by Kit Morgan
His wife blanched. “Oh my goodness, I haven’t thought about that yet.”
He laughed. “Don’t look so worried. Why don’t we go out tonight?”
“Really?”
“Certainly. There’s a café near the mercantile – I’ve gone there often when I’m sick of my own cooking and I don’t want to overburden Mrs. Pleet. Care to join me?”
“I’d love to.”
He stepped away from the desk and took her in his arms. Something was different about her. “I think I like you better this way.”
“Excuse me?”
“You stood up for yourself today. I think it’s done you a world of good. You faced your fear, Leora.”
Her eyes brightened. “I did, didn’t I?”
“Feels good, doesn’t it?”
“Yes,” she said and nodded. “It does! And you know what?”
“What, sweetheart?” he said and brushed a lock of hair from her face. The urge to kiss her was overwhelming, but he didn’t dare – if he did, he’d want more. He wanted to make sure she had a good dinner first.
Her cheeks suddenly turned pink. “I did what was right, that’s all. I wasn’t nervous – not like I thought I’d be.”
“There, you see? That’s part of what being a pastor’s wife is all about – doing the right thing. I’m proud of you.” He leaned down and kissed her on the cheek. Her skin was soft, warm, with a faint smell of lilacs. “Let’s go to dinner, then we’ll come home and … have dessert,” he finished with a waggle of his eyebrows.
Leora gave him a playful slap on the arm. “You and your sweet tooth. Whatever am I to do with you?”
“Feed me, Mrs. Drake. What else?”
* * *
By the next play rehearsal, Leora was feeling much more confident in her abilities to handle Ophelia Rutherford. But at this point, Mrs. Rutherford was only part of the challenge. Others had approached her about helping them with this or that, and she found it hard to say no. “I’ll see what I can do, Mrs. Davis. I had no idea the town was starting an orphanage.”
“We’re in the first stages, but we thought it best if you were involved from the start,” Mrs. Davis explained.
“You’re very kind to think of me, but I do have other commitments.”
“Understandable, you being the pastor’s wife and all. But who better to head our new venture?” Mrs. Davis said with a happy smile.
Leora tried not to cringe. An orphanage was a worthy cause, and how could she say no to that? “Again, I’ll see what I can do.”
“Thank you ever so much, Mrs. Drake.” Mrs. Davis turned and went back to her pew.
At least the rehearsal was going smoothly, and more men had come to join the ranks. It freed up some of the women to do other duties. Otherwise they’d have had to play a part and take care of things like costumes, sets and refreshments. What had Ophelia been thinking – had she been trying to work the women of the church to death?
“Leora,” Mrs. Pleet said as she joined her. “Have you seen Freder … I mean, Mr. Short?”
“Frederick?” Leora said with a sly smile, even though she knew Mrs. Pleet called him by his first name all the time anyway.
Mrs. Pleet turned a lovely shade of pink. “You stop that,” she whispered.
“Has he asked you for another walk?”
“Not yet,” Mrs. Pleet said as she glanced around. “But I’m sure he will.”
“I’m happy for you, and I think the two of you deserve to be happy together.”
“So do I, but let’s let him enjoy the chase,” Mrs. Pleet said with a wink.
“I think he’s trying on his costume,” Leora said.
“That’s why I’m trying to find him, in case I need to hem anything.”
“Check the church office,” Leora told her. “Theron is letting the men use it for a dressing room today.”
“I’ll do that,” Mrs. Pleet said, then rushed off toward the office.
Leora sighed in contentment, then turned to the rest of the participants. “Okay, everyone, those of you who already have your costumes ready can set them aside and find a spot to practice in. I need our Archangel, Mary and Joseph to start with.”
Mrs. Rutherford came forward, two large paper wings in her hands. “I suppose you expect me to put these on?” she snapped.
“Not at all,” Leora said gently. “This isn’t a full dress rehearsal. Today we’re just trying to make sure everything fits. Do they?”
Mrs. Rutherford stared at her, then at the wings. “I … don’t know.”
“Here, let me help you put them on,” Leora offered.
Mrs. Rutherford’s mouth opened, closed, opened again. “Oh very well, if you must!” she sniffed.
“We won’t know until we try,” she said with a smile. She’d decided to arm herself with kindness around Mrs. Rutherford and see what happened. She helped put on the wings, then turned the woman around to look at her. “Why Mrs. Rutherford, you make a lovely angel!”
Mrs. Rutherford raised an eyebrow at her. “I do?” She turned this way and that trying to glimpse the wings on her back. “I do hope I don’t tear them.”
“Just be sure you have someone help you put them on. You can leave them here at the church if you’d like – I’m sure Pastor Drake won’t mind if we keep them in his office so they won’t get damaged.”
Mrs. Rutherford pressed her mouth into a firm line and nodded curtly. “Better here than at my home. I don’t want to have to cart these things back and forth.”
“Do you want help taking them off?” Leora asked.
“No. Might as well leave them now that they’re on,” she snapped.
“Very well – and again, you look lovely,” Leora said with a smile.
Mrs. Rutherford’s face softened. She nodded again, turned and took her place.
Leora’s smile broadened. Killing Mrs. Rutherford with kindness was possibly the best idea she’d ever had!
Eleven
Before Leora knew it, Thanksgiving had come and gone, rehearsals for the Christmas play were now three times a week, Mrs. Pleet and Mr. Short were officially courting … and Leora discovered that she was falling in love. She finally felt like she was getting a grasp on her new life. She’d even stopped burning pancakes.
Theron stabbed at the golden stack on the table and put some on his plate. “Anything special happening today?”
“Just the usual Wednesday things,” she said. “I’m meeting with Mrs. Oliver and Mrs. Brown this morning, then with Mrs. Davis, then play rehearsal this afternoon, and …”
“Whoa, slow down,” he said with a chuckle. “What’s this about Mrs. Davis?”
“Regarding the orphanage. She’s on the planning committee and asked me to join her.”
“What about the Ladies’ Society for Godly Living? Are they still asking you to run for president?”
“Yes, but I don’t have to get involved with that until January.”
“I thought the post began in January. That means elections will be this month.”
“Oh dear,” she said, glancing at the calendar on the wall. “You’re right. What am I going to do about that?”
“You’d better figure it out. Remember, you also have the last few Christmas concerts to attend to.”
“Oh for Heaven’s sake, you’re right – I’ve got three more to go. The last one was lovely, wasn’t it?”
“Yes, it was - and I’ve never seen the church so full, except for Easter. You’re doing a fine job, Leora. I’m proud of you.”
Leora’s eyes beamed with admiration. She’d been blessed with a wonderful man, and the more time she spent with him, the more in love she fell. But did he feel the same? Several times now he’d almost said “I love you,” or so she assumed. But he always stopped himself for some reason and she couldn’t figure out why. Unless, of course, he doesn’t.
She didn’t think that was it … but then, why else would he not say it? Then again, why hadn’t she? She knew how she felt toward him. But she was a mai
l-order bride. It’s not like they’d had time to court and fall in love between walks in the park and evenings spent sitting on a porch swing. They’d become husband and wife immediately, in every way they could. There were no emotions involved at first. But now…
“The filing cabinet should be here – I’m going to see if it’s at the post office. Would you like to come?”
“Mrs. Oliver and Mrs. Brown,” she reminded him.
“Yes, that’s right. Well, see to your business with them and I’ll go get our filing cabinet. Thank you for tackling that wretched corner. You’re a brave, brave woman, my dear – much braver than I.”
“Only when it comes to mounds of paper,” she said.
Theron laughed. “Nonetheless …” He finished his pancakes, wiped his mouth with his napkin, then got up from the table. “I’m off then. Try not to let anyone else rope you into joining their cause, lest I forget I have a wife.”
“You’ll see me in the evenings,” she countered.
“I want more of you than just a few hours in the evening, Leora. I miss you during the day too.”
She gave him a heartfelt smile and got up from the table. “And I miss you. It’ll be nice when the holidays are over and we can spend more time together.”
“I have a feeling that if you’re not careful, you’ll be involved in a lot more than you are now. I’m glad everyone likes you, but know that you’re only one person, dear wife – you can only do so much.”
She kissed him, then leaned against his chest. “I understand. But I finally feel like I’m accomplishing something. Even Mrs. Rutherford doesn’t bark at me anymore.”
“A true Christmas miracle – and a testimony to your ability to handle people.” He kissed the top of her head. “You see? I told you you’d be a good pastor's wife.”
She hugged him. “Yes, you did. Thank you for believing in me.”
He pulled away to look at her. “Thank you for marrying me. I don’t know what I would’ve done if you hadn’t come along.”
“I didn’t just come along, remember – you sent away for me, much like you sent away for that filing cabinet. Speaking of which, you’d better go get it.”
“If it’s here.” He kissed her hair. “I’d rather spend more time with you …” He worked his way down to her cheeks, nibbled at her earlobe, then found her mouth. When he broke the kiss he held her close, and she wondered if he would finally say it. “Leora,” he whispered.
A thrill went up her spine and she waited in anticipation, but no words followed her name and her heart sank a notch. “You’d best be going,” she said.
He hugged her one last time and let her go. “See you this evening, then?”
She forced a smile. “Yes, have a good day.”
His eyes lingered on her mouth. “You too.” He turned, fetched his coat and left the house.
Leora placed her hands on her hips and glanced around the kitchen. She’d best get the dishes done and prepare the tea service before Mrs. Oliver and Mrs. Brown arrived. Theron was probably right that they wanted to discuss the election. She wondered what it would do to Mrs. Rutherford, and hoped it didn’t get her all riled up. She’d enjoyed the woman’s calm the last couple of weeks and hoped it would last – running against her could undo it all.
Leora cleaned up the kitchen and had no sooner put the kettle on the stove than there was a knock at the door. Sure enough, when she answered it, Mrs. Oliver and Mrs. Brown both greeted her with smiles. “Good morning Mrs. Drake!” Mrs. Oliver said as she came in. “It’s so good to see you!”
“I think it’s going to snow!” Mrs. Brown said as she followed. “Won’t it be lovely if we have a white Christmas?”
“Does it usually snow here this time of year?” Leora asked.
“Every year is different,” Mrs. Oliver explained. “We never know what we’re going to get. But a white Christmas would be nice.”
“Won’t you sit down?” Leora asked. “I’ll go prepare the tea.”
The two women sat as Leora returned to the kitchen. She prepared the tea set, put it on a tray, then checked to see if the water was ready. When she was done making a pot she brought the tray into the parlor and set it on the table. The three women chatted about this and that as Leora poured and served. “I suppose you’re here about the election for president.” she volunteered.
“Oh no, we’re not here about that,” Mrs. Brown said. “We’re here about the garden club.”
Leora set down the teapot, her mouth half-open. “Garden club? What garden club?”
“This may be a small town, Mrs. Drake, but we are not without culture,” Mrs. Oliver explained.
“I wouldn’t have implied you were. But … what about the election?”
“We don’t need one,” Mrs. Brown assured her. “We know you’ll be the next president.”
“But you said there was an election for the position. Don’t I have to run?”
“Ophelia has stepped down from the post and suggested that you take over,” Mrs. Oliver stated with a smile.
“What?!” Leora said in shock.
“Yes, it came as a surprise to both of us as well,” Mrs. Brown said. “Thank heavens we don’t have to worry about that anymore.”
“But you still have to have an election,” Leora argued.
“Not when everyone is agreed,” Mrs. Oliver explained. “And we’re unanimous in favor of you being our new president! Isn’t that wonderful?”
Leora put a hand to her chest. She didn’t understanding any of this. “Why did Mrs. Rutherford step down?”
“She conceded to the better woman, is all,” said Mrs. Brown as she picked up her tea cup and took a quick sip. “And you are the better woman, my dear. Everyone in town knows it.”
Leora gawked at them. “What? You mean that’s it, I’m now the president of the Ladies’ Society for Godly Living?”
“Of course!” Mrs. Oliver beamed.
“But what about Mrs. Rutherford?” Leora asked.
“Who cares?” Mrs. Brown said. “She’s gone and that’s all that matters! Now about the garden club …”
Leora held up a hand as if to block her words. “I’m going to have to think about that. In fact, I have a lot to think about right now: the winter concerts, the Christmas play, the orphanage … I don’t know if I can take on a garden club.” Never mind that she hadn’t tried to grow so much as a flower in a pot before …
“Oh, but it doesn’t start until spring,” Mrs. Oliver said. “You’ll be done with all this nonsense by then.”
“Nonsense? Since when is all of this nonsense?” Leora asked.
“We didn’t mean it that way,” Mrs. Brown consoled. “We… we simply meant that …”
“That you’re glad to be rid of Mrs. Rutherford,” Leora finished.
“Things have been a lot quieter lately,” Mrs. Oliver confessed.
“Just about everywhere,” Mrs. Brown added. “Thanks to you.”
“Thanks to me, indeed,” Leora mused more to herself than to them. She wondered how Mrs. Rutherford was, and almost felt guilty. Had setting her in her place deflated the woman? She did notice that her galley of followers had diminished over the last few weeks. Maybe it was time she paid Mrs. Rutherford a visit. “Let’s enjoy our tea, shall we?” she suggested, hoping to change the subject. And mercifully, it worked.
* * *
The Rutherfords lived in a large house, befitting a prominent banker. Leora stared at it in awe, unable to imagine what it would be like to live in it. Ophelia Rutherford had everything: money, a husband with a prominent position, a wonderful home. So why was she so cranky? But maybe that was it – perhaps what she’d interpreted as crankiness was in reality a display of how miserable the woman really was.
Leora knocked on the door. Ready or not, she was about to find out.
To her surprise, Mrs. Rutherford answered. “What are you doing here?” she asked without her usual haughtiness.
Leora shrugged. “Can’t one woman
pay a call on another?”
“Play rehearsal isn’t until this afternoon. I’ll see enough of you then,” Mrs. Rutherford said, again, without her usual snap.
“I thought I’d visit to … get to know you better.”
“Get to know me?” Mrs. Rutherford said, her voice trailing off.
“May I come in?”
Mrs. Rutherford looked her up and down in disbelief. “Fine.” She swung the door open to allow Leora to enter.
The house was even more exquisite on the inside. A tiny gasp escaped Leora as she noticed the expensive trappings of the foyer. “You have a lovely home, Mrs. Rutherford.”
“I suppose it’s a lot compared to what you and Pastor Drake have.” She glanced around. “Most of this was my father’s.”
“Your father's? Was this his house?”
“Yes, I was raised here.”
“I was under the assumption that you and your husband…”
“My husband does not own this house, Mrs. Drake. I do. He married into my family and brought none of his own money to the table. He was an orphan, you see.”
“I didn’t know that,” Leora said. “I understand about being an orphan.”
Mrs. Rutherford’s eyes flashed, but Leora wasn’t sure why. “Were you now? Interesting. Then you of all people should be heading up the town’s newest venture.”
“The orphanage?”
“My husband Robert should be, but wants nothing to do with it. He’s far too busy with the bank.” She sighed wearily. “Follow me.”
Leora got the distinct impression the woman didn’t want her there, but followed her into a large parlor anyway. Maybe she should’ve offered to leave, but she’d come this far and was determined to find out what had happened to the once-haughty woman. Not that her turning over a new leaf was bad, she just wanted to make sure that’s what was happening and not something else. “I can understand if he’s busy. The bank must take up a lot of his time.”
“You of all people should know, Mrs. Drake. Your husband is just as busy as my Robert. The difference is Pastor Drake is dependent on the Lord’s good humor to survive, where as we are dependent on the bank. Have a seat.”
