She shook her head and gave a little chuckle. “Practicing your sermons, Pastor?”
A shadow crossed his face, and she realized her sarcasm had gone too far. She was about to apologize when he said, “You’re right—that sounded like a sermon, and that’s not what you want or need. But mark my words, Miss Miranda Monroe—someday you’ll hear a sermon that will cut right to your heart, and it will tell you everything you need to know.”
“You sound very sure of that,” she replied.
“I am sure. In the meantime . . .” He paused and looked around as though he might find his answers growing on a nearby tree. “In the meantime, be patient with me while I try to find the words you do need. I only know what’s in my heart—I’m not good at expressing it just yet.”
“It might be refreshing, having a pastor who struggles with words like the rest of us,” Miranda said with a smile. “Of course I’ll be patient, and it’s all right if you can’t answer me. I shouldn’t have put you on the spot anyway—that wasn’t kind of me.”
“But you’re obviously distressed, and I want to be able to help. That’s what friends do for each other, Miranda, and we’ve always been friends, haven’t we?”
“Yes, we have.” His eyes were so sincere—she felt guilty for asking him to explain his beliefs right there in the middle of the street without a chance to collect his thoughts first. “You’ve been a very good friend.”
“I’m glad to hear that.” He held out his arm. “Now, let’s be on our way or we’ll never get those baskets done.”
She’d forgotten all about the baskets as they’d talked, and now she was so unsettled, she’d almost rather forget the baskets and go someplace quiet so she could think things over. But she’d been given a task to do, so she picked up her pace and trotted alongside him through the snow, hoping she could now concentrate on the errand and not the new thoughts and feelings that were swirling around inside her.
***
Richard felt like an idiot.
All he’d wanted to do was share his beliefs and hopefully pass along some comfort, but that’s not how it sounded to Miranda, and he wanted to kick himself. She’d needed a listening ear, not a lecture, and she hadn’t said a word the rest of the way to the store.
They picked up the things they’d been sent to get and hurried back to the church, the return journey just as silent, and then she busied herself making bows and arranging the candy in artful displays, things he could never do with his clumsy fingers. He fell back and watched for a few minutes, then went to find Pastor Osbourne at the rectory next door to the church.
The pastor was sitting at his desk, the Bible open before him, when Richard stuck his head in the room.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Richard said. “I’ll come back later.”
“No, it’s all right. I could use a break.” Pastor Osbourne set down his pen and motioned for Richard to take a seat. “What’s the matter?”
Richard flopped into the chair and shook his head. “How do I know when I’m sharing an uplifting word and when I’m just preaching?”
The pastor lifted an eyebrow. “Isn’t preaching sharing an uplifting word?”
“Yes, but . . .” Richard blew out a puff of air. “I made a horrible mistake with Miranda just now. She was telling me her reasons for hating the Christmas season, and I lectured her about turning to God during our trials. Or at least, she feels like I lectured her, and that’s why I’m so confused. How do I know if my words are being accepted in the way I mean them?”
Pastor Osbourne chuckled. “You’ve just stumbled onto one of the most common problems a clergyman will ever struggle with. Richard, we don’t know from one minute to the next if our words are falling on receptive ears. All we can do is speak as we’re moved upon to speak, and see how it goes from there. You should also know that the things you say might be rejected today, but after they’ve had time to sink in, they might be accepted tomorrow. What you’re doing is planting seeds. Some will sprout and some won’t, but you’re giving them the chance either way.”
Richard nodded. That made sense, but he wished there were more guarantees. “It’s simpler for me to accept that when I think about it on a less personal level,” he said at last.
“Meaning, you have feelings for Miranda, so her rejection hurts worse?”
He was grateful the pastor had figured out what he meant. He didn’t know if he was ready to talk about his feelings more openly, especially when he’d only arrived in town a short time ago. And especially when being with Miranda was like getting to know a whole new person—yes, she was still the same girl he’d once known, but they’d each experienced a lifetime since they’d last seen each other, and they were no longer children.
She used to accept everything he said without question—she’d been a very trusting girl, and he had to admit that he’d probably pushed that advantage too far when he’d tell her ghost stories and the like. Now she was more skeptical, and while that was good, it also made things more difficult.
“You’ve known the Monroes for a number of years, so you’re familiar with their background,” Pastor Osbourne said, leaning his elbows on his desk. “Losing both their parents and so forth.”
“Yes, I was good friends with Parker when his father was killed by the Indians, but I moved away long before Mrs. Monroe died,” Richard replied.
“Then you can imagine Miranda’s uncertainty when it comes to spiritual things. Great trials either bring us closer to God or drive a wedge between us. That’s not to say the wedge can’t be removed—in fact, removing it can often bring us back to God in a more powerful way. Right now, she needs understanding, to know that the path is still open for her if she chooses to take it. But it’s her choice, regardless of what our good intentions for her might be.”
“Does she come out to church?” Richard asked.
“Once in a while, but not regularly. Someone needs to stay with the hotel during services, and I’ve overheard her volunteer for that shift. I believe she feels more comfortable that way.”
Richard exhaled and leaned back in his chair. “You’ve counseled me to find someone who can walk along beside me. Does that mean I need to put Miranda from my mind?”
“Not at all. She may not participate much right now, but that could change. She’s not entirely opposed, after all—she’s at the church right now helping with the baskets, isn’t she?”
“Yes, she is.”
“Take that as a good sign of things to come, then. Remember, Richard, that it’s not ours to determine someone else’s spiritual fate. That’s between them and God, and we’re here to be guides only.”
Richard left the study feeling a bit more hopeful, even if he didn’t have the concrete answers he wanted. What he needed most was time and patience. He supposed he had quite a lot of time, since he’d only just arrived, but patience . . . that had never been one of his stronger qualities. If he wasn’t supposed to pursue a relationship with Miranda, he’d just as soon know it now before he became too involved. As things stood now, he could be her friend, but if they continued much longer in this way, and if she kept glancing at him with those soft, beautiful eyes, he’d be too far gone, and breaking things off would be painful.
He glanced out the front window of the parsonage and saw that the waitresses were leaving the church, most likely done with their task. He grabbed his coat from the hook by the front door and went back outside, trotting to catch up. “Might I walk along with you?” he asked. “I thought I’d come over to the hotel for some coffee.”
“Has Mrs. Little put you on rations?” Emma asked, humor in her voice. He had to admit, coffee was a terrible excuse—he could drink all he wanted at the parsonage, but it was the best he could come up with on such short notice.
“Mrs. Little is extremely generous, but I admit that I find the company of four charming young ladies much more preferable,” he replied. The truth was always the best answer when asked a difficult question.
“Then we’ll
pretend to be in a hurry so the two of you will fall behind,” Carrie said, tucking her arms through Emma and Millie’s and rushing them along the sidewalk. Miranda chuckled, watching her friends try not to slip as they widened the distance between the two groups.
“Your friends are very accommodating,” Richard said, a smile on his face.
“Yes, they are. And they’re not subtle at all.” Miranda tugged her gloves higher up on her wrists. “I’m glad, though, because I feel as though I owe you an apology, and that would be awkward with an audience.”
“You want to apologize to me? Whatever for? I’m the one who blundered.”
She shook her head, not meeting his gaze. “I’m far too sensitive about certain things, and I took it out on you. It’s not your fault that I’ve struggled, and you shouldn’t be expected to listen to my woes.”
“I want you to feel as though you can talk to me. I’ll probably continue to say all the wrong things, but in time, maybe I’ll get it right.”
“You didn’t say the wrong things.” She brushed a pile of snow off the top of the fence they were passing. “You said exactly what you were supposed to say. You’re a pastor now, after all.”
“But I’m also your friend. I hope I don’t have to stop being one to be the other.”
She stopped walking and turned to look at him. “Of course we’re friends, Richard, and I’ll support you in everything you do. I might not agree with all of it or understand all of it, but I won’t stop being your friend because of it.”
Her words were both comforting and unsettling. It sounded as though she planned to keep putting religion at bay. He wished he could return to his original plan—that of waiting a while before thinking about marriage—but finding a wife had been planted in his head, and the idea was only making him miserable.
“Thank you, Miranda,” he said at last, realizing that she was waiting for some sort of answer. “Let’s hurry, shall we? It’s getting cold, and I’d certainly like that coffee.”
Chapter Five
When the next train arrived, Miranda wasn’t on shift in the dining room. Instead, she was watching over the lobby, and she greeted Mr. Dupree as he entered. Oddly, he wasn’t wearing his conductor’s uniform, and she’d never seen him in a regular suit. With him was a beautiful dark-haired woman he introduced as his wife, Caroline.
“Mrs. Dupree, it’s wonderful to meet you,” Miranda said. “You’re Mr. Brody’s aunt, aren’t you?”
“Yes. I managed the hotel for a while until I married Mr. Dupree and moved to Wichita with him.” Mrs. Dupree took off her coat and slung it over her arm. “Is there a room available for us? We’re surprising Adam and Elizabeth by coming here for the holidays.”
“I’m sure there is.” Miranda opened the ledger on the counter. “Yes, room four is available.”
“We’ll take it for three nights, then,” Mr. Dupree said. “This is quite a treat—I’ve never had so much time off before. I might not know what to do with myself.”
“If you get too bored, you can always go sit on the platform and watch the trains go by,” Mrs. Dupree said with a wry note in her voice.
“I just might do that. Thank you for the suggestion, my dear.”
Miranda gave them the key to their room, and they said they’d be back downstairs after they’d changed out of their traveling clothes. She smiled as she watched them climb the stairs—Mr. Dupree was discussing the train schedule, and Mrs. Dupree was telling him she was sure they’d find plenty enough to do because it was Christmas, after all. Miranda wondered if she’d ever find someone to argue with so comfortably. They seemed cut from the same cloth, just as she imagined all married couples should be.
Mr. Brody stepped out of his office and looked around. “Did I hear my aunt’s voice out here?”
“I really couldn’t say,” Miranda replied, hoping she’d be forgiven for a tiny lie. She didn’t want to ruin the surprise.
“Hmm. I must be mistaken.” He looked around again, then shrugged. “The tree looks very nice, by the way.”
“Millie and Adele decorated it—I can only take credit for sweeping up the needles.”
“Well, good job with that, then.” He disappeared back into the office, and Miranda chuckled.
All the other girls were in the kitchen assembling the meat pies, and as soon as the food was finished baking, Miranda would help deliver it to the church and put it in the baskets. Millie would then pay visits with her brother, Reverend Bing, and Pastor Osbourne would see to it that his congregation was also visited. No doubt Richard would be helping him, so Miranda shouldn’t be disappointed if she didn’t see Richard again until after his Christmas sermon—he had so much to do, and frankly, so did she. Far too much to do, and she didn’t have time to be thinking about him or worrying about him or fretting over their past conversations. What’s done was done, and there wasn’t really a way to change it.
He needed a wife who was strong in her beliefs—that was obvious. As a new pastor, he couldn’t yoke himself to someone who wasn’t sure where she stood or she might drag him down into doubt as well. What a relief—she didn’t need to worry about their relationship any longer because the decision was clear. Now she’d just need to be polite and supportive when she saw him, and she’d attend his wedding to some pretty young woman and wish him well.
And in the meantime, she’d continue volunteering at the library and serving coffee at the hotel. She’d make meat pies and she’d tie ribbons on baskets and she’d hold other people’s babies without knowing when she’d be having her own.
And that sounded perfectly miserable.
She thought back to what Ruth had said about feeling stuck. She didn’t want that for herself any more than Ruth wanted it. Coming to Topeka had been the right thing—Parker was happy here, and he’d found Posy—but what would it mean for Miranda? Would some handsome young man come strolling into the dining room one day and sweep her off her feet, like had happened for so many of the other waitresses? Or would she need to strike out and determine her own fate, like Ruth was preparing to do?
Miranda grabbed the broom and started sweeping again, mostly to occupy herself while she kept watch over the lobby. They took turns greeting potential guests and the lobby was never to be left unattended, but there wasn’t always enough work to keep her from fidgeting. Why were her thoughts so consumed by finding someone to marry? She could be happy taking care of herself, couldn’t she? Men weren’t the answer to everything.
Mr. and Mrs. Dupree came down the stairs looking much refreshed, and Miranda gave them a nod as they passed by on their way to Mr. Brody’s office. Mrs. Dupree had been a single lady for a number of years and had been perfectly self-sufficient. She didn’t marry Mr. Dupree until most people would have thought her past the marrying age. It didn’t matter if it took a long time for Miranda to settle down—things were different now. It was nearly 1877, for goodness’ sake—it was time for her to start thinking like a modern woman.
She couldn’t see the reunion taking place in Mr. Brody’s office, but from the exclamations of surprise and delight she heard, she imagined it was going well. Mr. Brody saw his uncle-in-law fairly regularly, as Mr. Dupree ate with them often on his way through as a train conductor, but Mrs. Dupree stayed behind in Wichita to take care of their home. What a lovely Christmas surprise that they were both able to visit the Brody.
Once the meal service was completed and the rest of the pies were baked, Tom brought the wagon around and helped the waitresses load up the food. “I promise to drive slow,” he told Elizabeth.
“I trust you. It’s these icy roads I don’t trust,” she replied.
“Every pie will arrive safe and sound. Won’t they, girls?” Tom turned to the waitresses who were going with him, and they all nodded. Miranda wasn’t sure how they could guarantee it, but everything had been packed in as snugly as possible, and all they could do now was cross their fingers.
***
It really felt hopeless. Richard scribb
led out the sentence he’d just written, then drew a giant X over the whole page and crumpled it up. He wouldn’t bother to count how much time he had left before he was to give this sermon—it would only serve to increase his panic. He had struggled with preparing sermons while in seminary, and it seemed that he hadn’t improved much upon graduation. Sometimes he wondered how he’d managed to graduate at all.
He gathered up all the pages he’d discarded and smoothed them out, scanning them to see if there was anything worth saving in the whole heap. He’d jotted down good thoughts here and there, but the rest seemed to meander, lost without a central focus. He hadn’t yet settled on the theme, and there was no way to present a cohesive message unless it had a theme, a subject.
Christmas in and of itself should be the ideal topic, but he wanted to speak about something more, perhaps an element of the holiday that wasn’t often addressed, an aspect that might seem a bit obscure. He shook his head as he laid the papers back on the desk. He was likely reaching beyond the mark—a simple sermon ought to do plenty well for his first time in the pulpit, and by trying to come up with something greater, he was exhibiting pride.
Or was he in fact being guided to reach for something greater? It was so hard to separate his own mind and will from that of the Lord. He knew his intentions were good, but his execution was often lacking, and it was exactly this sort of self-doubt that would make his calling more difficult. He needed to trust that he was being led and to have the courage to follow that feeling.
A knock sounded on his door, and he opened it to find Pastor Osbourne standing there, bundled up against the cold. “Are you ready to deliver Christmas baskets?”
Richard blinked. He’d forgotten that he’d agreed to help, and for a moment, he was sorely tempted to say that he couldn’t go after all so he could remain behind and work on the sermon. But in truth, he was liable to continue scribbling useless notes and feeling down, and the best thing for him would be to get out into the community and serve.
A Christmas Promise (Kansas Crossroads Book 16) Page 5
