The Preacher's Lady

by Lori Copeland

  Adele hefted herself from the chair. “I desperately need something to do to take my mind off the waiting. And Ike. That’s the hard part. Planning a wedding is the best gift you could have given me.”

  Elly smiled. “I’m sure there’ll be plenty to keep us both busy.”

  Adele stood and walked to the steps, leaning against the railing to go down the stairs. She paused at the bottom and turned back to Elly. “You must tell me the minute you know the date. We have the shower to plan too.” She waved over her shoulder. “I’ll start work on this right away.” As she walked toward the road, Elly heard her muttering, “White cake, of course, with tiny pink flowers. Invitations. The gown… ”

  Elly called after her. Adele turned, joy lighting her face.

  “You have to promise me to keep this quiet. Don’t breathe a word to Milt and Faye yet, and certainly not to Bo. I want to have a firm date before everyone gets excited. Do I have your promise?”

  Adele made a grand gesture of crossing her heart. “I promise.”

  Stepping into the house, Elly sighed. She’d just committed herself to marrying off the man she loved to a lovely, desirable woman and marrying herself off to a man who gave her cattle.

  The trade didn’t seem quite fair.

  Chapter 9

  Sunday dawned bright, clean, and crisp. Maple leaves blushed to red along their edges. Elly wrapped her shoulders in the shawl Ma had knitted her for Christmas. Her fingers trembled as she pulled the wrap tighter. She sure wished Ma would come home. She had far more wisdom than her daughter about marriage and such. What would she advise about Bo? When she learned the truth about his absence these many long years, the wicked life he’d led, what would she think then?

  Knowing Ma, she would easily forgive but like Elly would she ever forget? Both she and Pa made it clear they were eager to be grandparents, but so eager they would accept children from a man who had so easily fallen into sin? Sin didn’t have colors. All sin, big or small, was sin, but Bo’s former lifestyle should be black. Dungeon black.

  Her sins should only be slightly gray. It seemed.

  Pa tapped her bedroom door. “Harry’ll be ringing the bell here shortly.”

  “Coming!” Being a moment late to enter their pew was the same as spiritual treason for Pa. She pinned her hat to her hair, picturing the Good Shepherd walking along the Sea of Galilee, pausing to speak to those who gathered. There were no self-appointed times, no anointed places where one could commune with their Savior….

  Pa’s second sharp knuckle rap brought her back to earth.

  The church was a beehive this morning. Elly felt the excitement and heard the buzz of soft voices before she and Pa stepped through the doors. Her gaze landed on Bo sitting in the chair beside the pulpit, right where Reverend Richardson usually sat. Apparently the Reverend was still under the weather.

  She considered excusing herself to run home, but that would have been trouble. First from Pa and then just about everyone else—including Gideon, who waved at her from his pew. The sensible choice meant trailing Pa into their pew and sitting down.

  News that Bo was preaching must have reached others because the sanctuary was full, unlike most Sunday mornings when there was plenty of room. A long wooden bench sat along each wall to accommodate the overflow. Otherwise it would be standing room only this morning. The good people of Berrytop couldn’t wait to hear what the prodigal son had to say.

  The singing was more spirited, familiar hymns sung with strong conviction. Elly found herself joining in harmony with Pa’s strong tenor. And then Bo stood up.

  Bo Garrett’s message was simple and incredibly original for this congregation: Love one another.

  “Don’t simply say that you care; meet your neighbor’s need,” Bo said. “If your brother or sister in Christ is down and out, cheer him up. If he’s hurting, listen and pray. If he’s ill, comfort with your presence or help with words if needed. If he’s in need, meet that need out of what the Lord has so richly given you.”

  Elly waited for the real sermon to begin, the one that made her heart beat fast and her palms sweat. This was like sitting at the foot of Christ and being taught. She had never experienced anything like it. The occupants in the room sat spellbound. Not a child fidgeted. No words were whispered. Not a paper crinkled. Everyone was too focused on Bo.

  Folks were settling in for another hour, fretting about overcooked roasts, hungry families, and fussy toddlers when the sermon abruptly ended.

  “In closing”—Bo cleared his throat and gave the audience a sheepish grin—“you may not thank me for this, but I feel directed to sing a relatively new hymn.”

  And then Bo picked up a guitar that had been perched behind the pulpit and sang the sweetest rendition of “It Is Well with My Soul.”

  In all the years she’d known him, this talent had been hidden from her. The words were sung in golden, reflective tones. She soaked up the pure sweetness the message offered. Ladies sniffed and men reached in their back pockets for hankies to dab their tears. No one added their voices to Bo’s.

  When he reached the third stanza, his eyes glistened with tears.

  My sin—oh, the bliss of this glorious thought!—

  My sin, not in part but the whole,

  Is nailed to the cross, and I bear it no more,

  Praise the Lord, praise the Lord, O my soul!

  As the music strains died away, he dismissed the congregation with a simple, “God, keep us in Your love.” For a moment no one moved. The old clock on the wall said they still had another hour to go. Elly didn’t want to move. She suspected others felt the same.

  Something that defied explanation had just happened within the walls of their church. Just what Elly wasn’t sure, but she knew she wanted to sit and soak in the love that Bo had spoken about.

  A love that, until this moment, she never knew existed.

  The worshippers filed out of the church, pausing to shake Bo’s hand. Elly had scooted around the crowd and took her leave by the back door. She wasn’t quite ready to face Bo. He was so changed. How had she missed the signs of what God had always intended for him?

  Instead, she rejoined the crowd standing in front of the church. What she’d experienced made it even harder to initiate her earlier plan, but dinner was prepared. She spotted Adele, Faye, and Milt and hurried to catch them. “Faye?” she said, a little winded from her rushed exit. “Pa and I would be pleased if your family could join us for dinner.”

  “Why… that sounds lovely. Let me catch Bo before he accepts an invitation from anyone else.” Pride fairly shone in her eyes, and no wonder.

  Adele flashed a grin. “How nice of you, Elly. I trust there’ll be others joining us?” She winked.

  “I made way more chicken and dumplings than Pa and I will ever eat.” She swallowed. “I plan to ask Cee to join us.”

  Adele smirked. “Lovely idea. He’ll be there. I’ll make sure he is.”

  Elly glanced around the emptying churchyard. Gideon waved from the steps of the church and started in her direction. “And Gideon. I’m inviting Gideon too.” Mercy! She’d almost overlooked him. “He might as well get used to eating my cooking.” She faked a laugh.

  She spotted her prey coming out of the church with Henry Foster, a young swain who lived a few miles south. Elly waited until proper goodbyes were said and then swooped in to trap her. “Cecelia! I’m glad I caught you. Do you have dinner plans?”

  She glanced over her shoulder.

  “You can eat with him anytime.” Elly hooked her arm through Cecelia’s. “You really must join us.” She moved Cecelia hurriedly through the crowd.

  The young woman looked furtively over her shoulder and spoke with some suspicion. “Where are we going?”

  “I invited the Garretts. Bo will be there.”

  Cecelia’s hand covered her heart. “Well,” she said matter-of-factly, tucking tendrils of hair back into her bonnet, “of course. I accept your generous invitation.”

  “
Wonderful.” Elly drew a deep breath.

  Simply peachy.

  Milt Garrett pushed back from the dinner table, his plate still full. Elly wondered if she had over-salted the chicken and dumplings. She glanced around the table. The other guests had managed to eat most of their meal. Maybe Milt wasn’t partial to dumplings. She would make a note. Surely, this wasn’t the last dinner the Garretts would share with her family even though she and Bo were no more.

  Holt and Milt wandered into the parlor, where Bo and Gideon had already commandeered the best chairs. Bo had been quiet throughout the meal, saying very little except when someone once again told him how much they had enjoyed the sermon. He seemed embarrassed by his success in the pulpit. Elly thought he better get used to the accolades. People in Berrytop were hungry for a merciful Savior.

  “Best I’ve ever heard,” Milt Garrett said, slapping Bo on the back. “Bar none, my boy.”

  The womenfolk tackled the mound of dishes and chattered while they worked. The main topic was, of course, speculation about Elly’s upcoming wedding.

  “The plans are coming along beautifully.” Adele perched on a low stool at Elly’s insistence.

  Faye scraped plates. “Are you going to make your gown, honey?”

  Elly shook her head. “I haven’t given the dress much thought since we haven’t set a firm date. Besides, I sew about as well as I cook.”

  Adele bubbled. “I found an exciting article in the newspaper saying a new shop has opened in Milwaukee. They carry nothing but wedding attire. Imagine that! What do you say, Elly? Shall we send for their catalog? A premade gown is all the rage.”

  Elly wished Adele would drop all the talk of gowns and bridal attire. To say she hadn’t given the idea a thought wasn’t exactly true. She’d decided to wear Ma’s gown. She could admit to that without the ladies going too crazy on the topic.

  Drying a skillet, she wrinkled her nose at the notion of a premade gown. “Ma’s gown is more than suitable. When she gets home, we’ll do a little nip and tuck here and there but little more. The veil is still in good condition.”

  Adele’s face fell. “Wearing your mother’s gown is a symbol of your love for her and so very sweet of you, but a bride deserves her own dress. The article noted that styles are changing.” When Elly saw that Adele’s audience wasn’t moved by her protests, tension released between her shoulder blades.

  Faye patted Elly’s cheek when she walked by. “I think you’re being very wise and sensible, dear. Irene will be thrilled at your choice.”

  Men’s voices rose from the parlor. Faye flashed an apologetic smile. “Oh dear, Holt and Milt are at it earlier than usual. We shouldn’t leave them alone.” She untied her apron and motioned for the women to follow her. Females gathered at the opposite end of the parlor. They pulled out their stitching, but their real task was to stop a war if one threatened. Milt and Holt didn’t see eye to eye on politics, and the presidential election was in full thrust.

  Elly was relieved the talk of wedding dresses was behind her. Unfortunately, she knew Adele had sparked a fire. Talk of the upcoming nuptials would be the topic of conversation wherever two or more women gathered.

  “Grover Cleveland’s a reprobate!” Holt blustered. “The man has the morals of a jackrabbit!”

  Milt shook his head in disbelief. “Give him a little respect. By claiming the child as his, he saved that—she’s no lady—woman from utter disgrace.”

  Holt wadded tobacco into his pipe bowl, tamping the leaves down with unreasonable force. “Utter nonsense! Cleveland answers his accusers according to the mood of the people. He claims—when it suits him and his ambitions—that he’s not certain of the child’s parentage. He’s only done what any man must. I would like to expect more of my leaders. Let’s pray that he remains in New York, a place perfectly suited to an unmarried man with lustful tastes.”

  “Holt!” Faye snapped. “Insulting the man serves no purpose.”

  “He’d be an embarrassment in the White House! What’s this world coming to?”

  Color rose to Milt’s cheeks. Faye bit her lip. Her stitching settled into her lap.

  “The world will get what’s coming to it. The man may eat like a horse, smoke too many cigars, and imbibe a tad too much whisky, but he’s the man for president. Cleveland is smart! He’ll get this country straightened out.”

  Faye shot Milt a warning glance, but the others kept their heads down and their fingers busy.

  Holt scooted to the edge of his chair. “Straightened out? How do you figure? We’re doing better than well under President Arthur. Considering his ill health, he’s leaving office more respected than when he entered. Won’t be able to say that about Cleveland.”

  “He could be right, Pa,” Bo noted. “Isn’t Cleveland the one who says women don’t want the vote—or something to that effect? Have to admit he’s a brave man to make that statement.”

  “Arthur stepped right up when Garfield was assassinated,” Gideon said. “He’s not done badly under tough circumstances. We could have had worse.”

  Milt frowned. He opened his mouth to respond when Faye cleared her throat. He straightened his vest instead. Elly wished Pa took the hint so easily.

  In the lull, Holt chanted, “Ma, Ma, where’s my pa?”

  “Gone to the White House, ha, ha, ha,” Gideon mocked the now familiar phrase, and then immediately sobered.

  “Gentlemen—Pa—there are ladies present. This conversation is not suited for gentle constitutions.” The way Bo smiled made it clear he wasn’t worried about the strength of the women in the room. He disliked the pointless bickering. “Gideon, what’s your take on anything but politics?”

  Gideon sat up straighter. “I’m just a simple farmer. I don’t trouble myself with things I can’t control, and that hailstorm a few days back proved without doubt that I don’t control much. My wheat isn’t in the barn yet.” He looked to Elly. “But I’m perfectly happy with the prospect of a wife and young’uns.”

  Milt waved a dismissive hand toward Gideon and struck a match. “I’m not saying anything the ladies haven’t already heard at the mercantile, Bo. Cleveland has probably got himself caught in a messy stew with that Halpin woman, but he’s providing that little guy with the support he needs to grow up healthy and educated. In other words, he’s doing the right thing. His indiscretion shouldn’t disqualify him from being a good leader. If he’s good enough for that young upstart, Teddy Roosevelt, he’s good enough for me.” Milt drew on the pipe stem. “If we disqualified every sinner from running for public office, we would be plum out of politicians.”

  Bo tilted back in his chair, working hard at stifling a grin. He failed. “I think the Lord might say we should try to weed out the chaff.”

  Holt slapped his knee. “Milt, you’re as stubborn as a rusty nail. You’ll be singing a different tune once the election is over. James Blaine will whip Cleveland like a redheaded stepchild when the time arrives.”

  Milt’s eyebrows shot up. “Blaine is as crooked as a shepherd’s staff. Why, he’s in the railroads’ pockets. And talk about immoral! I’d put Blaine right up there with the pack. It’ll be Cleveland by a landslide.”

  Holt shot to his feet. “Hogwash!

  “Good Lord, help us! If—and I do mean if—that pipsqueak Blaine gets in, it will simply mean the Mugwumps couldn’t spot an honest man if they tried.”

  The men stood toe to toe. Bo and Gideon eased to the front of their chairs. Faye covered her eyes.

  Bo got up and stepped between the two men. He faced his pa and put a hand to his shoulder. “You’re a strong thinker, Pa, but this is meant to be a social gathering. Elly worked mighty hard to prepare a nice meal for us. We should repay her with pleasant conversation, don’t you think?”

  Milt shuffled while looking at his shoes. Clearly, he hadn’t made his point yet.

  Bo smiled broadly and patted the men’s backs. “Now, if you two have a mind to provide all this manure for Elly’s garden patch, she would we
lcome the gift. But we’re done with politics for the day.”

  Milt glanced at Faye. “Faye. Get your coat. It’s time decent folk were in bed.” He stepped around Bo to address Elly. “Sweet girl, those were the best dumplings I ever ate. Don’t tell Faye I said so.”

  “I heard you plain as day, old man. You best get your coat on before I take a broom to your behind.” Husband and wife shared a knowing look. Milt looked tired. He needed to rest. Holt Sullivan had pushed him pretty hard.

  After Milt and Faye left, Pa took his leave to do some reading. Cee played the piano while the remainder of guests enjoyed her talent. Elly mentally added one more attribute that made Cee an excellent candidate for Bo’s wife—she had no strong political leanings. And everyone—Democrat or Republican—could appreciate her musical talent. She insisted Bo sing with her, and his strong baritone floated through the parlor. Elly didn’t miss the shared look between Cee and Bo when the clock struck four. She was, however, taken aback by Cee’s boldness when she asked him to walk her home. The girl wasn’t wasting any time.

  “That’s a fine idea, Cecelia.” He extended his arm. “A good walk with amiable company is just what I need.” The couple paused before Elly.

  Cee took her hand. “Thank you ever so much for the lovely invitation. I’ve had a wonderful time, and the meal was delightful.”

  Elly avoided Bo’s direct gaze. She’d seen enough interest in his eye to know he was enjoying himself. Little did he know that his blatant eagerness to walk Cee home fell right in step with her plan. Relationships started this way—even courtships that led to marriages and families.

  Bo extended his hand. “Mighty fine meal, Elly.”

  His eyes finally captured hers. She wasn’t sure what she saw there. She finally decided he looked happy. She should join him in his pleasure. The plan was going well. She would even join his blissful state real soon.