The Preacher's Lady

by Lori Copeland

  How different his life would be if he had stayed here, married the love of his life, and done his share of the work. He couldn’t have prevented Pa’s failing heart, but he sure could have stopped Elly’s hurt all these years. The way she had looked at him in the mercantile… the raw betrayal in her eyes…

  His gaze roamed the room. The old cookstove, warped cabinets, worn floor. Ma kept a clean house, but some things couldn’t be made presentable. This old kitchen and disfigured table had been the centerpiece of many a conversation and a few heated lectures. When he’d ridden off that day, he’d planned to come back soon, marry Elly, and build a new home big enough to hold Ma and Pa when they got old and unable to work. What had happened to Bo Garrett’s dreams? What had happened to the young idealist who rode away and returned a broken man, who but for God’s grace would have been six feet under?

  The ache in his heart momentarily lessened and a grin formed on his lips. “I suppose you were a little surprised to learn that I’m preaching now.”

  “Not in the least.” She reached for the cream pitcher. “I know my boy. You had a lot of figuring out to do before you accepted the Lord’s call, but I knew it would come someday.” She spooned two teaspoons of sugar into her cup. “Being a preacher makes you one of His most ardent supporters. I like that.”

  If she only knew how long it had taken him to turn back to God. “Well, I guess getting older straightens a man’s thoughts and heart. Time to stop carousing and think about the future. I don’t know where I thought I was headed before He intervened in my life.”

  Ma peered at him over her glasses. “I suppose you got yourself into plenty of nonsense you don’t care to tell me about.”

  She’d already figured out more than he wanted her to know. Ma knew man’s nature, but she was discreet enough to leave the subject for another time. Left to his own devices, he most likely wouldn’t be sitting in her kitchen, drinking her coffee.

  “Anything you should tell me? Anything likely to come back to haunt the family?”

  It was the question he’d most dreaded, the one that kept him staring at the ceiling many nights. “Ma, I love you, but I don’t know the answer to that question. I suppose anything’s possible. I’m praying real hard you’ll never have to know a minute of my other life.”

  “What about Elly?”

  “Elly.” He took a long sip of his coffee.

  “Is it over?”

  He lifted a dubious brow. “What do you think?”

  “I think you made the biggest mistake of your life, but it’s over. Life goes on.” Faye sobered. “We have some serious talking to do. We won’t often have time to ourselves to consider the future in the next few weeks.”

  He braced himself. There was a reason he’d been traced down and handed a letter a month ago. He’d speculated the reason for his summons home, knowing that whatever it was, the matter was serious. Only Ma had known his whereabouts the past couple of years, and he’d sworn her to secrecy. He was working hard to overcome his wrongs, but echoes of his past still plagued him. In time he’d planned to come back—to face Elly…

  Ma continued. “To be truthful, your pa could keel over at any moment. I know that’s harsh, but that’s the reality we have to deal with. I have Rodney. He’s a fine foreman, but he isn’t a son with a vested interest in the success of the farm, and he isn’t always as attentive to details as he needs to be. I haven’t told Anne how bad Pa is looking—didn’t see that she could do anything about it. And we’re supporting Adele, and soon there will be a baby needing clothes and the like.” Ma bit her lower lip in concentration. “We need you here, Bo. I need you here.” Her hand tightened in his. “Can I count on you?”

  The inevitable tug-of-war started. He hadn’t planned on staying. New believers filled his church in Parsons, Kansas. Those turned away by other churches had found a home in the clapboard building he pastored. What would become of these misfits who, after only two years of teaching, were beginning to understand the power of grace? They deserved his loyalty.

  Ma scooted her chair back to retrieve the coffeepot. “Adele’s had so much grief in her short life. I think she suspects Pa is ailing, but we haven’t discussed the matter. She’s so very close to your father. And Anne lives so far away she couldn’t do a thing to help. Better that both girls have this precious time to enjoy their innocence.”

  Bo wasn’t sure how he would work it out, but he would. “Of course I’ll be here. For as long as you need me.”

  Once again, he was a cranberry farmer. His heart would be in Parsons, but his family needed him. He could get his deacon to fill in for the short harvest season.

  Ma interrupted his thoughts. “The only thing your father needs is peace of mind. You know what a worrier he is, and if you’re wondering about his eternal state—”

  “No, I know he’s in good standing with the Lord.” Pa wasn’t necessarily in church every time the doors opened, but he made no secret of his belief in the Almighty. His life was a testament to compassion, love, and patience—though the latter was his nature, not what he banked his soul on.

  Bo remembered his father’s booming voice taking a man to task when he bragged about his good works. “Good works might get you a pat on the back, but when it comes to your salvation, you might as well skip rocks in the stream. Nothing is gonna get you to heaven but the shed blood of God.”

  How many times had Bo used the very same words in his sermons? Lately, he’d noticed he was sounding more and more like Milt.

  “He’s always depended on me to handle the finances. I can run that end of the business as well or better than any man. What I need is someone out there, in the bogs, keeping an eye on things. Knowing you’re home will ease his mind mightily.” Ma’s gaze pierced him. “Is there anything more important than letting your father go in peace?”

  Bo had never dreamed she’d ask that he stay. Staying meant walking away from the new life he’d built, and he couldn’t do that either. If Pa improved, he could ride away with a lighter conscience.

  Elly came to mind like she always did, but he didn’t have a grain of hope with her anymore. The moment he told her where and what he’d been doing all these years, she would walk away without a backward glance. Only she’d smack him a good one first.

  “I’ll help in any way I can.”

  “My boy, a preacher.” Faye reached up to stroke his hair. “You need a haircut.”

  Now she sounded like Ma. He pushed his chair back. “I’ve been busy. There’s a lot of sickness in the flock, even a couple deaths.”

  Ma joined him at the door. “You’re too thin. A few suppers of pork chops and fried chicken and you’ll fatten up.”

  Shaking his head, he wondered if a mother ever stopped clucking over her baby chicks. He flashed a grin. “I’d better get back before Pa threatens to tan my hide.” He took Ma’s work-worn hand in his. “I’ll send a wire to let the church know I’ll be away for a while. You can count on me.”

  His gaze drifted toward the Sullivan farm. The words of his youth nagged him: Bo Garrett is hopelessly, helplessly in love with Elly Sullivan and don’t care who knows it!

  And still was, for that matter.

  He’d changed since he and Elly stood on that hill and declared eternal love, though his love for her hadn’t changed an iota. His heart was still hers. He knew it the moment he saw her in the mercantile. He’d known it all along. But judging by her embittered stare, she no longer returned the sentiment.

  Did she know he was a preacher? Probably. He’d seen that look before and it wasn’t her friendliest.

  “Promise me one thing.”

  “Anything.”

  “You’ll never be a preacher.”

  He’d made the promise in good faith. That day on that hilltop with her, preaching couldn’t have been further from his mind. But five years of living for the devil had changed him. Whiskey became more important than religion, wild women more sacred than God’s Word, and worldly pleasure more inviting than
eternal life. He left his home and Elly to seek adventure, and he found it in all the wrong places. When he fell in with a bunch of cowherders, he discovered a different life—a new town every couple of weeks, gambling, loose women offering favors for money, and a way of talking that would have put Ma in an early grave. He surrendered everything to Satan. Handed his life over on a golden plate.

  And yet God pursued him. A fierce storm sprung up as he rode the trail. The cattle stampeded and the race to gather the scattered heifers commenced. Bo had been riding straight into a herd of longhorns when a bolt of lightning hit him and knocked him out of the saddle.

  If the lightning bolt had done its job, he would have been a dead man with no hope.

  Two days later, he came to and gave serious thought to the hereafter. The truth of his near-demise haunted him. He couldn’t deny he’d drifted far from his faith—that God was no longer supreme in his life.

  The emptiness of his soul ate at him until he couldn’t take it anymore. In the middle of a drive, he reined in his horse, rode to the trail boss, and gave notice. Once the herd reached Wichita and the cattle stood secured in pens, he rode away with two weeks’ pay and not a backward glance.

  He found a home in the town of Parsons, rented a room, and walked into the first church he’d come across that Sunday morning. Whispering Pines wasn’t like any church he’d ever attended. The thirty folks filling the pews came from the roughest parts of society, but he fit right in. He wasn’t exactly pristine himself. It wasn’t long before the pastor was his best friend, and not long after that he was asked to speak in a nearby church.

  He recalled his Bible teaching from childhood, and he still pretty well knew the Word inside and out—at least enough to speak on his belief. That Sunday he had stood nervously before the congregation and cleared his throat. But all his nervousness about saying the wrong thing or leading the people astray dissolved as he started speaking, and the congregation invited Bo to stay on.

  By then he wasn’t going to argue with God. The Almighty had gotten his attention.

  “Is Elly married, Ma?”

  “She came close about a year ago, but she backed out a few weeks before the wedding.”

  Bo had no right to ask, but curiosity won out. “Who’d she intend to marry?”

  Ma hesitated before answering. “Gideon Long.”

  Bo pictured a skinny, knobby-kneed, freckle-faced boy who didn’t look strong enough to pull taffy, let alone a plow. Evidently, he’d changed.

  Elly had every right to marry another man. She’d understood his restlessness—or said she did. She didn’t mind his leaving as long as he returned home before too much time passed. But he hadn’t. Instead, he’d repaid her devotion and love with seven long years of betrayal. He had no call to ever question her decisions.

  He had been the fool, not her.

  All that was left was to beg her forgiveness and offer a hand in friendship.

  He couldn’t expect more from her.

  Chapter 3

  Filtered sunrays spread across the eastern sky as Elly approached the bog with her rake and hoe. The newer three-year-old seedlings looked to be thriving. Soon the plants would put out runners to fill the bed before taking root and sprouting uprights.

  In late June, pink and red blossoms had carpeted the marshes. The plants now grew thick in the dry peat soil, sprouting crops heavy with ripening berries.

  The Sullivans’ three bogs—two large and one smaller—lined the road. A clear stream provided ample water for the crops, even in the heat of summer. The stream crossed the road under a timber bridge where the Garretts drew their water. Though sharing such a vital resource, the two families never squabbled.

  Even when Bo left and Elly had cried for weeks, Pa told her often a body was asked to release something they loved. If that thing or person loved them back, they would return. Elly cried harder. Bo wasn’t a thing or just any person. He was her life. And he hadn’t come back.

  Months and years of watching the road for a lone rider proved worthless. Riders came and went, but Bo was never among them. Mail came and went, but only four letters arrived the first year—short letters without much news at all. And then even those stopped. She hadn’t heard a word in six years.

  It was rumored that Faye Garrett knew his whereabouts but was keeping the secret close. The knowledge that Faye knew and she didn’t only strengthened Elly’s resentment. Why couldn’t she know his whereabouts? Was he ill? Incapacitated? Years of silence passed and Bo’s whereabouts no longer mattered, or so she told herself.

  Stepping with care into the sunken terrain, she drew the hoe over her head and gave a mighty swing, uprooting a clump of weeds that thrived in the bogs.

  Elly straightened, resting her hand in the small of her back. She recalled days long past when she’d roamed this land looking for arrowheads with Bo. They’d filled baskets with the spear-points and tools of the tribes that had lived in the area. Doing so had made the long, hot days of summer seem like one big treasure hunt.

  Bo was home.

  She set her jaw and deliberately made her mind blank. She wouldn’t think about him. She had put foolish dreams aside long ago. She’d overheard folks at the mercantile saying his visit home would be brief. If she tried, maybe she could avoid him. She wouldn’t give him the slightest chance to explain his absence all these years, as if explaining away all that silence was possible.

  As far as she was concerned, there was no excuse he could offer. None that she would accept.

  Her gaze dropped to the bed of thick vines and winced at the immensity of the task before her in the following weeks. Already a chilly wind blew, and her coat seemed too thin for the brisk air. But harvest time was here, and just yesterday she’d read in Pa’s newspaper that a hundred-pound barrel of berries was going for fifty-eight cents in the East this year. Women swore the cranberry was as versatile as rhubarb when added to almost any dish, sweet or savory. The berries added a bright, tart note.

  As far as Elly was concerned, nothing topped the tantalizing scent of Ma’s spiced cranberry muffins baking in the oven. She sweetened the muffins just right, so the sweet didn’t overwhelm the tart. Elly liked the sour bite of the berries. She barely puckered when she ate them straight from the vine.

  Her gaze drifted to the house across the road, and her heart double-timed when Bo’s tall figure stepped onto the porch, holding a coffee mug. He drank his black, unless he’d changed, but he added four teaspoons of sugar. That much she remembered. She dropped her gaze and whacked another stubborn weed.

  She looked up when she heard approaching footsteps. Adele, her rounding stomach more prominent these days, appeared. Leaning on the hoe, Elly watched her best friend and confidante pick her way carefully down the incline that led to the bog.

  “You’re out early this morning,” Elly called.

  Nodding, Adele stepped into the bog. Her usually tidy strawberry hair lay in a tangled braid on her shoulder. “I couldn’t sleep.” She yawned. “I don’t know how you do this every morning.”

  “You’ve picked berries all your life.”

  “I know, but I don’t know how.” Straightening, Adele pressed a hand into the small of her back. “It’s getting more uncomfortable.”

  Flashing a grin, Elly sank the hoe back into the dirt. “Complaining already? And you’re only—what?—five and a half months along?”

  “Six months. Maybe.” Adele corrected. “And I’m not complaining. I love being with child. It’s just a whole lot different than I thought it would be.”

  Elly tugged at a stubborn weed. “Like how?”

  “The baby fidgets around like a cat in a pillowcase.”

  “Naturally. The baby’s growing, and space must be starting to get cramped in there.”

  “And my feet look like sausages. I can’t get my shoes on.”

  Elly bit back a grin when she noted Adele’s bare feet. Even in the chill, she refused to wear shoes lately. Friends since early childhood, the two women
had been inseparable—even more so since Adele’s husband died a year after their marriage. They’d discovered the week before his accident that Adele was expecting.

  Adele had never been a chronic complainer, but neither was she long-suffering. There was plenty of agony to go around, but Elly counted sharing Adele’s discomfort a privilege.

  “I know, you’re laughing at me.” Adele gave a heavy sigh. “Wait until you’re expecting. You’ll see it’s not a picnic.”

  Adele didn’t know everything Elly held in her heart. She had no way of knowing Elly wasn’t in a hurry to tie the knot or do the tiresome courting that led up to a proposal and eventually babies. Even if she were to cave to Gideon’s persuasions and marry the handsome cattle farmer, she could hardly imagine having children anytime soon.

  Adele’s hand dropped from the crook of her back and her eyes scanned the bogs. “Having Bo home has made Ma happier, and Pa seems relieved, but they’re not telling me something. I’m going to corner Bo and get the truth of all these whispered conversations and sly looks. If he’ll slow down enough, I can get him to talk. Now that I’m a widow and a mother-to-be, he won’t be able to resist me. He could never deny a helpless female.” She paused, her gaze sweeping the Garrett house across the road.

  “If you’re looking for him now, you just missed him. I glimpsed him coming out of the house earlier.” Elly kept her head bent to her work. She didn’t want Adele to see any trace of emotion—loathing, lingering infatuation, whichever.

  Shading her eyes, Adele scanned her house. “There he is—coming out of the shed.” She waved to catch Bo’s attention. Elly inwardly groaned. Bo either was avoiding his sister or he didn’t see the motion because he walked toward his family’s bogs.

  “If he thinks I can be avoided that easily, he has another think coming.” Adele furrowed her brow. “Something besides the baby tumbling about kept me awake last night.” She reached out to still Elly’s hoe. “Listen to me. Bo is my brother and I adore him, but what he did to you-—to all of us—was selfish and just plain unkind. So you can’t let Bo’s coming back throw you off the path. Gideon adores you, and he would be the last person to walk out on you. He has more than proven his faithfulness.”