mind.” It was probably best that she avoid the event. She was sure she could remain businesslike around Gil at the parsonage, when she was there in an official capacity. But at the wedding, with everyone dressed in their best and romance in the air, it would be far too tempting to flirt with Gil. If she wasn’t there, perhaps Gil would notice one of the other spinsters, and begin courting that lucky lady. The thought wrenched her heart, but it was for the best, she told herself, no matter what sort of spark she’d thought she’d seen in Gil’s eyes.

It was only my imagination, she told herself firmly. All the more reason to sit with the old preacher while the others attended the wedding.

“Oh, but I’ll switch with you,” Louisa persisted. “It would be a shame for you to miss it. You’ve known Caroline for a long time, while I’m still rather new here.”

“What a kind, generous offer, Louisa,” Caroline said. “Faith, why don’t you take her up on it? Didn’t you tell me you’d already made a new dress for the wedding?”

Faith blinked, wishing she hadn’t told the bride-to-be about the blue dress. She’d started making it right after Jack Collier had finally gotten serious about courting Caroline, when she realized she might have a chance with Gil after all. That was before she’d come to the realization she was the wrong woman for Gil.

She was neatly caught now on the horns of a dilemma, despite her best intentions. If she didn’t agree to let Louisa switch with her, Caroline would wonder why. She might even think Faith didn’t want to celebrate with the happy couple, and be hurt.

“That’s very nice, Louisa,” Faith said desperately. “But you haven’t had any nursing experience. Why don’t you sign up with any of the experienced ladies, or did you intend to work alongside one of them earlier in the week?”

Louisa appeared surprised. “Faith, have you forgotten I took care of Papa before he passed on?” Louisa asked. “He was bedridden for months, remember?”

Faith swallowed hard. She had forgotten about the lingering illness that had finally taken her uncle. Louisa was every bit as competent a nurse as she was, maybe more so.

“I had forgotten,” she admitted. “All right, Louisa, thank you.” Surely, at the wedding, she could manage to keep from noticing Gil too much. And she’d contrive to stay away from the bouquet toss. Perhaps if she struck up a conversation with Mrs. Detwiler, the talkative older woman would keep her so occupied that she would not be tempted.

The grandfather clock in the corner of the room struck nine.

“Oh, look at the time,” Caroline said, rising. “I have to be getting home. Milly’s coming over to do my final dress fitting in the morning.”

One by one, the other ladies started gathering their things.

Except for Polly. “We haven’t even spoken of any Spinsters’ Club business yet,” she complained. “Haven’t there been any letters from bachelor candidates arrive at the post office lately, Caroline?”

Caroline shook her head. “I’m afraid not. Oh, by the way, Faith, I’ve told Papa you’ll be stopping by to pick up any bachelor mail that might arrive.”

Faith started to agree, but before she could open her mouth, she saw Polly’s lower lip jutting out dangerously.

“I could do it,” Polly declared in a voice that dared anyone to disagree. “Sounds like Faith’s going to be pretty busy running the nursing corps when she’s not at the parsonage herself. And I see you took the lion’s share of the slots, Faith.”

There was an unspoken accusation in the other woman’s voice, and from the indrawn breaths and shocked expressions around the parlor, everyone else noticed, as well.

Faith forced herself to take a calming breath before speaking. “I’m not sure what you’re trying to say, Polly, but I did so out of a desire not to burden anyone else unduly. I only help Papa at the newspaper office when he needs me, and I don’t have younger brothers and sisters to mind, so I have more time to devote to the preacher’s care. Would you like to do it with me tomorrow?” she asked Polly. “I’d be happy to have your help.”

The other woman’s eyes lost their pugnacious glint, and she looked away. “I can’t. Tomorrow I promised my mother I’d watch the younger children while she goes to San Saba. It’s just so boring keeping Teddy, Johnnie and Lottie out of trouble. I swan, Lottie is the worst of the three!” She tittered, but none of the other ladies joined in.

“It’s fine with me if you want to pick up the bachelor letters, Polly,” Faith said. “That would be a big help.”

“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.

“I suppose so,” he said. “I hope I can find a way to make it traditional and fresh at the same time, however.”

Just having a preacher other than his father conducting the service would make it fresh enough for the people of Simpson Creek, she thought.

“I think the world of Miss Caroline and Jack,” he went on. “I want to do my part to make their wedding day special for them.”

“I’m sure you will. But...it doesn’t bother you?” she asked at last, giving way to curiosity.

He didn’t pretend he didn’t know what she meant. “Because I kept company with Miss Caroline for a little while, back during the winter? No, not really,” he said. “I’m happy that she and Jack were able to resolve the things that were keeping them apart. God showed me Caroline was for Jack, not me. And the more I’m around the two of them, the more convinced I am of that.”

“God...showed you,” she said, hoping her doubt didn’t show. “How does that...happen? To you, I mean,” she added quickly, not wanting to reveal that she never prayed anymore, and had never experienced God showing her anything.

He speared a couple of green beans with his fork as he considered her question, and nothing on his face revealed that he found her question unusual. “I prayed about it, of course, but He doesn’t always answer out loud. It was more of a feeling, here,” he said, flattening his hand over the center of his chest. “And sometimes He shows us by the way events work out. That’s what happened in this case. Jack finally declared his true feelings, and now he and Miss Caroline are about to get married.” He looked more carefully at her. “You didn’t think I was hiding a broken heart, did you?”

His direct question gaze flustered her. “No...I—I’m... Perhaps I shouldn’t have asked you that. It’s none of my business after all.” She pretended great interest in a mockingbird which had just landed on the lantana bush outside the kitchen window.

“I didn’t mind, Miss Faith,” he said. “Not at all. I think it’s good for believers to talk about how they feel God’s leading, because He has different ways of leading different people.”

But I’m not a believer, she thought.

“Miss Caroline and I really hadn’t progressed beyond friendship,” he told her. “I would never let my feelings grow to the point where my heart would be wounded without seeking His guidance on the matter.”

If that was true, she felt better. For if there was a God who cared about His faithful followers, He’d never let Gil fall in love with a woman like her—one who did not believe as he did.

“I wish I’d grown up in Simpson Creek,” he said then. “It’s a good place. Good land, good people.”

Reverend Chadwick had become pastor here during the war years, while his son was in college. Gil had served in the army after graduating, then been wounded only a few months before the war’s end. He’d gone straight into the seminary after he’d recovered.

“I’m glad you like our town,” she said, wondering where this was leading. “If you had been raised here, you might have been the only single man who returned to Simpson Creek after Appomattox.”

“Or one of those who didn’t live to come back,” he said soberly, his eyes thoughtful. “Which is why you ladies started the Spinsters’ Club, isn’t it—the lack of unmarried men? Papa wrote me about the beginnings of the Spinsters’ Club while I was away at seminary.”

“Did you think we sounded like a band of brazen hussies, advertising for marriage-minded bachelors?” she asked, almost afraid of the answer. But she saw a twinkle in his eye that reassured her.

“Not at all,” he said. “You sounded like a plucky lot. I was only worried all the young ladies of the hill country would get the same idea and there’d be no one left for me when I finished seminary.”

“Ah, now, where was your faith, Reverend Gil?” she teased. “Didn’t you believe that the Lord would provide?”

He smiled at her, and she felt the jolt of it all the way through her heart.

“I’m only surprised you haven’t made one of those matches, Miss Faith,” he said. “I’d have thought those bachelors would have snatched you up when the group first started,” he said.

This bantering tone was new from him. She shrugged and looked away to hide her confusion. “So far it hasn’t happened... I haven’t felt ‘led’ to any of the gentlemen who’ve answered our advertisements so far, either.”

“Maybe for a reason.”

The sentence hung in the air, heavy with meaning. Oh, dear, what did he mean by that? What was she to say?

Just then a loud, urgent rapping at the front door startled both of them. Faith dropped her fork. Gil jumped up from the table, nearly oversetting his chair.

“Who can that be?” he wondered aloud. Faith followed him as he headed down the hall toward the sound.

* * *

Billy Henderson stood on the doorstep, his face tearstained, his eyes swollen. “Pastor Gil, you gotta come quick! My ma got a letter just now, and she’s terrible upset. She won’t tell me what it’s about or let me see it. She just sits on the sofa and sobs.”

“I’ll come,” he said quickly, remembering that Billy Henderson’s father had been sent to prison after assaulting Caroline Wallace at her schoolhouse. He’d been in on the conspiracy to kidnap Jack Collier’s twins which had taken place at the same time. His imprisonment had left his wife and son alone in Simpson Creek, fearful of the time Henderson would be released, for he’d also been a brutal husband and father. Daisy Henderson and her son had been planning to move away from Simpson Creek in hope that her husband wouldn’t be able to find them, but they hadn’t left yet.

He turned back to Faith. “Will you and Papa be all right?” he asked. He hated to have to leave on the very first day his father was home, and still in such frail condition, but one of the congregation needed him now, too.

“We’ll be fine, Gil. Go ahead,” she said. “Dr. Walker’s right across the street if I need help.”

“Bless you, Faith,” he said, as he dashed down the steps after Billy Joe. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

He found Mrs. Henderson just as Billy Joe had described her, weeping on a horsehair sofa and clutching a damp handkerchief. A crumpled sheet of paper lay in her lap.

“Ma, I brung the rev’rend,” Billy Joe said, speaking loudly over his mother’s sobs.

She looked up and blinked at Gil as if she’d never seen him before.

“I’m Pastor Gil, Reverend Chadwick’s son,” he reminded her gently. He wasn’t sure if he’d seen her at church since the day of the assault and kidnapping in March. Folks said she kept mostly to herself these days, shamed by her husband’s despicable actions.

“Oh. Yes, of c-course,” she said. “S-somehow I was expecting to see your father...forgot about what happened to him...”

He brought a chair close to the sofa and lowered himself into it. “That’s all right,” he said. “Your son said you were upset by the arrival of a letter. He’s pretty worried about you, so he came and got me. Is there some way I can help?”

“I just couldn’t tell him!” she wailed. “Here, read it!” She yanked the letter off her lap and extended it to him with a shaking hand.

Gil unfolded the rumpled paper, aware of Billy Joe watching him, his eyes troubled, his gaze darting between Gil and his mother. Gil bent his head and read the letter to himself:

* * *

Dear Mrs. Henderson,

I regret to inform you that your husband, William J. Henderson, was killed in an altercation between himself and another prisoner yesterday. He died instantly after being stabbed in the chest. We are shipping his body home to you for burial, and it should arrive at the same time as this letter.

Yours truly,

Emerson Fogle, Prison Administrator

* * *

Gil looked up at Daisy Henderson, who had covered her eyes with her sodden handkerchief. Muffled sobs still escaped from her shaking body.

Compassion welled up within Gil. The man had beaten her for years, and abused his son for as long as he had lived, yet she still sorrowed for her husband, Gil thought. She had been William Henderson’s faithful wife, despite the way he had treated her.

“Mrs. Henderson,” he said gently, “is it your wish that I tell your son what the letter says?”

She nodded, raising red-rimmed, tear-drenched eyes to him and then her son.

Billy Joe had drifted to a position in between Gil and his mother.

Gil took a deep breath. “Billy Joe, I need you to be brave,” he said. “Your father is dead. He was killed in a fight between himself and another prisoner,” he said.

Billy Joe had already been pale with worry, but now the color drained from his face. Gil rose and put a bracing hand on the boy’s shoulder. He was only about twelve, Gil knew, but at this moment he looked much younger.

“I’m very sorry, Billy Joe,” Gil said. “You’ll need to be strong, for your mother will need you to be the man of the house now.”

Billy broke away from Gil then, his face growing red as the tears flooded his cheeks. “I’m not sorry!” he cried. “My pa was mean to me an’ Ma every day a’ his life. We was gonna hafta leave town, and now we don’t need to! We can stay here, Ma!” He knelt by the couch and buried his face in his mother’s skirts, crying just as she had been.

Daisy Henderson stroked her son’s rumpled hair as she raised her tearstained face to Gil. “That’s why I’m cryin’, too, Reverend,” she admitted. “I’m feelin’ guilty ’cause I should be grievin’, but what I mostly feel is relief.”

“No one could blame you for feeling that way, Mrs. Henderson,” he said. “In time, perhaps, you will be able to remember your husband’s better qualities, the good times...” He wondered if the brutality the dead man had exhibited had erased all that from her memory. Surely there had been a time when Henderson had cherished his wife?

She shrugged. “Maybe someday,” she said. “But right now his body’s at the undertaker’s, waitin’ to be buried. Might you have some time to say some words over him tomorrow? I’ll have to borrow some widow’s weeds, too, I expect, just to be proper.”

There was a defiant glint in her eyes that hinted she secretly wanted to put on her Sunday best and celebrate her unexpected freedom.

“I’ll be happy to say some words at the graveside,” he assured her. “And again, I expect folks will understand if you choose not to wear mourning very long. It’s only natural that you’re experiencing a lot of conflicting feelings, Mrs. Henderson, under the circumstances.”

“I don’t know how I’m going to pay for his buryin’, Reverend,” she said bitterly. “I’ve been taking in washing, but... He left me with next to nothing, you know.”

Gil did know about her financial situation from conversations with his father. The church’s Fund for the Deserving Poor had been helping the mother and son keep food on the table even before this. “Don’t give it another thought, Mrs. Henderson. I’m sure the church can help you with that. Would you like me to have a word with the undertaker?”

She rose, gathering her dignity around her like a shawl with many rips and holes in it. “I’d be much obliged, Reverend. Thank you for coming—and not judging me.”

“The Lord understands what you’re feeling, too, Mrs. Henderson,” he assured her.

He was conducting his first wedding on Saturday, and tomorrow he would conduct his first funeral, Gil mused as he walked back down High Street from the Hendersons’ house. How he wished he could get advice from his father on what to say over a grave when the widow felt—understandably—more reprieved than bereaved. He could tell his father, but his father could only stare back at him, his eyes full of answers he couldn’t express. He would have to pray for wisdom and trust that the right words would come to his mouth.

He wondered what Faith would say. Of course he couldn’t divulge what Daisy Henderson had confided in him, but like most of the town, she’d known about Henderson’s brutal character.

He wondered if his father had confided the things he knew about the townspeople to Gil’s mother, secure in the knowledge that his wife wouldn’t gossip. Had his mother had insights about people that she’d shared with his father? His mother had been gone for years, but he remembered her as a very wise lady. Surely his father had shared his concerns with her. Being a pastor would be a lonely business, indeed, without a helpmate.

Not for the first time, Gil thought about how much he needed a wife himself. Immediately Faith’s face appeared in his mind. Is she the one, Lord, or is it just my wishful thinking? I want to act according to Your will. I don’t want to make a mistake again, like I did before, a mistake that could make me unfit to serve You.

But the image of Faith continued to burn itself across his brain. He could imagine telling her all about what had happened today, and all his days. About his doubts and his fears. He would never need to fear that she would be indiscreet with what he confided to her. The words of the Book of Proverbs came to him: “The heart of her husband doth safely trust in her.”

Faith Chadwick. It had a good ring to it.

Chapter Five

Faith was peeling potatoes at the kitchen sink when Gil returned to the parsonage from the undertaker’s.

“Is everything all right?” Faith asked, after reporting that his father was dozing again. “I mean...if it’s all right for me to ask, that is?” she added quickly.

There was certainly no reason not to tell her the news, even if he couldn’t tell her all of it.

After he told her about the death of Mrs. Henderson’s husband, Faith’s lovely green eyes were troubled. “That poor woman, and poor Billy Joe,” she murmured. “Perhaps in time she’ll see it as a blessing in disguise...”

He didn’t tell her that Mrs. Henderson already did. “The burial will be tomorrow morning,” he said.

Faith looked thoughtful. “There probably won’t be any other people there, will there? Caroline will be with your father tomorrow, but I could stay here during the funeral, so she could attend—she and Billy Joe were close, you know, because she was his teacher. It would be a comfort to him. And I’ll tell the spinsters and others about it, so they’ll come, too, and Mrs. Henderson won’t feel alone...”

He was touched by the way her compassion immediately moved her to help in a practical way. “That would be very kind.”

“And perhaps you could take her some of the food the townspeople have brought by for you and your father? They’ve brought more, even after I put away the bounty of this morning. I found this on the doorstep while you were gone,” she said, pointing to another already-plucked chicken, a cake and a pie. “It’s more than any two people could eat all week, especially when one of them isn’t up to taking solid food yet. Which reminds me, Dr. Walker stopped by and said we could try giving him some soft food very slowly at supper tonight.”

“Sure, I can take Mrs. Henderson some of the food,” Gil said. “It’s good that you thought of it. And you don’t have to prepare supper—I can see to it,” he said. “It’s all right if you want to go home.” He could remember his mother being just such an energetic individual, with the members of the congregation being as much her concern as his father’s.

“It’s already cooking,” she said, lifting the lid of a pot on the stove and a savory aroma filled the air. Unless his nose misled him, beef stew simmered within. “Besides, I want to be here when the reverend first tries swallowing soft food. I think he should try applesauce to begin with—Dr. Walker said to make sure it was watered down at first, so it was more like a thick liquid than solid food—until we’re sure he can swallow well.”

So that his father wouldn’t choke. Gil sighed. His father was going to have to learn to eat all over again, as if he were a baby. Gil said a quick prayer for patience, both for his father and himself—and one of thankfulness for Faith’s nursing ability.

“I thought once you came home, we could get him up in the wheelchair for a little while,” Faith went on. “The doctor says the more he’s up, the better, but he won’t be able to tolerate being out of bed very long at first.”

“All right, let’s try it now,” he said, gesturing in the direction of his father’s room. Minutes later, when they had lifted the frail old man into the wheelchair and wheeled him out into the sunshine-lit parlor, the look in his father’s eyes was all the reward any son could have asked.

Later that evening, Gil told his father the whole story about Henderson’s death, including the parts he couldn’t tell Faith. His father listened attentively, and Gil found it helpful to speak his thoughts aloud, even though his father couldn’t advise him.

“Mrs. Henderson and her son need our prayers as well as any help we can give them, Papa,” he said. “But of course you knew that as soon as I told you what had happened.”

His father nodded.

Gil sighed. “Papa, I can’t help thinking how sad it must be to live one’s life, and have the person who should be closest to you only feel relief that you’re gone,” he murmured. “I’d like to think someone would miss me when I die.”

His father nodded again, and jerked a shaky finger at the daguerreotype portrait of him and his wife which sat on the top of a bookcase.

“I know you miss Mama,” Gil said. “I miss her, too.”

His father then pointed at the thin gold band he wore, the ring that had once been his wife’s, but now fit his thin, gnarled finger. Then he pointed directly at Gil. He mumbled something unintelligible, then looked exasperated at himself.

Was he asking Gil what Gil thought he was asking? “Are you saying I need a wife, Papa?”

The old man nodded emphatically and repeatedly, then turned his left palm upward while shrugging the same shoulder, as if he was asking what Gil thought.

Gil was pleased that he had judged correctly, and that his father had guessed what had been so much on his mind of late. “Yes, I’ve been doing some thinking about that very thing, Papa,” he said, grinning. “Did you have anyone in mind?”

His father shrugged, but there was a distinct gleam in his eyes.

Gil knew his father probably wouldn’t have told him, even before his stroke. He’d always encouraged Gil to make his own decisions—with the Lord’s direction, of course. If only he’d always included prayer in his decision making...

“You’re not being much help, Papa,” he said, letting his father see that he was teasing. But then he gathered himself to ask a daring question. “What do you think of Faith Bennett?” He found himself holding his breath as he waited for the answer.

His father’s gaze went to the ceiling, as if to indicate he was thinking about it. Then he looked back at Gil, held out the hand that hadn’t been affected by the stroke and pointed his thumb up.

He approved! Gil felt a surge of encouragement. “So you think that’s a good idea, Papa?” he asked in confirmation.

His father took hold of the hand he couldn’t move with his good hand, and held up the hands, clasped together.

Gil didn’t have to guess at the message—Pray about it.

* * *

“Cup,” Faith repeated patiently, sitting by the preacher’s bedside and pointing to the object he had been drinking tea from, with her help, a little while ago.

“K—kkkk—” he repeated, managing the hard consonant but not the rest of the word. “K-k-kkk,” he said again, then fisted his left hand and pounded it in the mattress, his face furrowing in frustration.

“You’re doing better, Reverend,” Faith assured him. “Remember, only days ago you couldn’t say even that much. If you keep working on it, I just know your speech will come back in time. Perhaps you’ll even be preaching to us again one day.”

He gave a skeptical snort, then a look which said, plain as day, I don’t believe it, but you’re sweet to try to make me think so.

Faith couldn’t help chuckling aloud. “They say when you’re feeling ornery it’s a sign of recovery,” she said, and he flashed his crooked smile.

She heard the door open, and a moment later Caroline appeared. “Your son conducted a very comforting graveside service, Reverend,” she said as she entered the room. “The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, I suppose.”

Pride twinkled from the old man’s eyes, but he made a gesture that showed he wanted to hear more.

“Mrs. Henderson and Billy Joe are doing as well as could be expected,” Caroline went on. “I think it helped her to have others there to support her, thanks to Faith getting the word out.”

Reverend Chadwick reached a gnarled hand out and patted Faith’s arm, clearly commending her.

“It was the least I could do,” Faith assured him, warmed by his regard.

“Gil’s escorting Mrs. Henderson and Billy Joe back home, but he said to tell you both he’d be back soon,” Caroline said. “Thanks for making it possible for me to attend, Faith. I know Billy Joe appreciated it. You can go home, now that I’m back. You must have other things to do. Unless you wanted to see Reverend Gil?” she added, when Faith remained seated.

“Oh...oh, no, I didn’t...guess I was woolgathering,” she said, hoping Caroline hadn’t noticed the heat she felt blooming in her cheeks. She didn’t want the bride-to-be, or anyone else, to guess she had any special feeling for Gil Chadwick—a feeling she must continue to conceal.

“Yes, of course,” she said, jumping to her feet. “I have neglected my chores at home lately... Now, be sure to go slow when you give the reverend his dinner—maybe some more applesauce and the mashed beans, with sips of water in between. And you’ll need to exercise his limbs this afternoon, and have Gil get him up in his wheelchair—”

Caroline waved a hand. “You went over all that this morning,” she reminded Faith, chuckling. “I can handle this. Now shoo!”

Faith hastened home, forcing herself not to look down the street when she left the parsonage to see if Gil was coming.

* * *

By the time Saturday arrived, Gil’s father’s condition had improved so much that he was spending much of the day out of bed and in his wheelchair. Even though he still couldn’t speak intelligibly, and his right hand remained useless in his lap, he seemed in all other ways much improved, so much so that Dr. Walker agreed with Gil that his father could come to the wedding.

“Just for the ceremony and an hour or so at the reception afterward, but I’ll be there, and I’ll have his nurse for the day take him home sooner if I judge he’s getting too tired,” the doctor told Gil. “Even happy events can be fatiguing, of course.”

“You hear that, Papa? You can go, but don’t you dare try to get up and dance with the bride,” Gil said, grinning at his father.

His father pointed at himself. “G-g-good,” he said. The word was slurred and indistinct, but recognizable nonetheless.

Gil whooped with triumph and swooped his arms around his father in an exuberant hug. “You’re saying you’ll be good? Oh, Papa, God is good, too!”

* * *

Anyone passing through Simpson Creek Saturday afternoon must have thought it a ghost town, for everyone was at the church. George Detwiler had even closed the saloon for the day.

The wedding procession had to be delayed while the entire congregation, including the bride and groom, greeted Reverend Chadwick in his wheelchair, but no one seemed to mind. Now, as Sarah began playing the “Wedding March,” Louisa Wheeler parked the old preacher next to her by the last pew and slid in next to Faith, who was sitting with her parents.

“Don’t they look wonderful?” Louisa whispered, indicating the bride and groom standing in front of Gil at the front of the church, flanked by Jack Collier’s twin daughters.

Faith nodded, watching with misty eyes. There was no doubt the rancher who had finally won the schoolmarm’s heart was a very good-looking fellow. But a shaft of sunlight had found its way through a golden portion of the stained-glass cross window behind the preacher, and it illuminated Gil’s light brown hair as if he wore a halo.

Gil Chadwick was not for her, she reminded herself once again, but there was no harm in looking, was there?

She hadn’t realized she had sighed aloud until Louisa, misreading her reason for sighing, leaned over and whispered, “They must be so happy...the twins just adore Caroline, you know.”

Faith just nodded again, not wanting to miss any more of Gil’s resonant voice saying the old, traditional words of the marriage vows.

* * *

“I now pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss your bride.”

Gil took the opportunity to take a deep breath while the bride and groom kissed and everyone applauded. It was done. He had married his first couple, and had not stammered as he led the couple in the recital of their vows. His hands hadn’t shaken, despite his nervousness. He’d managed not to drop the ring, even though Jack Collier’s hands trembled when he’d handed it to him. He’d spoken about the wedding feast at Cana at which Jesus performed his first miracle, and had kept his sermon eloquent but to the point.

He looked over the heads of the new couple and the congregation to where his father sat in his wheelchair, and was gratified to see the old man beaming proudly at him, as if to say, “Well done.”

Then the attendees rose to their feet as the new husband and wife began their march back up the aisle as the music swelled again.

Next to his father, he spotted Louisa, his father’s nurse for the day, and then his gaze landed on Faith, sitting on Louisa’s other side, heart-stoppingly lovely in a dress the color of bluebonnets, and he looked no further.

He could have sworn she’d been looking at him until a second before his eyes had found her, but it was just as well that she no longer did. This way, he could feast on the sight of her as she watched the new husband and wife pass by.

Did she have any idea how pretty she was? His pulse quickened at the thought of spending time with her at the wedding reception. Now that it seemed clear his father was on the mend, Gil planned to make it clear to her and anyone who cared to notice that he was interested in her. Faith—what a perfect name for a future preacher’s wife!

* * *

“Did you notice how Reverend Gil was looking at you just a moment ago?” Faith’s mother remarked as they waited to congratulate the bridal couple. “I believe he’s sweet on you, dear.”

“Oh, I’m sure you’re imagining things, Mama,” Faith told her mother, hoping no one had heard her. Sometimes Lydia Bennett’s voice carried more than she meant it to, for she was slightly hard of hearing and didn’t realize how loudly she spoke.

“Time will tell,” her father said. “About time our young preacher found a wife and settled down. I don’t reckon he could do any better than our daughter.”

It was rare to hear her father express approval of her, yet his words made Faith wince inwardly. Just about anyone would be better for him than me.

Once in the social hall where the wedding reception was to be held, her parents drifted toward other older couples they were friends with and Faith joined a cluster of Spinsters’ Club ladies.

“How are you doing out on the ranch with your husband off on that cattle drive? I’m sure you must miss him dreadfully,” Faith said to Milly Brookfield, whose baby son, Nicholas, was being handed from lady to lady, much to his delight and theirs. Clearly he’d inherited much of his British father’s charm.

“I miss him every minute of the day,” Milly admitted. “But I’m doing all right. Little Nick keeps me busy.”

“I’ve begged her to come stay with us while Nick’s gone, but she got all of our father’s stubbornness,” her sister, Sarah, said. “I even suggested renting the Spencers’ house because it’s still standing empty just down the street, if she thinks it’d be too crowded at our house.”

“Nonsense,” Milly retorted. “What kind of ranch wife would I be if I stayed in town the whole time my husband’s away? Besides, I’ll have Jack and Caroline as my neighbors, as soon as they get back from their wedding trip,” she said, nodding toward the bridal couple, who were speaking to old Reverend Chadwick and Mrs. Detwiler nearby.

“Milly, I just can’t rest easy about your being out there so far away with only the cowhands who stayed behind, as loyal as they are,” Sarah said. “Why, anything could happen.”

“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.

Once they’d obtained their slices of cake, plus an additional one for his father, they sat down at the table with his father, and told Louisa they would stay with Reverend Chadwick so she could circulate for a while.

Sitting here with Gil and his father, conversing with some of the older married couples sitting nearby, Faith pretended she didn’t see the group of younger women gathering near the bride in an open area of the hall.

Milly came over to their table. “Get up there, Faith. Caroline’s about to throw the bouquet,” she said.

“Oh, no thanks, I’m fine here,” Faith demurred. “I’m helping the reverend with his cake.” She had no wish to take part in the tradition ritual, especially in view of her resolve about Gil.

Sarah had come to join her sister. “Go on, Faith. Are you a true spinster or not?”

“I don’t like making a spectacle of myself. Let Polly win,” she muttered, feeling Gil’s gaze on her. “You know how much she wants to.”

Faith saw Reverend Chadwick frown crookedly, then, with his unaffected left hand, make a shooing motion. She could hardly refuse the old preacher’s urging without looking like a spoilsport.

“I don’t think you’ll have to worry about Polly,” Prissy said, joining the others. “I saw her and Anson strolling around out in the churchyard, arm in arm. My cousin’s an excellent decoy!”

Faith looked at the group, and saw that Prissy was right. Polly wasn’t among the young ladies lined up to catch the bouquet. Maude Harkey was there, and Jane Jeffries, Ella Justiss, Kate Patterson and her cousin Louisa—as well as a trio of younger girls barely old enough to put their hair up, but no Polly. How surprising, she thought. Anson Tyler was either taking Prissy’s request very seriously or he’d found something unexpectedly appealing in their fellow spinster. Faith fervently hoped it was the latter, and that Anson wasn’t just playing a game. Polly was searching for love, and Faith hoped she wouldn’t get hurt in the process.

Faith decided to give in gracefully. But even after she had joined the others waiting for the bouquet to be tossed, she was so lost in thought that she missed Caroline tossing the bouquet, and flinched when it hit her in the head. Blushing with embarrassment as everyone in the hall began to laugh and clap, she smoothed some curls that had been knocked askew before she picked up the ribbon-bound cluster of wildflowers.

“Better wake up, Faith!” Caroline teased, merriment dancing in her eyes. “Looks like you’ll be the next bride!”

Faith ducked her head to avoid the stares and amusement as she returned to her seat next to Gil. She should have stuck to her guns about staying put at the table.

“Well done, Miss Faith,” Gil praised, grinning.

“Don’t laugh, your turn is coming,” she said darkly. “I see the groom getting up, so the garter toss will be next.”

“Oh, I’m sure that members of the clergy are exempt,” Gil protested, but without any real alarm.

Sure enough, just then Jack Collier invited the bachelors to gather up front.

“Go on up there, Reverend Gil,” Milly urged Gil. “There’s not all that many bachelors. That’s why I started the Spinsters’ Club after all.”

“Yes, go on, Reverend Gil,” the mayor urged.

“Why, Mayor Gilmore, you’re unmarried also,” Gil retorted. “Seems like you need to be right up there with me if I go.”

“Ah, but my lady and I have already set a date, as we spoke about with you a little while ago,” Gilmore countered, giving Maria Fairchild a fond look. “So I have nothing to prove.”

Eventually, Gil let himself be persuaded and joined Caroline’s younger brother, Dan, a couple of other youths and Anson Tyler, who had ambled back into the hall with Polly just in time to join the others.

“Oh, pooh, Cousin Anson can’t bear to lose any contest, whether it’s horse racing or a shooting match,” Faith heard Prissy fuss. “Why did he have to come back right now? He’ll grab that garter whether he has any intention of marrying or not.”

And so he did, jumping for the backward-thrown garter as if he were part bullfrog. Gil made a good effort, but he was a little too far to the right to reach it, and Anson plucked it neatly out of the air. Everyone clapped and the other men slapped Prissy’s cousin on the back and congratulated him. Waving the little article triumphantly, he returned to where Polly jumped up and down, clapping her hands.

“I was counting on you, Reverend Gil!” Milly said in mock reproof as Gil came back to the table. “You let us down!”

“Don’t listen to my sister,” Sarah told Gil. “You gave it a good try—that’s what counts.”

Faith was secretly relieved. If Gil had won as she had, there would have been far too much attention paid to the two of them. Before she even had a chance to explain to Gil why they could not be a courting couple, the gossips would have it that she and Gil were as good as wed.

Perhaps she was getting ahead of herself, though. Gil had sought out her company today, but it would be presumptuous of her to assume he would ask to call on her until he actually did so. Looking across the hall, she saw that Prissy’s cousin Anson was once more deep in conversation with Dan Wallace and a couple of other men, while Polly hovered uncertainly at his side, as if uncertain whether he expected her to linger.

Deep within her, however, Faith knew that she had not imagined the way Gil’s eyes had lit up when he approached her, or the warmth in them when his gaze was focused on hers. He was attracted to her, she could feel it in her bones. It would just be a matter of time until he asked Faith to accompany him to dinner again, to some event or even just on a walk.

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