Jake felt his cheeks heating, and of course, Becky turned a pretty pink. He bowed, and she curtsied, then they both chuckled.
“You are an amazing man, and will be the best pastor in all of Wyoming, I am certain.” She placed her hands on his cheeks and kissed him on the lips.
What was that for? Jake’s heart was singing. With encouragement like that, he’d believe he could do anything.
Matt applauded. “I wish I could have taken a picture of that. I’m glad you like it.”
The doorbell jingled. “And your day has begun,” Matt said. “Sophia will be over here to vote, and then she’ll take over the newspaper office while I oversee the voting process.”
“Oh, but I want to . . .” Becky darted forward, then stepped back. “I’m eager to vote,” she whispered in Jake’s ear.
“I know,” he whispered back. “Do you mind waiting? Encourage people to shop while they’re waiting to vote?” He winked.
She giggled. “Of course. I’m curious to see how many ladies are going to show up.”
It shouldn’t surprise him that Becky was a suffragist, eager for women to vote. He stifled a smile. No doubt, she had hidden her sentiments in Merville, but here, she could encourage citizenship with the other women.
As Matt predicted, Sophia popped in quickly before returning to the newspaper office. Voting day brought more business than usual to the store. He was disappointed that more people from surrounding ranches didn’t bother to vote.
The majority of people who did come probably voted in favor of the temperance bill. Miners wouldn’t stand for an alcohol-free community; perhaps would help Angel Vale take the final step to becoming a real town. One of which he would be proud. Especially as the pastor. His eyes strayed to the paper.
Matt had left a dozen copies of the paper. He tucked two copies under the counter, assuming Becky would like a copy for herself. After a moment’s thought, he set aside one more—his father might like to see it. If he ever saw his father again. Once the extra copies sold out, he directed those interested across the street to the newspaper office.
Becky stayed for the day, visiting with the voters without getting into any arguments about politics or suffrage. She knew his stock almost as well as he did and could locate items for shoppers quickly and efficiently. At the end of the day, the fabrics section was decimated, and two women were bickering on one yard of red-and-green plaid material.
Jake prided himself on stocking well, but he hadn’t gauged the needs of the ladies as well as he would have liked. When Becky had told him he needed more for Christmas, he had disagreed. His mistake.
She turned in his direction. “Jake, can you get more of this fabric before the end of the month?”
The women looked at him so hopefully, he hated to deliver the bad news. “I’m afraid not.”
“I saw this material the last time I was here. But I didn’t buy enough.” Tears formed in her eyes. “I’m sorry, but it’s my first Christmas away from home.”
Becky tapped her chin with her fingers. “I bought some of this material myself. I don’t need it all. Why don’t you come by the mill house tonight and see if I have enough for you to finish your project?”
That kind of problem-solving ability exemplified Becky’s talent for ministry. Every church he had ever attended experienced conflict, and she was blessed with the ability to help solve problems and reconcile conflicts.
If only he could help her see herself the way he saw her. He wished Matt had written an article about her.
No, he didn’t. Matt would have talked about her past, but what she needed was to see her future. Not the person she had been, but the person she could become.
This was the kind of day he had envisioned when he had invited Becky to come to Angel Vale. God willing, many more would come.
CHAPTER TEN
By early December, Becky had studied a lot about wives in the Bible. Several other couples expected to marry at Christmas, and she wondered if any of them were as confused as she was about the decision they had to make.
Her days had fallen into a routine. After she completed her household duties at the mill, she headed for the store. When the store was empty, she read the paper, studied the stock, and studied the accounting methods. She could handle a household budget, but the business expenses puzzled her.
Jake welcomed her help with his customers, expressing his gratitude often, something she wasn’t accustomed to. Father had expected her help and had offered almost no appreciation when she served him and the parishioners.
Becky enjoyed getting to know the people of the community. Over time, even the most isolated miners and ranchers came in for supplies, and they acted like they had seen an angel when they glimpsed a woman in the store.
Jake had called the mail order brides their Christmas Angels, and apparently in the minds of the men of Angel Vale, maybe they were.
How different things were in Wyoming. People back home couldn’t imagine a land with a horizon as limitless as the ocean, where one could ride through a meadow without another human being in sight. Father said it sounded empty and lonely. If only she could help him understand. Fingers itching, she reached for her colored pencils and sketched her favorite meadow the way she had last seen it, a light coating of frost on the grass, elk grazing in the distance, tall pines standing sentinels around the brook that flowed through the meadow.
Jake peeked over her shoulder. “That’s good. We should put your pictures in frames and see if anyone buys them.”
Becky shook her head while her heart warmed at Jake’s confidence. “This picture is going to Papa. I want something to show him what it’s like out here.”
Jake held the corners of the picture down with his thumbs. “You know, if we decided ahead of time that we were getting married, he could come out here, take part in my ordination, and marry us.” His smirk didn’t fool her. His suggestion was at least partly serious.
“Not if we marry at Christmas.” Becky left her answer at that.
Now Jake’s smile was genuine—she had given him hope. With a warmth in her heart, she finished the sketch and signed it with a flourish. A shame she had to fold it to fit it in the envelope with her letter.
Jake took the sealed letter. “I’ll make sure this gets out in this week’s mail. The postman should be by this afternoon.” Life in Wyoming had a different rhythm, and Jake helped her adjust. When she left Merville, she craved a change from predictability. Now she missed it now and then.
Most of all, she enjoyed her evenings with Jake. Oh, to spend a lifetime of quiet nights around the fire, reading, studying, perhaps with children playing at their feet, a baby in her lap. Once he was a pastor, they wouldn’t have many quiet nights. Perhaps this time was a special gift from God before they faced an unpredictable future.
Could she do it? Spend hours, perhaps even days, alone while Jake helped someone else? The question brought up unpleasant memories of her childhood.
“Jake, I’m leaving for the day.”
He nodded. “See you tonight?”
“Of course.” Slipping on a coat, she walked into the sunlight. It drove away the shiver she had felt in the store. She took a long way home, wandering around the streets, imagining a bigger town with houses and businesses and even a church, where now muddy plots and horse hooves marked the way. Eventually she made her way home. Two of the remaining brides-to-be, southern Amanda Geoffrey and Henrietta Myrick, who was cooking at Angel Vale, were in the big room, talking.
“You’re back early.” Amanda Geoffrey’s Southern drawl landed like a gentle rain on Becky’s ear. “I’m glad. Henrietta and I were hoping to speak with you.”
“Give me a minute.” Becky tucked her things away in her room, then pulled together her Bible and study notes for the evening with Jake.
“Mind if I take a peek?” Amanda came into Becky’s room before she gave her permission. “What a beautiful room. Jake must love you very much.” She laughed. “Or perhaps I should call
him Pastor Underwood?”
Becky covered her wince with a smile. “Not yet. He may not even be ordained.”
“Nonsense.” Henrietta joined them in the room. “He’ll pass the exam with flying colors, and you know it as well as we do.”
Becky had no business letting her feelings ruin their confidence in Jake as their pastor. “You’re right.”
“Ooh, what is this?” Amanda saw the stack of papers Becky had placed beneath her Bible.
Henrietta picked up the page and read the first couple of lines. “For the husband is the head of the wife, as Christ is the head of the church . . .who can find a virtuous woman?”
Before she went further reading Becky’s thoughts and questions, Becky picked up the remaining stack and reached for the page in Henrietta’s hand. “Those are private, between me and the Lord.” Her voice shook.
Henrietta dropped the page, which Becky grabbed, and Amanda closed the Bible and handed it back. Becky put them in the headboard to her bed. She kept them elsewhere.
“We didn’t mean to pry.” Henrietta’s voice dropped to a whisper.
“But it’s only more proof that you are the one we need.” Amanda wasn’t repentant. “Henrietta, I, and some of the other ladies who haven’t married yet wondered if you could teach us what the Bible says about being good women and wives. And you’re already studying it. God was getting you ready to teach us.”
Becky sat on her bed. Teach? She knew so little herself, at least on this topic. “Someone else should teach. Someone older, someone who’s already been married—someone like Sophia, perhaps.” Sophia might not appreciate the recommendation.
“She said to ask you.” Henrietta had regained her courage.
So Becky hadn’t been their first choice.
“She was with us when we discussed the need for such a class, and she immediately said you should teach,” Amanda said.
Henrietta added, “She said that you not only know the Bible, but you understand us the best. That’s why we’re all so happy that God matched you and Jake. We can’t think of anyone we’d rather have for the wife of our pastor.”
Becky wanted to scream. If she heard that statement one more time—
Maybe you’ll listen? A voice quieter than either of the women’s interrupted, one she couldn’t ignore.
Like it or not, did she finally have her answer?
* * *
“Will you pray with me about the exam for ordination? I’m kind of scared.”
Matt was the one person Jake thought might understand.
“What’s got you all in a twist about this?” Matt asked. “You know the Bible backwards and forwards. There’s no way you’ll get an answer wrong.”
Jake shook his head. While Matt’s confidence gave him a shot in the arm, Jake knew how many questions theologians could manufacture over the most obvious of verses. Like, how many angels could dance on the head of a pin?
Even if he got all the theology right, Preacher Reed might raise other, harder, issues. “He asked me if I had any relationships or issues from my past that I haven’t resolved.”
“Oh?” Matt plunked down on one of the church planks. “I’ve known you a while, Jake, and I haven’t seen you carrying any burdens on your back.”
Jake looked out at the darkening sky. “Some people might not think it’s a problem.”
“What’s that?” Matt scratched his head. “What did you hide from me when I interviewed you for the paper?” His forehead furrowed, as if he was running down Jake’s life history. “The war, maybe? Did somethin’ happen that troubles your soul?”
Jake thought about that. Before he was even an adult, he had seen—and done—horrible things. He didn’t like to think about them, but. . .“No, I don’t feel guilty. We were at war, and it was a righteous war. Otherwise, we might not have the Chalmers as part of our congregation here, would we?”
Matt grunted, thought for another minute, and then raised a finger. “It’s your father. You were a young gun when you left. You must have had a powerful reason, and I don’t think you were all that eager to run off and kill Johnny Rebs.”
Trust Matt to pinpoint his problem. “You should be the preacher, not me.”
“Hah.” Matt snorted. “Don’t ask me how many shadows I have in my past. The Lord’s forgiven me, and I’ve told Sophia about a few, but. . . I’m not preaching material. Now don’t change the subject. What happened with your father?”
Jake sat still. “I hated the way he dragged me from one rainbow to the next, chasing the next pot of gold. He was sensible with his money, I’ll give him that. He provided me with plenty, so I never suffered from want, and I even had enough money to build this mercantile. Get in on the real gold mine during a gold rush.”
“So you moved a lot. A lot of fathers do that, on the move, looking for a better farm, a better home, better hunting. Like the Indians chasing the vanishing buffalo. Or the railroad moving east and west.”
Jake twisted his hands. “I know that. He didn’t ever hit me. Tended to my wounds so I didn’t get any permanent injuries. I’ve seen a lot of boys who had it worse.”
“And he taught you how to read,” Matt said. “A lot of fathers in that situation wouldn’t have bothered, wouldn’t know how.”
Jake’s stomach clenched. “Ma taught me my letters. God sent a preacher my way when I was about nine. The preacher taught me how to read, really read, with a Bible. He’s even the one who gave me that Bible.” He picked up the Bible from the counter, worn, with pages crinkled and cover torn. “He gave me his own Bible so I would have one. After that, I read the Bible over and over again, and I read anything else I could get my hands on. Like newspapers.”
That made Matt smile.
“And after Ma died, Pa never married again,” Matt said. “Not that there were a lot of good women out this way in those years. Not teaching me to read was one thing. The bigger thing was that he blamed God for taking Ma away. He hated God, and he taught me to hate God too. If I hadn’t met that French father up in Canada, the one who taught me to read the Bible, I might never have been saved.”
“Hmm.” Matt paused. “Kind of funny to get mad at a man because he was mad at God.”
“I know.” Jake shut his Bible. “But until I let go of that anger, I don’t know if I’m fit to be a preacher.”
A board creaked in the store, and Jake left the office to talk to the late visitor.
A tall figure of a man who hadn’t aged well stood in front of him.
“Hello, son.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Jake’s father was in Angel Vale. The news flashed across the fields to the mill house faster than a miner spotting gold in a flowing stream. Becky bolted from the house. She felt his hurt and knew she must reach his side.
It was time to let him know the decision she had reached, so suddenly, so easily, that she wondered what had taken her so long.
Dusk had nearly turned to dark by the time she arrived, her way directed by the first stars and candlelight. Matt Thomas sat on a barrel in front of the store. When he saw her, he smiled. “Well, Becky, I should have known you would come.”
She peeked around the window, seeing a man as tall and broad as Jake, but worn by the years. “Should I intrude?”
Matt lifted a shoulder and shrugged. “I expect Jake would be mighty glad to see you.”
“Very well.” With a silent prayer, Becky opened the door.
Both men looked up at her entrance. Unlike the confident man Becky knew, Jake seemed to have shrunk in stature, someone who wouldn’t stand out in a crowd. Her heart went out to him.
Without waiting for an invitation, she strode across the floor. “Mr. Underwood. I am Becky Patterson, Jake’s fiancé.”
Jake’s eyebrows lifted at that statement, and his shoulders straightened.
“Mr. Underwood.” The older man turned around as if uncertain. “That sounds too dignified for your future father-in-law. I know you have a father of your own, but maybe yo
u can call me Lee.”
“Lee, it’s a pleasure to meet you.” She extended her hand. The one that clasped hers was work-roughened but reasonably clean.
Why hadn’t she thought to bring biscuits or cookies or something from the mill house for them to eat? A reminder of why she might not be the perfect pastor’s wife—yet—but God had given her peace that He’d called her. And she’d better obey.
“God was convicting me to make things right with my father before my ordination exam.” Jake’s chuckle sounded forced. “And here he is.”
Becky imagined how uncertain she would feel if her father appeared unexpectedly. How much more so for Jacob, after their lengthy separation. She would offer one reason for them to reconcile.
She kissed Lee on the cheek. “I have a special reason to thank you. Jacob contacted Merville because you told him to get a bride from your home town.”
“You’re from Merville?” Lee asked.
“All the new brides are.” Becky grinned.
He slumped onto a plank, as if the revelation wasn’t good. “You’re from Merville. Oh, my.” He wiped his forehead with a bandana. “Tell me, did you ever meet any of the former pastors?”
Becky’s mind sorted through the old church records. She hadn’t read them often, hadn’t found them interesting. The church was founded about the time of the War for Independence, rebuilt in the 1840s, with a plaque at the back and a painting of the pastor from that time hanging on the wall. She had seen it hundreds of times. He had retired in 1958. The church called Papa as their next pastor when Becky was just starting school.
“Reverend—Buxton?—preached there for many years. My father became pastor after he retired.”
“Then you could say you and Jake are kissing cousins. Jake’s mother was Martha Buxton, the Reverend’s daughter.”
Jake’s mouth dropped open. “My grandfather was a preacher? You never told me that.”
“No, I didn’t. He didn’t like her choice of a husband and would have nailed my hide to the wall if he’d ever found me after we took off to California. But I never forgot the treasure I found in Merville—I was already what you’d call a traveling man, trawling from ship to ship, hoping to find a place to call home. After our marriage, we stuck in Merville for three years. Left at the gold strike.”
Christmas Mail Order Angels: The complete 11 Volume Set Page 7
