by Ginny Aiken
Male laughter rang out again.
Faith looked toward the door another time. As crowded as the room had grown, she thought she still might manage to sneak out and no one would be any the wiser. That is, they wouldn’t be until someone bought her lunch and she was nowhere to meet the buyer. She sighed.
Still, the urge to get away ran deep. She started to rise from her seat, but the auctioneer’s resumed prattle brought her up short.
“I see here a nice-looking box,” he said. “It does smell an awful lot like someone’s packed roast lamb. Any of you men like lamb? Because I can tell you all that I sure do. And I’m so hungry my belly’s growling’s almost drowning all your noise out.”
Good-natured catcalls rang out.
Mr. Bowen’s eyes twinkled. “Irma, my darling, I think I’m going to pass on your good chicken sandwiches today, after all. I may just make myself a feast with lamb.”
Boos and hisses sped through the crowd of women.
“Can’t do that to Irma.”
“You’re already married.”
The bachelors all tried to outdo each other in their varied comments.
“I’m ready to eat with a pretty—”
“Hurry up, Tom. I’m hungry!”
Faith dared a glance at the carpenter and gasped. The box in his hands was hers.
She blushed, and the urge to run had her up and moving toward the door again.
“Isn’t it exciting, my dear?” Mrs. Alton said, appearing at her side. “He’s about to raffle yours. Is there anyone you’d like to eat your meal with?”
Faith shivered. An idea occurred to her. “Yes, indeed. I’d love to eat with the reverend today.”
Mrs. Alton laughed. “Nah, nah, nah! That won’t work. He’s already bought mine, and his waistline doesn’t need two meals, I can assure you. Besides, we wouldn’t like my dear husband to leave a poor, single fella to go hungry.”
“But I’m a new widow,” she argued, panic nipping at her heels. “You know I’m in mourning, Mrs. Alton. It won’t do for me to take part in such frivolous nonsense so soon after Roger’s death—”
“Pshaw!” Mrs. Alton hooked her arm through Faith’s and led her back toward the altar again. “I’d buy that answer if I had any illusions about your marriage. I know you didn’t wish that man ill—if you had, he wouldn’t have lasted as long as he did after the two of you married. But I know you suffered at his hand, and his passing is as much a relief as it is a dilemma for you. Now that I’ve come to know you a mite better, I want nothing more than to see you wed to a good, kind man who’ll know how to treasure you as you deserve.”
Tears stung Faith’s eyes. “I still can’t believe you’re able to trust me like this. Especially since Theo continues to accuse me.”
Mrs. Alton made a face. “You can’t expect me to put much stock in the words of a shiftless bum, can you? Theo Nolan spends most of his days in a rocking chair out on the front porch of the River Run Hotel. He’ll say anything, depending on which way the winds blow his hat off his head.”
“…So do I have fifty cents for this lovely lamb lunch?” Mr. Bowen asked.
“Fifty-five!” a gentleman cried from the far side of the room.
“My goodness!” Mrs. Alton exclaimed, craning her neck to see who’d spoken. “That is an excellent starting sum for your lunch. I wonder who that is doing the bidding.”
Faith’s cheeks heated. “I wouldn’t know.”
Her companion twisted around in her chair, bobbing her head, still intent on catching a glimpse of the bidder. “Ah…but wouldn’t you want to know?”
Oh, goodness gracious. “To be honest, I’d much rather let him enjoy it on his own while I return to the lovely room at the parsonage.”
“Sixty-five!”
“We have us a sixty-five,” Mr. Bowen echoed. “And now, how about seventy?”
The bidding continued. When her curiosity got the better of her, Mrs. Alton practically dragged Faith up to the front, reminding her of a proud hen who leads her chicks to a choice spot where worms abound. Faith was mortified.
The bids continued to mount.
By the time it was all done, the lunch went for the princely sum of two dollars and ninety-nine cents. The average box lunch had sold for ninety-five cents.
Faith doubted there were many men hankering for lamb that day, but instead many more burning with nosiness. She wished the ground would open up beneath her and swallow her whole. No such thing happened.
“Come on up here to collect your prize, Mr. Parham,” the auctioneer said. “And will the lovely lady who prepared this meal come and join us, please?”
As Faith fought the urge to shrink, a gentleman hurried toward the altar, and Mrs. Alton pushed her toward him.
Panic mounted.
She stepped back.
The reverend’s wife prodded her forward.
“No, no!” Faith held her ground. “How am I going to eat with that man? I have no idea who he is. I’ve never even seen him before.”
“Don’t worry, dear.” Mrs. Alton spoke in a tone both encouraging and excited at the same time.
It did nothing to help Faith.
The reverend’s wife continued. “He’s a nice gentleman. Eli Whitman hired him about a year ago. He’s the bank secretary, and as I’m sure you can see, he’s a nice-looking fellow. I hear he’s also sober, churchgoing, and clearly holds an excellent job. A lady couldn’t do a whole lot better, if you ask me, and could certainly do far worse. Such good prospects don’t come around often enough.”
Without waiting for Faith’s response, Mrs. Alton raised her hand high in the air and waved at Mr. Bowen. “Yoo-hoo, Tom! Mr. Parham has bought himself Faith Nolan’s lunch, lucky fellow. She and I cooked the leg of lamb together, and I know all about the other delicacies she packed with the meat and fresh-baked bread. I can tell you they’ll have themselves a fine feast.”
A chorus of chuckles burst forth, all of them feminine. Mr. Bowen gave Faith a questioning look, his scrutiny intense. A few of the other men turned their heads in her direction, faces full of curiosity. Mr. Parham’s expression echoed theirs, even if a bit more discreetly.
She had nowhere to go. Faith forced a step in the direction of the occasional auctioneer…then another. Moments later, she stood before Mr. Bowen at Mr. Parham’s side. She watched as money exchanged hands, and then as Mrs. Hadley, Addie Tucker’s mother, came in her capacity as treasurer of the Bible Society to collect the loot.
Cash in hand, she smiled at Faith and hurried off. Mr. Bowen resumed his auctioneering. Faith and Mr. Parham stood awkwardly at the front of the church, the box of food in the bank secretary’s hands.
“Pleased to make your acquaintance, ma’am,” he said in a pleasant voice, his expression polite. “Would you care to find a place to sit before the others hurry to crowd the tables? I’m sure Tom Bowen doesn’t have many more lunches to raffle off.”
Tongue-tied, Faith nodded, then followed her luncheon companion to the table farthest from the crush of nosy event-goers. Mr. Parham set down the box. She took a seat in the nearest chair. He gave her a nod.
“If you’ll excuse me for a minute,” he said, “I’m parched. Would you care for coffee or will water do?”
“Coffee is always good.”
“Good to see we agree.” With another nod, he crossed to where Addie held court with a large coffeepot in hand.
Faith bit her bottom lip as she rummaged in the box for the white napkins she’d packed. Oh, Lord. I can’t remember a more uncomfortable moment in my whole life. Please don’t leave me. Give me the words to speak to this nice man, give me the strength to endure as long as the meal lasts. Even if you do know I’d much rather be at the parsonage reading your Word.
“Mrs. Whitman makes a fine pot of coffee,” Faith’s meal partner said moments later at her elbow, startling her, two large coffee cups in his hands. “And I understand it’s fresh. She said she’d just brewed this latest pot.”
Faith nodded as she set out the dish with the slices of roast lamb on one of the napkins. She continued to focus on serving the meal, aware in a vague way of Mr. Parham’s trivial chatter. The gentleman seemed nice enough indeed, and she realized how dreadfully rude she was being, but she couldn’t help herself. She felt as though she were a bystander, someone other than herself, a witness to the scene instead of the one living it. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t bring herself back into the moment at hand.
Fortunately for her, the bank’s secretary continued to keep up a lighthearted conversation, and she managed to keep up her part by merely murmuring agreement where appropriate. While Mr. Parham ate with great gusto, Faith managed to chew and down a couple of bites of the lamb, some crumbs of bread, a small piece of one slice from the juicy apple, and a single bite of good yellow cheese. She couldn’t dredge up even the semblance of an appetite when she knew she was under such great scrutiny.
Oh, sure. The residents of Bountiful by now had begun to enjoy their box lunches throughout the rearranged church sanctuary, but at no point did Faith feel herself free of their curious stares. Certainly, Mr. Parham didn’t let his attention stray from her, either, even though he didn’t pursue any intense sort of questioning.
And then…
One moment, the bank secretary was discussing some intricate financial transaction he’d saved from collapse due to his meticulous attention to detail, and the next he moaned, clutched his abdomen, and fell off his chair, retching, twitching, and convulsing. The man’s face turned an alarming shade of purple-red.
A cry of horror burst from Faith’s lips before she could stifle it.
Olivia flew to her side a second later.
Mrs. Alton rushed to her other flank.
The buzz of gossip broke out.
Addie Tucker bustled right up, stared at the man on the floor, and called for Doc Chambers. Then, in a voice not to be ignored, warned the rest of those gathered in the church. “Don’t any of you others come and crowd us here. Curiosity won’t help Mr. Parham. Doc Chambers is the only one who will. The rest of you can pray. Starting right now.”
The physician, napkin still tucked into the collar of his blue-and-white striped shirt, ran to Mr. Parham’s side, his black leather satchel in hand. He opened the case, tore off the napkin, then turned his attention to his patient.
With a cautionary glower for anyone who might entertain the notion of coming nearer, Addie stepped closer to Faith. When she seemed certain no one would get in the doctor’s way, she reached out a hand. The warm touch, as unexpected as it was welcome, helped to ease Faith out of the semifrozen state in which she’d found herself for quite a spell. Tears threatened, but she fought them back, horrified to think the reluctantly dispersing crowd might witness her moment of weakness.
As though she’d awoken from a horrid nightmare, Faith blinked. Around her, bodies hurried from each corner of the room toward the twin doors to the sanctuary, heads still turned, gazes glued to the men at her feet, others staring at…well, at her.
An arm wrapped around her waist. “Come with me, my dear.” Mrs. Alton’s gentle voice coaxed her along. “There’s not much we can do to help, and we don’t want to get in Doc’s way, as Addie was so wise to say.”
“Oh, but I couldn’t leave without knowing—”
“We don’t have to leave,” Addie said. The pretty redhead, still at Faith’s side, smiled. “Let’s do something worthwhile. Let’s pray.”
The four women, Mrs. Alton, Olivia, Addie, and Faith, crossed the room and sat in chairs hastily abandoned by the other event-goers. Faith joined in the prayers offered by her friends, but at no time was she able to fully remove her attention from the motionless man on the floor and the grim-faced doctor hovering over him. To one side of the two men stood Reverend Alton, Mr. Whitman, Mr. Tucker, and…oh, my!
Nathan had come to the box lunch auction. Faith hadn’t noticed him in the crush of folks inside the church.
“…amen.”
Faith caught her breath. Once again she’d let her attention wander when she should have been praying, turning to God for comfort and guidance at this turbulent time. Oh, Lord, forgive me.
“What happened?” Olivia asked, concern in her features.
Faith shrugged. “I’m not sure. I must admit I wasn’t paying much attention to Mr. Parham. He did most of the talking, and almost all the eating. I’m afraid I was quite rude to him. But, you see, I haven’t been particularly hungry since…well, since the day Roger died.”
Mrs. Alton stood, tsk-tsking softly. “I can see where that would be the case. I wonder if Mr. Parham’s prone to fits. Has your Eli mentioned anything, Olivia?”
“Never. And even though I don’t spend much time in the bank, I’ve never known him to twitch or any such thing.”
“I wonder if he’s come down with some dysentery,” Addie said. “I hope it’s not something we have to deal with here in town. The children…well, it can be awfully dangerous to little ones.”
“Not only to little ones,” Mrs. Alton countered. “Dysentery can take anyone’s life. It just depends on how sick a body gets. And it looks to me as though Mr. Parham is quite sick.”
Doc Chambers glanced their way, a deep groove carved across his brow. “I’m afraid you’re right. But it’s not dysentery. At least not if it’s what my examination’s making me suspect. Something’s gone mighty wrong here, and I need someone to go fetch Marshal Blair for me.”
Gasps burst from the four women.
The men traded glances, shrugged shoulders, looked at the doctor once again.
“I’ll go after the marshal,” Josh Tucker said, heading toward the door. “What do you want me to tell him?”
The physician stood, his expression ever more troubled. Dread pooled in Faith’s stomach, twisting and turning and sickening her when his gaze met hers. “I’ve been practicing medicine a long, long time,” he said in a somber voice. “Ain’t never seen this in all those years, even though I’ve read some on such cases when I trained back in Boston, and even a time or two in newspapers since then.”
Her shoulders tightened, and Faith felt as though she had to brace for a physical blow, almost the same sensation she’d often experienced during her marriage to Roger. Her pulse pounded through her body, beat loudly in her ears, made drawing breath a great challenge.
“What is it, Doc?” Olivia asked. “Do we have an epidemic in town? Do we have to guard the children?”
He paced back and forth in front of the prone body, the silence growing unbearable. Finally, he paused, shook his head.
“I don’t reckon we have us an epidemic here, Livvy, but it wouldn’t hurt to watch out for the children some—and watch for ourselves, while we’re at it, too. Something’s plumb wrong when a young man is poisoned in church on a Sunday morning.”
Chapter 12
“Poisoned!” Faith cried, dizziness making her falter. “How could that be? That food was fresh. Food poisoning only happens when food is spoiled.”
Her words seemed to break through the dam of silence in the sanctuary. After her, all spoke at once, the questions tossed out in such a way as to eliminate any chance to understand. The men’s deeper voices drowned out the women’s higher ones, and Faith once again felt that odd sensation of separation from the moment she was living.
The doctor’s gaze grew, if anything, more piercing at her words. “Why don’t we wait until the marshal gets here before we take a stab at all this? I don’t want us to have to go over what’s happened more than once, not without him being here.”
An icy chill ran through Faith when the doctor looked at her. He couldn’t possibly think she…could he? In the face of Theo’s accusations, Mr. Parham’s apparent poisoning while in her company eating food she had prepared hardly helped her appear innocent. But she didn’t know the doctor well enough to read his expression.
Perhaps that trial would happen sooner rather than later.
She’d hoped it wouldn’t
happen at all.
Not another word was uttered in the wake of the doctor’s comment, and the minutes seemed to stretch into hours…maybe days’ worth of time. Faith wanted answers, she wanted them right then, and she wanted the marshal in the sanctuary so that she could extract those answers. Her life depended on those answers.
And still they had to wait.
She bit her bottom lip, shifted her weight from foot to foot, and laced and unlaced the fingers of one hand from those of the other. She glanced at her new friends, and to her dismay, saw her own concern etched on their faces, especially on Mrs. Alton’s kind, motherly face. As she studied the older woman, Mrs. Alton turned her way, and their gazes met.
Instinct prodded Faith closer to the lady who’d taken her in.
Mrs. Alton met her partway, her arm wrapping again around Faith’s waist. “‘Fear thou not,’” the reverend’s wife whispered, “‘for I am with thee.’”
Faith had always believed that particular one of God’s promises. That is, she had, but after all that had happened to her in the last three years, how could she still believe God was with her? How could she still believe He held her in the palm of His hand? How could she still trust that she mattered more to Him than that one sparrow fallen from its nest?
And yet…although she felt abandoned, she wasn’t alone. Hadn’t God provided her with Mrs. Alton, Olivia, and Addie, as well as Nathan Bartlett and Woody, in her time of need? Was that how the Lord was showing her how much He really cared?
The sound of the church door opening cut into her thoughts. Marshal Blair walked in, followed by Mr. Tucker. As the door swung to close, it crashed open again, banging against the wall with a crack that ricocheted through the room as though it had been a gunshot.
Theo Nolan stormed in, rage on his round face. “Dinnent I tell you she was dangerous? Dinnent I tell ya, ya should’ve locked her up? I toldya she needed to hang for killin’ my brother, but none of ya listened to me, didya?”
Faith’s stomach heaved. Perhaps God wasn’t on her side after all. Surely, if He was, He wouldn’t have let her brother-in-law show up right then.
