by Deeanne Gist
‘‘So you are giving up the very things that make you you?’’
‘‘Only temporarily.’’
‘‘Don’t fool yourself, Essie. If that’s what those elders require now, they will most assuredly hold you to those same restrictions and more after Ewing is their preacher.’’
‘‘But Mother says a bicycle shouldn’t be more important than getting married and having children. Besides, this is what I’ve been praying for, crying out for, hoping for.’’
Sorrow etched the lines in Papa’s face. ‘‘You do not need a man to be a whole person.’’
‘‘Then why would God send me Ewing if not for the purpose of marrying him?’’
‘‘Perhaps because the Lord wants to see if you will trust Him. If you will choose Him over being married.’’
‘‘But marriage was His idea. He sanctified it.’’
‘‘Marriage is a good thing, but it may not be the highest and best for you. Are you willing to give it up for Him, if that is what He wishes?’’
Moisture once again rushed to her eyes. ‘‘But I don’t want Him to wish that for me. Why would He?’’
‘‘I don’t know. All I’m saying is, if you truly trust God, and if He is the most important thing in your entire life, then you will accept and believe that He knows what is best for you. And you will accept it joyfully. Willingly.’’
She pulled her hands away, propping an elbow on the table and resting her head against her palm. ‘‘Who will hug me in my old age?
Who will eat at my table when you and Mother are gone?’’
‘‘Christ will meet your needs, Essie. If you let Him.’’
‘‘But I can’t touch Him with my hands or see Him with my eyes or hear Him with my ears.’’
Papa sighed. ‘‘So you would pretend to be something you aren’t and marry a man you’re not in love with?’’
‘‘I don’t know,’’ she whispered. ‘‘Maybe. Except . . . except I want something more.’’
‘‘Of course you do. So, for now, why not embrace Christ fully and with abandon? Then see how you feel about marriage to Ewing?’’
‘‘How? How do I embrace Christ?’’
‘‘You obey Him. Dwell on His Word. Do every single thing for His glory. And I’m not talking about serving the church or caring for orphans. I’m talking about everyday things. When you ride your bike, do it for His enjoyment. Talk to Him, praise Him, delight in His creation. When you wear a hat, do it for His pleasure. When you polish the silver, sing to Him. Make Him the love of your life.’’
Those words were so easy for him to say. He had a wife. And a child. How could he possibly understand what he was suggesting?
He drained the last of his coffee. ‘‘Whatever you decide, honey, your mother and I will support you.’’
Standing, he squeezed her neck and left. Leaving her to decide if Christ as her lifelong groom would truly be enough.
chapter TWENTY-NINE
EWING TRIED NOT TO study Preacher Bogart’s office too closely. He didn’t want the old man to think he was coveting— though, in all likelihood, he was.
He took quick note of the open bookshelves along the north wall, the fireplace adjacent to the man’s substantial desk, and the small prayer table holding an open Bible. Not much had changed—other than his age—since the last time he’d visited this office. The last time he’d stood here he was a youngster who, during church, had shaped his fingers into a gun, pointed them at an elder collecting the offering, and said, ‘‘Stick ’em up.’’
Ewing shook the memory free and cleared his throat.
‘‘Come in, son,’’ the preacher said, looking up and placing his pen in a holder. Nose and ears dominated a kind face framed by a head of pure white hair so thick he was the envy of many men half his age.
Large blue eyes that missed nothing conveyed pleasure as he offered Ewing a seat.
Other memories of old flashed through Ewing’s mind. Preacher Bogart shooting BBs at him the night he stole a watermelon from the man’s garden. Arm wrestling him after rendering a hog to see who would keep the animal’s bladder for a game of catch. Squaring off with him at age fifteen when—tired of being asked to do more than his share of chores around the church—he hollered, ‘‘My name is not ‘Get Wood!’ ’’ Removing his hat, Ewing settled into the wooden chair the preacher had indicated.
‘‘You’re looking well, Getwood.’’
Ewing smiled. ‘‘Thank you, sir. As are you.’’
‘‘I haven’t had a chance to tell you privately how pleased I am the elders chose you as my replacement.’’
‘‘Thank you, sir. I’m still trying to decide which I’m feeling more—anticipation or terror. You’ve left some mighty big shoes to fill.’’
‘‘No need to put on these old things when you have an excellent pair of your own.’’ He leaned back in his chair. ‘‘Many of your professors at the Nashville Bible College are colleagues of mine. They had very complimentary and remarkable things to say about you.’’
‘‘I learned a lot while I was there, sir. I’m anxious to do God’s work here at home.’’
They spoke of the church’s mission. They discussed the differences between Bible college now and when Bogart had attended.
They debated about closed communion and whether or not nonmembers of faith should be allowed to receive communion.
As the conversation wound down, Bogart moved aside some papers on his desk. ‘‘The elders and I have noticed you courting our Miss Essie rather doggedly these last few weeks.’’
‘‘Yes, sir. It is my hope she will agree to be my wife.’’
He nodded. ‘‘She’s a strong woman from a good family, and the two of you have been friends a long time.’’
‘‘My whole life, actually. Some of my earliest memories hearken back to her.’’
‘‘I assume you have discussed your intentions with her father?’’
‘‘Of course.’’
Bogart rested his arms on top of his desk. ‘‘As you well know, the Lord has revealed to us through His Word that His expectations for His leaders are higher and more stringent than for those in His congregation.’’
‘‘Yes, sir. First Timothy.’’
‘‘Then you’ll remember one of those qualifications is that their wives be above reproach and worthy of respect.’’
He nodded.
‘‘Son,’’ the preacher said, steepling his fingers, ‘‘it has come to the attention of myself and the elders that Miss Spreckelmeyer might not be as above reproach as one might think.’’
Ewing stiffened. ‘‘I don’t understand.’’
‘‘There is an unconfirmed rumor concerning an illicit affair she supposedly had with one of her father’s employees.’’
His first reaction was outrage, followed swiftly by a need to vehemently deny the accusation. His third was panic. He forced himself to remain calm.
‘‘Rumor?’’ he asked, putting as much disparagement on the word as he dared. ‘‘Well, I would venture to guess that, depending upon who you talk to, there are rumors about every person in this town.’’
‘‘You’re probably right. But not everyone in town is being considered for a position as our pastor.’’
‘‘What are you saying?’’
‘‘I’m saying that before we can move any further in our dealings, we must first verify the rumor.’’
‘‘How do you plan to do that?’’
‘‘We plan to ask Miss Spreckelmeyer to either deny or verify it.’’
He shot to his feet. ‘‘I won’t have it. I will not subject her to such a thing simply because some busybody is spreading falsehoods about her.’’
‘‘Calm down, Ewing. If they are falsehoods, all she need do is tell us and we will accept her word as absolute truth.’’
Ewing lowered himself back into his chair. ‘‘But don’t you see how humiliating that will be for her?’’
‘‘Yes, yes I do. And it is unfo
rtunate. But there is no other way.
Too much is at stake.’’
‘‘And if I refuse to subject her to an interrogation?’’
‘‘It won’t be an interrogation, just a simple question put to her.’’
‘‘The question will be anything but simple.’’
He acknowledged Ewing’s statement with a nod. ‘‘Be that as it may, we must put it to her.’’
‘‘We? Who is we?’’
‘‘The elders and myself.’’
‘‘You cannot be serious. She would die of mortification. I will not permit it.’’
‘‘Then our offer to you will be revoked.’’
Had the preacher walloped Ewing in the stomach, he’d have been less shocked. Revoked? The elders planned to revoke their offer if Essie didn’t come in for questioning?
‘‘What if I speak on her behalf?’’ he asked.
‘‘I’m sorry. We must hear it from her.’’
He swallowed. ‘‘And what if it is true, this whatever it is? What if it did happen and she has confessed and repented and been forgiven?’’
Bogart’s eyes widened in alarm. ‘‘If it is true and you intend to marry her, then you’d best look for another profession. We cannot in good conscience allow you to pastor this church or any other if your wife is less than what she should be.’’
‘‘You’ve known her longer than I,’’ Ewing spat. ‘‘You know her family. She is a wonderful, good, wholesome woman.’’
Bogart’s expression softened. ‘‘Then there should be no problem.
But we must speak with her first.’’
‘‘How prevalent is the rumor?’’
‘‘We have only heard the accusation from one source.’’
‘‘Who?’’
He shook his head. ‘‘That is not of importance.’’
‘‘And if Essie is guiltless, what then? Will this person spreading malicious gossip be permitted to continue?’’
‘‘We will talk with her.’’
‘‘Her?’’ He tightened his lips. ‘‘Figures.’’
Bogart’s eyes became troubled.
Ewing reined in his anger and gentled his tone. ‘‘Miss Spreckelmeyer hasn’t even consented to be my wife yet.’’
‘‘Perhaps, then, you should have a talk with her before she does.’’
————
Curled up beneath the feather coverlet on her bed, Essie stared through the darkness. Beams of orange shot from the grate of her heating stove before dissipating into thin air. She wondered what time it was—other than well past bedtime and well before sunrise.
Still, she was wide awake. No longer able to hide from her thoughts. Could she really be so selfish as to marry Ewing just for the sake of achieving a state of matrimony? She moaned.
The outline of her Bible was barely discernible on her nightstand.
Reaching over, she lifted the Book and plopped it beside her on top of the coverlet.
The cushioned leather was cool to the touch.
I’ve read this from front to back. I’ve memorized verses. Entire chapters, even. I’ve given my time to the widows and orphans and church. I’ve honored my parents—for the most part. I’ve not stolen or murdered or taken your name in vain. I have committed fornication, yes, but you pronounced me clean.
Grasping the volume tightly in her hand, she hurled it across the room. It crashed into the wall with a loud thunk before banging to the floor.
So where’s my man? A man whom I not only like, but whom I love?
And who loves me in return? And who doesn’t ask me to be something that I’m not?
Anguished sobs burst from her. She smothered her face within the downy embrace of her pillow. Why? Why?!
You shall have no other gods before me.
It’s not a god, she insisted, addressing in her heart the powerful, non-audible voice resonating inside her soul. It’s a dream. A desire. A hope.
Your hope is not in me.
It is!
But she knew that wasn’t entirely true. From the moment she had turned thirty, she’d decided she was through ‘‘waiting on the Lord’’ for a husband. She’d decided to take matters into her own hands.
And what a fine muck she’d made of things. She’d packed more heartache into six months than she’d experienced in a lifetime.
Rubbing the edge of the soft, unbleached bedsheet against her lips, remorse swept through her.
She slithered out from under the covers and onto the wool rug surrounding her bed, then hurried to the wall, picked up her Bible and cradled it within her arms. She placed it back on the nightstand where it belonged and stroked its cover, thanking God for providing it for her. Then she crouched over, face to the floor, tears of sorrow rushing to her eyes.
Forgive my pride, Lord. I’m willing to deny myself of the things I desire most—a man, a marriage, and children.
She sobbed, the ramifications of her prayer squeezing her with grief. For though she desperately wanted to please God, she’d been holding fast to this particular dream since childhood. The thought of living her entire earthly life without a man, without children, broke her heart.
Especially when she knew there was nothing wrong with wanting a man and marriage. The problem had occurred when she’d allowed it to consume her, rule her, orchestrate her every action.
Yet she was determined to have no other gods before Him. To be satisfied with whatever He had for her. No, not just satisfied or content. She wanted to rejoice in His plans for her.
She took a trembling breath. I will embrace the life you have laid out for me, Lord, and I will live it joyfully so that I may be a witness to how great you are.
Her tears slowed to a trickle, leaving her cheeks slick and salty.
She wondered if she really could live the life of a spinster with joy.
Images of herself old and gray, of this house empty and quiet, rattled her resolve. How could she embrace such a thing?
Help me be joyful, Lord. I’m afraid. Afraid of being alone.
I will never leave you.
What if that wasn’t enough? She scoured her memory for characters in the Bible who had been alone or isolated. Joseph immediately came to mind, for he had been abandoned by his loved ones and sold into slavery. David had been unaccompanied as he faced Goliath.
Rahab had single-handedly risked death to shelter two spies. Daniel had been thrown into a lion’s den.
Yet they’d not really been alone. God had been with them. And every one of them had experienced victory. Great victory. Her determination resurfaced.
I want to do your will, Lord, and I want to do it with joy. Use me for your glory. I am yours. Amen.
Slipping back into bed, she tarried in that place with Him. But this time she let Him do the talking. And what He had to say was the very last thing she expected.
But she acquiesced and promised to speak with Papa as soon as she had everything prepared.
You will need to soften his heart, though, Lord. And if this is not your will—close the doors. Amen.
chapter THIRTY
EWING GAVE ROSEBUD her head as he made his way to Essie’s home. It had been three days since he’d proposed. Two days since Preacher Bogart’s ultimatum.
He’d prayed. He’d fasted. He’d railed at God. But he was no closer to a palatable solution than he was before. He was going to have to choose between his calling and Essie.
He supposed he could marry her and then move somewhere else.
But it would have to be outside the county, maybe even outside the state. But Essie had lived here all her life. He couldn’t imagine her being willing to move away. And truthfully, he didn’t want to live anywhere else, either.
He drug his hand down his face. If he were really honest with himself, he’d admit that Essie wasn’t everything he’d remembered her to be. He’d left home a child and had carried with him an image of Essie that didn’t quite translate into reality when he’d returned.
&nbs
p; He realized now that all the things he’d loved about her were from a child’s perspective. She’d fished with him. Swam with him. Climbed trees with him. Hunted with him. Played ball with him.
He’d absolutely adored her. Worshiped her, even. And had decided at a very early age that he wanted to spend the rest of his days with her.
Looking back, he realized now how unorthodox her behavior really had been. Shocking, even. She thought nothing of hiking up her skirts or soiling her clothing or barreling headlong into danger.
She thought only of adventure. What boy wouldn’t fall in love with her?
But he was a man now. A man who desperately wanted to fulfill the Great Commission that Christ had given him. And when it came time for him to stand before God Almighty, what would he say?
That he had given up his calling so he could marry a woman whose everyday behavior bordered on the scandalous? Whose secrets were so shocking that the church would revoke their offer if and when they found out?
And what would he do for a living? He’d spent all his adult years preparing to be a pastor. How would he provide for Essie if he couldn’t preach? Especially when that’s all he wanted to do. He had a burning desire to serve God. The thought of not preaching was simply not to be borne.
Pulling Rosebud to a stop in front of the Spreckelmeyer house, Ewing stared at the two-story Georgian, shaded by giant pecan trees on a spacious lot and surrounded by a white picket fence. He’d banged in and out of that house more times than he could count. The Spreckelmeyers had been more than tolerant of him over the years and had acted as surrogate parents in many ways.
He sighed. A proposal of marriage was almost as binding as speaking the actual vows. What would the Spreckelmeyers think of him if he withdrew his offer? What if word got out? Would the elders decide that any man who broke his word was unworthy of pastoring a church?
If they did, he’d have to tell them the truth about Essie. And he did not want to do that. The risk of those men telling their wives and those wives telling others was too great.
Lord, help me, he prayed. Because as he swung off of his horse and tied her to a rail, he knew that the only thing he could do was to take back his offer of marriage. And it would very likely ruin lifelong friendships that he treasured.
