The Preacher's Lady

by Lori Copeland

  Elly met her friend’s earnest eyes. “You aren’t telling me anything I haven’t already considered. Bo is the past, I promise. We were young. Our promises were only childish whims. I see that now.” At the time she’d believed every word, hung on Bo’s every utterance. “Adele, please don’t press me to accept Gideon’s proposal. I will when I’m ready. I promise.”

  “You promised to marry Gideon once before and backed out. What am I supposed to believe? I’m only concerned for your happiness. You’re my dearest friend.”

  Elly didn’t appreciate being reminded of her fickle actions. Gideon was all Adele said and more, but she needed more time to make Gideon the man of her dreams. “And I love you to death, Adele. You understand I wasn’t ready to marry. Better to back out than make a mistake.”

  “You broke poor Gideon’s heart.” Adele’s voice held an accusing tone. Strained silence followed, but Elly held her tongue. Since Ike passed, Elly had indulged her friend’s meddling ways. If tinkering with Elly’s life eased Adele’s heartache, so be it.

  Adele yawned. “I better catch Bo before he gets too involved in work. I want some answers. Something isn’t right around the house and nobody will tell me anything.” She kissed Elly on the cheek. “Then I’m going to take a long nap and be nice and fresh for the church supper tonight. You might do the same. It’s the last one for a while.”

  This was new. Adele hadn’t done much socializing beyond what was expected since Ike died, and Elly was glad to see her getting out again. The church always met for a picnic before the harvest. The following weeks and months would be filled with work and very little socializing.

  Elly never particularly enjoyed the fall function, and for a moment she entertained the notion of not attending anymore church suppers. Starting tonight, she just wouldn’t go. She’d go home, heat kettles of hot water for a bath, and soak in the old washtub for a good hour before she dropped into bed. But that, she knew, was only a dream. She wouldn’t dare skip any church function while living under Pa’s roof.

  Adele drew Elly back to the present. “Wear the pink and green cotton. It’s still warm enough if you wear a wrap.” She glanced at the cloudless sky. “It’s going to be a beautiful day. You probably won’t even need the wrap. And Gideon loves that dress.”

  And Bo hated it. He’d said the dress looked too babyish with its puffed sleeves and abundant ruffles, but for some reason the item still hung in her closet. The waist fit fine, but the bustline needed letting out.

  “Elly?”

  “Yes?”

  “I should warn you that Bo will be there tonight.”

  “Of course. Never known a preacher to miss a free meal.”

  “Now you’re pouting. I’ll steer him clear of you, if I can.”

  “I can take care of myself.” Elly paused and leaned on the hoe, glancing hopefully to the sky for some sign of a good hard rainstorm. That would put an end to the church supper. But nothing but a swath of blue filled her gaze.

  Adele grinned. “Wear the pink and green dress tonight.”

  “I just might.”

  No, she would.

  Especially if Pastor Bo was coming.

  The air lightened as the sun sank to the west, but the day’s heat released the scent of earth and hay and goodness. As the evening darkened, the sky drooped with the weight of the stars. Only the nagging insects made the night less than perfect.

  Elly shook her hand to shoo the flies as she cut another fat slice of watermelon.

  “Thank you, darlin’.” Hank Freeman grabbed his third piece with sticky fingers. Fried chicken, pots of chicken and dumplings, golden ears of corn, green beans, and sliced tomatoes filled platters on the long row of tables. The abundant array of cakes and pies sat untouched for now, but the ripe melons kept people returning for more.

  Elly focused on her task, keenly aware that Bo and his family had finally arrived. Milt and Faye found their seats quickly. The senior Garrett must have put in a long day in the bogs. His shoulders sagged with exhaustion and his color didn’t seem right.

  Bo walked among the church folks, holding a heaping plate of chicken, pausing occasionally to visit. His distinct laugh, deep and resonant, floated above the crowd. Berrytop welcomed him back with no questions.

  Seven years had done nothing but improve his looks. His strawberry-blond hair had darkened to a warm, sun-streaked honey. His face had filled out and his eyes had deepened, and his figure had become stronger, more muscular. He was no longer a boy.

  She was so engrossed in her thoughts that she didn’t hear Gideon approach.

  “Hello, pretty girl.” She felt the heat of his breath on her ear.

  She glanced up, flashing a smile. “Hi. Ready for some melon?” She stumbled over her words, thanks to Bo. She chastised herself for her wayward thoughts and fixed her attention on Gideon. The sight of him didn’t cause fireworks, but she knew she could trust him with her heart. That should be enough for any woman.

  “I’m not here for watermelon. I want my girl.” He took the knife from her hand and set it aside. “You’ve cut your share of melon. Let’s go for a walk. The moon will be up soon.”

  Untying her apron, she handed the knife to Mary Lou Gibbons and reached for his extended hand. Gideon was a looker too, with nearly black hair, a broad, sturdy chest, and arms darkened by long hours in the sun. He was a cattleman, like his father and grandfather before him. The local flour mill took all the wheat he could grow, and he grew plenty on his two-hundred acres. Plus he had the best herd of cattle around.

  Gideon was the town’s catch now, and Elly should have her head examined for walking away from him. Neither she nor Gideon was getting any younger, and it wasn’t a secret that he was anxious to start a family.

  When the couple strolled by the Garretts, Elly nodded a greeting. Weariness seeped through Milt’s voice tonight. “Elly, you’re looking pretty as a picture.”

  Smiling, she acknowledged his compliment. She and Milt had always gotten along well. She loved the mild-mannered, jovial man who had fathered Bo. His mother, Faye, could be a bit overwhelming at times, fussing over her family like a hen with her brood, but she and Elly had never had a bad word. She refused to let her ill feelings for Bo—often confused and unruly—come between her and these fine people.

  “It’s a pretty night,” Gideon said to the Garretts. “Air’s finally cooling off a bit.”

  “Sure is,” Faye agreed. “And I couldn’t be happier.” She wiped her forehead with a hanky.

  Gideon steered Elly toward the river path. A light breeze ruffled her hair when the water came in sight. The moon laid a ribbon of light on the black ripples. Holding hands and feeling the warmth of him beside her, peacefulness overtook her. The couple meandered down the winding trail that lay all but invisible in the overgrowth.

  “You haven’t worn that dress in a while,” he remarked. “I’ve always liked it.”

  Elly glanced down at the girlish pink-and-green-checked gown, faded now from so many washings. She should have chosen a newer garment, but the worn cotton proved comfortable in the mild evening. “It’s old and should go in the rag bag.”

  “I like it. The green brings out your eyes.”

  Bo had said the color of the gown made her look sick.

  “How’s your aunt?” Gideon’s thoughtfulness caught her off-guard. Would Bo even notice that Ma wasn’t present at the social or remember she had gone to nurse her aunt? Surely Adele had told him.

  “Doing well. Mother thinks she’ll be able to come home in a few weeks. We’re hoping she’ll be back sooner since it’s harvest time. Pa and I miss her.”

  “You miss her cooking,” he teased.

  “That too.” She laughed, aware of her reputation as a woman who could burn water. Cooking took a special knack, one she didn’t possess. “But I’m getting better. I didn’t scorch the beans last night.” Bo had often wondered out loud about the way she could take a perfectly good piece of meat and ruin it.

  Wh
y was she thinking of Bo when she walked hand-in-hand with a man who paid attention to her and her family, who had actually stuck around to build his farm, who offered his heart and his home to her?

  Gideon leaned to give her a brief kiss. He had soft lips, but he kissed her like a brother. That would surely change once they were married. Kisses would be vibrant, exciting… chills would race up her arms… She caught back her thoughts before she could think, Like it was with Bo.

  “I think you’re a fine cook.”

  She tried to read his expression in the moonlight. “You shouldn’t fib.”

  “Your cooking is digestible,” he amended. “You haven’t made me sick yet.”

  He knew how to add just the right amount of teasing into his tone so she didn’t haul off and slug him. “Just wait. It’s possible you’ll change your mind.”

  The rising moon illuminated his face enough to reveal a sobriety that contradicted his words. She wished she’d chosen her remarks more carefully.

  “I’m trying my best, Elly.” His earnestness touched her. He was trying so hard to reach her.

  “I know.” She tugged on his arm to walk along the riverbank. How she wished she could return his feelings. He was a steady, sincere man, and most women would be eager to share his life. His next words surprised her.

  “You haven’t said a word about Bo.”

  “Bo? What about him?” She kept her tone light, although a familiar heaviness pressed her chest at the mention of his name. She had steered clear of the subject during the walk because she didn’t want to ruin the occasion with her confused feelings. Gideon paused and Elly turned to face him. The air turned thick. Flies buzzed around her. She wasn’t prepared to explain her anger and attraction to Bo with this tenderhearted man. She didn’t fully understand the emotions that would not let up or memories that would not release her.

  For a long moment he appeared to inventory his words. “Does Bo’s return make a difference in our relationship?”

  She turned from him to frown at the ripples of water at her feet. “Why would you ask such a question? Bo’s return doesn’t make one bit of difference.”

  “But you’re still in love with the man.”

  “That’s ancient history. We’ve talked about this.”

  “But I still see that look in your eyes, Elly—the one you try so hard to deny. But something deep inside you won’t permit it. You’re still in love with Bo.”

  Gideon’s words seem presumptuous. What was a look? One simple, impartial glance? “Nonsense. You’re putting words in my mouth. I may have thought I loved him all those years ago, but when he never came back I put aside childish affections. Whatever has brought him back now, he’ll be gone in a few days.”

  “I hear he’s a pastor now.”

  She shrugged. “So I hear. What of it? It’s cattle farmers who interest me.”

  Her words reassured Gideon enough to release the tension between them. “You like farmers, huh? Well, young lady, I happen to know one who’s crazy about you. And that farmer—yours truly—can finally allow himself to hope for a future with you, seeing how you don’t care much for preachers.” He snickered. Snickered! “Don’t take me wrong, Elly. It’s just that I can’t picture you as a preacher’s wife.”

  For the briefest of moments she took offense at the words. She wasn’t a heathen. She might doubt God’s purposes, even argue with Him about why He dished out suffering to folks—letting babies die, folks get sick, crops fail. She’d seen good, kind friends who had grieved terribly. Why, Allen Bachmeier lost his arm in a woodcutting accident, and not long after, his young wife got sick and died, leaving Allen to raise their six-month-old twin boys. And only one arm to do it.

  Only the God Richardson worshipped would allow such things to happen.

  Gideon’s hand tightened on hers. “I don’t question that you care for me, but when will affection turn to love—enough love to convince you to marry me? I’m not getting any younger, Elly, and I want children before I’m too old to enjoy them.”

  “You talk as though you’re ancient.”

  “I’m nearly twenty-five, and you’re not far behind me. This is our time. There’s nothing to hold us back from marrying tomorrow morning, if you’d agree.”

  These conversations were getting more intense and frequent. How much longer could she hold back?

  The answer was clear and cutting. Until she fell as deeply in love with this man as she had once loved Bo, she couldn’t marry Gideon.

  Elly turned toward the trail leading to the social. She stopped long enough to whisper, “I’m not ready,” before she continued walking.

  When he caught up to her, he took her hand. He smelled of fresh soap and a hint of lemon mingled with the scent of drying fields. Bo had distracted her, but she wouldn’t let his sudden appearance upend her future. She lifted herself up on tiptoes and kissed her cattle farmer. This time, he responded with warmth that heated her stomach. She wasn’t sure what to think of the reaction, but the awakening sensation brought hope. Breaking the embrace, she took his hand and continued the walk.

  “If we hurry, we might see deer grazing in the meadow.”

  “There’s no hurry, is there?”

  “Pa will be looking for me. We should get back.”

  Gideon deserved more than she was giving. He deserved answers. But she didn’t have any—and she wouldn’t until Bo climbed onto his horse and rode out of town.

  Until then, she remained in a dark corridor, wondering when the sun would shine again.

  Chapter 4

  Moonlight cast her shadow across the front porch when Elly returned home. Remnants of summer honeysuckle trailed up the railing, no longer perfuming the air. The walk had cleared her head a bit. Gideon provided good company; took her mind off cranberries and childhood crushes. The tension in her neck slowly started to release.

  Reaching for the lantern Pa kept lit until she was safely in the house, she felt the tiny hairs on her arm stand up when she heard that voice, deeper now and more masculine.

  “I don’t believe we’ve said a proper hello, Miss Sullivan.”

  Closing her eyes, she fought back swift tears. The sound of Bo’s voice was so unexpected, so welcome. The admission alarmed her. Had she been waiting for a private moment to talk to him? Certainly she’d been dreading another encounter.

  Summoning an even tone, she said, “Hello, Bo.”

  He stepped from the shadows, leaner than she remembered. More muscled. More man. Gone was the lanky boy she had fallen head over heels in love with. In that boy’s place stood the best-looking stranger she’d ever laid eyes on.

  A booted foot appeared beside her dew-soaked slipper, and she tensed when his smell—rawhide and soap—washed over her. A man of the cloth should neither look nor smell so inviting. Girlish butterflies swarmed in her stomach, and she mentally netted the juvenile reaction. Silence stretched while she gathered her thoughts and summoned enough courage to face him.

  “What brings you back to Berrytop?” she said, as nonchalant as a Monday morning.

  His gaze skimmed her lightly, lingering on the dress. “I’ve seen that dress in my dreams a million times. You look prettier than ever wearing it.”

  She fixed him with a cold stare. “You hated this dress. Besides, the garment’s seven years older than when you last saw it. I wore it for Gideon.”

  “Gideon is a blessed man.”

  Finding her pride, she pushed past him and was about to open the door when he put his hand above the sill, momentarily trapping her. His nearness nearly undid her. “We need to talk.” His breath softly brushed her cheek. For a moment the world tilted. She would not treat this man as though he were the old Bo. She would not.

  She turned and crossed her arms. “What do you want, Bo?” She’d known this hour would come—dreaded it, longed for it, despaired of it. He could still turn her insides to pulp.

  “Could we sit for a moment?”

  At his gentle invitation, a flame ignited he
r anger. “Weren’t you supposed to be back in—oh—two to three months, at the most? What happened? Did you get lost? Didn’t you have the money for a horse or a train ticket?” She snatched the lantern off the hook. “A simple wire. You could have at the very least sent word that you were still alive.”

  “Hold on, give me a minute. You have every right to your anger. Can we sit in the swing and talk? I promise not to keep you long.”

  The swing had been their place to sit and talk under her parents’ watchful eyes. The thought of sitting there with him now made her blood boil. “Absolutely not, Bo.” She shooed away a pesky fly. “Drat these bothersome pests.”

  “You’re going to make this even worse, are you?” He took her by the hand, pulled her off the porch and toward the swing that hung from the oak. “Have a heart, lady. I’m only asking for a couple of minutes.”

  “I’m clean out of minutes. I used them all waiting for you to return.”

  Half dragging her to the swing, he settled into the weathered wood and she wondered if she had lost her mind. She’d had no intention of ever speaking to this man again, and now she was sitting in the swing, the place of stolen kisses, soft whispers, and empty promises.

  She jerked her hand from his. They sat in stony silence with only night birds for company.

  Finally, he began. “Reverend Richardson preached often on the ease of slipping from the righteous path. I thought it was all talk—that Richardson just liked to yell. But there is great truth in what he preached.”

  Elly covered her ears, trying to block the words, shield them from penetrating her heart.

  He calmly reached over and pulled her hands off her ears. “Stop it, Elly. You have to hear this, like it or not.”