Brides of Iowa

by Stevens, Connie;

  Her father nodded. “I understand a wee bit about wantin’ to hide from the world.”

  Gratified by her father’s insight, she went on. “I walked over and spoke to him, and it was as if he felt free to carry on a conversation, like the sun dropping below the horizon rendered him safe.” She shook her head slightly. “I wish he understood that his scars don’t matter to me.”

  Da absently ran one finger along the jagged scar across his face. “You grew up lookin’ at my scar, daughter, so it’s normal for you. It’s not for Everett.” He rubbed his chin. “You know that story in Jeremiah where the prophet goes to the potter’s house and watches a clay pot bein’ formed on the wheel? There was somethin’ amiss in the clay, and the pot couldn’t be useful the way it was. So the potter made it over again. That’s what happened to me. I had somethin’ amiss in my life, and I broke. God had to reshape me. The scar is just a reminder that I never want to go back to that place o’ sin again. I’m thinkin’ maybe God has made Everett over again as well.” He reached out and cupped Tillie’s chin, his thumb caressing her cheek. “But give him time to settle into the new vessel God’s creatin’ of him.

  “I’m thinkin’, too, that Everett wasn’t the only one refined by the fire. Seems I’ve seen a bit of a change in you, too, my darlin’.’ Tis difficult to put a wise head on young shoulders, but I’m noticin’ you’ve learned a deeper level o’ compassion. Instead of shuttin’ out the person who hurt you in the past, you’ve opened your heart, lettin’ God show His love and carin’ through you. It’s proud I am of you, girl.”

  Tillie felt a blush rise at her father’s praise. “Everett said he liked walking in the evening, and when I mentioned maybe we’d see each other again out walking, he seemed pleased.” She leaned forward and looked fully into her father’s face. “Da, if it’s all right with you, I’d like to walk with Everett again some evening after work. He was so relaxed as we talked tonight, and I think it was because he didn’t feel like he had to hide his face.”

  Da frowned, and at first Tillie thought he was going to forbid her to see Everett under the cloak of darkness. His eyes searched her face, and finally he laid his hand on her head. “Appearances are important, child. You must mind yourself that you don’t allow people to draw the wrong conclusion.” He studied her for a full minute before continuing. “I’m trustin’ the way I raised you, daughter. You’ve heard me say such before, and there’s no sense in boilin’ the cabbage twice. You use good sense, and guard your reputation.” A tiny smile tweaked his lips. “And whilst you’re at it, guard your heart as well. Your da doesn’t want to see you get hurt again.” He leaned forward and placed a kiss on her forehead.

  Everett gave Gray a few strokes and a scratch behind the ear when the cat rubbed against his leg. “I know, old man—it’s almost time to close up and go home.” He glanced out the window of his office. The sun hung low in the western sky, almost touching the horizon. Perhaps another half hour until the shadows stretched into wide, sweeping cloaks. Anticipation tickled his stomach, and he purposefully disciplined his mind, returning his attention to the invoices on his desk. He flipped through a few of the papers and realized he had no idea what he’d just read.

  Don’t be ridiculous! Just because he happened to run into Tillie three times last week and twice already this week didn’t mean she’d be waiting for him at the creek this evening. Each time they’d strolled among the thickening shadows, their conversation flowed more freely. Talking to Tillie felt…right. Was it so wrong to look forward to being with her, talking with her? Was he foolish for harboring memories of each evening they’d walked together, like a schoolboy carving initials into a tree trunk?

  He recalled the sound of her laughter, and he pushed away from the desk. Leaning back with his hands tucked behind his head, he closed his eyes and gave himself permission to dream. A smile twitched his lips as memories of his evening walks with Tillie traced soft images across his mind. He’d had friends in Baltimore, and he’d seen a few young ladies socially. But he couldn’t remember ever having a friend like Tillie. He had to admit she was more than just a friend. Sunset strolls with her at the end of the day eased his anxiety and melted away the apprehension he normally experienced with others. Tillie demonstrated no insincerity or charade, nor did she present any expectations. She encouraged him to speak his mind or sit by the creek in silence, to contemplate the intricacies of a clover blossom or count fireflies, to discuss last Sunday’s sermon or regale her with Gray’s hunting exploits.

  The tiresome events among Baltimore’s society had demanded he always present himself with proper poise and dignity. Twilight conversation with Tillie often found them dangling bare feet in the creek. Why, just a few evenings ago, they’d sat at the water’s edge pitching pebbles into the current and singing “Rock of Ages,” laughing as they improvised the harmony. Wouldn’t the debutantes in Baltimore titter behind their hands at such a sight?

  For all the pleasantness of being in her company, however, there remained the hard truth. Tillie might be a wonderful friend, but that was all she could ever be. If he were to be honest with himself, he’d have to acknowledge that he wished he and Tillie could be more. Much more. A lonely ache defined a desire for a deeper bond, but even as the idea flitted through his mind, he knew such closeness could never be realized.

  He shook his head and pulled himself up to the desk. Pursuing a romantic relationship would only result in heartache for him and embarrassment for Tillie. It was her kindheartedness and generous nature that induced her to offer friendship. To expect anything more was selfish, and he’d not put her in the awkward position of having to refuse his request for courtship.

  Another glance out the window told him the sun was almost gone. Gray followed Everett out the door of the depot but seemed to understand the honor of his presence was not requested as a chaperone. The feline sat and groomed himself on the boardwalk as Everett locked the door.

  “I’ll see you later at home.” He bent to rub Gray’s head and headed off toward the creek, lending his voice to a hymn sung at last Sunday’s service.

  “Be Thou my vision, O Lord of my heart, naught be all else to me, save that Thou art.” Not remembering the rest of the words, he continued humming as he strode along. When he turned the corner at the mill, the creek came into view. The breeze swayed the willow branches, allowing him a glimpse of Tillie’s blond hair catching the ebbing sunlight.

  The hymn remained on his lips as he approached. He knew the moment she heard him humming, for she turned her head toward him and joined her pure soprano voice with his.

  “Waking or sleeping, Thy presence my light.”

  He stepped over to where she sat beside the creek. She’d already shed her shoes, and her toes played in the water. Out of habit, he took a position to her right, keeping his left profile toward her.

  “That’s one my Da’s favorites. It’s an Irish hymn from the eighth century.” She twirled a buttercup between her thumb and forefinger. “It’s a lovely evening for hymn singing.”

  “Yes, it is.” He removed his shoes and let his feet dangle in the creek. “But I’m quite sure any attempt on my part to sing harmony would be an affront to the composer,” he added with a chuckle. “I’m afraid I scared off all the fireflies the other night when I tried to sing with you.”

  Her soft giggle rained like dewdrops. “My Da can stampede cattle, but that doesn’t stop him from singing. Haven’t you ever seen him walking down the boardwalk in town singing?”

  He’d seen her parents at church, but only the backs of their heads or from a distance across the yard. He noted she had the same color hair as her father and wondered from which parent she inherited her clear green eyes. Her question prompted a recollection. Less than a week ago he saw a man, a farmer judging by his dress, entering the mercantile singing at the top of his lungs, drawing amused looks from the townsfolk. While he didn’t think it too strange for the man to be singing, he was astounded that the fellow didn’t mi
nd drawing attention to himself. Even from several paces away, the jagged scar that stretched from the man’s cheekbone to the bridge of his nose was clearly visible.

  “I think I may have seen him.” Everett rubbed his chin. “Green bandana and singing an Irish folk song?”

  Tillie laughed again and nodded. “That’d be Da.”

  The shadows played around them, and their growing friendship coaxed him into asking a question of a more personal nature. “What happened, Tillie?” He almost snatched the inquiry back and apologized, but Tillie’s eyes held no defensiveness. “What happened to your father to leave him with such an ugly scar?”

  She tilted her head to one side, a tiny, sad smile tugging at her mouth. “Da used to frequent the saloons—before he became a child of God. Sometimes he’d drink so much he couldn’t find his way home.”

  Everett heard the wistfulness in her voice. She leaned forward and dipped her fingers in the clear running water. The obviously painful memory cut a furrow into her brow, and he started to tell her she didn’t need to say any more, but she spoke again.

  “I remember Ma crying in the night when Da didn’t come home. I was about Brenna’s age when Da got into a barroom fight. One of the men he was fighting slashed Da across the face, chest, and arm with a broken whiskey bottle.” Her voice caught and softened into a hush. “He was hurt very badly. By the time a few of his friends carried him to the doctor, he’d lost a lot of blood. The doctor couldn’t say for sure if he would live.” Everett couldn’t imagine how frightening it must have been for her as a little girl to see her father so terribly injured.

  “After a while he began to heal, and Ma talked him into going to church with us. There was a visiting preacher, and for the first time in his life, Da listened. He decided he never wanted to cause his family so much grief again, and he asked God to forgive him and make him into a new man.”

  In the cloak of shadows, he heard her sigh—a soft sound full of reflection. “Da gave his heart and his life to God that day, and he says every morning when he looks in the mirror and sees the scars, he remembers how far God has brought him.”

  She sat back and turned to face him. “You know, it’s never occurred to me to think of Da’s scars as ugly. To me, they’re beautiful, because they represent that precious time when God gave me back my Da.”

  Chapter 7

  Everett polished off his wedge of apple pie and wiped his mouth on his napkin. “Delicious, Pearl. But I feel guilty for accepting so many invitations to dinner when I haven’t extended any.” He grinned. “Not that you’d want to eat my cooking.”

  Father laughed out loud. “Pearl cooked for a crowd at the boardinghouse for so many years that she’s had a hard time learning how to cook just for the two of us. If you didn’t come to dinner and take some of this food home with you, we’d be eating it for a week.”

  Pearl flapped a hand at her husband. “He’s right. One of these days I’ll figure out how to make a casserole that feeds two instead of twelve.” She rose and began clearing the dishes. “You two go on in the living room. I’ll bring the coffee in later.”

  Everett pushed away from the table and headed for the large leather chairs in front of the fireplace. The delectable meal and pleasant conversation made for a relaxing end to the day, but his mind wandered to the shadowy creek bank and Tillie’s special company. He wondered if Tillie had walked by the creek this evening on her way home. It wasn’t as if they made plans to meet. He’d never actually asked her to join him for a walk. They always left it to chance.

  His father sat opposite him. “I noticed you’ve been seeing Tillie O’Dell.”

  Everett jerked his head up. How did Father know about that? Could he read his son’s mind?

  The twinkle in Hubert’s gray eyes indicated approval. “I’ve seen the two of you walking together a few times as I’m closing up the mercantile. Most recently, I saw you one evening last week. I had a late delivery to make. On my way back, I went by Pastor Witherspoon’s house. While he and I sat on his front porch, we saw you and Tillie off in the distance, down by the creek.” He rubbed his mustache and smiled. “Tillie is a very nice young lady. I’m happy you two are getting to know each other.”

  Not wishing his father or Pearl to misunderstand, he cleared his throat and shook his head. “Tillie is a nice girl, but she’s just being kind. She’s nothing more than a friend.” He gave a dismissive shrug and hoped his father would change the subject.

  Father’s bushy eyebrows came together. “Why couldn’t she be more than a friend? You won’t find a sweeter girl in the whole county.” He uncrossed his legs and leaned forward. “Son, if you intend to pursue her, you’d best make your intentions known. I’ve seen how the other young fellows buzz around her. It won’t be long and one of them will be asking her father for courting privileges.”

  A knot formed and twisted in Everett’s stomach at the idea of another man courting Tillie. He’d tried having a stern conversation with his heart, pointing out the obvious disadvantages of continuing to meet Tillie for their evening strolls. It simply wouldn’t do for him to lose his heart to her, especially when reciprocation was impossible. Certainly Tillie’s whole purpose in forming a friendship with him was purely charitable. There was no sense in envisioning anything more. He slammed his mind’s door on the scenario.

  “If Tillie wants to see other fellows, that’s entirely up to her. I certainly have no claim on her.” He brushed an imaginary piece of lint from his cuff. When he glanced up again, the elder Behr was studying him with an unreadable expression. Everett continued, anxious not to give the wrong impression.

  “Father, Tillie has been very kind to go walking with me, and I suspect she is doing so as a demonstration of compassion and mercy like Pastor Witherspoon talks about on Sundays.” He absently ran his fingertips over the ridges and valleys of the mottled skin along his right jawline. “Tillie should see other fellows. I’m grateful for her benevolence, but I must find some way to tell her that she needs to accept the attention of some of these other gentlemen.” He tucked his chin and frowned. “They are gentlemen, aren’t they?”

  A quiet smile spread across Father’s face, stretching his salt-and-pepper beard. “Timothy O’Dell wouldn’t allow anything less.” He took his whiskers between his thumb and forefinger and tugged absently. “That young fellow who works for you—”

  “Ben Kiefer?”

  “Mm.” His father’s gaze wandered toward the window. “I’ve noticed him waiting on Sunday mornings out in the churchyard. When the O’Dells’ wagon pulls up, he is usually the first one to step over and help Tillie down from the wagon.”

  The knot that took up residence in Everett’s stomach earlier rolled over, and he clamped his teeth together. By arriving to church late every week, he didn’t get to see who Tillie’s admirers were. For some reason he couldn’t explain, it bothered him to know Ben Kiefer was among them.

  “How do you feel about that?”

  Everett shook himself and focused his attention back on his father. “About what?”

  Hubert smiled again. “Son, I’ve seen you and Tillie out walking several times. Why would you go for evening strolls together if you didn’t have some feelings for her? Knowing other young men are coming around and paying attention to her must generate something inside you.”

  There was no point in trying to fool his father. Everett sucked in a breath and let it out slowly. “Father, you must understand that I’m not in the position to make any offers to Tillie.” He slid his gaze to the window and swallowed. “All we do is go for walks in the evening when there’s nobody around to see us together.”

  “I’ve seen you together.” Father leaned back in his chair. “So has Pastor Witherspoon and his wife. It’s not like you’re hiding. You walk in plain sight of the town.”

  Everett dipped his head. Did he have to spell it out? A sigh stretched from his heart to his lips just as Pearl entered the living room with the coffee tray. “In the evening, it’s
growing dark enough so most people can’t see who she’s walking with. I won’t embarrass Tillie by asking her…to accompany me in broad daylight, or allow me to escort her someplace where people will stare at the two of us. She’s probably too kindhearted to turn me down, but I won’t put her in that position.”

  Pearl set the tray down on the low table between Everett and his father. She flicked a glance in Everett’s direction and poured a cup of coffee, setting it in front of him. “Everett, that’s nonsense. You have so many fine qualities—I can’t list them all. Any girl would consider herself lucky for such a beau.” She poured two more cups of coffee and slid one toward her husband before glancing back at Everett. “I know you aren’t my son, but over the past year I’ve grown to love you. If I could choose the best young lady this side of the Mississippi for you, I couldn’t find one sweeter than Tillie.”

  He stirred a spoonful of sugar into his coffee and took a tentative sip of the steaming brew. “I appreciate your concern, both of you. Believe me, you don’t have to tell me about Tillie’s sweetness.” He wished he could dismiss it from his mind. He caught Pearl from the corner of his eye giving Father a tiny shake of her head. Her message was clear. Leave him alone—don’t push. Everett released a relieved sigh.

  Pearl lit the oil lamp on the mantel. Everett eyed the glow inside the glass globe, and his heart seized the way it always did when he looked at a flame. He pulled his gaze away and concentrated on the mug in his hands. They sipped their coffee in silence, listening to the cicadas and tree frogs singing their shrill chorus, interrupted occasionally by the call of a whippoorwill—a concert he wished he was enjoying in Tillie’s company.

  Everett finally set his empty cup on the tray and rose. “It’s time for me to go. Gray gets crabby if he has to wait for his supper.”