The Preacher's Lady

by Lori Copeland

  Setting her jaw, she traipsed on. Eventually she tapped on Gideon’s back door. The cool air bit at her cheeks as she waited, lifting the towel to eye the pie. He would be so surprised.

  Astonishment lit his eyes when he answered her knock. He focused on the cloth-covered basket, and his smile broadened. “Whatever is in that basket, I hope it’s for me.”

  “Of course it’s for you.” She held the dish out for inspection. He lifted the cloth and sniffed. “Cranberry and raisin?”

  “Right as usual,” she said. “It’s a thank-you for the manure.”

  “Did I surprise you?” His expression said he might burst with pleasure. “There’s plenty more where that came from.” She trailed him inside to the warm kitchen.

  Elly considered telling him about the spontaneous party the manure created, and how, if Bo hadn’t have helped, she would still be spreading. But she didn’t. She doubted Gideon would appreciate the irony. Instead, she poured coffee while Gideon gathered plates and forks. Her gaze took inventory of the kitchen. He kept the place surprisingly neat, but there were no lingering fragrances of cooking meat, no evidence of pots drying on the counter.

  Gideon served her a small piece and lifted half of the pie onto his plate. She took the first bite. Her jaws locked, her eyes watered. She puckered. He discreetly set his fork aside.

  She sighed. “I forgot to add sugar.”

  “Well, no matter! I like my pies tart.” He picked the fork back up and stuffed a bite into his mouth. Water filled his eyes as he chewed. “Good. That crust is nice and flakey. Never eaten better.”

  She was too tired to stop him. She propped her cheek in her hand and watched him force down the entire piece of bitterly sour pie. The man was hopelessly smitten. Lifting a hand, he sucked in a deep breath. “Can you get me a dipper of water?”

  It was the least she could do.

  He tilted his chair back and patted his stomach. “Mighty fine fixin’s, Elly. Your cooking’s gettin’ better every day.”

  She snatched up the remaining pie, stepped out the back door, and walked to the pig trough, where she tossed the contents. After one bite the animals squealed and scattered like chaff. It was a sad day in Wisconsin when the pigs wouldn’t eat her cooking.

  Following her outside, Gideon drew her into his arms. “You got awful close that time, sweetheart. I wouldn’t let anything like a sour pie dishearten me. The crust was perfect, and from what my mother says, that’s the hard part. You’ll be a fine cook in no time at all.”

  The solemn hope in his voice made her laugh. He was such a kind soul—tolerant, funny, and so in love with her. She could, and she would, return the love he deserved.

  “Gideon… ” She reached for his hand. “Walk me down the road a piece. I promised Pa I’d be home by dark.”

  “You’ve had a long day. I wouldn’t hear of you walking. I’ll hitch the buggy and drive you home.”

  Trailing him to the barn, she waited while he gathered tack and let the horse out of the stall.

  “I’ve been thinking,” she ventured. “I’d like to be married at home.” She couldn’t bear the thought of Reverend Richardson officiating at her marriage. And if Bo offered to step in… well, that was a whole new problem. She wanted to focus completely on Gideon that day. No distractions.

  He slipped the bridle bit into the horse’s mouth. “I don’t know, Elly. It seems to me the church is the best place two people could hope to bless their marriage. And I wouldn’t want anyone to feel left out. Your parlor isn’t that large.”

  She chose her words carefully. “We don’t need a big show. We’re older. We know what’s important to start a marriage. I picture our families gathered around in my parents’ parlor. Perhaps we can meet later at the church for cake and punch with our friends.”

  Gideon fretted with the horse’s mane. “Still… the church… I never thought of another setting.”

  “Couples choose their site, Gideon. Church is always nice, but there’s something very sweet about taking vows in the home.”

  Turning to face her, he smiled. “I would marry you in an igloo, Elly Sullivan.” He drew her into a long kiss. His touch warmed her stomach, but the butterflies were asleep. When he gazed into her eyes, she saw a deep and solemn love. She had made the right choice in Gideon Long.

  Elly settled beside Gideon on the wagon bench and he stuffed a warm blanket over her lap. “There. Are you warm enough?’

  “Very. Thank you.”

  Soon after, the gelding trotted off and she huddled close to him for better warmth. He pulled her closer with an arm around her waist. She hadn’t expected a romantic ride through the darkening landscape, especially after such a dreary day of work in the bogs. The evening star winked brightly. She closed her eyes to rest her head against his shoulder. The material of his coat was scratchy. Bo’s was soft and… She caught her thoughts.

  “Pesky geese!” Gideon nudged the horse to a trot.

  She sat up to see a gaggle of Canada geese huddled in a tight group on the road. They fed on grain dropped by wagons headed to market. The geese honked, stretching their necks toward the sound of the approaching horse and wagon.

  “Watch this,” he said.

  “Gideon, don’t you dare.” Too late, Elly remembered his annoying boyhood pranks. He fully intended to drive right through those birds, scattering them into a frenzied flight.

  Grinning now, his arm left her shoulders and he gripped both reins tightly. An almost maniacal smile stretched across his features.

  Elly scooted to her side and gripped the wagon bench. “Do not charge those geese!”

  Gideon ignored her. The horse surged ahead and plowed into the gaggle. Honks and fluttering wings filled the evening air. His uproarious laughter froze her heart. Covering her eyes, she held her breath as feathers flew. The buggy shot through the chaotic flight and honking calls of distress.

  She felt a distinct plop on the top of her bonnet and groaned. She didn’t want to think of what had just occurred. She kept her gaze straight ahead until the wagon shot clear of the disturbance.

  Gideon pulled up on the reins, saying, “Whoa there, Clarence.” The horse gradually slowed and her fiancé bent double, laughing.

  She failed to see one humorous thing about the incident. The appalling episode must have shaved years off the geese’s lives. Scowling, she took off her bonnet for inspection. A green plop of goose dropping sat on the crown. Her bonnet had seen better days, but today was an insult. Gideon’s fit of hilarity turned to concern. “Oh, did one of the geese get you?”

  She managed a weak smile but no amusement. “I believe this was meant for you.”

  He hauled on the reins, brought the wagon to a full stop, and set the brake. Once he tied the reins in place, he brought out a hanky to scrub at the stain. “Sorry, I couldn’t resist.”

  “Yes, I saw that you were torn.” She yanked the hanky away, dampened a corner with her tongue, and tried to remove the ick. Her efforts spread the spot. The damage was worse than she’d thought.

  “Honest Elly, if I’d thought you’d have gotten—”

  “Take me home, Gideon.” She returned his wadded-up hanky.

  He cast a repentant eye in her direction. “I really am sorry—just having a little fun.”

  Fun? Charging peaceful wildlife and being the target of a frightened animal’s droppings had not been enjoyable. This was no time, not when she was angry, to clarify how she liked to have fun. She couldn’t stop her thoughts returning to the previous evening. Warmhearted neighbors, the support of friends, a surprise treat—that was her type of fun.

  “I’m fine. Don’t worry about it,” she said, knowing she hadn’t convinced him she was fine or that he shouldn’t worry.

  The rest of the trip was made in silence. Tiny specks of snow now flew through the air. The buggy pulled up to the house, and she leaned over and gave him a peck on the cheek. “Thank you for the ride home.”

  “I really am sorry. I should have been m
ore thoughtful.”

  “I’m really tired, Gideon. Only a few days of harvest remain. We’ll discuss this when we’re rested.”

  Chapter 12

  The push to complete the harvest before bad weather set in focused everyone’s attention. Round, plump cranberries heaped in rows of crates sat along the bogs, evidence of another God-given harvest of exceptional abundance. Pickers worked from early morning to last light to finish.

  Others, older women mostly, washed and hand-sorted the berries before they went into crates. All dutifully bent over their work and returned home late afternoon to care for families. The wind had shifted and now blew in icy puffs from the north. Heavy coats and long johns replaced britches and wool shirts. Winter’s fury knocked on the door.

  Elly straightened mid-morning, holding her aching back. It would take until Christmas to work the kinks out of her muscles. She spotted Milt Garrett alone in his bog, bending over a plant. She watched as he slowly sank to the ground, holding his head. Pitching her gloves aside, she raced across the road, her heart pounding. Please God, don’t let this be the day.

  Skidding to her knees, she bent over Bo’s father. Her heart slammed her ribs. Please God, not now. “What is it, Milt?”

  Shaking his head, he wheezed. “Just catching my breath.”

  “Here.” She reached through his open coat to loosen his collar and then ran to the bucket and drew a large dipper. Bringing the refreshment to his mouth, she whispered, “There now. That’s better.”

  He drank sparingly, pausing to catch his breath before taking another sip. She remembered Bo’s earlier caution: Pa doesn’t want anyone to know how sick he is. When she offered him another drink, he pushed the dipper aside.

  “The days are getting colder,” she soothed. “Sometimes it’s hard for me to breathe. There now. One more tiny sip?”

  He brushed the offer aside. Resting on his haunches, he sucked in shallow breaths until his shoulders relaxed and his breathing eased. They sat in silence, Elly watching his every move. He eased to the bog floor. He didn’t seem to be in any hurry to move on. He looked up to meet her gaze. “Thank you, darlin’.”

  She sat beside him. There were still berries needing to be picked, but they could wait.

  Gazing across the bogs, Milt said softly, “I always thought you and Bo would be raising these berries together someday.”

  “Yes.” She loosened her bonnet strings and pulled off the hat. She’d scrubbed hard at the spot the goose dropping left, but unfortunately the bird possessed a robust liking for purple berries. This would be her working bonnet from now on. “I thought the same. Guess someone more powerful thought otherwise.”

  Milt shook his head. “I don’t know what got into my boy.”

  “The good Lord got into him,” she said. “After a bit.”

  “It’s that ‘bit’ that concerns me. Following his natural man cost him just about everything he held dear.”

  “He still has his family. He loves you all very much.”

  Drawing a shallow breath, Milt nodded. “I should be thankful the Lord snatched him back.”

  “Well, He says His sheep know His name.”

  Milt’s eyes skimmed the fields. “He’s a good boy, Elly. From the moment I heard his first cries, I knew he was going to be different. God was going to use him to make the world a better place. That young’un was born with a purpose.”

  Elly could only agree. “I’ve never heard finer messages on Sunday mornings. No yelling. No hollering. Just the simple truth offered in love.”

  Silence lengthened between the two as they sat looking over the bogs. Cranberries were Elly’s life, and it had been a good life. Soon she would be raising cattle, which she knew absolutely nothing about except they had a mind of their own. Come January, she would learn. She doubted she could give up berries completely. Ma and Pa would need her in the bogs as long as they owned the farm. How would Gideon feel about his wife splitting time between cattle and berries? She guessed she ought to ask. He might think twice about her as a life’s partner.

  Milt took another deep breath and slowly got to his feet. Elly rose to help him, but thought better of doing so. Men valued their pride, sick ones more than most. “Don’t know how I got on the subject, but I—me and Faye want you to know that our hopes were dashed just as yours were. We had already begun to think of you as our daughter.”

  “Thank you, Milt. I felt the same.” But Gideon was her future, not Bo. “I still love you and Faye. Nothing Bo could have done would ever change that.”

  “Don’t get me wrong.” Milt shook his head. “We’re fond of Gideon. He’s a good man. He’ll make a fine husband and father.”

  “Thank you.” Adjusting her britches, she smiled. “I’ll always be here for you and Faye. I hope you know that. I’ll just be down the road a piece.”

  His eyes softened. “You’re good clean through, Elly. You’ll always be our girl. Always. Nothing’s going to change our love for you.”

  But so much would change. The cattle farm would possess her. The cows would need milking twice a day, no matter what the season or circumstances. There was the garden, larger by half, to tend. And chickens. That would all fall to Elly, as well as cooking three meals a day. Of course, children meant her attention would be focused on their needs. And her loyalty would belong to Gideon with no reservations. Milt might find comfort believing nothing would change, but Elly knew better.

  She turned her softest gaze on his gray face. “Nothing will change between you and me.”

  “You’re a wise one, missy. Folks get uppity when life doesn’t flow along as they think it should. We all want to believe we’re paddling the boat. We don’t like surprises when it comes to our plans. Sometimes, though, God lets us see how His ways are better.”

  “Milt, do you think we’ll get to ask God questions when we see Him face-to-face?”

  He rubbed the day’s growth of beard. “I don’t plan asking Him a thing. I’m gonna thank Him, and then I’ll raise fine cranberries on this new earth, the finest anyone’s ever tasted.”

  Squeezing her shoulder, he set his hat to a dapper angle and walked off. He wasn’t an old man, but he walked with his head bent, feet shuffling to stir up dust, and his shoulders braced against the north wind.

  Elly dawdled for a moment longer, gazing out over the bogs. Soon the site would wither and turn brown and lifeless. She didn’t want her life to imitate the berries—living from season to season, withering with age, and lying dormant with the harsh seasons. She would not live in fear of frost or worry about fruit worms. She would love Gideon and the children they had and tend their home—even if that meant burning three meals a day—and be grateful.

  She could do something that simple.

  Bo was down on his hands and knees in the bog when Cecelia came into view. His eyes landed on the steaming dish she carried between two cloths, and unless he missed his guess the contents were another casserole—the third this week. The woman was clearly husband hunting.

  He had to admit that Cee was appealing to a man’s eye, but he wasn’t in the market for a wife. Not just any wife.

  Rising, he prepared to defend his stomach. She was an excellent cook, but Ma was getting a little testy that her kitchen was being overtaken by a pretty young woman with matrimony on the mind.

  Cecelia’s grin widened when she spotted him, and her steps picked up. “There you are!”

  “Morning, Cecelia.” He glanced at the sky. “Or guess it’s closer to noon.”

  She extended the dish, proud as a peacock. “Roast and vegetables.”

  “Cee, you don’t need to bring my lunch. Ma… ”

  “Nonsense. I adore cooking and it’s my pleasure to bring your meals occasionally.”

  Occasionally it would be a pleasure to down her offerings, but not in a bog.

  Her gaze roamed the area. “Where can we sit?” Apparently she had every intention of joining him.

  “There’s no shade here. Why don’t we go t
o the house and have Ma and Pa join us?” That would go over with Ma like a square-dancing squirrel. During picking season socializing ceased, but he couldn’t be impolite. He’d eat the beef and vegetables and send her on her way.

  “There’s a perfect place right over there.” Cee focused on an area just outside the bog and nowhere near the Garrett home.

  The two settled on a grassy knoll. Cee whipped out a white cloth and laid it out. Meat, vegetables, bread. Cheese and a raisin pie followed. He eyed the heavy fare and knew he wouldn’t be doing much work this afternoon with the picnic resting heavy in his stomach. She dipped up a two-man portion and handed the plate to him. “Looks good, Cee.”

  “When you finish, there’s pie and cold milk.” A canning jar rested in the basket. “I iced the milk overnight in the stream, so it should be extra cold.”

  Taking a bite, he nodded. “Real thoughtful of you. Thanks.” He nodded toward the plate as he chewed. “Tasty.”

  “Thank you. There’s plenty more where that came from.”

  “Aren’t you going to eat?” She seemed more interested in his nourishment than hers.

  “No, thank you. I’ll just keep you company.” Sighing, she drew her legs to her chest and stared at him.

  The scrutiny made him uneasy. He shoveled food into his mouth, chewing. Then another bite. And another. “Isn’t that a fox near the second bog?”

  Whirling, her gaze sought the sight. “I don’t see it.”

  “Huh. Must have been a dog.” He polished off the feast and handed her the clean plate. “Wonderful meal, but I have to get back to work.”

  “Wait! You’ve eaten one tiny plate and there’s still milk and pie.”

  She reached for the pie and he stopped her. “Any way you could wrap that up and send it home with me?”

  Her hurt expression touched him. She was a fine woman, and he’d never tasted better food. A man would be proud to have her attention, but he couldn’t let her raise expectations that he couldn’t meet. “Cee. Can we speak frankly?’