The Preacher's Lady

by Lori Copeland

  “Of course, Bo.” She turned an earnest expression on him. “Was the meat tough?”

  “No, the meal was perfect. You’re perfect, but I have the feeling you might think… ” How did you squelch a woman’s expectations without hurting her feelings?

  “I might think what?”

  “That I plan to settle down real soon.” He reached for her hand and held it. “You’re a lovely creature. Your eyes are the prettiest green, and your smile would melt any man’s heart. But I’m not the man you need, Cee.”

  Color bloomed on her cheeks. “I’m that obvious, huh?”

  “Not obvious. Sincere. And I don’t want to waste your time. It’s going to be a long while, according to my schedule, before I think about marrying and settling down. Might be, I won’t ever. The ministry keeps me busy, and now the bogs.”

  Sighing, she began to pack up. He noticed the pie went back into the hamper. “You must think me a fool.”

  “I think I’m one lucky man to have all this fussing over me.” He patted his burgeoning middle. “I’m going to outweigh ole Gerty if I keep this up.” Ole Gerty stood near the Garrett barn, chewing her cud.

  Cee smiled. “Well, thank you for the honesty. Most single men around here would have eaten the pie and milk before they told me they weren’t interested.”

  Grinning, he reached out and tweaked her nose. “Honestly, I was about to change my mind and ask for that pie.” He flashed a grin. “I’m a fool for raisins.”

  Chapter 13

  Elly nearly dropped the skillet she was washing when the kitchen door burst open late that evening. Adele and Cee rushed in. Behind them leaves flew and trees bent in the wind’s fury. Adele’s cheeks glowed with health, her belly now starting to resemble a ripe watermelon. She wildly embraced Elly. “You did it!”

  “Did what?”

  “Set the date! You actually set the wedding date with Gideon!” Squealing, the two women encircled Elly.

  “Hold on!” She pushed back the assault. “Where did you hear such a rumor?”

  “It’s all over, silly. You took Gideon a pie, you discussed the wedding, and he drove you home in his wagon.”

  “Discussed, Adele. We discussed where we might have the ceremony. We haven’t set a firm date.”

  The two guests’ expressions fell. Elly shook her head as she added a lump of lard to the hot skillet.

  Dropping to the nearest chair, Cee released a whoosh and addressed Adele. “I told you Clell East was an old windbag and didn’t know what he was talking about.” She looked at Elly. “At least you’re doing better than me in the love department. Bo told me in no uncertain terms he wasn’t in the market for a wife and I could take my casseroles and pies and fly to the moon.”

  “He did not.” Elly smothered a grin, more pleased than she should be by the announcement.

  “Well, close. I got the drift. There was so much food I dropped the leftovers by Gideon’s. At least he enjoyed them.”

  “Everyone is beginning to give up hope, Elly.” Adele removed her cloak. “Why are you being so pokey? Marry the man.”

  Elly stepped to close the door against the blustery wind. “Mind your own casseroles and I’ll take care of mine.” She returned to the stove and scooped flour into a bowl. “If it makes you feel any better, I am about to set the date.”

  “Liar, liar pants on fire.”

  Elly flashed a secretive grin. “When I tell the groom, I’ll inform you next.”

  “Clearly, your memory is slipping. I was supposed to be the first you told when you set the date. Lucky for you, I don’t hold grudges.” Teething her gloves off, Adele stepped to the cookstove to warm her fingers. “New Year’s Eve. That would be perfect for a wedding.”

  Cee left her chair and held out her hands to be warmed. “Tell me how I can help, Elly. I want to be a part of the festivities.”

  “Of course. Thank you. I’ll let you know.” Everything was working out perfectly. Memories of Bo were already fading. Still, in the secret places of her thoughts, she wondered what would have happened if she’d offered him a fresh start when he’d first come back to town. No one on earth was perfect.

  She slid the last chicken leg into the skillet and joined Adele at the table. “Want a cup of tea?” she asked Cee, who was still warming herself by the fire.

  The lady shook her head. “No, I was on my way to the mercantile when I bumped into Adele. Mother needs some staples. As for me, I had to come over and confirm the rumors were true.”

  “They’re not.”

  “Confirmed.”

  “But you’re not ruling out a New Year’s Eve wedding.” Adele was like a dog with a worrisome bone. “You could use your Christmas decorations for the church.”

  “True, I never take the tree down until after Christmas.” Elly played along. “But I’m going to be married right here, in my home, just as Ma and Pa were.”

  Adele leaned on her hand. She chewed her lip.

  Cee backed toward the door, waved, and left in a rush of leaves. Wise woman.

  Grinning, Elly knew she needed to assure Adele of her honorable intentions. “We’ll have a small reception at the church and then go home.” Gideon’s home. And she would be Elly Long. Gideon’s wife. She couldn’t quite reconcile herself to the new identity.

  Hadn’t she moved on? She and Bo were friends, only friends.

  Adele frowned. “Oh my goodness, you’re going to back out on him again.”

  Elly took Adele’s face in her hands and slowly formed the words. “I am going to marry Gideon.”

  “You’re not. You’re not the least bit excited about the wedding.”

  Elly pushed back from the table. “What must I do to convince you? I could do cartwheels between here and the parlor.”

  “The last time you did cartwheels in the kitchen, you broke your mother’s favorite bowl. To protect Irene’s interests, I command you to behave.”

  Elly returned to the stove to flip the browning chicken. No sense in tormenting Adele any longer. “You will still be my matron of honor?” Elly turned to take in her friend. She couldn’t help but smile at the spectacle she would create as part of the wedding party with her ever-expanding stomach.

  Adele’s face shone. “You said I could wear two tents.”

  The women laughed. “Make sure you add lace. And a few pearls. I’m wearing Mother’s dress,” Elly said.

  “No catalogue?”

  Elly arranged the fried chicken on a platter. “Mother’s dress is pretty and will do nicely.”

  A tap sounded at the back door as Elly plunged her hands into biscuit batter. She glanced toward Adele. “Can you get that?”

  Adele hefted herself off the chair to open the door. There stood her father, Milt, bent but smiling.

  He stepped inside and brought a rush of wind with him. Elly groaned inwardly. She’d swept leaves all day. What would follow? The winds foretold a storm to come. Ice skimmed the watering trough, harkening the coming of winter.

  Milt looked to Elly, his hat in hand. “I didn’t mean to disturb your cooking. I put Holt’s shovel in the shed. I thought he should know.” Milt rocked back and forth on his feet like a boy anticipating Christmas. Something was up. The presidential election had taken place recently, but this was too early for results. Rumor was the count tallied so close that the win could go to either party.

  Adele shook her head. “Papa, you promised Ma you’d be neighborly.”

  Elly led Milt to the parlor, where Pa was enjoying a late afternoon nap. She woke him to announce Milt and then backed out of the room and closed the doors. After the requisite niceties, fur would fly. She could only hope that blood wouldn’t flow.

  Adele leaned against the wall. “I’m so sorry.”

  “The election can’t be decided yet.”

  “Yes, it is,” Adele said, wide-eyed. “Mrs. Standish stopped by half an hour ago with the news. Cleveland won by a slim margin.”

  Elly knew then why Pa had come home from town look
ing glum. He’d taken to his chair and fallen asleep there. She listened to the rising voices coming from the parlor. Her eyes widened.

  Adele raised an eyebrow. “The news does mean Papa will be intolerable for a while. He’ll have every Republican in town avoiding him.”

  Elly sank into a chair. “You? What about me? I’ll have to listen to Pa’s laments for weeks.” Elly shook her head when male voices intensified from the den.

  “There is one bright spot. I heard Mr. Cleveland plans to invite his sister, Rose, to the White House to serve as official hostess. I’ve seen pictures of her in Ladies’ Magazine and the Literary Gazette. She’s lovely. I’m sure she’ll liven up the place nicely until Mr. Cleveland finds a Mrs. Cleveland.” Adele sent another worried glance toward the doorway. “When do you think the big storm will break?”

  “By how many votes?” Pa thundered.

  Elly looked to Adele. “Oh, I’d say… about now.” She shoved the skillet to the back of the stove. “I doubt Pa will want supper. I have a feeling he’s lost his appetite.”

  By the end of the day, Elly had had her fill of politics. But the people of Berrytop spoke of nothing else. Grover Cleveland had done the impossible. He’d broken the longest losing streak for any major party in American political history by becoming president-elect. Add the fact that he’d accomplished the feat at his young age—forty-four—and the reality that he was single, and people couldn’t stop talking. Democrats walked around with monkey-like grins. The world, others predicted, was going to Hades in a handbasket.

  Elly relished the peace she found in the bogs. She took the opportunity to walk beside the empty vines, checking for stray rakes and tools. The Sullivans had been blessed with another abundant crop; bills would be met and Pa could turn his attention to the new crop.

  Darkness came swiftly in early November. Endless days of cold winds and icy landscapes lay ahead. She stored a rake and closed the shed door. Turning her thoughts toward the upcoming nuptials, she stopped in the middle of the yard. Who would perform the ceremony? Reverend Richardson would be the likely choice, but he posed a problem: she favored anyone but him. There was Bo. She shook the ridiculous notion aside. She would never have Bo marry her off to another man.

  She walked on, mulling over the choices, which were few. She turned toward the Garrett farm and saw that someone there, probably Adele, had lit a lamp against the creeping darkness. If not Bo, then why not Milt? The town knew the Garretts and the Sullivans always enjoyed a close relationship. Milt would be the perfect officiant. As far as she knew, no rules governed who could marry a couple. And this would likely be Milt’s last year on earth. The thought brought a swift rush of tears to her eyes. What a beautiful way to honor a man who had come so close to being her second father.

  Milt. Of course, she would ask Pa first, but he would be too emotional to give his daughter away and perform the ceremony.

  No, Milt was a perfect choice.

  “Milt? Milt Garrett?” Gideon looked at her as if she had ants nesting in her eyebrows. He’d stopped for a brief visit on his way home from town. The two stood in the parlor, face-to-face. If there had been a chance at having a romantic moment with her intended, testing her idea of having Milt officiate the wedding doused her hopes.

  “I know it doesn’t sound logical.” She wanted to tell him about Milt’s weakened heart, but she’d promised Bo that she wouldn’t. “You know my feelings about Richardson. The only other pastor in town at the moment is Bo. You don’t want Bo to marry us. So Milt is the obvious choice. Our families have been… well, like family since I was very young.” She gently pressed her hand to his chest. “Of course, if you know of anyone else—”

  “Elly, this is too peculiar. Everybody in Berrytop knows how you and Bo… and Milt is his—”

  She stopped him with a raised palm. “Ancient history. I understand your hesitancy, but I’m asking you to trust me when I say this is the best solution to the problem.”

  “Problem? You’re referring to our wedding as a problem?”

  Now he was being petulant. “Not at all, but I won’t have Richardson.”

  Gideon studied his work boots. Elly wondered if she hadn’t finally pushed him beyond tolerance.

  “I would feel the same if you wanted a former lady friend’s father to marry us. But Milt is our best choice, Gideon.”

  He raked his hand through his hair. “This is highly irregular. Will such a ceremony bind us together? Milt isn’t a preacher.”

  “Of course we’ll be married.” At least, she didn’t think the Bible specially said who could marry a couple.

  His hands balled into fists at his side. “The idea’s just plain crazy, Elly. I’m opposed to Milt Garrett performing our ceremony. And shouldn’t Bo be heading back to his congregation? The harvest is over. He said he would leave after the harvest. What’s holding him up?”

  She hated seeing Gideon so agitated, mostly because she thought he was being ridiculous in his obvious jealousy. She was marrying him, not Bo. “I don’t know; I haven’t asked. Adele says maybe he’s decided to stay through the bad weather.”

  Adele had told her no such thing, but she needed to cover for the family’s real dilemma. The whole community would know the real reason Bo remained, and very soon. Milt was weakening more every day. Keeping his condition quiet was growing nearly impossible. His decline was obvious.

  There wasn’t a sound reason to start a marriage with this sort of tension. Releasing a pent-up breath, she conceded with a sense of relief. “If that’s how you feel, I respect your wishes. The traveling minister will be around next spring. We can marry then.”

  “Oh, no you don’t.” His brows lowered. “We’re not putting the wedding off another four months. Milt can perform the ceremony.” He pecked her cheek and strode toward where his coat hung on a hook. “All that matters to me is to know with certainty that you’ll be Mrs. Gideon Long soon.”

  “Good.” She touched his arm. “There are a couple more items to talk about. I’ve been thinking that maybe New Year’s Eve… ”

  “I’ve swallowed quite a lot here, Elly. Can this wait?”

  “Not really.” She motioned toward the parlor. “Let’s get comfortable. We don’t need to rush.”

  “I would rather stand. I have cows waiting for me.”

  Cows. Always the cows. “All right. What do you think about Harry Finnish for your best man?”

  “Finnish? The blacksmith? I barely know the man.”

  “Yes, but he’s been attentive to Adele during her mourning. Since she’s my matron-of-honor, and since she and Harry are about the same height, they would be perfect. And this would give them time to be together, get more acquainted.”

  “I had Fred in mind.”

  “Fred Latiey?”

  “Why not? We’ve been friends since we were kids.”

  “If that’s your wish, but isn’t Fred, well, lacking in height? And Adele is tall for a woman.”

  “What does height have to do with anything?”

  “If you’re happy to pair a giraffe and a hippo, then naturally you can ask Fred.”

  “Fred isn’t fat!”

  “I didn’t say he was fat. I was referring to his height. Do you have any problem with Sally Hawkins overseeing the food for the celebration?”

  “As long as we’re using animals now, let me remind you that she laughs like a hyena.”

  “Gideon!” Elly snapped. “You’re talking about your former Sunday school teacher. Sally has baked nearly every wedding cake in Berrytop since I can remember. What will she think if we don’t ask her to bake ours?”

  “But that laugh, Elly. It gets to me.”

  “Do you have a better suggestion?” She was beginning to see that including the groom in any of the decisions for the wedding was a mistake.

  “Ma. She can bake the cake. I love her cakes,” he said. “As soon as I write her about the date, she’ll set out for home.”

  “Gideon,” she said, soothingly, ho
ping he would recall that his ma’s cakes never got cut at church socials.

  “Well, she does.” He reached for his hat. “What about Cecelia? She bakes some mighty fine cakes and pies. Finest I’ve ever tasted—beats Sally’s by a country mile.”

  “I’m asking Cecelia to be my bridesmaid. Bridesmaids shouldn’t be responsible for the cake too.”

  Defeat clouded his eyes. “It seems you’ve gotten your way. Just tell Sally to keep her hilarity down.”

  “Thank you. You won’t regret having Sally bake the cake and be the server. Your mother and Cecelia should be free to enjoy the wedding, not fuss over details.”

  When he closed the door behind him the window glass rattled.

  Elly shook her head. Who’d think a man would care that much about a wedding cake?

  Before she retired for the night, Elly bent closer to the mirror to inspect her eyes in the dim candlelight. A few wrinkles shone beneath the soft light. Sighing, she dabbed cold cream at the corners of her eyes. This was no time to spare any hope of youthful glow. She smeared a wide swatch across her forehead and onto her cheeks. In the end, she looked more raccoon than woman.

  Slipping into bed, she pulled the down comforter and quilts up under her chin, careful not to sully the bedding with her beauty cream. A familiar tap sounded on the window—three quick, two slow.

  Bo.

  Closing her eyes, she whispered. “Not tonight. I love Gideon. Love love love my Gideon.”

  But in spite of herself, she tossed the blankets aside, stepped to the window, and lifted the pane. “It’s late,” she whispered. “What can’t wait until morning?”

  He raised the lantern to her face. “Sorry, do you have a prior engagement with your woodsy friends?”

  “Very funny.” She consciously reached up to touch the thick band of cold cream. If this were Gideon, she would remove the balm. She wouldn’t want her soon-to-be-husband witnessing her nightly ritual until the time arrived, but this wasn’t Gideon, and Bo had seen her in every state—dirty, pretty, angry, happy. “What do you want?”