by Delia Parr
13
AT MIDMORNING ON SATURDAY, when Reverend Austin pulled up at the front gate bringing Reverend Glenn and Butter back home, Emma was certain the day’s turnabout was continuing.
With Aunt Frances’s help and a little ingenuity, she had eventually set up a temporary pen for the chickens in one corner of the root cellar. All of the Kirks, except for Anson, had left to return to their home. Although he was upstairs helping Liesel and Ditty store away the extra sleeping cots and bedding, he had primarily remained behind to help Steven rebuild the chicken pen on Monday. Emma also suspected he had stayed to be close to Mother Garrett and Aunt Frances, much to their mutual dissatisfaction.
In the meantime, Solomon Massey and the Ammond brothers were in town organizing a group of men to go hunting for the panther. Mr. Lewis was in the library, where Lester Burke was either sitting for his portrait or busy measuring the artist for his new suit of clothes. Emma assumed Orralynne was still in bed recovering from last night’s nosebleed, since she had not appeared for breakfast.
The moment Reverend Austin’s buggy came to a complete halt, Emma pulled a heavy shawl around her shoulders and hurried out the front door to help the retired minister into the house. When Reverend Glenn approached the fence with Reverend Austin on one side and Butter on the other, she already had the gate open. “Welcome home, Reverend Glenn. We’ve missed you,” she greeted.
After suffering a stroke that had weakened his left side, Reverend Glenn relied heavily on Butter to help him keep his balance—which was the only reason Mother Garrett tolerated the mangy mongrel. The hat he wore covered the few strands of white hair left on his head but made his overly large ears appear even larger.
He looked up at Hill House before meeting her gaze and smiling. “I’ve missed all of you, too. It’s good to be home.”
“Thank you for bringing him back to us, Reverend Austin. Do you have time to come inside for a visit?”
“I wish I did, but I have several more stops to make in town and tomorrow’s sermon to write,” he said, stepping aside to let Emma take his place at the older man’s side. He returned to the buggy, retrieved Reverend Glenn’s travel bag, and carried it up to the porch while Emma walked alongside Reverend Glenn and guided him toward the front steps.
When the minister returned, he shook Reverend Glenn’s hand. “Thank you, friend. I’ll see you both at services tomorrow,” he promised, then patted Butter’s head before leaving and climbing back into his buggy.
Before he could pull away, Mother Garrett rushed out of the house with Aunt Frances close behind her. To Emma’s dismay, the two women were both carrying an umbrella. “Wait just a moment, Reverend Austin,” Mother Garrett cried.
The two elderly women stopped for a moment in the yard. They both welcomed Reverend Glenn home, with Aunt Frances explaining that she had come back to Hill House for a few weeks to help out, before Mother Garrett led the twosome out the gate to speak to Reverend Austin. “Frances and I wanted to go into town and thought we might ride back with you.”
He climbed down from his seat and glanced at their umbrellas. “Expecting rain, ladies?” he teased.
“No. A panther,” Aunt Frances replied as he helped her into the buggy first, then Mother Garrett. “We’ll tell you all about it on the way.”
The minister waved to Emma. “Don’t worry about them. I’ll see that they have a ride home,” he promised before driving away.
As Emma helped Reverend Glenn mount the steps, he started to chuckle. “I probably shouldn’t ask, but since both of those women had quite a twinkle in their eyes, I was wondering if you could tell me what they were up to now.”
She shook her head. “I’m not certain. On one hand, I have a feeling they might be busy matchmaking again. Mother Garrett is still convinced Mr. Atkins at the General Store needs a wife, and now that Aunt Frances is back, I’m afraid there’s no stopping her. On the other hand, they might have decided to do some errands just to avoid being stuck at home with Anson Kirk. He’s been paying both of them a fair bit of attention while he’s been here.”
Reverend Glenn paused for a moment at the bottom of the porch steps and took her arm. As he mounted the steps one at a time, Butter shadowed his master’s progress. “Since Melinda died, Anson’s been just plain lonely, but that won’t be for long. He’ll be married again by spring,” he explained.
“I doubt he’ll be able to convince either Mother Garrett or Aunt Frances to marry him. Mother Garrett already told me she thinks he’s just a winter suitor,” she blurted.
Trying to explain to the retired minister that a winter suitor merely wanted a woman to warm his bed seemed almost blasphemous, and her cheeks burned hot, a particularly odd sensation since the rest of her body was nearly numb with cold.
He paused on the second step before attempting the next. “I don’t believe I’ve ever heard that term before. What exactly is a winter suitor?”
Her blush grew more intense. “It’s nothing, really. Just something Mother Garrett and Aunt Frances made up about men who go courting during the winter and how they’re very serious about getting married,” she managed, mentally tripping over her words to avoid the impropriety of being totally honest and the indecency of a lie. “Did you ever think of remarrying?” she asked to change the direction of their conversation.
“It was a good while after Mrs. Glenn passed away, but by the time I decided to give the matter any serious thought, I had the stroke and that ended that. I couldn’t support myself, let alone a wife,” he admitted as he mounted the next two steps to reach the porch. “I don’t think Anson will have much choice about remarrying, though.”
“Why? Was he courting someone before the explosion and the fires?”
“No. But based on what I heard in town, there are several widows who have set their caps for him, including Widow Cates and Widow Franklin. He may want to stay at Hill House for as long as he can instead of going home, just to avoid those two.”
“Maybe you should tell Mother Garrett and Aunt Frances that bit of news,” she said. She ushered him across the porch and into the house before turning back to retrieve his travel bag. She set the bag just inside the door and closed it tight against the bitter cold outside. After hanging up her shawl on the coat rack, she helped him remove his outerwear and stored it on the rack, as well.
He looked from one parlor to the other and smiled. “After living at Hill House for the past several years, I’d forgotten what a blessing it is to be rather isolated here. Troubles are few and gossip is little. I don’t think I’d been back in town for more than a day when I’d already heard enough gossip to fill a couple of those freight barges on the canal.”
“I suppose that’s natural after a tragedy,” she offered.
He shook his head. “There’s been too much hurt and heartbreak already to add more with idle gossip and rumors, and it’s far too easy to fall into the trap the gossipmongers set to create more.” He paused for a moment, then sighed. “I’d given up thinking I’d even be able to help folks again like I used to do, and I have to admit to a certain amount of guilt about what I’m going to tell you now, but . . . being back in town and working with so many of the congregation these past few days felt awfully good. I’m afraid it’s just been a reminder of all I’ve lost since the stroke,” he admitted.
Emma swallowed hard. “I know,” she whispered, all too aware of how important it was for her to feel needed, if only to her guests. “Would you like to sit awhile in the parlor? I’d like to tell you about who is staying at Hill House with us now,” she suggested, hoping he would not mind when she told him she had let the artist stay in the retired minister’s room last night. “I’ll leave your bag here for now. Mr. Kirk can carry it to your room for you later. He’s upstairs helping Liesel and Ditty store some things away at the moment.”
He rubbed his left hand as if trying to warm it. “If you wouldn’t be too troubled, I think I’d rather sit in front of the fireplace in the kitchen and talk w
ith you while we share a pot of tea. I don’t suppose Mother Garrett has any apple crisp in the larder, does she?”
She grinned. “I saved a piece from last night’s supper just for you, and I even have a ham bone for Butter.”
He grinned back and patted Butter on the head. “Being home is even better than I thought it would be.”
“ . . . so perhaps it isn’t quite as isolated from troubles or gossip as you thought,” Emma suggested as she concluded bringing Reverend Glenn up-to-date on the happenings at Hill House.
Like the companionable friends they had become, Emma and Reverend Glenn sat together in front of a good fire in the kitchen, warmed by both friendship and an entire pot of tea. Butter, as always, was asleep on the floor alongside his master’s feet.
Although he was already weakened by several good bouts of laughter, the retired minister laughed again. “I’m not sure I can keep all this straight. In the five days I’ve been gone, you’ve had a run-in with a panther?”
“Yes, but I fared better than most of the chickens. Solomon Massey and the Ammond brothers are organizing some men to go after the panther, even as we speak.”
“In the meantime, both your mother-in-law and Frances are gadding about town with umbrellas to fend off the beast.”
She smiled. “Yes, I’m afraid they are.”
“And two of the surviving chickens are penned up in the root cellar?”
“Yes, but only until Monday, when Steven is going to build a stronger pen outside. And don’t forget: You can’t tell anyone else there are chickens in the cellar. Mother Garrett made me promise you wouldn’t.”
He chuckled. “I won’t tell anyone. Did you say you had an artist in residence here, and that he’s staying in my room?”
“Yes, but he’s moving upstairs this afternoon.”
He sighed, deflating the humorous atmosphere, and massaged his left arm. “And the Burkes are living here. Indefinitely. Mrs. Austin told me you had stopped by to tell me that, but I wondered if they were still here.”
“Yes, they are, but . . .”
“But it’s very difficult to have them here,” he murmured. He gazed at the fire, as if mesmerized by the searing memory of his own encounters with the siblings. After several long moments, he blinked hard before turning to face her. “Orralynne was very, very cruel to my Letty once, you know.”
Emma nodded. Letty Glenn had been a model of what a godly minister’s wife should be. With no children of their own, both Reverend and Mrs. Glenn had devoted themselves to their congregation, which had made Orralynne’s very public, very vocal assault on Letty Glenn during services one Sunday all the crueler.
“I know having her here with her brother will be hard for you. It’s been hard for everyone, especially Judith Massey,” she said, quickly relating the events surrounding the Burkes since their arrival, including the incident at supper last night involving Judith. She also explained that she had talked with Orralynne about the matter but did not break the woman’s confidence to reveal that she had had a severe nosebleed.
“Poor Judith still looked upset at breakfast, and she retired straight to her room afterward,” Emma continued. “I can only assume Orralynne hasn’t apologized. In all truth, I’ve been looking forward to having you home so I could get your advice. I’m trying to do what’s right, but I’m constantly frustrated because doing what’s right for one guest seems to be so wrong for another. Just because Orralynne needs a place to stay at Hill House doesn’t mean Judith should be upset by remarks Orralynne makes, whether she said them deliberately or not. Not with so many other worries already, and not with her time so close.”
Reverend Glenn reached down to pat Butter’s head. “In the end, what’s right for one—or in this case, two guests—is always right for everyone concerned,” he suggested. “It’s the way we all get to that end that marks us as people of faith.”
“I agree, or at least I think I do,” she replied. “I tried following the Word and turning the other cheek, but I got slapped so hard on both cheeks that I just snapped and lashed out, which only made matters worse, I’m afraid.”
She sighed. “Whenever Orralynne and Lester do or say something mean, I lose my footing. I . . . I feel like I’ve fallen over the edge of a cliff and I’m hanging from a ledge just below, holding tight to a rope of faith that grows thinner and thinner every time I struggle to climb back up to solid ground.”
She looked down at her lap and toyed with the hem of her apron. “I’ve never, ever lived with such discord, especially not here at Hill House, and I can’t understand why it’s happening now,” she admitted. “Can you help me to understand why?”
He leaned back in his chair. “I can tell you that you’re not alone, Emma. I’ve spent the better part of the past week with grieving widows and fatherless children, men and boys suffering horribly from burns or other injuries, and families who’ve lost some or all of what they owned. All of them are asking the same question. They all want to know why. Why are they suffering such loss when they’ve tried to follow His Word? Why? Just . . . why? That’s all.”
She moistened her lips. “What did you tell them?” she asked.
“I told them many things, but also that they were asking the wrong question.”
Disappointed, even confused by his answer, she cocked her head.
He smiled. “Asking why something bad has happened will only lead to the very struggle of faith you’re experiencing. And I know that’s true because I’ve done the same thing. Why did Letty have to die? Why did I have a stroke and lose not just my health but my pulpit, as well? Why must I be so dependent on others, especially you?”
He shrugged and shook his head sadly. “I know we’ve talked about this before, so you know how hard I struggled to find the answers to my questions. Just recently, in the aftermath of this terrible tragedy, I’ve come to believe that my answers never came, in part, because I had been asking the wrong question all those years. Instead of worrying about why these troubles had landed on my doorstep, the true question I should have been asking myself as a man of faith is very clear: Not why, but how? How can I be stronger in my faith, not weaker? Instead of wallowing in self-pity or fixing blame or seeking vengeance, how can I take what’s happened to me and use it for His glory?”
“Not why, but how?” she repeated as she mulled the concept over and over in her mind.
“Perhaps without even realizing it, you’ve done just that in the past,” he prompted.
“I have?”
“Many times, which helped me with my own struggles.”
Her eyes widened with disbelief. “Me? I helped you with them? When?”
“The night Jonas died. I came to see you. Do you remember?”
She nodded, slipped her hand into her pocket, and felt through her keepsakes until she found the piece of cloth cut from the work apron her late husband had worn every day while tending the General Store until his death some eight years ago. “I remember you came to see me, but I’m afraid I don’t remember much more than that,” she whispered, consumed by the memory of holding her beloved husband in her arms while he drew his last breath on this earth before his heart stopped and his spirit passed through the gates of heaven to eternal life.
“Letty died some years later, but I clearly remember being humbled by the conversation I had with you the night Jonas died.”
“I . . . I wasn’t myself. I was distraught. I . . . I hope I didn’t say anything to offend you,” she gushed.
“On the contrary,” he argued. “Understandably, you were distraught. Jonas’s passing was very sudden and unexpected, but you were . . . you were absolutely yourself. Instead of pleading to know why your gentle, loving husband, the father of your three young boys, had died in the prime of his life, do you know what you asked me to do?”
She held tight to her keepsakes and shook her head.
“You asked me to pray with you, that with the death of your husband, you might be strengthened in faith and open to
His will for you during your widowhood so that you might bring honor to your husband’s name and glory to God in the difficult days ahead.”
She bowed her head.
“Even then, at that most difficult of times, you asked how, not why, Emma. And as hard as it might be, that’s what we all should do now. Instead of asking why the Burkes must be here at Hill House or why we must be surrounded by such discord, we should ask how we can accept His will that they’re here and how we can be His instruments and serve His purpose.”
He stretched out his hand. “Will you pray with me?”
She let go of her keepsakes, took his hand, and bowed her head.
“Father, we come to you with troubled hearts. Ease our troubles with your grace, and give us the strength to be joyous in our faith, to be faithful to your will, and to be gracious and loving to all. Amen.”
“Amen,” she whispered. “Amen.”
14
BY LATE SATURDAY AFTERNOON, all of the vacant guest rooms at Hill House had been restored to order and thoroughly cleaned. Emma was bone tired. She wanted nothing better than to sit in the west parlor with Reverend Glenn and Aunt Frances, who were spending as much time together now as they had last fall. Unfortunately, Emma would not be able to rest or reclaim her own bedroom, as well as her office, until she had the Burkes and Mr. Lewis settled upstairs in proper bedrooms.
As promised, she gave Orralynne and Lester first choice of the bedrooms and led them down one of the upstairs hallways to the available rooms on the west side of the house. She opened all the doors so they could look inside. “As you can see, there are actually two adjoining rooms on this side that include a small sitting room and a bedroom that is half the size of the one across the hall. There are identical rooms available on the east hall, as well, so if you’d both prefer to have one large bedroom, there’s one for each of you.”
