Molly Noble Bull

by The Winter Pearl

  “Did I hear someone say letters?” Mrs. Clark said from the dining room.

  “Yes, ma’am,” Honor called back to the boarder.

  Mrs. Clark burst through the connecting door leading into the kitchen, followed by her sister, Mrs. Davis.

  Elmer shook his head at them. “Sorry, ladies. All the mail that came in today was for the preacher.” He turned and started down the hall toward his room.

  Honor hoped the two women hadn’t noticed her red eyes. She’d tried not to cry, but hearing that Jeth was engaged, or soon would be, to Lucy Jordan had affected her.

  Mrs. Clark sat down at the table. Mrs. Davis did the same. Honor could see that both women were disappointed not to receive any mail. Although they had lived at the boardinghouse since Honor had arrived, she hardly knew anything about the two sisters and had been too busy to inquire.

  “Can I fix you ladies something?” she asked now. “Coffee, cake, cookies?”

  “Nothing for me, thank you,” Mrs. Clark said.

  “Me, neither,” Mrs. Davis added.

  The two widows were former schoolteachers and Honor had often wondered if they were twins. Their squinty eyes were different shades of brown, but they looked alike, although Mrs. Clark had more wrinkles and frown lines. The spectacles perched on their pointed noses were the same, and their dark wool dresses could have come from the same out-of-date fashion pattern. They both wore their hair in tight buns, and the texture and color was identical—salt-and-pepper, mostly salt.

  Honor gazed at the younger, Mrs. Davis. “So how was your daily walk?”

  Mrs. Davis glanced at Mrs. Clark as if she expected her older sister to answer for both of them. Honor couldn’t know for sure, but she had a feeling that the younger woman had been doing that for most of her life.

  “We enjoyed our stroll very much,” Mrs. Clark put in. “We always do. And we saw so many trees that would make wonderful Christmas trees, too. Are you planning to put up a Christmas tree this year—here at the boardinghouse?”

  Honor stopped, wondering how to reply. “I really can’t say. As you know, I’m new here. I suppose I’ll have to check with Reverend Peters to see what his mother did in the past. Besides, it’s too soon to worry about a Christmas tree. It’s not even Thanksgiving yet.”

  “No, but it will be in just a few days.”

  Honor nodded. “I know.”

  After the sisters left the room, Honor started toward Jeth’s office to deliver his mail. Glancing down, she saw a letter from his mother on the top of the stack. As she placed the pile of mail on the table next to his lamp, one of the letters fell to the floor. Honor bent to pick it up, and glanced at the return address.

  John Crammer. She looked again, hoping her eyes had deceived her, but the letter was from John all right. Honor had an overwhelming urge to open the letter and read what was written there. But she couldn’t. She was a Christian now.

  Honor went back to the kitchen, wondering what the letter might say. Had John told Lucas where she was living? The mere thought gave her a new case of the jitters. If he hadn’t told yet, he would. John wanted that reward; he’d said as much when he visited the boardinghouse.

  Her imagination had taken her prisoner again. The idea that Lucas might actually find her practically brought on a case of the vapors.

  He could come here when she least expected it. Perhaps at night. And he could…

  Just last night, she’d had another horrible dream. If she didn’t stop dwelling on all this, she would go mad. Yet disturbing thoughts and dreams rose in her mind, again and again.

  In the dream last night, she was gathering wood, as she had on the day that John Crammer and his wife came to the boardinghouse. Honor held two small logs. As she reached for the third, Lucas appeared. Fear engulfed her. Her heart pumped. Honor dropped the logs that she held. Evil gleamed in her uncle’s blue eyes, and he held a log as if it were a club. She turned to flee, but he grabbed her. She screamed. And then she’d wakened, trembling and perspiring.

  If only she could put the frightening dreams and disturbing thoughts out of her mind.

  In the kitchen now, Honor picked up a knife and moved to the slicing board. She tried not to think about her dream or her secret desire to marry Jeth Peters, and attempted to concentrate on slicing bread. But she had no idea how to stop the anger and discouragement she felt.

  Belinda Grant rushed into the kitchen from the backyard, bringing a blast of cold wind inside with her, until she shut the door.

  “It’s freezing out there.” Wiping her wet shoes on a mat by the door, she shook snowflakes from her hair and from her dark blue overcoat. “I wouldn’t be surprised if we got a lot more snow before it’s over tonight.”

  Belinda stomped her feet. Snowflakes drifted onto the pine floor. She unbuttoned her shoes, one black button at a time, and put them beside the door. Then her gaze fastened on Honor. “You’re awfully quiet this afternoon.”

  Honor shrugged. “I’ve been busy. How’s the snowman?”

  “Perfect, just perfect. And he’s so handsome.”

  “Handsome? How can a man made of snow be handsome?”

  “Well, he is.” Belinda’s grin showed her excitement. “Just go out back and look.” She pointed toward the back door. “I don’t mind saying that I’ve never seen a better looking snowman.” She paused and examined Honor slowly. “I wish you’d been there to help us when we made him.”

  Honor looked away. “I’m sure you and the reverend did a fine job without me.”

  “Have you been crying?” Belinda asked.

  “Onions. I chopped onions a while ago.”

  “Yes. But have you been crying?”

  Yes, she thought, tears looming close to the surface again. For years, Honor had tried to hold in her emotions no matter what happened, and she’d been successful. But she couldn’t manage any longer. She needed someone to hold her, someone to tell her things would get better.

  Honor felt the warmth of Belinda’s kindness and wanted to tell her everything. Her true feelings for Jeth were too obvious to hide anymore, but she could never let anyone know about Lucas or what he might do if he found her. Her private monsters were between Honor and—

  Who? God?

  “What’s the matter?” Belinda asked. “Is it the pastor?”

  “He’s going to—” Honor sniffed. “He’s going to marry Lucy Jordan.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “Miss Bennett told me.”

  Belinda patted Honor gently on her back. “What does she know? I think the pastor’s in love with you.”

  “What makes you think so?”

  “I have eyes in my head, and ears, too. It’s obvious to me that Reverend Peters is not interested in Miss Jordan. If he was, he’d be courting her. He’s known her for years.”

  “Then who is he courting? Certainly not me.”

  “But he is courting you. Can’t you see that? Why do you think he drives you into town every time you need to go?”

  “His mother tells him to. Or rather, she told him to before she left. And Miss Jordan lives in town. Maybe he goes there to see her all the time. We just don’t know anything about it.”

  “He never drives Miss Jordan anywhere.” Belinda took Honor’s hand and led her to the table. “Sit down and let me fix you a cup of coffee. I think you need it.”

  Honor sat, trying not to cry again. A few minutes later, Belinda handed her a cup of coffee. Honor lifted the cup to her lips but had a hard time swallowing the warm liquid. Holding the cup in both hands, she studied her saucer, then took another sip.

  She wanted to believe Belinda was right—that Jeth loved her…and would rescue her from her uncle. But if Lucy wasn’t his intended, who was? Could Jeth be in love with another young woman, someone nobody knew about?

  Belinda leaned toward Honor. “You’re in love with Reverend Peters, aren’t you.”

  Yes, I am. Slowly, she nodded.

  Belinda smiled, displaying straight,
white teeth. “I knew it all along.”

  If only Honor could tell Belinda—or somebody—all the things that troubled her. A thought came to her: Tell the Lord.

  But surely He already knew.

  That evening after supper, Honor looked at Jeth through the open doorway of his office. In the dim light coming from his oil lamp, he sat behind his desk reading one of the letters, with a serious look on his face.

  Was he reading the letter from John Crammer or the one from his mother? She wanted to go in and find out, but knew she shouldn’t. Instead, she lifted her chin and straightened her back, preparing to move on.

  “Miss McCall, will you come in here for a minute, please?” Jeth motioned toward the empty chair in front of his desk.

  Here it comes, she thought. She stepped into his office stiffly and sat down.

  “I just got a letter from my mother and I thought you might enjoy hearing what she had to say. She has news that’s very exciting.”

  Relieved, Honor leaned forward in her chair. “Has the baby been born?” she asked.

  “No, but it should happen any day now.” He picked up his unopened letter from John Crammer and fingered it.

  A disquieting feeling shot through her. She hoped it didn’t show. Jeth had never looked more like Lucas than at that instant. She was glad the resemblance no longer troubled her, but what he might say about John’s letter did.

  “I wanted to tell you about something amazing that happened to Mama in Pine Falls.” He smiled. “I have an uncle I’ve never met by the name of Lawrence Smith. Uncle Lawrence ran away from home before my parents married and never came back—even for visits. Nobody knew what happened to him or if he was still alive. Then he just appeared briefly at the Starling Café one day. He ran away before Mama could talk to him.”

  “Has your mother talked to him since then?” Honor asked.

  “Not yet. But she’s looking for him. If he’s still in town, she’ll find him sooner or later. My mama doesn’t give up easily.”

  No, she doesn’t, Honor thought, and neither do you.

  Jeth still held the letter from John Crammer. He studied the envelope. Honor wanted to leave before he opened it. She didn’t care to hear what John had to say about Lucas or her.

  “Thank you for telling me about your uncle. It’s wonderful news. I hope your mother finds her brother again very soon.” She stood. “But I guess I’ll leave you now so you can finish reading the rest of your mail.”

  Lucas smelled dinner cooking. Pot roast and potatoes, he hoped. He felt better now that his fever had left him and he’d begun eating his meals at the table with Reverend and Mrs. Kline. Over the last few days, his strength was rapidly returning. He still thirsted for whiskey, but the craving had weakened.

  Lucas continued to read the Bible. Though he didn’t understand much of it, he studied it—mostly to please the minister. He had to do something to pay for his keep.

  “Dinner’s ready,” the minister’s wife called.

  When Lucas entered the kitchen, Mrs. Kline was standing in front of the woodstove, stirring a pot. White steam twirled up from it. The minister, at the head of the table, motioned for Lucas to sit down.

  “How’s the Bible reading going, Mr. Scythe?” he asked. “Are you understanding it better now?”

  “I understand it when you explain it.”

  “Then maybe we should have a short Bible study after we finish eating.”

  “I think I best go looking for a job after we finish eating, sir,” Lucas said. “I’m not gonna live off you folks forever. It ain’t fittin’.”

  “You can move back to that room of yours over the store anytime you want to,” the minister said. “We’ve paid for your rent three months in advance.”

  “Paid for my room?” Lucas stared at the preacher. “Why would you do that?”

  “As I told you, Christians treat others as they would like to be treated. It’s called the Golden Rule.”

  Lucas shook his head. “Don’t make no sense to me.”

  “It will sooner or later. Just keep reading your Bible. Understanding will come.”

  Mrs. Kline placed the platter of roast beef in front of the minister and a bowl of roasted potatoes in the middle of the table. Then she sat down.

  The pastor nodded to Lucas. “Let us give thanks.”

  The Klines folded their hands and bowed their heads. After a moment, Lucas did, too. He was staying in their home and should do as they did. Common courtesy taught him that much.

  “Heavenly Father,” the minister prayed. “Thank You for all our blessings and for this food. Use this meal to the nourishment of our bodies as You use the Bible to nourish our souls. In the name of Jesus, Amen.”

  A stack of white plates, a large fork and a sharp knife had been placed in front of the minister. Reverend Kline picked up the knife and sliced enough for three servings, then put a portion of meat on each plate. He handed a plate to Lucas. “Please pass this on down to my wife.”

  When all three had a plate in front of them, Mrs. Kline passed around bowls of potatoes, gravy and beans. Lucas hadn’t seen such a feast since before Harriet took to her bed. At last, they started eating.

  “You need a job, Mr. Scythe,” the minister said. “Isn’t that what you said?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Well, it’s my pleasure to be able to offer you one.”

  “You want to hire me? What kind of job?”

  “We have an opening at our church. We’re looking for a caretaker. Someone to clean the church, make minor repairs, and pull the weeds in the flower beds. Are you interested?”

  Lucas smiled. “Yes, I shore am.”

  “When can you start?”

  “Today, if you need me.”

  “Saturday will be soon enough. That’s when we clean the church for the Sunday services. Can you be there by eight on Saturday morning?”

  “You can count on me.”

  You can count on me. How many times had Lucas spoken those words without really meaning them? But things were different now. He wanted to do a good job for the minister. And he needed employment.

  He thought about what he’d done to Mr. and Mrs. Kline, stealing from them, then accepting their hospitality. Until that instant, he’d never considered asking for forgiveness. Yet he found himself wanting to tell them what he’d done, even if it meant he would never see them again.

  Lucas put down his knife and fork. “I have something to tell you good folks.”

  Reverend Kline’s brows lifted. “And what might that be, Mr. Scythe?”

  “I…I was the one what stole your silver tray and coffeepot. Then I went and sold them for money. I truly am sorry, though. Now, I reckon I best leave.” Lucas put down his napkin and started to rise.

  “Don’t go!” The minister smiled. “Sit back down and finish your meal. Please.”

  Lucas stopped, standing by his chair. “Didn’t you hear what I said, Preacher? I was the one who—”

  “We know all that, Mr. Scythe.”

  Lucas stared at the minister. He couldn’t believe his ears. “You knew?”

  “We’ve known all along. The top from one of your whiskey bottles must have fallen out of your pocket the night you broke into our house. We discovered a cork exactly like that one in your pocket the day we found you unconscious in the snow.”

  My good luck charm, he thought.

  Had the charm finally started working? Or had his good fortune come from somewhere else?

  “Then, if you knew all this about me, why did you take me in, nurse me back to health, and do all those other things to help me? It don’t make no sense.”

  “No, it doesn’t, unless you know and love our God,” the reverend said. “I was once just like you, Mr. Scythe. I was a poor boy, and my papa beat me almost every day. So I ran away and stole something from a man. When he caught me, I thought he would beat me and have me put in prison, but he didn’t. I found out he was a godly man. He took me in and raised me as his ow
n son. Even sent me to college, where I became a minister.

  “The man said he was able to forgive me and love me because God first forgave him and loved him. So now I’m passing that on to you.” The minister sent Lucas a soulful glance. “Has anyone ever hurt you, Mr. Scythe? Or have you ever hurt anybody?”

  Too many to name, Lucas admitted to himself.

  “If you’ve hurt others, you’ll have some repenting to do,” the reverend went on. “When you tell the Lord you’re sorry and really mean it, He will forgive you and wash away all your sins.”

  “Is that the heavenly bath you were talkin’ about?”

  The minister laughed. “It sure is.” Then his face turned sober. “Would you like to have what my wife and I have, Mr. Scythe?”

  “Would I have to give up drinking?”

  “That’s not the way it works. You just have to repent and ask the Lord to come and live in your heart. Let God worry about your drinking and everything else. Would you like to do that—right now?”

  Lucas shook his head. “I don’t know yet. I’ll let you know when I do.”

  “Don’t worry about telling me. Tell Him.”

  “You mean God?”

  The minister nodded. “He’s the Creator of the universe, you know. And He loves you very much, Lucas Scythe.” He paused again and smiled. “And don’t forget. We’re expecting you for Thanksgiving dinner.”

  The following afternoon, Honor sat at the kitchen table, writing her grocery list. The roast baking in the oven smelled delicious, and the biscuits were ready to pop in when the roast came out. She’d never thought she could run a boardinghouse, but she was doing it.

  The supper crowd would be small that evening. Jeth, Elmer, Mrs. Clark, Mrs. Davis and Dr. Harris. Belinda and Honor would eat what was left over.

  Jeth would have read John Crammer’s letter by now. Honor wondered if he intended to mention it.

  “Hey, there,” Jeth said. “What are you doing all hunched over? Don’t you know positions like that are bad for your back?”

  Honor straightened. Surprised to see Jeth standing beside her, she manufactured a quick smile. Well, at least he hadn’t sounded angry.