by Merry Farmer
“I see.” She pushed away from the window too, and stood with her hands clasped in front of her. Her eyes held such practical maturity as she stared at him that the hair on the back of his neck stood up. “I’m past thirty now, but that’s not too old to have a few children.”
“Of course, of course,” he blurted, no idea how they’d gotten onto this topic of conversation. “I’m sure you still have many good childbearing years left.” He would have roared at himself in embarrassment if he could.
Holly’s lips twitched, but the spark in her eyes remained as serious and intelligent as ever. “If you intend for us to have children, George, we’re going to have to work out our differences first.”
He could only stare at her, at the frankness of her statement. All at once, he was that rash, over-excited young man, deeply in love with a pretty girl. And just as suddenly, he remembered why he had fallen in love with her in the first place. Because Holly was a thousand times more sensible and clever than he was.
“You’re right. Of course. Absolutely. We’ll have to work out our differences. But differences take time to work out, so I won’t rush you into anything. And I won’t rush myself. I mean, I can’t rush myself. Rushing isn’t good for anyone. But there are differences. Differences that have to be worked out.”
If he was any more of a fool, he would explode on the spot.
Holly merely watched him with those earnest eyes and an even bigger twitch to her mouth. “Perhaps you’d better show me your kitchen and the food you have on hand. It’s getting late, and I’m sure you’d like to have your supper on time.”
“Yes, of course, that would be wonderful.”
He still wanted to kick himself or sink into the floor with embarrassment as he showed Holly the corner of the apartment that served as the kitchen. He’d never undertaken any major cooking projects in all the years he’d lived there. Someone or another from town had always wanted to invite him to dine with them or give him leftovers or an extra loaf of freshly-baked bread. Haskell was incredibly generous when it came to taking care of their bachelor pastor. And if he didn’t have anything on hand, he could always go up to The Cattleman Hotel for supper.
All that would change now, he realized as he showed Holly the limited pots and pans he owned. She nodded and took everything in with that careful assessment that she’d always had, but he felt like he was already falling short of expectations that a bride should have about her husband’s house. It was a relief when she announced she would cook the sausages he had with beans and potatoes, then explore the mercantile tomorrow to stock up on the things he didn’t have. Such a relief that he fled to his office and shut the door as soon as he was certain she didn’t need him anymore.
Once in his office, he collapsed into his desk chair, plunked his elbows on the desktop, and buried his face in his hands.
“Dear Lord,” he prayed. “I have no idea what I’m doing. Show me the way.”
Holly sighed for what felt like the thousandth time as she turned the sausages in their pan. “I handled that badly,” she muttered, scolding herself.
Why had she thought it would be a simple thing to stand in front of George and apologize? Why had she been foolish enough to assume that a few repentant words would make an entire past go away? All her trip to Haskell had done so far was to dredge up a wealth of emotions—sorrow, regret, and, yes, longing—that she’d thought were dead and buried.
And then she’d gone and married him.
She laughed out loud at the ridiculousness of the situation, then jerked her head around to the mostly-shut door to George’s office. Surely he hadn’t heard her ironic outburst with the door only open an inch. Even if he had, she was certain he’d agree that things were about as ludicrous as they could get. She’d come all this way to apologize for not marrying him…and then married him.
“Mother will have a fit of apoplexy when she finds out,” Holly muttered. Not that she would find out. The last time she’d spoken to her parents—three years ago—they’d made it quite clear that she wasn’t their daughter anymore, and if she was unhappy with the way her life had turned out, it was her own fault.
Sigh one thousand and one slipped out from her lungs, and she turned the sausages once more before stirring the beans. Supper would be a far cry from the elegant banquets George’s parents used to put on. But if there was one silver lining to her miserable marriage to Bruce Hannigan, it was her discovery that she rather enjoyed cooking, no matter how simple the fare was. There was a certain amount of pride that came from turning a pile of inedible ingredients into a tasty and nourishing meal. And heaven knew she didn’t have much to be proud of in her life.
“It smells good.”
George’s quiet comment from just a few feet behind her made Holly jump halfway out of her skin.
“Sorry.” George apologized in a hurry. “I thought you heard me come in.”
“No, I was lost in my own thoughts,” she answered, breathless. “But it’s all right. Supper is almost done.”
“I can set the table.”
Whether he made the offer out of a genuine desire to help or because it would give him an excuse not to stand there and look at her, Holly didn’t know and, surprisingly, didn’t care. She didn’t have to spend years in his presence to know that George had changed since their last parting. She would have to get to know this quieter, more thoughtful George. The George she was now married to.
“You’re sure you don’t mind that it’s so simple?” she asked, spearing the sausages and moving them to the plates that George brought to the stove for her.
“Not at all. I’ll let you in on a little secret.” He moved back to the table, setting out two places, then searching for glasses and pouring two cups of water. “All of those rich dishes that my family’s cook prepared, the stuff my parents and brothers loved, gave me indigestion.”
“Really?”
He smirked and shook his head. “Ironic, I know. It wasn’t just my spiritual and moral health that improved when I entered seminary.”
A shiver passed down Holly’s spine. “What made you decide to become a man of God?” Her question sounded innocent, but it was the one puzzle she’d mulled over for years without coming up with a single answer.
He didn’t rush into an explanation. She finished spooning beans and potatoes onto the plates, then carried them to the table. He brought the water, and they both sat, tucking in their chairs and picking up forks.
He still hadn’t answered.
“I’ve known for a long time now that you became a minister,” she confessed.
George snapped his eyes up from his plate to blink at her. “You have?”
She nodded. “For those first few years, I knew everything you were doing.”
He looked quickly down at his plate again, eyes wide in horror, face flushed. He sawed into his sausage as if his life depended on it. His reaction was so strong that she could only conclude there was a whole lot she didn’t know. And that he might not want her to know it.
“My parents kept me informed,” she went on, scrambling for some way to set him at ease. This was no way for a husband and wife to spend their first meal together. “They said you’d gone out West, to your family’s San Francisco office. Then they said you’d come back East to enter seminary.”
He peeked up at her. “Did they say anything else?”
Yes, there was definitely more to the story. She focused on slicing her sausage with table manners she’d learned in the two years of expensive finishing school her social-climbing parents had paid for. “Only that the West didn’t suit you.” She cleared her throat. “That you’d gotten into a bit of trouble.”
“Did they say what kind of trouble?” His voice was filled with dread.
She looked up and met his eyes. “Not in detail.”
He must have seen in her deliberately direct gaze that she was telling the truth…and that she had filled in some blanks for herself. His shoulders loosened, but his blush remained.
“I was distraught,” he explained, focusing on his food. He took a bite, giving himself time while he chewed. “I had a head full of steam to blow off. I fell into bad company.”
“I see.” She took her cue from him, using the food as an excuse to let silence reign. “You don’t have to say any more.”
He shook his head. “You’re my wife now. You should know everything there is to know about me.”
“I’m not sure I need to know everything about you.”
She was looking down when she said it, but his sudden stillness told her she’d said the wrong thing. Sure enough, when she glanced up at him, he wore a stricken look. It closed her throat up just as she was about to swallow. Did he want her to delight in hearing all the ways he’d fallen so low because of her? Did he want to punish her by making her listen to stories of alcohol and gambling and women, or maybe even worse?
He shook his head slightly, blinking his way out of the tension filling the table between the two of them. “The things I did back then feel as though they are the deeds of someone else,” he explained. “I’m not that man anymore. I was saved, literally and figuratively.”
He went back to cutting up his sausage and she swallowed her bite, as if they were talking about the weather.
“There was a fire,” he continued, slower. “At a brothel. That’s where I met Bonnie.”
Another awkward, sickly, wriggling wave of discomfort splashed through her, and she put down her fork. “Oh?” A brothel. Bonnie. Bonnie, who he’d mentioned earlier as one of Haskell’s unique citizens. She was here? She reached for her water, but even that had a hard time going down.
“Bonnie is the reason I came to Haskell,” George said. “That is, she came here first, and when she found out Howard was looking for a minister for this church, she recommended me.”
“You…you came here for Bonnie?”
He flushed. “Not for Bonnie, because of Bonnie. She and I… That is…I was a very different man back then,” he said. “But that night, during the fire, I…I can’t explain it.” He shook his head and put his fork down. “We were trapped. So many girls were trapped on the second and third floor.” His eyes took on an unfocused look. “It was horrible—the screaming, the smoke, the heat. Bonnie snapped me out of my fear, but once I realized people needed saving, it was like some unseen hand was working through me.”
Holly didn’t realize she was holding her breath until he glanced up at her, his eyes full of sadness. She sucked in air as he went on.
“I can’t say that God spoke to me directly. I didn’t hear voices or see visions. I just knew that I had to do better, to be better. I knew that the feeling—no, the obligation—to be a far better person than I had been, didn’t come from me. It came from something so much higher than me. That night, for the first time in my life, I didn’t give a single thought to what I wanted or what was comfortable for me or whether I’d be hurt. Those girls needed rescuing. It didn’t matter who they were. They needed help. Their lives depended on it.”
Holly blinked rapidly to fight off the tears that were suddenly stinging her eyes.
“Afterwards, as we all lay blackened, coughing, and retching in the streets, shamefully few people stepping forward to help us even then, I knew that what I was feeling wasn’t just a momentary sensation brought on by danger. It was a calling. God was calling me to rescue more than just those girls from that fire. He was calling me, first and foremost, to rescue myself from the desperation I’d fallen into. And He was calling me to rescue others from the kinds of mistakes I’d made. Not just the wine, women, and song sort of mistakes,” he was quick to clarify. “The arrogance and superficiality too. The irresponsible pride and the feelings of superiority that I was raised with.”
“That’s beautiful, George,” she whispered, not trusting herself to say more or speak louder.
He lowered his head, shoulder sagging. “If only it could have been an instant change. Turning your life around isn’t something that happens instantly, though. I went home and dedicated my life to becoming a minister, but that didn’t cure me of my selfishness and arrogance.”
“No one changes overnight,” she insisted. “It’s the desire to start changing that means the most. And here you are, a pastor in Haskell. Clearly you’ve made great strides.”
He took a long time to answer what she hadn’t intended to be a question, but what felt like one anyhow. “I’ve had my problems. It’s been a long journey. There have been a lot of people who haven’t agreed with my decisions.”
She thought about that for a moment, picking up her fork and poking at her meal. “Yes, I suppose your parents had other hopes for you.”
George shrugged, resuming his dinner as well. “Actually, my parents were supportive. They even came out to Haskell two summers ago to see my new life. My brothers had a harder time with it. They thought I was going to become some moralizing stick-in-the-mud.”
“Did you?” she asked, almost teasing.
He relaxed a little more, shaking his head. “I’m not that kind of preacher. I’ve always believed that God’s love should be emphasized far more than His wrath. I’m not the kind of minister who believes that people can be frightened into repentance.”
“You’re not?”
“No. I believe that the only true way to change a person’s heart and mind, and therefore their soul, is to show them love, to welcome them to the right path, and to make them want to walk that path more than they want to wallow in their sin. Fear only lasts until someone thinks the danger is past, but love is something that grabs hold of you and holds you close and makes you want to stay right where you are.”
Holly had never heard anything like it. Certainly not in the cold, brittle sermons of her childhood. George’s way ignited a spark in her heart that grew and expanded with every word he said. It stayed warm and bright even after he let out a soft laugh, shook his head, and concentrated on eating.
“I’m sure you don’t want a sermon with your supper.”
“No, it’s fine. It’s…”
He glanced up at her expectantly.
She had no idea what she wanted to say. All she could do was stare at him, taking in every detail the way a painter might before drawing a portrait. It had been so easy to fancy herself in love with George all those years ago. If she wasn’t careful, she’d fall head over heels all over again.
“I’m sure you’re a very good minister,” she said, gaze fluttering down as she finished her supper.
“My congregation is happy. That’s all that matters to me.”
She peeked up at him, met his eyes, and they both smiled. Something strange and new…and yet as old as she could remember, flared inside of her.
She had no idea what she was going to do about it.
Chapter 4
Holly didn’t expect to sleep well her first night in her new, unexpected life. She was in a new town set amidst a landscape unlike anything she’d ever known, sleeping in George’s bed. Without him. His scent was everywhere, though, and against all odds, she slept long and deep…and dreamed about their days together when they were both still young. It was almost wonderful, almost cozy, almost real.
Almost.
She awoke to a bump from the other side of the room.
“Sorry,” George whispered. He stood by the wardrobe, a fresh shirt and pair of trousers draped over his arm. A moment later, he leaned over to pick up whatever had fallen and made the noise.
He was wearing his trousers from the day before, but had his shirt off. Holly blinked herself awake and rubbed her eyes, wondering if he was a vision from her dreams. They hadn’t been that scandalous. But the sight of George’s bare chest, just enough dark hair over solid muscles, made her uneasy…in a good way. Had George been so fit and handsome when they were together before, or was this something Wyoming had brought on?
“I’ll be out of your way in just a second,” he said, his tone indicating that he didn’t have the first clue where her thoughts h
ad gone. “I just need clean clothes,” he went on, standing there with his clothes clasped modestly in front of him, not moving or getting on with his business. “I am Haskell’s pastor, after all, and this is the busy season, as it were. There are people coming soon to help decorate the sanctuary for Christmas and to discuss our annual Christmas pageant.”
He stared at her, his expression an odd combination of nervousness and…longing?
The haze of sleep slowly cleared, and Holly gasped as she put two and two together. “Oh, I’m sorry. You want me to help.” She sat up, throwing the bedcovers aside and twisting so she could get out of bed.
“No!”
She froze at George’s exclamation, clutching the quilt from the bed over her chest.
“I mean, you don’t have to rush. You don’t have to help if you don’t want to. Really, it’s my responsibility.”
Holly stood. Did he not want her to help? “It’s not a problem. I should fix breakfast for you either way.”
“I made coffee,” he said, as though that was a meal.
She shook her head and crossed to an old ladder-back chair in the corner of the room where she’d left her robe before going to bed. “Coffee is nice, but if you have a busy day ahead of you, you’re going to need more than that. I can make eggs and hash out of the leftover sausage and potatoes from last night.”
Her heart was still pounding as she swept past him and out into the kitchen. The informality of their encounter was as intimate as a kiss. She liked it. It was exciting. It was awkward. It was confusing.
There wasn’t time to dwell on it. George had fired up the stove, probably to make his coffee, so it was hot enough for her to get to work cooking right away. She busied herself putting together a hash in one skillet while frying eggs in another. Anything to avoid thinking about the unfathomable truth that she and George were married.
He hung behind in the bedroom, coming out several minutes later fully dressed and shaved. By that point, she already had his breakfast plate ready and keeping warm on the side of the stove.
