Leather and Lace

by DiAnn Mills

  “Afternoon, ma’am.” He tilted his hat.

  She held her breath and smiled. “Afternoon.” Someday she planned to look a lawman in the eye and not fret about being recognized. And someday she planned to pack away the derringer in her dress pocket and the knives in her boots.

  This time she walked to the parsonage and endured the heat. Birds sang and insects chirped, but nothing soothed the fluttering of butterflies in her stomach. Whether her nervousness came from her brief meeting with the sheriff or talking to Reverend Rainer about work, she had to shake off the trembling inside her. If this job didn’t work out, she’d ride on to Mexico and maybe South America. But she wanted to give the town a try.

  A short while later, Casey stood on the wide front porch of the Rainer home and rapped lightly on the door. Everything looked newly painted, from the steps to the heavily carved front door, all in the cloud white she’d noticed earlier. An assortment of potted green plants lined the perimeter of the porch, except on the west side where a swing eased back and forth in a light breeze. A tabby cat slept on a braided rug, oblivious to Casey’s presence. She bent to scratch its head, and the animal barely opened its eyes to acknowledge her.

  Smoothing her dress, Casey took a deep breath and waited for the reverend. Now she felt like a proper lady. All she had to do was act like one. Someday she’d be one. A lot of “somedays” had floated through her mind this afternoon.

  Reverend Rainer opened the door with a feed sack apron wrapped around his waist. He’d rolled up the sleeves of a white shirt past his elbows, and flour coated his forearms. With a towel in one hand, he wiped the white dusting from his exposed hands and arms.

  “Excuse me,” he said. “I thought I’d be finished before you arrived.”

  “Would you like me to come back later?” Where was his wife?

  “Certainly not.” A warmness in his gray eyes relaxed her. “I’ve looked forward to our visit since noon.”

  As he reached to rub his nose, a fine mist of flour covered his nostrils, and she couldn’t help but laugh. “I’m sorry,” Casey said. “I’m forgetting my manners.”

  “Nothing of the sort.” He chuckled. “Cooking is not what I do best. I’ve learned a lot of things in these aging years of mine, but mastery of the kitchen is not one of them. The only thing I can make is biscuits, and the Good Book says that ‘man does not live by bread alone.’” He wiped the white powder from his face and ushered her inside. “Do come in, Miss Flanagan. Would you like to sit in the parlor?”

  “Why don’t we talk in the kitchen?” A fresh fluttering of nervousness attacked her. “You probably need to finish what you’ve started.”

  “That sounds good to me. We could continue our discussion while I roll out biscuits.”

  Casey liked the reverend’s kind face, although his eyes reminded her of an eagle, somewhat piercing, as if he knew a secret. For certain, he looked out of place in an apron. She considered taking more than a passing glance at the furnishings but thought better of it. She had no idea what folks were supposed to talk about with a preacher, other than God things. The idea of drowning in silence needled at her.

  In the kitchen, he pulled out a chair from the table, and she sat on the edge just as she’d seen some ladies do during the past few weeks. “You have a fine home,” she said.

  “Thank you. Several members of our church painted it last week. They did a good job.” The reverend paused. Picking up the rolling pin, he cleared his throat. “I’m not used to delivering speeches in an apron, but I’ll do my best.” He eased the pin across the dough. “Let me begin by saying my wife is upstairs sleeping. She’s been ill for some time now. When she wakens I’ll introduce you.”

  “I’ll look forward to it.” Casey folded her hands in her lap. Noting the exquisitely carved oaken table and chairs before her, she complimented him on the fine furniture.

  “My wife’s father made this for us many years ago. I fully intended to learn how to craft furniture until the War between the States broke out. I felt God’s call to the ministry and served the entire time as a soldier and chaplain. So I began carving names into the Book of Life instead of wood into furniture.” He paused and stared out the window. His face suddenly aged. “Now I don’t need to take up your entire afternoon with small matters. You asked me if I knew of someplace respectable for you to work.”

  “Yes, sir, I did.” Casey’s heart pounded even faster.

  “Well, I’ve been thinking and praying and talking to Sarah this afternoon. Sarah’s my sweet wife. We may very well have a possible solution. Goodness, where are my manners? Sarah would be appalled. Would you like a cup of coffee? I know I could use one.”

  He wiped his hands on the apron before waiting for an answer and poured the fresh, hot liquid into a delicate china cup ribbed in gold. Casey’s fingers trembled, and she willed them to cease. The ladies she’d observed on the trains didn’t shake. She dared not, either.

  “I make my coffee a little strong,” he said.

  “I prefer it strong.” She lifted the cup to her lips. It tasted of brew made with part grounds and part dirt. Familiar but horrible. “It’s delicious.”

  “Now I know better, but thanks just the same.”

  He pulled out a chair for himself and sat across from her. Taking a deep breath, the reverend began again. “Miss Flanagan, I desperately need help here. I told you before about my wife sleeping. You see, she’s confined to bed. As much as I love her and want to take good care of her, I can’t seem to get anything done. The house needs attention, my cooking is terrible, and my sermons are suffering. The ladies from church are gracious to bring food and come to visit, but I need someone who can take care of Sarah and the house on a regular basis.”

  Reverend Rainer stood again, and for a moment, she thought he resembled an old Indian chief with his silver hair and high cheekbones. “With someone reliable, I can tend to my responsibilities and still have time to spend with her. Oh no.” He grabbed a towel to pull a smoking, grease-laden skillet from the oven. He set it on the stove top and turned his attention back to the biscuits. “Guess that’ll teach me to check the oven before I fire it up. I normally cook outside in this heat, but I can’t get the biscuits to brown right.”

  “Can’t I help you there?” she said.

  He shook his head. “No, I won’t hear of it. Besides, I need something to do with my hands. Now where was I? Oh yes, we have two extra bedrooms upstairs, and I’m prepared to pay an adequate salary. I also think it best to give the lady who takes this position every Sunday afternoon and evening free. I like the idea of spending the Sabbath with my precious wife.”

  His gaze rested upon her face. “I was praying over the matter when you rode up today. My Sarah’s a gentle lady, and she doesn’t complain about her ailments. She simply needs someone to care for her, keep her comfortable and the like. There’s medicine for the pain, except she rarely asks for it unless it’s unbearable.” He took a sip of coffee. “Miss Flanagan, would you consider a position as a nurse and housekeeper?”

  Casey couldn’t believe what she’d heard. With her thoughts flying like a flock of geese headed south, she found it difficult to concentrate as the reverend continued.

  “I understand if you can’t give me an answer right away, but do you mind meeting with Sarah and visiting for a spell?” He paused for a moment. “I can’t say how long nursing Sarah might last, because she isn’t getting any better. The doctor says she could live six months or six weeks.” He placed the biscuits atop the hot oven and seated himself across from her.

  “What do you think about my offer, Miss Flanagan?”

  Chapter 11

  Casey had practiced the art of hiding her emotional responses for many years, and Reverend Rainer’s offer required her to use all those skills. While she scrambled for words with the sheriff’s face still fresh in her mind, she realized this good man would lose his faith if he knew he sat across from Casey O’Hare.

  “I’m afraid my beliefs a
ren’t as strong as yours,” she said.

  “Are you interested in following Jesus and getting to know Him?”

  “Yes, sir. I have a Bible. Been reading it.”

  The reverend nodded, while she fought the urge to squirm in the chair.

  “If this arrangement is satisfactory to you and Sarah, I could answer your questions about God.” He took a drink of the coffee. “I want the time my wife has remaining to be as pleasant as possible. Her nurse must be someone who will love her and tend to her needs. Sarah has looked after many folks in her day, and she loves the Lord unlike any woman I’ve ever known. She deserves the best of care, and I aim for her to have it. I’ve been looking for someone to do this but haven’t had much luck.”

  An awkwardness filled the room. “But you don’t know me,” Casey said. The prospect of deceiving a man of God left a huge lump in her throat. “And what would the members of this community say about me—a single woman—living here?”

  “My congregation suggested I find someone to help me. I plan to take the matter up with them come Sunday morning. That is, if you and Sarah are in agreement.” He heaved a deep, weary sigh. “Miss Flanagan, you’re a stranger, yet I feel God has sent you here for a reason.” He stood and refilled both of their coffee cups.

  She deliberated his offer. He really did need help, and from the looks of the kitchen, cooking and cleaning weren’t among his finer qualities. Upon further deliberation, she thought looking after Sarah Rainer could be an opportunity to make up for the heartache and suffering the Jenkins gang had caused so many people. She couldn’t right the wrongs, but she could make life easier for this couple. Yet the prospect of facing the town’s sheriff needled at her. She should have kept right on riding after talking to the boy on the mule.

  “I don’t know what to say.”

  “It will take a special person to care for her. Frankly, she needs a friend. I know only too well how difficult it is to appear cheerful when she’s dying right in front of you.” He attempted a smile despite the morose look on his face. “But I’m not giving up until God decides to take her home.”

  “I understand.” She thought back over the men she’d watched die. She hadn’t lacked courage then, and those men weren’t God-fearing.

  “What do you want to know about me? I don’t carry any letters of introduction or references.” She’d heard one of Rose’s girls talk about these before. That girl didn’t have any, either.

  She sat still, her heart quaking, while Reverend Rainer studied her. She wanted to do this, but the thought of it drove a fist into her stomach. Lying to a preacher would surely send her to hell, but getting caught by Jenkins or the law because she helped a preacher sounded better on her tombstone.

  “It’s sufficient to know you want to know more about the Lord,” the reverend said. “I think you feel awkward with what I’m suggesting, and the truth is I do, too. All I can say is God spoke to me today, and I’m following like a blind man.”

  Her mouth went dry. Why didn’t she simply leave and forget about the whole matter?

  “Would you like to meet Sarah? Then we can talk. After all, she’s the one who needs to be happy with the arrangement.” He rubbed his floured palms together. “I’ll see if she is awake. May I escort you to the parlor?”

  They walked past a room that Reverend Rainer said was his study. Casey gazed at the shelves. She wanted to touch the floor-to-ceiling leather-bound volumes. So many things to learn about God and the world around me. I surely wish my words were better. Hearing and talking nothing but curses for seven years makes me ashamed.

  “You like to read?” he said.

  She nodded.

  “If you decide to nurse Sarah, you’re welcomed to any of these.”

  Casey caught the scent of roses blooming just outside the study window. She could have reached out and plucked one of the deep red blooms. Instead, she admired them. “How beautiful.”

  “Thank you. Sarah’s roses have always flourished under this window. I’m not as faithful as she in keeping them looking their best.”

  “I can’t imagine them looking more beautiful than today.” She meant every word.

  The parlor invited in sunshine as though the room were merely an extension of the outdoors. Through the windows, she saw a garden area and an assortment of greenery and colorful blooms. What a wonderful place to live.

  Simple and modest furnishings made way for deep shades of blue and cream colored lace pillows, a blue and gold sofa, and a pair of overstuffed golden tapestry chairs. Casey sat on the sofa and admired the oaken tables.

  Curiosity nipped at her while she waited for the reverend. What good would it do to start over if everything became a lie? Suddenly she felt dirty, as though the bath she’d taken earlier hadn’t done a bit of good. But she had to start somewhere, didn’t she?

  What kind of illness did Sarah Rainer have? Was she sweet like the reverend said, or bitter with the sickness? Those thoughts shouldn’t matter. She’d been around enough surly men to learn how to handle mean-spirited folks.

  A short while later, the reverend ushered Casey upstairs. The staircase needed a bit of dusting, but the house had a fresh smell. She followed him to Sarah’s room. Plants of all sizes lined the walls, with smaller ones sitting on the windowsills. Some folks claimed plants made people sick, took away their air. She doubted if a preacher kept things that weren’t good for folks. Casting aside the worrisome thought, she turned her attention to Sarah Rainer. Lines etched into the woman’s face made her look much older than the reverend.

  Reverend Rainer bent to kiss his wife’s head. “Sweetheart, this is the young lady I told you about, Miss Shawne Flanagan.” He propped her head with pillows and tucked a thin coverlet around her shoulders.

  Sarah smiled, and it seemed as if heaven’s gates opened wide. “Good afternoon, dear. What a pleasure to meet you. My, but you remind me of our granddaughter who lives in Oregon. Just as pretty, but she doesn’t have your beautiful auburn hair.” She touched her own gray-white hair, and a look of horror crossed her face. “John, I forgot to have you pin up my hair. And in front of a guest.”

  “You look lovely, Mrs. Rainer. No need to fret, and it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

  Sarah talked on, even teased her husband about finding a pretty young lady to care for her. She told Casey about their children and grandchildren—and oh, how she missed them.

  Her peaceful spirit and a stubborn determination not to be pampered impressed Casey. Sarah didn’t ask about Casey’s family or her past. Rather, she talked about plants and how she cherished spring with the blooming of flowers and trees, and summer with all the vegetables ripening. Mrs. Rainer also enjoyed fall, the season of harvest and preparation for winter.

  “Shawne, did you know a tree must shed all of its leaves in order for it to grow new ones in spring?”

  “I never thought about it, but you’re right,” Casey said, more than a little apprehensive, as though Sarah knew all about her outlaw past.

  “It’s one of God’s miracles. The old dies to make way for the new.”

  Casey didn’t know Sarah Rainer well enough to question her way of thinking. Her words sounded peculiar. Something dying made something live? One day she’d ask what that meant. The reverend stepped from the room and allowed the two women to visit.

  Once his footsteps no longer sounded on the stairs, Sarah sighed deeply. “Can you take care of an old lady until she dies?” Her weak brown gaze captured Casey.

  “Yes, ma’am, I believe I can.”

  The woman reached for Casey’s hand. She caught a glimpse of the thin, wrinkled hand—soft and frail. Deep violet veins rose from parchment skin. Although Ma had been much younger, near the end her hands had looked the same.

  “Both of us need you. John wants me to have the best of care, and I resent the illness tearing him from his ministry. God’s work should never go neglected.”

  Casey’s gaze rested on the small, delicate figure nestled deep in the bed
. The undeniable colorless pallor of death rested on her face, but when she smiled, her countenance cast the sweetest glow. Casey savored the moment. It was as though a sense of acceptance shone from Mrs. Rainer’s face.

  Sarah lifted her head from the pillow and allowed thinning hair to fall around her shoulders. “Tending to me won’t be easy. I simply cannot do anything for myself. I’m like a baby, only worse. A baby is coddled, and the mother lives in expectation of the growing new life. In my case, you’ll live with the certainty of death. I’m not afraid to speak of dying, but I refuse to give up without a fight. I can’t dance through life in this old body, but I can make the most of every moment. In the days remaining, I want to live every breath of life. I have to be sure you can deal with me, knowing the outcome and understanding the burden.”

  Such strength for one woman. Casey hadn’t seen any of this from outlaws. She realized the longer she spent away from Jenkins, the more she became sensitive to the things going on around her. “I took care of my mother before she died, Mrs. Rainer.” Casey stroked the fragile hand.

  “Well, I’ll do my best to display a sweet temperament and not be too bothersome. And, dear, please call me Sarah. We’ll spend many hours together, and the intimacy of friendship is necessary.” She smiled. “Would you mind reading to me now and then?”

  “I would love to, but I’m not real good. And would you teach me how to care for your plants?” She swallowed an inward gasp. In her last words, she’d agreed to nurse the woman.

  Sarah closed her eyes. “I see we’re going to get along just fine.” Her hand fell limp in Casey’s grasp. Pulling a thin coverlet up around Sarah’s neck, Casey tiptoed from the room.