“Do you have a minute?” She looked like a frightened sheep who might dash over a steep cliff and never make it back to the sheepfold.
Becky couldn’t say no. “Jake’s office might be open. We can speak there.” Even as she knew she must help, she hoped the room would be occupied.
Jake’s gaze followed her as they walked to the room, which was still and quiet as if waiting for them.
“I have been struggling so with the problem, and I didn’t know who I could turn to. Besides the Lord, that is.” Henrietta giggled nervously. “But after tonight’s service, I thought maybe I could speak to you.”
They spoke a long time. Apparently her fiancé kept his occupation and source of income a secret, and he got upset whenever Henrietta asked. Becky wouldn’t like a man to keep that secret, either.
“It’s not that I don’t trust him to provide. I don’t need a lot. But I don’t understand why he’s so sensitive about the subject.”
Many tears and prayer and cups tea of later, they were ready to return to the mill house. Becky said, “Perhaps Jake can accompany us to the mill. For some reason she wanted an escort.
Jake was sweeping the empty room, gathering the trash that always accumulated when a group of people spent time together. Becky felt a pang of guilt, as if she should have been the one cleaning after the service. Jake smiled warmly, however, not at all disappointed. His gaze turned to Becky’s companion. “Mrs. Myrick, are you all right?”
Hardly more than hour had passed since he had been named pastor, and he was already taking care of his flock.
“Much better now that I’ve talked with Becky.”
Before Jake could comment, Becky said, “Would you mind walking with us to the mill? The hour is late and. . .”
“On Saturday night, men might be celebrating?”
Isabella jumped at his words, and Becky was doubly glad she had asked Jake to come with them. As they walked home, clouds scuttled across the moon under gray-black skies.
Henrietta went straight to her room, but Jake and Becky lingered at the door. “We planned to speak together tonight.”
He wanted, needed, an answer she wasn’t prepared to give. “So much has happened. God is fulfilling His purpose for your life.” She tried to say the words as if they made her happy, but she could feel the discord in her heart
“Not mine alone.” He stood close to her, enclosing them in a tiny circle illuminated by the lantern. “If not tonight, we must speak before the service tomorrow morning. I don’t want to be ordained until we settle things between us.”
The breath caught in Becky’s throat. Jake needed an answer by tomorrow morning? A small moan escaped.
Jake’s finger traced her lips, as if capturing her moan. “The person God wants me to marry is more important than the work I do along the way. I will pray, without sleep if I must, until God gives me an answer. Do I dare ask the same of you?”
She looked into his dark eyes, sparkling with passion.
In her room only a few minutes later, she looked at the beautiful furnishings Jake had provided for her. Financially, he was better off than most of the miners, and a good businessman. Preachers didn’t get paid well.
She laughed at herself. Angel Vale probably couldn’t afford a full-time preacher’s salary for some time yet. Jake would have to continue to work two jobs, at least for a time.
Dividing his attention even more between the church and his family.
For this prayer, she chose to kneel rather than lying on her bed. The rug beneath her knees softened the sacrifice. She had seen Father on his knees many times. Did he ever struggle with a decision the way she did right now? The thought made him seem more human.
She closed her eyes. “Dear Lord.” Was He her Lord? She pressed her hands and knees close together. “I want to obey Your will, whatever it is. And in the Bible, You promise to shine your light on the path ahead.”
She thought about that for a minute. “At least the next step.”
She knelt there for a few more minutes. All that came into her heart was, “I love You, Lord. Teach me to obey You with my whole heart.”
In spite of her doubts and the sparsity of her prayer, she rose from the floor with a sense of peace. The Lord would show her the next step when she met with Jake tomorrow.
She prayed Jake found peace as he struggled through the night.
* * *
After a lengthy talk with Preacher Reed, Jake returned to the story of his namesake in the Bible. Not that his life resembled the patriarch’s, but Jake felt compelled to study it again.
The account always created a sense of wonder that God could use this deceiver as one of the patriarchs of the faith. He stopped at Jacob’s meeting with Rachel. One look, and he had fallen in love. Jake thought he understood that kind of deep love. He understood Jacob’s willingness to work seven years to earn the right to marry her.
Earning the right to marry Becky. Was that the key to his problem? He prayed and planned, and came up with a way to present it to both Becky and Preacher Reed the next day.
In the morning, Becky and the minister arrived at the store at the same time. Jake saw the surprise on Reed’s face and the disappointment on Becky’s. Stand strong, he reminded himself. He believed God had given him his answer, and he could only hope Becky would agree.
The three of them settled in the office with cups of coffee and warm ham biscuits Becky brought from the mill house. “Thank you both for coming so early today. I wrestled with God last night, much like Jacob wrestled with the angel the night he hurt his thigh.” He touched his leg. “I’m glad He didn’t do that to me.” A short laugh.
The serious expression on Becky’s face cut his laughter short. “Actually, Jacob gave me the answer to my…our dilemma.” Pausing, he studied the expression on Becky’s face. Last night, the serious set of her almost squinted eyes had suggested deep sorrow. This morning she had relaxed. She wore no smile, but her hands lay open in her lap, her lips parted, as if she were at peace, ready for whatever he had to share. He took his bandanna and wiped off his forehead.
“Becky, I explained our problems to Preacher Reed last night. How you are the daughter of a pastor and have no desire to be the wife of a pastor now. In fact, you would almost rather do anything else.” This time, his sad smile received a flickering answer from Becky.
“This morning, I asked if he would postpone my ordination and official entry into ministry. He agreed. In fact, many preachers are examined on doctrinal issues by other pastors before ordination. We’re short on preachers out here, but he agreed to study with me.”
“So you’re postponing the decision,” Becky said.
This was the point where she might object. “Until Christmas, which was the date set in the contract to make a decision to marry or not.” He smiled. “I like to think you would say ‘yes’ if you weren’t scared you’d end up as a preacher’s wife. I never thought . . . if I’d had any idea this was going to happen, I’d have mentioned it in the letter. Now it seems a real possibility.”
When neither responded, he continued. “For the next seven weeks, I will study for ordination. We will continue courting, and that will give you time to decide whether or not you could be a preacher’s wife.”
“So the decision hasn’t changed. It’s just been postponed.” Becky frowned.
“No,” Preacher Reed said. “He may choose not to be ordained and stop preaching. Or he might fail the ordination panel. I have laid out a course of study, and I will be tough on him.”
He pointed a finger at Becky. “He is willing to give up his calling for you. I’m not sure if that’s wise, but that is between him and the Lord. You might ask yourself what you are willing to sacrifice.” Standing, the preacher gathered his Bible and coat. “I will find a corner to study for a few more minutes before the morning’s service. You two need time together.” He laid a hand on their shoulders. “I will be praying for you both over the next seven weeks. God will show you the right answ
er.”
Jake studied Becky, wishing he could hold her, knowing he didn’t have the right. “You look more at peace today.”
“I am. Last night I told God, ‘Your will be done.’ And asked Him to change my heart if the answer wasn’t what I think I wanted.” She hesitated and giggled. “Not to change my mind about you. I know I want to spend my life with you. I even think perhaps God wants me to be a preacher’s wife, but right now I still want to say no.” She stopped long enough to take a deep breath. “But God has seven weeks to change my stubborn heart.
He smiled at her laugh, but his expression turned serious. “I noticed how Henrietta sought you out last night. Other women have come to you before. You might not like it, but you are the one they turn to.”
She brushed her hands across her lap, as if dismissing what he said. “That’s only because they used to come to me in Merville. I hoped someone else would fill that role here in Angel Vale.”
“Listen to me.”
She looked at her lap.
“Look at me.”
She looked up, puzzlement in her eyes.
He turned his hands over. “How can you not see? They come to you because you are able to help them. Not because you’re the pastor’s daughter. Because of who you are. You say I’m supposed to preach? I believe you are meant to help the women of Angel Vale.” He turned his hands flat down on the desk. “Or anywhere else you go. No matter who you marry, or even if you remain single.”
“Do you really think so?” Her voice was small as she looked at her lap.
Before he plowed ahead with a confident yes, he rethought his response. “We have seven weeks to find out.”
Looking at him, she smiled back. “I guess we do.”
CHAPTER NINE
Becky’s quandary over marrying a pastor faded into the background when Edwin didn’t show up for his wedding with Isabella on Sunday afternoon. By the time they found him, he was hanging on to life after being mauled by a bear. Preacher Reed performed a bedside wedding.
The following Tuesday was Becky’s first opportunity to vote. While Becky was at the store working Monday afternoon, Matt arrived with a large wooden box. He set the box on the center table. She examined it. It had a slit across the top and a sign calling it a ballot box.
Her feet wanted to skip. So the store was the town voting place as well. That shouldn’t surprise her. No other place was as well placed or large enough for community affairs.
“You’re allowed to touch it, you know.” Jake grinned as he came from behind the counter.
“I’ve never been allowed in the voting place all my life.” She ran her hands over the polished wood, the small slit to slip the papers through, and the lock holding it safe until the votes were counted. “To think that such a simple system, from coast to coast, as far as we’ve traveled from Merville to here and beyond, men place votes in boxes like this, our leaders are chosen.” She giggled. “And here in Wyoming, even women get to vote.”
Matt and Jake exchanged looks. “Some here have blamed the contentiousness of the last election on the female vote, saying all the women voted for Tilden or else there wouldn’t have been a question about President Hayes.” Matt slapped his hands on his legs. “Not that I agreed. But maybe with the presence of lady folk this year, old Milford may get his wish to see Angel Vale turned into a dry town.” Matt opened the box and presented a copy of the ballot to Becky. “This is the first year we’ve had a printed ballot.”
He was so proud of his fledgling press and newspaper.
Becky read the three items up for vote in 1877. No national or territorial questions needed to be decided, and Matt had printed these questions in an earlier edition of the paper. But tomorrow, she could come into the store and mark her choices with everyone else. Angel Vale truly did promise a new start. Jake smiled at her across the table. “There was a lot of discussion when the territorial legislature decided to give the franchise to women, but I’m glad they did.”
In Christ, there is no male or female, no slave nor free. . .The words ran through Becky’s mind. Apparently the citizens of Wyoming believed that applied to politics as well.
A week had passed since Preacher Reed left, and Becky hadn’t made much progress toward her goal. Now that the excitement had calmed some, Becky returned to her wedding worries. Morning by morning, she watched the ground turned to the dull November grays and browns, and with it came somber thoughts. More than she had in a long time, Becky wished she could speak with her mother, how she felt about being a pastor’s wife or did she feel qualified. Jake had seven weeks and a definite plan of study for ordination. She had no one to ask, only her own experience.
She grabbed a calendar and marked out the six weeks until Christmas. She knew what being a pastor’s wife looked like; she had lived the role for half of her life. But what did God say?
Maybe she should study that. There were passages in Timothy and Titus that discussed the qualifications of an elder and his family. She should study those again.
Also, she could examine the wives of leaders in the Bible, the few wives that were mentioned, and see if she had any characteristics in common with them. She took out her Bible and made a list of relevant passages.
She looked at her list and realized the most important study was missing. What was the role of a wife, any wife?
Did she want to marry anyone?
Forget about whether Jake was a pastor or not. If he was the man she should marry, his occupation shouldn’t matter, nor his income, as long as he could provide food and shelter.
Oh, she had plenty to study, her own version of preparation for church ministry. The Lord had convicted her of that much last night. If she came to the Lord with an open heart, He would speak to her. She only had to listen.
Matt wasn’t willing to give her time. At church on Sunday, he approached Becky. “Miss Patterson.”
When Matt addressed her so formally, Becky wondered what his intention was.
“In light of the events when Preacher Reed was here, I hope to run a story about the future Reverend Jacob Underwood in this week’s paper. And perhaps his future wife?” He raised his eyebrows.
Jake was already shaking his head. “I tried to tell him no.”
“But nothing will stop the press in its mission to spread news of interest to its readers—and Jake agreed. With a little persuasion.” Matt grinned.
He laughed at her use of his formal name. “I still wish to interview you about your impressions of Jake. What kind of a preacher do you think he’ll make? You’re in the best position to know.”
Becky wanted to resist, to deny his request. But why hurt Jake when the only questions about their nuptials rested in her mind? “Very well. When shall we start?”
They arranged a time and Matt left. When Jake closed the store that evening, Becky lingered. “What are you doing tonight?”
A light shined in his beautiful eyes. “Whatever you want.”
When he looked at her like that, she felt much the same way. “I know you have to study for the ordination. I, uh . . .” Suddenly shy, she hesitated. “I want to study as well. What God expects of me, as a Christian, a wife—a pastor’s wife.” Her face flamed. “What does God expect of a preacher’s wife, and how does that compare to what I’ve always done.”
Jake grinned. She plunged ahead before her courage failed. “I thought to prepare a light supper for you at your house. Perhaps we could study side-by-side for a short time, before I return to the mill.” She lifted a basket of food she had bought from the store.
She bit her lip. Her suggestion was slightly scandalous, for an unmarried couple to spend a few hours together—alone—in a house.
He took a deep breath. Perhaps the verses about an elder being above reproach ran through his mind. “I like your idea. The evening is not overly cold. Perhaps we can leave the door open a crack and light enough candles for all who wish to see inside.” He closed down the register and headed for the door. “Shall we go?”
With a lighter heart than she had felt in a long time, Becky stepped out of the store with Jake at her side.
* * *
The following Tuesday Matt burst into the store. His arrival reminded Becky that she should remove the voting decorations. He held a paper in his hand with a flourish. “The timing is perfect, because next week’s paper will have to cover the election above the fold.” He laughed and spread the paper, ink still fresh, on the front counter.
“Jacob Underwood to Become Angel Vale’s First Pastor.” The headline read. Matt had fished out the picture Jake had made when writing to Becky, which made him look serious and dressed in clothing fitting for a pastor.
Becky fished for a copy of her own and read it aloud. “. . .born on October 2, 1849, at the height of the California Gold Rush . . .”
Jake winced as Matt outlined his sketchy early years, his lack of any formal education, his wanderings and departure from his farther when he was only fifteen, in order to fight with the Second Colorado Cavalry in the Civil War.
Becky glanced up. “Very patriotic. People will like a pastor who knows how to handle himself.”
Jake relaxed when Matt described his salvation experience and made more of his preaching experience than it deserved.
Becky read the comments the townspeople made about Jake with enthusiasm. Always fair in his price when he could have gouged them. He often thought ahead to what people would need.
“Even a wife.” Matt chuckled.
“As I remember, that was your idea.”
He shrugged. “We can share credit.”
Becky read with delight but suddenly stopped. “I can’t read this part.” She handed it to Matt.
As usual, Jake’s friend enjoyed listening to the sound of his own words. “Miss Rebecca Patterson compared Mr. Underwood favorably to the pastors she has known. As the daughter of the pastor of Seaside Community Church in Merville, Maine, she has heard many ministers throughout her life. ‘Mr. Underwood lives the Word of God. He speaks in a plain and powerful manner which convicts his listeners. Angel Vale is blessed to have him in their midst.’”
Christmas Mail Order Angels: The complete 11 Volume Set Page 6
