by Lori Wick
“You won’t tell anyone about my stash, will you, Reese?”
“No, ma’am.” Reese grinned in return.
“You’re a good girl, Reese.” Having stuffed two notes into the pocket of her apron, Mrs. Greenlowe handed the tin back so Reese could replace it. “I don’t trust banks, you know. Now, where’s Zantow this morning?”
“He sent me to tell you he’d be a bit late.”
“I don’t trust men either,” she proclaimed. “But Zantow does good work, and I’m willing to wait.” She began to turn away but whipped back around. “Don’t you tell him I said that!”
“I won’t,” Reese agreed, a small laugh escaping her.
“Come on,” she turned once again. “Have some breakfast with me.”
Reese fell to helping in the kitchen, laying the table, and putting the tea on. She did these things to the sound of Mrs. Greenlowe’s voice. That lady had opinions on many issues, and Reese quietly heard her out.
“Your father didn’t do right by you.” This was the issue on Mrs. Greenlowe’s mind as they finally sat at the table. “He had no business including you in the deal when he indentured himself.”
Reese silently agreed but knew there was no point in commenting.
“Would you like me to pray?” Reese spoke for the first time in several minutes.
“Go ahead, Reese,” Mrs. Greenlowe agreed quietly, respectfully bowing her head.
“Heavenly Father, I thank You for this food and for this day. Please bless Mrs. Greenlowe, and help Mr. Zantow to feel better. I pray in the name of Your Son. Amen.”
“You didn’t ask for a blessing on yourself,” Mrs. Greenlowe commented immediately.
“I did earlier today,” Reese replied cheerfully.
“You can’t do it more than once?”
“I can,” Reese clarified. “I just didn’t this time.”
“You’re a good girl, Reese,” her hostess commented again, bending over her plate to eat. Mrs. Greenlowe had always believed Reese to be a good girl for not rebelling against her circumstances. Reese didn’t agree with her but knew that an explanation right now would fall on deaf ears. Reese hadn’t rebelled, but neither did she think the label “good” fit her very well.
“What will keep you busy today?” Mrs. Greenlowe asked.
“I’ve got to get out into the garden. I’ll be picking and putting up all week.”
“Well, don’t feel like you have to linger, but tell Zantow I want him here.”
Reese was almost done, so there was no need to rush. She thanked Mrs. Greenlowe for breakfast and made her way back to the house. She knew a moment of relief to see that Mr. Zantow was just getting ready to head out.
He had no instructions for her, so Reese went about her business, more than happy to have the house and yard to herself. Without further delay, she put on an old apron and went to work.
About 24 hours later, Douglas Muldoon exited the new meetinghouse, his son Martin beside him, and shut the door in their wake. They were still short two pews, but that didn’t matter. They had met using chairs for a long time, and even though the room didn’t look done without that last row, the pews they had would hold them.
His 17-year-old daughter Hillary had volunteered to clean the new building, along with a few of the other young ladies from the church family, and all was looking to be in order for their first Sunday.
Douglas was pleased, but he knew he would also miss the meetings they had held at the house for so many years. It had been a good time of hospitality, with great growth and fellowship.
“You look sad,” Martin said.
“I’m not, Marty. I was just thinking about some things.”
“Was it what we had for dinner? ’Cause I didn’t like it either.”
Douglas wanted to scold him for not being thankful, but all he could do was laugh.
“What didn’t you like exactly?” he finally managed.
“Tomato pie. I thought it was going to be pumpkin or apple.”
“Pumpkins and apples are not in season right now,” Douglas said reasonably. “And you saw the cake your sister Hillary made. Did you really think your mother was going to serve a dessert in the middle of the meal?”
“Well, I hoped she would.”
Douglas laughed again. Martin was six and as honest as the day was long. At times he needed to be reminded to be thankful, but he was refreshingly forthcoming, and right now Douglas didn’t have the heart to get after him.
“Did you eat some of the tomato pie?”
“Yes, a small piece.”
“And once you realized it wasn’t dessert, did you enjoy it?”
The face he gave Douglas told he wanted to say yes but couldn’t manage.
Douglas fought the laughter this time, but he did smile. With a gentle hand to his son’s small shoulder, he simply steered him in the direction of home.
Jace had let a few days pass. In fact, it was already Saturday evening. His questions were almost constantly on his mind, but he didn’t allow his wife to know this. He wanted to make sure she felt comfortable and cared for right now. That concerned him more than his questions for Douglas Muldoon, but if he wasn’t careful, Maddie would never believe that.
“How are you feeling?” Jace asked after evening tea, having noticed that Maddie had not been very hungry.
She frowned a little. “Why do you ask?”
“You just didn’t eat much. I hoped you weren’t feeling sick.”
Maddie hesitated. Jace watched her, wondering what he’d missed.
“I had a craving,” she quietly admitted.
Not knowing what to say, Jace didn’t comment.
“I was very hungry for pie.”
“Well, we had that pie you served after dinner. Did you have some of that?”
“I ate the rest of it,” she confessed. “Almost a whole pie. That’s why I didn’t want tea.”
Jace’s hand had come up to cover his upper lip, but that didn’t hide the laughter in his eyes. Maddie glanced his way, but she didn’t want to smile, so she looked swiftly away.
“You think I’m a pig, don’t you?”
“No, I’m just glad you’re not sick. I did wonder, however, why you didn’t offer me anything sweet with tea. You always do.”
“I have some cookies.”
“It’s all right. I’m fine.”
Maddie heard the amusement in his voice but still wouldn’t look at him. She knew that he watched her, but she couldn’t stand to return his gaze.
“Maddie,” Jace called to her and was ignored. “Madalyn,” he tried, but she would have none of it.
She heard him move and knew that he would be beside her in a moment. She was on the sofa in the parlor, and he sat down, his arm sliding along the back until it brought him very close.
“Mrs. Randall,” he whispered coaxingly.
This time she smiled and let him pull her head to his shoulder.
“I love you,” he said.
“I love you too,” Maddie replied, never tired of saying it or hearing it.
Jace held her close, truly glad she wasn’t sick but also debating the question in his mind about services in the morning. He forced himself to push it aside. He wanted to attend where Mr. Muldoon taught, but something stopped him from mentioning it to his wife. He held her as well as his tongue, hoping there would be an opportunity the following week.
Reese sat on the floor of her dark bedroom, her back against the door, and listened to Mr. Zantow bang around in the kitchen. It was late, and he’d just arrived back from the tavern. She knew the lock on her door worked, but when he was especially loud, she felt better blocking the door with her body as well.
She didn’t want Sunday to end this way. Mr. Zantow usually did most of his drinking on Saturday nights, but lately he’d added Sunday as well. Reese gave her head a little shake and remembered the nice time they’d had in the new meetinghouse that morning. Douglas had taught about faithfulness, and Reese had learned some su
rprising truths. She was glad no one made a big deal of the new building. It had been fun to see it done and to smell the freshly cut wood, but for the most part it was business as usual.
“Reese!” Mr. Zantow suddenly shouted, but Reese knew enough not to come out.
Mr. Zantow shouted one more time, but this time with less volume. Reese thought he might be wandering away, and she relaxed some. Debating whether she wanted to go to bed or sleep right where she was, Reese deliberately shifted her mind back to the sermon and what Douglas might tell them next week.
Maddie could hardly believe she was there, and with her husband beside her. She had watched this meetinghouse being built but had made herself not think about the pastor and the conversations they’d shared in the past. Now her own spouse had an interest that made hers look tame. He had questions and was determined to find answers.
Jace had asked Maddie midweek to think about going to the new meetinghouse with him and she’d agreed, but not until last night had she finally asked him why he was so urgent. His face and voice a mixture of humility and excitement, Jace had revealed everything.
“It’s the baby,” he had said softly. “I’ve never felt so excited and frightened at the same time. This is what I’ve dreamed. Almost from the moment I met you, I wanted this: a life with you, in our own home, and with children. Now that it’s happening, I find I don’t have all the answers. I can see this little person looking up to us and asking questions, and we can’t tell him a thing.”
“Do you remember when you asked me about what our children might believe?”
“I remember.”
“I said that they would believe what we believe.”
Maddie watched her husband grow speechless. She waited, but he was still quiet.
“Jace, what is it?”
“I don’t know what I believe, Maddie. I’m not sure of anything. I can hardly think of anything else, it has me so bothered.”
Maddie could have chosen to be angry, but she remembered how patient he’d been with her in the past. And in truth, she still had her own unanswered questions. They weren’t made more urgent by the baby’s arrival, but at night she was still inclined to fall asleep with her mind unsettled and confused. It wasn’t at all restful.
“Are you all right?” Jace suddenly took her hand and bent toward her.
Maddie nodded, glad they were in one of the back pews. She felt as though everyone had stared at them, and many people had looked when they came in, but the faces had been smiling, and Maddie remembered the one other time she’d met with this church family. Her sister-in-law had been with her, and everyone had been extremely kind and welcoming.
A moment later, Douglas Muldoon was up front, smiling and welcoming the congregation. Maddie’s apprehension melted away in the next few minutes. Indeed she might have been alone in the room. She hung on every word spoken and listened carefully to the verses read and songs sung.
She didn’t want to talk right now—she might miss something— but just as soon as the service was over, she would thank her husband for bringing her along.
“We’ve been invited to the Muldoons’ for dinner,” Jace told Maddie as they exited the meetinghouse.
“Who invited us?” Maddie asked quietly, her eyes huge.
“Mr. Muldoon.”
Maddie’s mouth opened, but no words came out. Jace watched her.
“We don’t have to go,” he started, but Maddie had taken his arm.
“Please, Jace, don’t go without me.”
He knew she wasn’t talking about dinner. Not caring if anyone noticed, Jace put his arms around her.
“Remember what I said about giving up?”
“Yes.”
“We won’t do that. Not on our questions, and not on each other.”
“What if he can’t answer our questions?”
“I don’t think that’s our problem, Maddie. I think we’re in greater danger of not wanting the answers.”
Maddie looked up at him, knowing how true it was.
“Maddie?” Jace asked quietly, calling her name and leaving it up to her.
“Let’s go to the Muldoons’,” Maddie answered, not sure if the fluttering under her ribs was about the decision she’d just made or the dinner to follow.
Two
“You mentioned a verse about creation,” Jace mentioned over dinner in the Muldoons’ parlor.
Douglas nodded, and Jace took that as permission to continue.
“If the gospel is the news that Jesus Christ died for the sins of man, I don’t understand how you tied that verse into the gospel.”
“Did you catch my use of the word ‘theocentricity’ this morning?” Douglas asked.
“I think so.”
“Are you familiar with that word?”
“No, but I know it’s talking about something being in the center.”
“That’s right. Theo is the Greek word for God. God-centered. God in the center.”
“The center of what?”
“Of everything: creation, Scripture, our lives. There is no better place to start to get a grip on that truth than Genesis, because it shows God’s authority over His creation. And that tells us that He’s to be the center of our lives.”
Jace nodded, taking it in, not aware of what was going on with his wife.
“Mother,” Hillary said quietly from the other end of the table.
Alison leaned toward her daughter.
“Is Maddie all right?”
Alison looked toward Maddie to see what her daughter was talking about and found their guest very pale. The men were still talking, and Maddie was listening, but Alison stretched her hand over and touched her arm.
“Are you feeling all right?” she asked quietly.
Maddie felt a little light-headed but didn’t want to interrupt the conversation. She gave Alison a smile and a nod, but the older woman was not convinced. She was still watching her when Jace looked Maddie’s way.
“Maddie?” he began.
“I’m all right,” she said, not sure what everyone was seeing but not feeling all that bad. “May I ask a question?”
“Certainly,” her husband agreed, his eyes still watchful.
“Is there a verse that talks about this theocentricity?”
“All of Scripture is theocentric,” Douglas explained. “But one of my favorite verses on that subject is John 1:3, which says, ‘All things were made by him; and without him was not anything made that was made.’ And also the first chapter of Colossians, which says in part, ‘For by him were all things created, that are in heaven, and that are in earth, visible and invisible, whether they be thrones, or dominions, or principalities, or powers—all things were created by him, and for him; and he is before all things, and by him all things consist. And he is the head of the body, the church; who is the beginning, the firstborn from the dead, that in all things he might have the preeminence. For it pleased the Father that in him should all fullness dwell.’”
“Do you have the whole Bible memorized?” Maddie had to ask.
“I wish I did, Maddie. I can recite those verses for you because our church family has been studying that subject for a long time.”
Douglas glanced at his wife and found her hiding a smile. Douglas had to do the same. Alison often said he had every verse of Scripture memorized. It was a common teasing point between them.
It was not long, however, before they turned their attention back to their guests: Douglas to the questions Jace and Maddie had, and Alison with a “mother’s” eye on Maddie’s pallor.
“Reese,” Mr. Zantow called from the table in the parlor during his Sunday dinner. Reese left her dinner at the kitchen table and went to him.
“Do we have any more of that berry preserve you put up last summer?”
“I think so,” Reese answered, turning back to the kitchen to look.
Had someone been watching them—someone who didn’t know the details—they would have been amazed at the transformation. Reese
found the jam, gave it to Mr. Zantow, and was thanked for her efforts.
When Mr. Zantow was not drunk, he was not an unkind individual, and he treated Reese with a detached level of courtesy. They were not friends; she was very clearly his servant. It was only when he was drunk that he frightened her.
Reese’s papers bound her for two more years, but she had thought a number of times that if she didn’t have to live in the same house with Mr. Zantow, she could easily go on working for him.
Looking for dessert, he came into the kitchen when he was done with the meal she had fixed. Sometimes he called for it, and sometimes he came seeking.
“Is there dessert?” he asked, knowing there would be.
Reese stood up again, having grown used to the fact that she towered over him. He was a small man, slimly built and not even of an average height. Standing almost a foot above him, Reese thought she could pick out the top of his balding head in a snowstorm.
“Whortleberry pudding,” she said, plucking the pan from the shelf by the hearth, knowing it would still be warm. “Do you want me to serve it up, or do you want the whole pan?”
“You can serve it,” he told her, taking the coffeepot with him and returning to the parlor. “With cream,” he called back to her, and Reese served a generous portion for him and covered it with cream.
She prepared her own dessert when she got back, wishing he’d not taken the coffee but content to sit and eat her own dessert before she was called again.
“How are you feeling?” Cathy Shephard asked of her niece, Maddie.
“I feel fine, a little odd at times but no complaints.”
The women had shared a warm hug before sitting down in the parlor. Cathy had been working in the kitchen, but she wanted a break.
“I worried a bit when you didn’t come for services yesterday.”
