Cassidy

by Lori Wick

“A gal you consider your own?”

  “No.”

  “What brought you to Token Creek?” Abi asked next, and the interview went on from there. And this time she got through. She finished with Chandler, seeming well-satisfied, and tried to work on Mr. Falcone’s story, but he had customers to see to, and the regular interruptions frustrated her.

  She left without warning, and Chandler was not sorry. He’d learned from two past encounters that putting her off only brought her back another time. He hoped this would be the last.

  “Thank you, Patience,” Cassidy said to Meg’s aunt, who had been looking for a certain color of thread. Cassidy had the very one, and Mrs. Patience Dorn had given her some fabric scraps she’d been collecting before she left the shop. Cassidy used them in her quilts.

  Jeanette showed up just as Patience was leaving, and the two had a brief visit on the boardwalk out front. Jeanette came in laughing.

  “What’s up?” Cassidy wanted to know.

  “Patience and I were reminiscing. We remember when Meg and Brad met. Meg was rather taken with him but couldn’t tell what he was thinking. Patience said she knew Brad was perfect for Meg, and it was terribly hard to keep her mouth shut.”

  “Why was Meg in Token Creek?” Cassidy asked. “I can’t remember that part.”

  “She visited every year, but that summer, Brad actually noticed her.”

  Cassidy smiled and went back to the sewing machine. Jeanette got to work on the jobs Cassidy had left for her, but her mind was still on her nephew and Meg. It had been a wonderful summer.

  “Rylan!” A voice sounded at the pastor’s front door. “You here?”

  “Yeah!” Rylan shouted from the bedroom he used as an office. He came to the front room of his house to find Sheriff Kaderly waiting for him, having stepped inside.

  “There’s been a shooting. Can you come?”

  “Certainly. Do I know the family?”

  “I don’t think so. Far side of town, somewhat reclusive.”

  “Children?”

  “Two.”

  Rylan didn’t ask any more questions but got his coat and left with the sheriff. He assumed this was a normal part of a pastor’s life because it had always been this way. Sheriff Kaderly was not a member of his church family, but when there was a death, if the family looked in need of help, he always came for Rylan. Sometimes it led to a long relationship, and other times Rylan talked to folks he never saw again.

  Praying as he climbed into the wagon the sheriff had come in, Rylan asked God to use him. The sheriff talked almost nonstop on the ride to the house, but that didn’t hinder Rylan. He prayed for the family he was about to meet and for Token Creek’s sheriff as well.

  Meg took a loaf of bread from the oven and wiped her brow. It was awfully warm in the room, but the bread did not look done. She stared down at the loaf she thought she had burned, frowning in concentration. Behind her were cake pans, ready to go in next, but she wondered if something might be wrong with the oven compartment in the stove.

  A pain, not intense, but making itself felt, knifed across her abdomen. Meg sat down at the kitchen table, her baking forgotten.

  “It’s too soon,” she whispered to the Lord, knowing that if the baby came now, it would be about seven weeks too early. “Please don’t let this start now. Please, Lord.”

  Meg sat for a time, waiting to see if anything else would happen. She felt her breathing relax as she continued to pray softly in the empty room.

  “I want Your will more than my own. Well,” she admitted, “I want to want Your will more than my own. Please change my heart, Lord. Please help me to accept what You have for me and this baby.”

  Meg tried to stop then. She tried to stop all speculation and prayer and just think about who God was. No more requests, no more thoughts of her own—just verses that told of His greatness, His lovingkindness, and His ability to provide.

  When Meg laid her head on the table and fell asleep, she could not be sure. She also didn’t know how long she’d slept, but when she woke she was still alone, and the bread was quite cool to the touch.

  Moving a bit carefully, she went about her workday, no other pains troubling her. She thought that might have been the end of it but wasn’t willing to take a chance. As soon as she’d fed the men lunch, she lay down on her bed. She thought her body might be in need of rest. It didn’t matter that she didn’t sleep, having taken that nap at the table. This small act might help the baby go full term, and that was worth getting behind in her work.

  Chandler spotted Cassidy the moment she came through the door of the bank. She looked distracted to his eyes, and for a moment he thought about what Abi Pfister had said. He was not concerned with the wagging tongues of the townsfolk, but he would never want Cassidy hurt by someone’s tongue, and in truth, he didn’t know exactly how he felt about Token Creek’s seamstress. She was a friend, certainly, one he cared for very much. But a hurt from his past made it difficult to say if he would ever let his guard down so he and Cassidy could be more than friends.

  “Hi, Cassidy,” Chandler greeted when she was close enough.

  “Hello, Chandler.” She smiled as she spoke, but there was strain in her eyes.

  “Long day?”

  “A bit, yes,” she said, not elaborating as to how the day had ended. Abi Pfister had been in, trying to speak with her, and not happy when Cassidy did not have time. She was behind in some of her work and did not have the luxury of time for an interview. She had tried to explain to Abi that the next week would be better, but that woman had had an agenda, and when Cassidy had not fit herself into it, she’d been highly offended.

  “Do you have a quiet evening planned?”

  “Yes,” Cassidy said gratefully, smiling as she thought about it. “Dinner at Jeanette’s so I don’t even need to think about what to make for supper.”

  “Sounds perfect,” Chandler said, having taken care of her bankbook and handing it back. “Enjoy yourself and relax.”

  Cassidy thanked him and went on her way. Not until she was almost to Jeanette’s did she stop to wonder why he’d known it was a long day. She tried not to think about how poorly she must look or how much it bothered her that Chandler noticed.

  “Where’s Heather tonight?” Cassidy asked as the two women sat down to eat and that woman’s place remained empty.

  “Theta had a pretty rough start to the day,” Jeanette explained. “Heather’s helping her into bed early tonight, and then she’ll join us.”

  Cassidy nodded with compassion and bowed her head when her host did.

  “Father in heaven,” Jeanette began, “my life is so blessed because of Cassidy Norton. Thank You, Lord, for bringing her here to Token Creek, into our church family and into my life. I ask You to keep us mindful of You as we enjoy this meal. Help Theta settle in and sleep swiftly, and thank You for all of Heather’s patient work. In Your holy name I ask these things. Amen.”

  “Amen,” Cassidy echoed, thinking she was the blessed one. She had been forced to leave her home, with no promise of finding friend or family. She had found both.

  In the midst of these thoughts, Jeanette passed the platter of roast her cook, Becky, had prepared and asked her how she thought business was going. It was the start of a great evening.

  The end of the week neared, and Friday evening found Meg on the sofa, knitting needles in hand. Brad had joined her with the newspaper, but it wasn’t long before his hand reached to massage her back.

  “Oh, that feels nice.”

  “Laundry today?”

  “Yes. It was on my list for yesterday, but so much went wrong with the stove that I got behind.”

  Brad had fixed the stove and all was well in the kitchen, but so much of Meg’s day was centered in that room that it had been very disruptive. His hand continued to rub the muscles in the small of Meg’s back until she shifted, her blouse moving and showing Brad a bit of skin. When he gently pulled the blouse and camisole free from her waist, allowing his ha
nd to find the soft skin on her back, his wife turned to look at him.

  “You’re brother is still upstairs.”

  “It’s not my fault,” Brad said, moving his hand and looking innocent.

  “It’s my fault?” Meg clarified.

  “Yes.”

  Meg set her knitting aside and said, “I can’t wait to hear this explanation.”

  “It’s your skin. It’s so soft my hand can’t help itself.”

  Meg laughed long and hard over this and eventually Brad joined her.

  Fifteen minutes later, Trace came downstairs, cleaned up and headed for town.

  “Have a good time,” Meg said as he left.

  “Thank you.”

  Brad had gone back to his newspaper, but only until he heard the sound of his brother’s horse leaving the ranch property.

  For more than a year Rylan had been meeting with Chandler, Philip Leffers, and Trace for personal Bible study. He was having the men work on various passages of Scripture. Each time they met, he assigned verses. When they met again, they would discuss what they’d learned.

  Rylan’s grasp of Scripture was great, and the men always learned from him, but the discussions they had were beneficial to each of them. Tonight they were in Ephesians, looking at the armor of God.

  “It’s good to be reminded of the battle we’re in,” Philip said when Rylan asked the men to comment. “I forget that too easily.”

  “I feel the same way,” Chandler added. “I also don’t think that I’ve looked at this the right way before. I mean, those verses come after a plain-worded reminder that the devil is the enemy.”

  “And he never grows tired,” Trace put in quietly, having thought along the same lines. “But verse ten says it’s in the power of the Lord’s might. I was encouraged by that.”

  “Tell me,” Rylan asked, “what sins are you men battling right now?”

  It was a personal question, but they were used to this from Rylan and knew that he expected honest answers. They continued in the text but also talked about sexual temptations, greed, and worry about the future. They ended their time together with prayer—but not a swift closing prayer. It was a time when each man went to his knees and asked God for the help that only He could provide.

  “Jeanette,” Heather called softly to that woman in the wee hours Saturday night.

  “What’s the matter?”

  “Theta seems to be crying in her sleep.”

  Jeanette slipped from her bed and followed Heather down the hall. Heather had turned on the gas lamps upstairs but lit a candle for Theta’s room. Both women stood by the bed in their nightclothes, listening to Theta cry softly.

  “Do you suppose they’re happy tears or sad?” Heather asked.

  Jeanette turned to stare at her. “I never thought about her having happy tears,” the older woman admitted.

  Heather looked at her in surprise. “But you’re one of those people who cry when you’re happy. Why wouldn’t your sister?”

  Jeanette had to smile at her. “Do you have any idea how good you are for me, Heather?”

  Heather only chuckled, and both women realized that Theta had quieted.

  “Maybe just hearing our voices helped,” Jeanette guessed.

  “I don’t know,” Heather said in wonder, often trying to guess what kept Mrs. Holden trapped in her body. “I do know this,” she continued, “neither one of us will hear a thing in the service tomorrow morning if we don’t get some sleep.”

  “You’re right. Go to bed. I want to sit here for just a while.”

  “All right.”

  Heather disappeared across the hall, taking the candle with her. She left her door open—as she did each night—to hear if she was needed. The open door allowed her to know the exact moment Jeanette began to pray for her sister.

  Sunday morning dawned warm and fine. The congregation gathered at the small church building, ready for teaching and worship. It was not a huge flock, but it was a serious one. Token Creek was not known for its upright ways, but this small group of believers took their faith seriously and met with regularity to pray, worship, and learn.

  Walking the short distance to the church building, Cassidy entered the neat structure, saw the Holdens and Chandler in a pew and slipped in beside them. Jeanette and Heather came next and sat on Cassidy’s other side. They visited until Rylan stepped into the pulpit. He smiled out at the group that gathered before opening his Bible.

  “Proverbs 27:7 says, ‘The full soul loatheth an honeycomb, but to the hungry soul every bitter thing is sweet.’ ” Rylan looked up from his Bible and smiled again. “I made eggs and toasted bread for myself for breakfast this morning, but I burned the bread when I wasn’t paying attention. I ate the toast anyway because I was hungry. I didn’t mean to burn anything, and I had planned to share this verse with you already. Don’t you love the Lord’s sense of humor?” Rylan asked as he smiled out at the congregation. “Burnt toast fits the description in the verse very well. I was hungry, and it tasted good to me.”

  Rylan looked back to his Bible and turned to another verse. “This one is Matthew 6:33. You’ve all heard it many times. Some of you probably have it memorized. ‘But seek ye first the kingdom of God, and his righteousness; and all these things shall be added unto you.'

  “A sated man doesn’t seek. He’s no longer hungry. He’s satisfied and not willing to search. But a starved man will eat burnt toast. He’s seeking, he’s hungry. Have you ever noticed how fragile spiritual hunger is? One little delight and we’re good for a while. We don’t stay hungry for long.

  “These verses are talking about real hunger—craving, pursuing, seeking. Empty-belly hunger. That’s the kind of hunger God is looking for. Content in Him certainly. Content in who He is, and in the way He provides for our every need, but not satisfied. Not feeling so full that we no longer crave the knowledge and presence of God.”

  Trace listened intently to Rylan’s words and knew that he’d not been so hungry lately. He was still in the Word, and missing fellowship with the church family would never occur to him, but he wasn’t as thankful as he used to be. His heart was going too long without prayer.

  “Are you still praying for Token Creek?” Rylan asked in closing. “I was called to see a family this week that has been devastated by a death. The folks listened to what I had to say and want me to visit again. God can do great things in this town, this town that was in His heart as He hung on the cross. Never stop believing that. Never stop praying for the forgiveness and salvation of Token Creek, and praying not just for the townsfolk but for our church family as well.” Rylan asked one of the elders to close the service in prayer and then added, “Lord willing, I’ll see you all next week.”

  Some stood, and some turned in their seats to find conversation. Before Meg could do either, her Aunt Patience was there.

  “How are you, dear?” she asked, giving her niece a hug.

  “I’m feeling fine. I’m just too warm most of the time.”

  “Come for dinner,” Patience invited. “Your uncle misses you, and you won’t have to work over the stove.”

  “Let me check with Brad,” Meg said, thinking this was just what she needed. Both Brad and Trace thought it a great idea. Everyone visited a bit longer, and it was nice to know that lunch was just minutes away and not all the way out to the ranch.

  “Big plans for the day, Cass?” Chandler asked Cassidy as they exited the church house.

  “As quiet as I can manage,” Cassidy said, having realized near the end of the sermon just how fast her mind had been moving concerning business and every other aspect of her life. She’d been struggling with worry.

  Chandler had been invited to Jeanette’s and found himself hoping Cassidy would be there too. It didn’t sound like it.

  “Do you ever sew on Sundays?”

  “Sometimes, but not for the shop. I just sew for myself if I think it will be relaxing.”

  The look on Chandler’s face was comical. He looked su
rprised and then almost embarrassed.

  “What’s the matter?” Cassidy asked.

  “Do I seem like an intelligent person to you, Cassidy?” Chandler’s voice was quiet with his own chagrin and bafflement.

  “Certainly.”

  “Well, I suppose in some ways I am, but I just now realized that you must sew everything you wear. I don’t know why it never occurred to me before.”

  Cassidy laughed but then took compassion on him. “It’s not that far-fetched, Chandler. You can order clothing, and Jessie carries plenty at the mercantile. I just like what I make better.”

  “How do you do this?” Chandler pointed to some intricate pleats near Cassidy’s shoulder.

  “You start with plenty of fabric—that helps. I actually ironed those in first. It was easier then.”

  “And I suppose the sewing machine makes all the difference.”

  “You have no idea. It’s saved me hours of time, not to mention energy and money.”

  “Speaking of time,” Chandler said, seeing that everyone had cleared out of the area. “I’m supposed to be at Jeanette’s.”

  “Have fun,” Cassidy offered, bidding him goodbye.

  Chandler told her to enjoy her day and moved down the street. Jeanette’s place was a little ways, but Chandler’s long legs would eat the distance. Cassidy watched him for a while, but then realized she was hungry and took herself home to eat.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  “THAT WAS DELICIOUS,” MEG SAID, settling into Jeb and Patience’s parlor after lunch, feeling that she could sleep.

  “Yes, it was,” Trace agreed, looking over at Meg on the sofa, Brad next to her. The younger Holden began to smile.

  “What are you staring at?” Brad asked, having just caught his brother’s look.

  Trace shook his head a little and said, “I was just remembering the weeks in this room when you wouldn’t have sat next to Meg unless someone had been holding a gun to your head. It was a long summer.”

  Both Jeb and Patience agreed, and there was laughter all around. With little invitation, thoughts fell away to another time, two summers past when Brad Holden had spotted Meg—really seen her—for the first time.