Son of a Preacher Man

by Karen M Cox

  “You know, Corbett was a lucky man who didn’t know what he had. For a short time, he was blessed with your divine spark, and then the fool trampled on it. I’m grieved that he hurt you, but in the end—well, it was his loss, not yours. He might have been the first man to see the light you carry in your heart, but he didn’t own it. It belongs to you, given to you by God, and you can bestow it on whomever you wish. And if you honor me with that light, I won’t be foolish enough to waste it, you can be sure of that. I’ll use it to fill up my heart and my life and bask in its warmth for the rest of my days. You make my soul whole again. Did you know that, Lizzie? And you seem to be the only one who can.

  “You’re right that I don’t know what will happen to us in the future. I can’t promise everything will be easy, but I can tell you that no matter what comes our way, I’ll love you through it all.”

  I sat back down next to her and drew her into my arms, very gently. The words I’d just spoken were hard, so my touch had to be soft. She grasped my shoulders and held on tight, her head on my shoulder, her voice choked.

  “I know I should jump at the chance. I’m an idiot, a stupid fool, Billy Ray. But what if I can’t be what you want, what you deserve? And I’m afr—I worry I won’t get to be who I am either.”

  “From the time I was a boy, I was taught to take steps in faith—you weren’t. You are afraid we’ll make each other sad and miserable eventually, and I’m here to tell you, with every ounce of conviction I have, that you’re wrong.”

  “This”—she pointed between us—“it overwhelms me.”

  “You could try just diving through the wave—or letting go and floating to the ends of the Earth with me. The ocean isn’t always punishing and harsh, you know. Sometimes, it’s peaceful.”

  She looked shocked that I’d turned her own analogy back on her.

  I held her face in my hands and kissed her slowly and sweetly, pouring everything I felt into that kiss, and wondering if it would be the last time I kissed her like that or the first time of many.

  I drew back and looked deep into her eyes. “I want you to be my wife. I can wait for you, maybe for a long time, I don’t know. I’ll hold my heart open as long as I can, but time passes, and whether we like it or not, time changes us. Neither one of us will be able to wait for the other one indefinitely. At some point, you’ll have to decide.”

  “And if I can’t give you what you want?” The vulnerability in her face broke my heart, but she was the one who had to take that final step. I couldn’t drag it out of her. All I could do was hold out my hand and wait as long as I found waiting tolerable.

  “I know you’re worried, honey, but don’t be.” I stroked her hair and held her close, and then I turned her loose, which was most likely the hardest thing I’d ever done. “You’ll figure it out. Come find me when you know.” I leaned down and kissed her cheek, and then I left her on her porch, arms around herself as if to block the icy December wind from freezing her heart.

  Three days after Christmas, I was trudging home through the snow after a long night at the hospital. It was a bright, sunlit morning. Crisp and cold, the world was covered in a blinding white blanket that had arrived sometime after I’d buried myself in the hospital but before I’d emerged this morning.

  I had taken extra shifts, trying to keep Lizzie off my mind. This waiting for her to decide on our future was agony and staying busy was the best way to make it through the days—and nights. I couldn’t keep up this frenetic pace forever though. I prayed that she would accept her love for me soon, so we could move forward with our lives.

  On the way home, I stopped at the diner for a bagel and cream cheese, and a coffee to go. My plans included a solitary breakfast in the quiet of my apartment and maybe catching some shut-eye before I started my reading for the afternoon.

  About ten yards from my door, hot coffee sloshed through the lid and onto my bare hand, scalding me. I nearly dropped the cup, but somehow managed to transfer it to my other hand. I did, however, end up dropping the bagel bag in the snow at my feet.

  “F-f-f-f-fiddlesticks!” I murmured, looking around to make sure no one heard me. I’d been around Donovan too long and was beginning to pick up his bad habits. I wasn’t sure what embarrassed me more, the impulse to use the word he would have used or the fact that it dissolved into a silly, feminine sounding by-word like “fiddlesticks.” A giggle emanated from up ahead, and I squinted in the sunlight to see who witnessed my foolish moment for the day.

  A pair of worn out boots and the hem of a long olive green wool coat stuck out from the behind the holly bush beside my apartment building’s steps. The person wasn’t actually hiding, but whoever it was had made an effort not to be observed by any passersby. The boots took a couple steps and pushed the coat and the rest of the person forward enough to peer around the big holly.

  “Dare I face your wrath, son of a preacher man? Those were some mighty fearsome words comin’ out your mouth just now.”

  I stood there in total shock. It hadn’t been that long since I’d last seen her, maybe a week, but that week felt like years and years. She approached me and picked my bag out of the snow. Opening it, she peered in, taking in a deep whiff of the contents.

  “Mmm,” she said as she closed her eyes. “Bagel.” Her eyes popped open. “I love bagels. Care to share it?” She grinned and turned on her heel, walking toward my stoop. I followed her without a word.

  She held the storm door for me while I pulled out my key, and then I grasped the handle and motioned her inside. “Hurry on in, Lizzie. It’s cold.”

  She walked up the stairs that led to my second-floor studio and sat down on the couch, putting the wet paper bag on the coffee table in front of her. Turning to me and giving me that come-hither smile, she patted the couch beside her, and like a dutiful pup, I walked right over. Setting my coffee next to my bagel, I unbuttoned my coat and unwound the scarf from my neck, laying them both on the chair that sat catty-corner to the couch. I looked up to find her eyes roving up and down my frame, carefully detailing every move I made.

  “Can I take your coat?” I held my hand out to her.

  “What?” she murmured dreamily. “Oh, yes, of course.” She removed her own coat with my help and I laid it on top of mine. That faraway look on her face confused me. I was sure I hadn’t thrown my best smile at her. I didn’t feel like smiling. I was too afraid of what she was about to say.

  “Did you have a good Christmas?” I sat down on the edge of the couch, creating a buffer of space between us.

  “Yes, I did. How about you?”

  “It was quiet but good.”

  “My holidays are never quiet with Susie and Lily around.”

  I was impatient with all this politeness. “So, what brings you to my door, Ee-lizabeth?”

  “I’ve come to find you, ’cause I know.”

  “What?”

  “I know. You told me to come find you when I know.”

  “About getting married?” I asked, disbelieving.

  She nodded.

  “I don’t understand. It’s only been a week. How much can possibly change in a week?”

  “Quite a lot, actually.” She folded her hands primly in her lap. “Especially when events conspire to make you think really hard.”

  “What events?”

  “Mostly just me having some time to myself. And I prayed some. I even read the Bible a little too. And being home with my family, considering how different your Christmas with the reverend and Aunt Catherine must have been from my noisy holiday. Walking around our old haunts in Orchard Hill, remembering the good and bad things that happened there. That was all part of it.”

  “I see.”

  She reached over and took my hand, and for once, I felt her shiver at the contact instead of me.

  “The day after Christmas, I went up to the post office to get the mail for Mama and Daddy, and guess who I saw?”

  I shrugged and looked down at our hands, clasped fast.

&
nbsp; “Doctor Miller.”

  “Oh? How is he?”

  “He’s fine. Just fine.”

  “That’s good.”

  “Yes. So, we were walking along together and chatting, he and I—up to where his path went off to Cavanaugh Street and mine went the other way to Linden Road.”

  She stopped, remembering in her mind’s eye, and I waited patiently for her to continue.

  “After we finished the small talk, I had this burst of curiosity to know what he really thought about being a doctor—now that he was on the other side of all the schooling you’re taking now.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Did he think it was worth the hard work, the pressure? Did he enjoy the life he’d made? Would he do it again, if he knew then what he knew now? So, I just asked him outright, ‘Doc, have you been happy—being a doctor in a small town like this?’”

  “And what did he say?”

  “He looked off in the distance for a long minute and then he turned to me with a sad smile. ‘Yes, Lizzie,’ he said, ‘for the most part, I have been happy being a doctor in this little town. I get to really know my patients. I care for them from the cradle to the grave, some of them. My life has been good here. The people in town have respect for my work, and I have my family, but—’

  “‘But?’ I asked him.

  “‘But at times, being the only doctor around, it can be lonely too, especially in a small town like this. It’s a demanding life, being a physician. A life people outside of medicine don’t always comprehend. I know Martha—well, sometimes it’s hard for her to understand when I have to miss supper or go out in the middle of the night. Sometimes, I wish there was someone to work with, someone to share that—that burden. It was a godsend when I was finally able to talk with Mary Gardener about the patients we share…’

  “And then he just kind of trailed off, looking wistful.” Lizzie stopped for a minute, lost in her thoughts. Sadness crossed her expression as well, but then her face brightened, and her gaze snapped back to focus on me. “And after he said that, all of a sudden, everything made sense to me.”

  She sought to read my expression, and the light in her eyes burned with a fierce intensity.

  “See that’s when I realized something that totally changed how I thought about us, Billy Ray. You and me, we understand something important about each other. We know what it means to carry that burden Doc was talking about, because both of us carry it too. So as the years go by, we’ll be able to help each other.” Joy suffused through her face, so bright, I almost had to look away. It stole my breath.

  “Don’t you see? That’s what I can bring to our life together. I can give you something all those other perfect girls can’t. I can’t give you a virgin for your wedding present. I can’t be what I’m not, but I can be what I am, which will outlast a wedding night or medical school or even raising children. I can give you myself, and when you’re as old as Doc, you won’t feel the least bit lonely. We can still share our lives and talk about our work and go through it together—and that will make you happy, yes?”

  “Yes, Lizzie,” I said, grinning because I could see the reasoning behind her words. I couldn’t believe I hadn’t thought of it myself. “That will make me happy. As long as I know you’re with me, we can work the rest out. We’ll learn to be husband and wife our own way. Maybe our marriage will be different from everyone else’s, but that will make it even more precious, something worth keeping.”

  “I do love you more than anything, Billy Ray.” She laughed. “And it feels good to finally tell you so.”

  My heart swelled to bursting. “I love you, too.”

  “Will you marry me?”

  I choked on a surprised laugh. Lizzie Quinlan made the most topsy-turvy ideas, like a woman proposing to a man, for example, seem perfectly logical.

  “I believe I will—if you’ll have me.”

  “Oh, I’ll have you all right,” she teased.

  My heart burned in my chest, and I felt my blood pumping through my veins, but my mind reached back to a long, hot summer two and a half years before, and I remembered the thrill of teasing back.

  “Miss Quinlan—I’m shocked. Is that a double entendre?”

  “I’m not sure what a double entendre is exactly, but if you’re talking about all the ways I can have you, then, yes, Mr. Davenport, it is.”

  We just sat there, looking at each other, her expression alight with challenge, and me grinning from ear to ear.

  After a minute or so, I opened my arms, and she rushed into them. I pulled her into my lap, holding her tight and thanking God that she was who she was, and that she was mine to love.

  “You were right, Lizzie, that morning I first asked you to marry me way back in Orchard Hill. It took me a while to see what you meant—because I was angry and hurt and embarrassed. Back then, I thought loving you weakened me, but that was wrong. Because now, I believe I could topple the walls of Jericho.”

  Chapter 25

  Although I accepted Elizabeth Quinlan’s marriage proposal in early January, it was way up in the spring before I told Dad that I was going to marry her for sure. I wanted to tell him in person, not in a letter, and he and I were both busier than ever. After Christmas, we didn’t see each other for about twelve weeks until one Sunday when I did finally make it to Corinth Hill for his sermon.

  He packed the church that day, and the music was spectacular. Dad was right about the lay minister’s daughter—she was a pretty girl with an angelic voice. But I also saw the looks she exchanged with a young man who’d just moved in to manage the glass factory, and she wasn’t going to be available for too much longer if those glances were any indication.

  Dad was joking about it as we took a walk around the park after church that day.

  “You missed your chance there, my boy. That young fella blew into town and swept Cheryl Ann right off her feet.”

  “I guess there’s no fighting true love,” I replied, grinning.

  “S’pose not.”

  An awkward silence opened like a chasm between us. I stuck my hands in the pockets of my jacket and slowed my pace. Dad stopped when he realized I’d fallen back and turned to face me, his eyes asking the question he dreaded asking aloud.

  “Dad”—I began in a gentle voice—“I asked Elizabeth Quinlan to marry me, and I’m happy to say she said ‘yes.’” That wasn’t exactly the way it happened, but it was the gist of it—and would make more sense to him that way.

  He stared at me a long minute, his face unreadable. “I see.” He turned and continued a couple steps down the path. “Well, then—I guess congratulations are in order.” His voice was flat, so unlike the rich warm tones that typically carried his words. It broke my heart that I was breaking his.

  “I don’t need your approval.”

  “Yes, you’ve made that quite clear.”

  “But I’d like to have it anyway.”

  He sighed and walked over to the corner of the churchyard and sat heavily on the cold, wrought-iron bench, looking out over the headstones in Corinth Hill cemetery.

  “And I’d like to give my approval. It’s just…”

  I sat beside him, running my thumb over the intricate curves of the metal, and waited for him to ponder his next words.

  “Sometimes,” he said, his voice sounding weary, “sometimes, I think I’ve just seen too much—too much evil, too much heartache, too much betrayal, too much sin. I look into your future with Miss Quinlan as your wife and see so many ways it could go wrong.”

  How ironic that Lizzie had used those very words once upon a time.

  When I didn’t respond, he went on. “You know, you could have almost any woman you wanted. You’re what all the church committee mamas call a ‘catch’. I’ve overheard them say it.”

  I chuckled. “They do, huh?”

  “Yes, they do,” he said, smiling in spite of the seriousness of the conversation.

  “But Dad, they’re just looking at the outside of me—wh
at the world sees. Lizzie sees my heart.”

  “Like the Lord saw David’s in First Samuel.”

  “Yes, very much like that. She loves me, she wants me to be happy, and I believe she may be the only woman who could make me so. She sees the world in a different light than—well, than anyone I’ve ever met. To her, it’s bright and colorful, an interesting and scary place. Getting a glimpse of that through her eyes makes me feel alive in a way I’ve never felt before or since I met her.”

  “And is that enough to base a marriage on?”

  “Perhaps not on its own, but like me, she has this calling to take care of people. We’re going to answer that calling—together.”

  “That career of hers also concerns me. I don’t understand how she can be a so-called modern working woman and be married at the same time. What kind of mother will she be if she’s not in the home? Who will take care of you, of my grandchildren?”

  “Without her work, she wouldn’t be the woman I love. Surely, you understand this, given the way you’ve chosen to spend your life. I would lose her if I separated her from her gift to the world. It wouldn’t be right—not for her and not for the world either.”

  “But I’m worried about what’s right for you—and for your unborn children.”

  “If the children come, we will love and care for them, but we will have to figure out the day-to-day particulars together.”

  “Try as I might, I can’t see how that’s going to work.”