The Preacher's Lady

by Lori Copeland

  Maybe Cee would have the honor of being called Mrs. Bo Garrett. Pastor Garrett’s wife. Mother of Pastor Garrett’s children.

  And when Bo was gone, she could easily lay any lingering thoughts of him to rest.

  “To?” Cee prompted.

  Elly shifted her sewing kit and swallowed dust. “To do anything you like. Gideon and I will be marrying soon.”

  “Oh, goodness!” Relief escaped Cee with a whoosh. Apparently she’d given the idea of marriage and Bo considerable thought. “I’m so happy you’re accepting of the situation.”

  Accepting? Elly hardly thought surrender could be considered acceptance, but she was beaten.

  Silence fell between the two women when a second buckboard passed. Once the clatter died away, Cee continued. “Isn’t it wonderful how God works? Here I’ve been wondering how I might approach you about the subject, and He makes talking to you as easy as the wheat bending in the breeze.”

  Cee kept simplifying the matter, like going to the store to purchase a tin of fruit. Giving Bo to another woman was much more complicated.

  The Sullivan house came into view. The old homestead lent a particular welcoming feel today, sheltering. If Ma had been here, Elly would have found a cup of hot tea waiting, the scent of supper sizzling on the woodstove, and most lovely of all, her mother’s generous love. She would pull a chair up to the table and they would talk. She would make Elly see that she and Bo were no longer suited for each other. It was time to put away childish whims and look to the future, a future that now seemed certain with Gideon. All Elly had to do was set the wedding date and her worries would be behind her.

  The two women paused at the front gate. Cee sought Elly’s gaze. “Bo’s never given me a second glance. I’m just wishing.”

  Forcing an agreeable smile, Elly thought, Why not? If she couldn’t have Bo, Cee could. He couldn’t know what she was doing; he would bull up and tell her to mind her own business. Still, she couldn’t stand the thought of his marrying someone completely unsuited for him. Obviously, the man could be fooled by a pretty smile.

  Bo wasn’t a side of beef hanging in Mr. Stack’s mercantile, and more to the point, he wasn’t hers to give away, but Cee wouldn’t hurt him. She would make a doting wife, and together their love would create beautiful children. Tears swelled to her eyes and she averted her gaze. “I must be running along. Father likes dinner on time.”

  Squeezing Elly’s hand, Cee smiled. “It’s been fun. We must take more walks together.”

  Nodding, Elly returned her smile. “We must.”

  She would give Cee twenty-four hours before she had a steaming dish on Bo’s doorstep.

  After all, she only had a short time to win the preacher’s heart; harvest would be over by early November and Bo would most likely leave. He wasn’t blind. If a girl like Cee sought his attention, he would be attracted like any other man. That meant long walks, where Cee would prattle away about the details of her budding romance with Bo….

  “Have a marvelous afternoon.” Cee hurried off, humming under her breath, no doubt planning a chicken dish to bait the snare.

  Elly Sullivan. What have you done?

  Warm days gradually cooled. October arrived, turning the birches, oaks, and maples into bright yellows, warm golds, and blazing reds. Harvest was well underway. Elly studied this year’s crop, which looked to be even more plentiful. Bouquets of vibrant berries nestled in crate after crate. Her heart warmed at the hardy berries’ determination to produce so generously.

  The cloth-covered basket of fresh blueberry muffins felt light in her hands this morning. Hearing the ladies of the quilting society speak of Milt Garrett’s failing health had motivated her to try her hand at baking. Again.

  Unlatching the gate, she stepped inside the yard, using the heel of her boot to kick the latch closed. Bo had been so busy in the bogs that she rarely saw him these days, and she was thankful. She didn’t count the times she stood at the window and spied on him while he worked in a front bog, picking and crating the berries. Other than the conversation they’d had in the swing and brief nods with few words, she and Bo carefully avoided each other. The past was clearly the past.

  Adele greeted her warmly. “I smell muffins, don’t I?” Her middle swelled more each day as her baby grew. By the time the child arrived in late December, Adele would be waddling like a duck.

  Elly lifted the cloth to confirm her friend’s suspicions. “They’re for your father.”

  “Wonderful! He shares, but Bo doesn’t so don’t let him see them.” The two women embraced. “This is so thoughtful of you.”

  She affectionately patted her friend’s expanding waistline. “I hope the baby likes blueberries.”

  “He or she adores them.” Adele flashed an impish grin. “These cooler days make me feel less like a sausage busting out of its casing.”

  It was so good to hear life back in her friend’s voice. Adele still had days of weeping and sorrow. When last they’d spoken, Adele announced that her husband’s death to be “God’s will.” Such a pronouncement confused Elly. Why would God need Ike Frost? Adele needed him here, especially with his child on its way.

  “I’m glad you’re comfortable,” Elly said.

  “I didn’t say I was comfortable. It’s just so lovely this time of year that it’s hard to feel bad.”

  Most folks considered the brilliantly colored bog and the cooler days as markers for the beginning of a long hard winter. Adele’s optimism said even more about her sunny outlook.

  Elly’s gaze swept the empty kitchen. “Where’s Faye?”

  “She took Pa to town. She wants the doc to give him a tonic.” Her friend’s features turned pensive as she absently rubbed her rounded belly. “He doesn’t seem himself. I can’t get Bo to say a thing about Pa’s health, but I think something is wrong. I’d say he’s overworked, but he always works hard during harvest season.”

  Three weeks ago, the pickers had wrapped their fingers in strips of cloth to protect themselves from the plants’ prickles and set to work. Elly’s father, considered progressive, now used wooden, handheld scoops to comb the berries from the plants, which helped some. All pickers were overworked, young or old. But not many cranberry farmers stopped long enough to take trips to the doctor during harvest.

  Adele shook her head as if to dismiss concern. “Doc will give him something to perk him up. I’ll make us a pot of tea, and then we’ll split one of your muffins.”

  Elly grinned. “I brought extra.”

  Adele turned, pretending surprise. “You did?”

  Elly swatted her with the cloth she’d slipped off the basket. “One for you; one for the baby.”

  Her friend poured steaming water into the porcelain teapot. “Are you suggesting I’m a glutton?”

  “Never. The baby’s a hog.”

  Adele plumped a pillow and moved to sit down when a ruckus erupted outside. She hoisted herself up to step to the window. “What in the world…?”

  Elly pushed back her chair and rose to join her. “What is it?”

  “I’m not certain. Did you buy some cattle?”

  “Cattle?” She stood behind Adele at the window, peering over her shoulder. Gideon and one of his farmhands herded two steers, both good size, up the lane to the Sullivan farm.

  Turning on her heel, Elly raced outside toward her house, waving her arms. “Gideon! Hello!”

  The farmer turned, a smile breaking across his bronzed features. “There you are! I knocked on the door and nobody answered.”

  By now she was crossing the road, eying the huge steers. “What’cha got there?”

  When she approached he bent and kissed her lightly. “I brought you a present.”

  “For me?” She studied the hefty surprise. “Steers?”

  “If you’re going to be a farmer’s wife, it’s time to see what it means to raise cattle.” His gaze shifted to the cattle, obviously proud of the offering. “I’m sure your ma and pa won’t mind. The beef won’t be a
t butchering stage for another few weeks, but they’ll make a fine mess of roast and tenderloins this winter.”

  Flabbergasted, Elly stepped back from the beasts. What did she know about caring for stock or raising beef? The Sullivans kept a few sitting hens for fresh eggs and a milk cow, but beef cattle were so… huge.

  One of the steers lifted his tail to deposit a steaming pile of waste. A nasty aroma drifted to Elly, and she caught back a gag.

  “Ah, come on, Elly. Raising cattle is what you’ll do when we’re married.” He looked offended by Elly’s reaction.

  Adele finally made her way down the lane, waddling more than walking. She stood before the white-faced steers, wide-eyed. “My, Gideon, these are fine-looking animals.”

  “Best of the herd.” He looked at Elly. “Nothing’s too fine for my girl.”

  “Well… I… ” Where would she put two steers? Elly doubted the pasture near the back of the house would support two animals. The fence was old, grass nonexistent. The real problem was the timing. The cranberries occupied everyone’s time. In spite of that, she couldn’t bear the disappointment on Gideon’s face if she refused the gift. The thought was most generous and considerate. She finally managed to say through tight lips, “Thank you.”

  Gideon grinned at her expectantly. “Where do you want them?”

  Preferably on a platter with potatoes and string beans.

  “Put them in the pasture behind the house for now.” She had no idea what Pa would say when he saw the “gift.”

  Gideon slapped the rump of one of the steers and shooed him with his hat toward the back of the house. The other steer lumbered behind. Elly trailed Adele to the cattle’s temporary home. “Isn’t this wonderful?” Adele whispered. “What a generous man, Elly. He’s crazy about you.”

  If 1600 pounds of meat, bone, and hooves was the measure of a man’s love, Gideon idolized her. She hoped she could return that measure of love.

  With the cattle safely behind the fence, Gideon closed the gate and draped his arm around Elly when they walked back to the farmhand who held two horses’ reins. “I’ll see you Sunday afternoon?” Saturdays had been their usual nights to court, but social activities came to a halt with the harvest. Sunday dinner and a long walk afterward served as courting time from late September to the end of October.

  The couple paused beside Gideon’s horse, and his gaze turned soft and adoring. “Weather’s going to turn bad before long. It’s hard knowing I won’t be seeing you as much in the coming weeks.”

  “I know. Harvest is always difficult, but the season will pass and we’ll be together.” She acknowledged the farmhand with a smile.

  “Given anymore thought to a date?”

  She’d thought of little else. “Gideon… ”

  “I’m not pushing, just wondering.”

  “I haven’t thought much about a firm date.” A blatant lie. Forgive me. Their marriage filled her mind before she dropped off to sleep and appeared again when she opened her eyes every morning. “When the berries are on their way to market, I’ll turn my full attention to our wedding.”

  He tipped her chin to meet his tender gaze. “Promise?”

  “Promise.”

  “I’ll hold you to that, Miss Sullivan.” Mounting his horse, he winked. “Keep those cattle well watered.”

  Watered? Nodding, she swallowed back panic. The stream was two hundred feet from the pasture and the well even farther. She was still nodding when Gideon whistled and his horse broke into a canter.

  Adele’s voice interrupted the sudden silence that gathered once the hoof beats faded. “Well, isn’t that just the sweetest thing you’ve ever seen?”

  “I am truly blessed,” Elly managed between clenched teeth. “Truly.”

  She now had two big old steers to feed and water on top of her other duties.

  Life couldn’t be better.

  Chapter 7

  Bo studied the building storm clouds in the west and shook his head. Rain was considered a blessing to a farmer unless it came during harvest. Heavy rains meant delay, and possibly damage to the crop. “Hold off the hail, God, and I’d be much obliged.”

  He glanced up when he heard Elly’s voice through the intensifying wind. He whirled to see her plunging through the field, bonnet strings loose, long hair whipping in the wind, racing toward him. The sight of her made his blood race. He tamped down the emotion. Friends. That’s all they were now.

  She ran like her dress was on fire, calling his name. Catching her up short, he steadied her heaving shoulders. “What’s happened?”

  “I need help!”

  He turned her on her heel, took her hand, and ran with her. “Something wrong with Pa?” he asked, trying to sort in his mind what might cause her to be agitated to the point of seeking his help. Had Pa collapsed? God, no. Not yet…

  “No! It’s my steers.”

  Bo skidded to a stop. He caught his hat as it was lifted from his head by a gust. “Your what?”

  Elly opened pleading hands to him. “My steers are stuck in the middle of the creek. The storm’s about to break and I can’t get them to budge.” She sucked in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Gideon gave me two steers. I can’t let them die of thirst.”

  “Two steers. That guy knows how to win a woman’s heart, doesn’t he?” Now that he knew he was rescuing cattle and his pa was all right, he breathed a little easier.

  Elly caught up to him, sticking close to his shoulder. “Gideon’s working in his far fields. I couldn’t find him, and you said that you drove cattle. You know what to do.”

  The front moved in, and strong gusts whipped the tree tops. When the two reached the creek, she ran upstream. He followed, his heavy boots sinking into the soft riverbank. The weariness of the day’s work faded from his limbs. Just past a bend and beyond a clump of bushes, he spotted two steers standing belly-deep in the creek. He didn’t care one way or another about the steers, except that Elly cared about their safety. He wouldn’t let the escapades of half-witted cattle upset her.

  “Get out of the water!” He hoped she didn’t see his reluctance to be knee-deep in water in the storm. A man doesn’t get hit by lightning and invite a bolt to him a second time.

  “What are you afraid of?” she called. “I need your help. Gideon entrusted these steers to me. I don’t want to disappoint him.”

  “It’s lightning!”

  Elly shot him a look of disdain and tugged on the rope she’d looped over the neck of one steer. He couldn’t abide her poor judgment, and he sure didn’t intend to take another bolt to the head. The sooner he got involved, the sooner they’d be out of the storm. A flash and then a crack of thunder set him into action.

  He approached the stubborn livestock. “Move!” he said to the steer and Elly. He jerked the rope out of her hands. “Get out of the water! You want to be fried?”

  “I don’t want you fried either. So we better hurry.”

  A slow, intimate grin broke across his features. “Still as stubborn as a Missouri mule.”

  “Look who’s talking, preacher.”

  He whistled sharp and shrill as he waved his Stetson at the steers. They didn’t move, and neither had Elly. “Go to the bank and break off a stout stick. Throw it to me.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “Whack their behinds, hard.” Lightning exploded overhead and pea-sized hail pelted them. In a panic to find the nearest shelter, he grabbed her arm and waded to the opposite side of the bank. “Head for the bluff!” They broke into a run as lightning split the sky, followed by a thunderous clap that jarred the ground. When they reached the shelter of an overhanging ledge, they collapsed, soaked to the core.

  Elly straightened, pushing wet tendrils from her eyes. “What are we going to do now?”

  Bo folded his arms over his chest in an effort to hide the shakes. “What do you mean we? Those aren’t my cattle.”

  Besides, the beef weren’t in any real danger. When it suited their purpose, th
ey would plod home. Now, he sat exposed to a colossal electrical storm on the wrong side of the creek with his heart flapping like a screen door in the wind.

  “You’re being petty,” she finally accused.

  “When the storm passes, I’ll get your cattle out of the stream.” He dumped hail from of the brim of his hat and then squinted into the downpour. “If you look closely, you’ll see they’re already out.”

  Elly followed his gaze to where the steers lay on the opposite bank, seemingly oblivious to the downpour.

  “This is a fine kettle of fish.” She squeezed water out of her hair. “There’s no end in sight for this storm. How are we going to get back across the creek?”

  “It’ll rain itself out in an hour or so,” he said. “Or not.”

  “And in the meantime?”

  “We sit and wait. The creek will rise. I’m not going out in that lightning.”

  The rain only intensified. A waterfall curtained the overhang and the wind doused the already drenched inhabitants of the crude shelter. Elly scooted closer to the rock wall of the alcove. She fought a useless battle to suppress a giggle and finally broke into outright laughter. Bo glanced over, eyebrow lifted. “You think this is funny?”

  Her hand swept across the view. “I’ve tried so hard to avoid you, and here your God has thrown us together in a flood rivaling the days of Noah. See how mean He can be?”

  “Come now, this little shower can’t come close to Noah’s flood.” He offered her a lopsided grin. “And what’s with this ‘your God’ stuff? He’s your God too.”

  Resting her back on the limestone, she sobered. “Not my God. My God wouldn’t get me stuck in a cave with you. Now Richardson’s God would have sent fire and brimstone to accompany the hail. And it wouldn’t be pea-size—it would be boulders.”

  He peered outside the ledge. “Reverend Richardson means well, but his approach is unnecessarily harsh. The Good Book says it’s His kindness that leads us to repentance. Although we serve the same God, we couldn’t be more different in our approaches. I choose to preach joy and resting in the Lord’s goodness, where Richardson preaches to scare the devil out of a person in order to get his attention.”